by Dina Silver
“Have your brother open those for you. I need to get going,” I said to Sammy and stood up in a huff.
At six thirty, I said good-bye to the kids. I hesitated at the bottom of the stairs before heading up, wondering how I might sneak out without saying good-bye to anyone else. But I needed my coat.
I walked up the carpeted stairs, which led to the hallway just outside the kitchen. Thankfully, Mrs. Reed was talking with one of the catering staff near the sink. “I’m heading out,” I said, barely loud enough for her to hear.
Mrs. Reed dismissed the caterer and rushed out to meet me in the hall. “Would you like to stay for pie?” she offered.
“No, thank you, I had dessert already. Do you know where Tyler put my coat?”
She folded her hands in front of her. “Wasn’t that just lovely that he was able to be home for Christmas?”
I nodded. “Yup, that’s so great. He took my coat from me when I walked in,” I said.
“I just can’t tell you how happeh I was to have him here with the family for the holiday. Being with family is so important during these times.”
“It sure is.”
“Speaking of family, how is your mother doing? You know I’m on the board at Evanston Hospital, and I was wrecked to hear about her recent troubles. You must be terribleh worried while you’re off trying to conquer the world of law. Bless your heart, it must be so difficult for someone with such a full curriculum to be able to care for her. Tylah was so worried when I told him all about it this evening.”
Deciphering the meaning behind Dixie Reed’s famous digs was never a problem. It was fending them off that was the real challenge, like standing still, unflinching, as someone repeatedly slapped you in the face.
“Thank you for your concern,” I said and began to walk toward the front door with her traipsing behind me.
“I read an article once in Parade magazine that said children of alcoholics have a genetic predisposition to become addicted to alcohol themselves. I’m sure you’re being vereh careful. We wouldn’t want to carry on that legacy.”
I stopped walking, took a deep breath, and then turned to face her, but not before stepping in nice and close, emphasizing the four inches in height that I had over her. “You’re always looking out for me, aren’t you?”
“Why, of course, dear.”
“Then could you help me locate my jacket?”
She stepped away and returned with my coat. “I’m sure you’ll want to be polite and go say good-bye to everyone.”
“Don’t be so sure,” I said and left.
By the time I reached my apartment, my hands stung from repeatedly smacking the steering wheel during the drive home. I entered my apartment, slammed the door, and collapsed onto my couch. A minute later there was a knock at the door.
“It’s Santa,” Cam said, his voice muffled through the cheap wood.
“Go away, I’ve been naughty!” I shouted.
“Even better,” he said and knocked like a woodpecker until I let him in.
“Why do you still have your coat on?” he asked.
“Do I?”
“You’re acting weird, but I’m going to go with it. I shall now use my undergraduate psychology minor to probe you with a series of questions that will lead me to the information necessary to extrapolate what is bothering you.”
I defiantly whipped off my coat and fell back on the couch.
“Phew,” Cam said. “Because, honestly, I don’t have a psych minor.”
“Tyler was there,” I said.
“Hunky football Tyler?”
I nodded. “And guess who else was there with him?”
“John Heisman?”
“This bleached blonde idiot girlfriend of his, Sadie.”
Cam had a look on his face like he wanted to laugh, but knew better than to mock me right then. “From where I sit, a bleached blonde idiot girlfriend is exactly what I would imagine a hunky Notre Dame football player to have with him.”
I threw my hands up, wide-eyed, and pointed at Cam. “You’re correct! It’s exactly what’s expected of him. He’s lived his entire life doing what’s expected of him, and never what he wants. He doesn’t want her.”
“How do you know? Do you have a psych minor?”
“Because he wants me,” I said as I sank lower into my seat and then buried my face in my hands. “But I’m a distracting, troubled, non-pedigreed working stiff who bleeds red instead of blue.” I raised my head up. “But I know he wants me, Cam…at least he led me to believe that.”
He smiled at me with pity. “And you want him.”
I nodded. “I wish I didn’t, but I do.”
“Are you going to cry?”
“Maybe when you leave.”
At one o’clock in the morning I was awoken by the sound of my phone vibrating on my nightstand. I nearly hurled it at the wall when I saw Tyler’s name on the screen, but I couldn’t resist hearing what he had to say for himself.
“Hello,” I answered groggily.
“Give me your address.”
“No,” I said after a short pause.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said. “I had no idea you were coming tonight; my mom never mentioned it. I need to see you.”
“What difference would it have made?”
“I don’t know, but when I saw you at the door, all I wanted was to be with you, and I knew you were going to freak out when you saw Sadie. Her whole family was there, in the back den, and I was hoping you’d see that when you came to say good-bye,” he tried to explain.
“Well, then, why didn’t you come down to the basement and talk to me?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I’m in bed, and I need to put this whole thing behind me. As the saying goes, ‘Out of sight, out of mind.’ Not, ‘I show up on your parents’ doorstep, and now I’m on your mind’!” I paused to take a breath and calm myself down. “Look, it’s not like you owe me any sort of explanation. I would’ve loved to spend some time with you. Even ten minutes. But once again, I’m left with the short end of the stick. Merry goddamn Christmas, Tyler.”
