Why Now?

by Carey Heywood

  She shakes her head. There’s a banner running across the bottom of the screen. It reads there are causalities confirmed, number unknown.

  Causalities confirmed.

  The sound of the TV reporter penetrates. “This is footage from a Danish owned oilrig located off the coast of Santa Barbara. We have been told there are causalities to what appears to have been an explosion. We have been unable to confirm the number of causalities at this time. Local environmental experts are reviewing the scene to determine the impact of this explosion. As you can see from the footage, there appears to be some oil on the surface of the water. We haven’t been able to confirm exactly how many gallons. Stay with us as we will be covering this explosion and providing live updates as they happen.”

  Reilly picks up the remote and mutes the TV.

  “What if they have an update?” I hiss.

  She turns to me. “I’m going to go into the station. I’ll be able to find out more there. Do you want to stay here or come with?”

  My eyes fill with tears. “What if something happened to Jake?”

  She reaches up to grip my arm. “Now is not the time to fall apart. We don’t know and we might not know anything for a while. We need to hold it together.”

  “You’re right. Shit, you’re right. Shit. Okay, let me throw on some clothes.”

  It’s then that I notice she’s also still in her pajamas. “How did you find out?”

  “Eddie texted me. He knows, crap everyone knows Jake works on a rig. He just didn’t know which one. He texted me because he knew I’d want to know one way or another.”

  Eddie is one of the morning producers at the station where she works.

  “Are you sure it’s his rig?” I ask, hope blooming in my chest.

  “As far as I can tell, his is the only Danish owned rig off Santa Barbara.”

  Shit.

  “He’s fine. He has to be,” I say, more for myself than for her.

  She goes to her room and I hurry back into mine to change. We meet back in the living room.

  “I’ll follow you there,” I say, grabbing my keys.

  She nods and we leave. The station isn’t far from where we live but it’s not close enough to walk to. Reilly could have driven me. She would have let me take her car and caught a ride home with someone else if I needed to leave.

  I needed the time by myself to process. He has to be okay. The world wouldn’t be so cruel to finally bring us together only to separate us like this.

  “Please let him be okay,” I whisper. “Please. I need him. There’s no one else for me. Please let him be okay.”

  My eyes mist and I have to blink away my tears and focus on Reilly’s taillights. God, Reilly. If anything happened to Jake that would be it for her. She’ll have no family left. No, stop thinking like that Kacey.

  He’s okay. My heart is still beating. Surely, if something happened to him I would sense it. Wouldn’t I? It doesn’t seem possible that you could love someone for most of your life and not know if something bad happened to them.

  Reilly parks and I pull into the spot next to her. Together we walk into the station. There’s a lobby area with dated chairs but Reilly walks past it to a door with a page sensor lock on it.

  The main filming area of the station is closed off behind wooden doors. There’s a red light above them that’s turned on to warn people that they’re currently filming.

  That isn’t where Reilly’s going, though. She’s looking for Eddie, the morning producer. She holds a door for me and we enter what I think is called the control room. Reilly’s told me a hundred times but I always forget.

  “Eddie,” she says, crossing the room to hug an older black man wearing a baseball hat.

  People in the room turn to watch them.

  “Is Stan here?” She asks, taking a step back.

  Eddie nods toward an office with “Station Manager” stamped on a plaque. He’s in his office.”

  “Has he heard anything new? I listened on my way in but they weren’t reporting any updates to what we already know.”

  “Nothing new. Stan has been on the phone with an affiliate in Santa Barbara.”

  “Are they the one with a helicopter? I couldn’t make out the logo on the side of the one I saw earlier.”

  He nods. “I think they might.” Then he pauses. “Have you gotten any calls?”

  “Calls?” She asks. She stiffens, and reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Nope, no calls or texts, other than the one I got from you this morning.”

  He takes off his cap, runs a hand over his head and puts his cap back on. “Are you listed as Jake’s next of kin?”

  Next of kin. Confirmed casualties. Oilrig explosion. Unknown dead. These are all the last things you want to hear when the man you love is somewhere out in the middle of the ocean on an oilrig. My hand goes to my chest as I struggle to pull air in.

  As if remembering that I’m there, Reilly gestures to me. “Is it cool that Kacey stays here with me?”

  Eddie looks over at me, his eyes sympathetic. “Of course. Do you want me to go get Stan for you?”

  She shakes her head. “You stay here. I’ve interrupted you enough already. I’ll go.”