“Chloe, I’m on the highway headed for Evanston. Give me your address,” he repeated. “Please.”
“You’re calling me from the car?”
“Yes, and I have to be back on the road heading for South Bend by six, too, so give me your goddamn address.”
I sighed before answering, “It’s 912 University Drive, apartment 2C.”
“I’m on my way.” Click.
I bit my bottom lip. My heart was racing and fluttering and aching and clapping with excitement. I got out of bed, brushed my teeth again, and changed out of my flannel plaid twinset into a black thermal V-neck and boxers. Tyler said he wanted to be with me, and he was on his way to making it happen. I’d waited so long for him to make his move that I didn’t care if it came about by accident.
So I waited.
And waited.
At two o’clock I dialed his phone. No answer.
At three o’clock I went and knocked on Cam’s door.
I heard the chain lock drop against the door before he opened it with one eye shut and the other squinting. “What’s up?”
“Tyler called me two hours ago and said he was driving here to come see me,” I told him.
“Score one for the team.”
“He was coming from his parents’ house in Glenview, which is a twenty-five-minute drive, tops, at this hour, and he hasn’t shown up and isn’t answering his phone. I’m freaking out.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s after three,” I said. Just then my phone vibrated in my hand, and Tyler’s name flashed on the screen. “It’s him!” I shouted, and Cam closed his door.
“Tyler?” I answered frantically, running back inside my apartment.
“Is this Chloe Carlyle?”
The sound of a woman’s voice startled me. “Yes, this is Chloe.”
“There’s been a
car accident, and your name and number are coming up as the most recent dialed on the victim’s cell phone.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Many years ago, when my mother first got out of rehab, she came home with a slew of new advice. Familiar sayings like “You can’t always get what you want” and “Be happy with what you have” were replaced with things like:
“One must learn and grow from misfortune.”
“There’s a reason we don’t get too many second chances in life, because if we did, we’d never learn to appreciate anything.”
“Mistakes happen for a reason.”
I was ten years old when I first learned that I was a mistake. My mother had been working as a receptionist at a dentist’s office in Boca Raton when she began dating one of the patients. He was a used-car salesman who was getting some bridgework done. They’d gone out maybe two or three times before she got pregnant and convinced his God-fearing conscience to marry her. Two years later, another woman who’d purchased a convertible Mustang from him convinced his conscience to divorce my mother and marry her instead. “Accidents are often filled with unexpected blessings,” Mom had tried to convince me. And although “unexpected,” there was nothing about Tyler’s accident that could be considered a “blessing.”
The blood drained from my face. “Is it Tyler; is he okay?”
“He was brought to the emergency room at Evanston Hospital. I don’t have all of the details. Are you related to Mr. Reed?”
“No, I’m a friend of the family.”
“Do you have a phone number where we can reach his parents?”
“Um, yes, give me a sec.” Shaking, I ran to my laptop and looked up the Reeds’ home phone number. I rarely used it, but I figured they might not answer their cell phones late at night. “It’s 847-555-1017. Can you please tell me if he’s okay?”
“I’m sorry, Miss, I don’t have any more information. Thank you for your help,” she said and hung up.
I collapsed onto the floor and sat with my hands over my nose and mouth. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. I repeated over and over in my head. Tyler was hurt. He was on his way to be with me, and now he was hurt. He would miss the Rose Bowl. He may never play again. He may never walk again. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
I stood up and ran back to Cam’s.
“Tyler’s been in an accident; the hospital just called me!” I cried out when he opened the door.
“Holy shit, what happened?” he asked.
“I don’t know, he was on his way here, and when he never arrived, I just assumed he’d blown me off, but then he wasn’t answering his phone, and I don’t know what happened.” My eyes were blazed with panic. “They brought him to Evanston Hospital. Do you think I should go over there?”
“Why was he coming to see you?”
“I don’t know,” I told him, hugging my body with my arms.
He lifted his hand to wipe a tear from my cheek. “It’s going to be all right. What about his parents?”
“I gave the hospital their home phone number, so they must be getting the call right now. Oh my God, Cam, I hope he’s okay!?”
“I’m sure he’s going to be fine. Why don’t you go to the hospital and see for yourself. Do you want me to go with you?”
I shook my head.
“Then call me as soon as you know something.” Cam leaned in and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Try and relax.”
I got dressed and drove frantically, trying not to get in an accident myself as I sped to the hospital. When I arrived, about forty minutes after the call, the tired woman at reception directed me to the E.R. waiting room on the ground floor. The Reeds had not arrived yet. I walked up to the nurses’ station and inquired about Tyler. A nurse told me very little other than that he was in surgery and she’d let me know when he was admitted to a room. I fell asleep waiting.
At about nine thirty in the morning, the nurse woke me up and said Tyler was on the fifth floor in room 514.
“Thank you,” I said. “Has anyone else asked for him?”
“His mother.”
I took the elevator to the fifth floor and saw Mrs. Reed in the hall. She was talking to one of the hospital staff with her arms crossed in front of her. I ran up to her, poised to embrace her when she stepped backward as if I were diseased.
“Please see to it that only family members are allowed in,” she said to the male nurse standing between us.
“Of course,” he said.
“Is Tyler okay?” I asked, crazed in my desire for information.
Instead of answering, Mrs. Reed pursed her lips and looked at me as if I were a stranger. I had cared for this woman’s children, taught them how to ride a bike, bandaged their skinned knees when she was playing golf, and here she was glaring at me with such distaste. She took one step closer to me and tilted her head before speaking. “I thought I told you to stay away from him,” she said in a low, foreboding tone befitting any Disney villain.
I shook my head in dismay. There were no words to express the depth of my confusion. Apparently, her aggression was not always so passive.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she asked, eyes narrowed.
I placed my hand defensively on my chest. “I don’t know what you think is going on between Tyler and me, but before tonight I hadn’t seen him since the summer. I had no hand in this.”
“Then why on earth are you here?” she asked. A fair question.
“I…they said I was the last call on his phone. He called me and asked to come over tonight. I tried to talk him out of it.” I paused. “For God’s sake, is he okay?”
“No, he’s not okay. His arm is destroyed, and his season is over. Which means his career is over.”
I mourned the loss of his Rose Bowl performance for a moment, but I cared little about his football career. I had raced down there to see if he was alive. If he was in a coma. If his eyes could still light up a room through a pane of glass. If having his undivided attention could still make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Was he in pain? Was he scared?
“How dare you lie to me,” she snapped. “It’s no secret that you’re the cause of this disaster. You have no business here, and it’s time you leave,” she whispered angrily and then crossed her arms. The nurse looked up from his notes and made eye contact with me.
Her hostility left me stunned. I opened my mouth to speak but changed my mind. This was not the time to challenge her, so I turned and walked out through the large double doors and took the elevator to the lobby. However, I had no intention of going home. I walked out into the snow and across the street to a Starbucks, where I sat for two hours drinking peppermint lattes before heading back to the fifth floor of the hospital. My mind was spinning. I was sick about Tyler, not knowing whether he was bruised or on his deathbed. And I was pissed at his mother for treating me like some common nuisance. My nerves shook from a toxic combination of caffeine, sugar, and stress.
Only a few people were milling around the halls when I got off the elevator. I cautiously walked toward Tyler’s room and looked around for the nurse I’d seen earlier with Mrs. Reed. Neither of them was in the hall, so I ignored her discriminatory demands and knocked gently on Tyler’s door. There was no answer. When I knocked again, the door floated open.
“Hello,” I whispered and took a microscopic step into the room.
Still no answer.
I looked over my shoulder into the brightly lit hallway before taking one more step forward and closing the door behind me. Tyler was alone and asleep. The top of his head was wrapped with white gauze, and his right arm—in a cast that extended from his shoulder to his hand—was elevated by a hanging noose. Not the arm, I thought. A gentle beeping noise was the only sound.
Seeing him lying there brought me to tears. His face appeared so young and childlike despite his enormous frame. I sat down tentatively on the edge of an armchair in the corner of the room and folded my hands in my lap. I stared at his arm, suspended next to
him, and prayed he would recover from his injuries. Gone was the confident, invincible Adonis, and in his place was a vulnerable, beat-up boy with angry parents. I sprang to his side when I heard a muffled sound come from his mouth.
“Tyler.” I laughed with relief as his name crossed my lips. “Tyler, it’s Chloe,” I said.
The corner of his bruised lips curled into the hint of a smile. “I know who you are,” he whispered.
“You scared the hell out of me. What happened to you?” I asked.
He closed his eyes and said nothing. Just moaned.
“Should I get the nurse in here?” I asked. “Are you in pain?”
“I fucked up,” he said, his words barely audible.
“Shhhh,” I said, lightly brushing some hair off his forehead. “It’s going to be okay.”
“No, it’s not.” Tyler sighed arduously. “It’s over; everything is over.”
Just then there was a knock on the door, and a nurse came in followed by two police officers.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Three days passed before I returned to the hospital. By then I’d learned that Tyler had been charged with driving under the influence, because he had a blood alcohol content of .09, when the legal limit was .08. One hundredth of a point kept him from returning to Notre Dame, and an unhappy triad injury kept him from ever playing football again. He spent four weeks recovering in the hospital and carried his parents’ resentment and humiliation on his shoulders like a two-hundred-pound barbell. Just like his car crash, the entire course of his life changed in an instant. His identity as a revered football hero was stripped away, and everyone who had previously adored him disappeared. Except for me.
Every other night I drove to the hospital with my books and case studies and sat in his room reading and studying while he watched TV. On the few occasions that his mother came to see him, I would make myself scarce.
Exhausted did not begin to convey the depths of my fatigue. Between caring for my mom, attending classes, and visiting Tyler, I was in a permanent fog. Cam left a note on my door one night after about three weeks of that routine asking me to stop by when I got home from the hospital.