  Again, I follow her through the labyrinth that is the news station and to an office past a group of cubicles.

  She knocks on the door, even though it’s open.

  “Come in,”

  I wait for her outside; I pull my phone from my purse so I can text Dr. Colver what’s going on. There’s no chance I’m making it in today. Even if we get good news, my nerves are too fried to work.

  Reilly comes out a moment later.

  “Anything new?” I ask.

  She motions for me to follow her and leads me to one of the cubicles.

  When we get there, she answers my question. “Yes and no. There’s still no confirmation that there was an explosion at all. Not that it matters what happened to cause the fire. The rig has lifeboats and there’s footage of at least one being used and met by a Coast Guard ship. Another Coast Guard ship was filmed at the rig. Both boats were filmed en route to Ventura. That’s all we know.”

  “Eddie freaked me out when he asked if you got a call,” I admit.

  She nods.

  “Has that ever happened before? Have you ever gotten a call about something happening on the rig.”

  She nods, and sits on the desk while I move to sink into the rolling chair. “Once, there was an earthquake. I think it happened six years ago. The rig was evacuated and Jake and the other workers were put up in a motel for a couple of days.”

  “This is so scary, Reilly.”

  Her phone buzzes and both of our eyes bug out.

  “It’s only Heath,” she says, pressing her hand to her chest.

  She answers. “Hi.”

  There’s a pause while Heath says something.

  “Kace is with me. I’m at the station. We haven’t heard anything specific to Jake yet.”

  There’s another pause.

  Jake has to be okay.

  Somewhere behind us, I hear someone tapping away on a computer, humming to themselves like it’s any other day.

  “You don’t have to come here.”

  Another pause.

  If he isn’t okay . . . no, don’t think like that. There’s the bubbly glug, glug, glug of someone getting water from a cooler.

  “Yes, I promise. I’ll let you know once I hear something.”

  Another pause.

  What if I’ll never see him again?

  The fluorescent light above us flickers.

  “I’ll tell Kacey.”

  Another pause.

  Why didn’t I tell him I loved him?

  The seam of my sock is pressing into my pinkie toe.

  “Okay, bye.”

  Hum-glug-flicker-press.

  Hum-glug-flicker-press.

  Hum-glug-flicker-press.

  To anyone looking at me, I’m sitting in a chair. On the inside, I’m falli
ng apart. I think my heart is beating. I think I’m breathing. I think I exist. I think I’m here. Really, it’s like I’m frozen, paused, in a panicked limbo where I’m scared to hope and just waiting for someone to tell me what to do. She sets her phone next to her on her desk and looks at me. “I’m not sure I can just sit around and wait here. Want to go with me to Santa Barbara?”

  I stand. “Let’s go.”

  She talks to Eddie before we leave to clear it with him.

  “We shouldn’t have come here,” she says, hugging herself. “We should have gone straight there.”

  It was early, we weren’t thinking. It makes no sense to argue with her since she’s right. We should have gone straight there.

  We do not stop, not to eat, not to pee, not to stretch our legs. Putting her lead foot to good use, Reilly gets us there in just under two and a half hours.

  We drive to the Santa Barbara Coast Guard base and are told at the front gate that injured survivors were airlifted to a local hospital. The name of which we were not told and we also weren’t told where uninjured survivors were taken.

  No amount of pleading or crying would get anything else out of them. Finally, giving up Reilly calls Eddie.

  She turns her car around. “Eddie said we should go to Presbyterian hospital,” she pauses to take a deep breath before continuing, “since locally they have the best burn unit in the area.”

  The lady working the information desk is no help.

  “His name is Jake Whitmore,” Reilly repeats herself. “I’m his sister. Is he being treated here?”

  “Like I said before. I am unable to confirm if any of the injured workers from the oilrig are being treated here.”

  Reilly’s eyes flash and she fishes her driver’s license from her wallet out, brandishing it to the information worker. “You see this? It says, Reilly Whitmore. I am Jake Whitmore’s in case of emergency contact. Please tell me if he’s here.”

  The information lady types into her computer. “I am unable to confirm we are treating a patient by that name.”

  Reilly opens her mouth to keep arguing but claps it shut when her phone starts buzzing.

  She holds the display up for me to see. “It’s an unknown number.”

  She backs away from the information desk and answers, pressing it to her ear while shoving her license into her purse. We’re too close to the automatic doors. They open and stay that way. Taking her arm, I tug her off to the side a couple of steps. The doors close.

  “Yes, this is Reilly Whitmore.”

  She looks at me and reaches out her hand. I clasp it in both of mine.

  “Yes, Jake Whitmore is my brother.”

  My heart pounds in my chest, my eyes locked on her face.

  “Oh thank God. Where is he?”

  My eyes fill with tears. He’s alive.

  Her next question stops me cold and all of my worst fears come to life.

  “How badly is he hurt?”

  Beep . . . beep . . . beep . . . paging Dr. Stevens, paging Dr. Stevens.

  I blink and then cough. My throat burns as air passes through it. Dim white walls surround me. There’s noise, but I’m not understanding any of it. Words I get, but my brain is so jumbled it’s like a connect the dots picture with no numbers. None of it makes sense. Like the rising sun burns away a morning mist, my mind begins to put the fragments back together.

  Then it all comes back.

  Fuck.

  The explosion.

  The fire.

  With a jerk, I try to sit up but sharp pains in my chest and bright stars lighting up behind my eyes has me settling back down quickly.

  “Hello,” I rasp, staring at the stippled panels of the drop ceiling above my head.

  There’s an oxygen mask over my mouth and nose muffling the sound. Each vowel and consonant of that one word is surrounded by razor blades that shred my throat as I speak.

  Saliva pools in my mouth and it’s a physical fight to swallow it.

  “You’re awake.”

  I recognize that voice. When I look toward the source of it, I see Kacey. She’s grinning from ear to ear but looks ready to burst into tears as well.

  “Baby,” I mouth.

  Her face crumples and she shoves it against the side of mine, crying so hard she hiccups. It’s then I see Reilly in a chair next to Kacey’s. She wakes with a start and then falls forward to hug my thigh as she cries as well.

  “You scared the shit out of us,” she sobs against my leg.

  I try to lift my hand. All I want to do is pantomime drinking a glass of water to soothe the burning pain in my throat. My arm is weighted down by something.

  The same thing happens when I try to lift my other arm. My eyes widen and I open my mouth but then close it when I remember the pain.

  “It’s so good to see you awake,” Reilly cries, her voice thick as she wipes tears from her eyes.

  Kacey lifts her head from the side of mine, and I look back and forth from her to Reilly.

  “How are you feeling?” Reilly asks.

  I shake my head.

  “I’m going to call the nurse,” Kacey says, her eyes moving over my face before she reaches for something behind my head.

  “Jake, can you talk?” Reilly asks hopefully.

  My forehead furrows. What do I do? Speak and reawaken the pain inside my throat or leave her worrying?

  “Hurts to,” I manage, the pain no less this time but the shock of it is gone.

  Her face softens and she moves closer to Kacey to run her fingertips across my forehead. There’s comfort in her touch but it also aggravates the dull thumping in my head.

  Kacey straightens and steps away from my bed when an older scrub wearing woman who reminds me of Mrs. Fairlane enters my room.

  “Well hello, Mr. Whitmore. My, my, my, it is sure nice to see those big green eyes of yours. My name is Helen.”

  “He says it hurts to talk,” Reilly answers, as the nurse moves to the other side of my bed.

  Slowly, I turn my head so I can track her movements.

  “You inhaled quite a bit of smoke young man, so that is to be expected and why you’re wearing that oxygen mask. How about we stick to yes or no answers for right now, or does it hurt your head to nod or shake it?

  Instantly, I shake my head no.

  “We have a pain scale, from one to ten. I’m going to start with five. Is your pain above a five?”

  I nod.

  “Okay, Mr. Whitmore—“

  “You should call him Jake,” Reilly interrupts. “He prefers it.”

  Helen’s eyes gentle. “Jake it is. Now, remember that pain scale. How about an eight? Nod your head if your pain is more than eight.”

  I shake my head.

  “Okay, now is your pain less than seven or more than seven. If it is seven do nothing.”

  I do nothing.

  “Seven it is. Would you like some water?”

  I almost say yes but stop myself and nod.

  She looks up at Kacey. “Ms. Kacey, there is a plastic water bottle next to the sink. Can you please take it to the nurses station and ask for some water while I check Jake out?”

  Kacey is already gone by the time I turn my head to look at her.

  Moving my head back and forth is making the throb in it increase, so I keep it turned toward the door.

  My eyes find Reilly. There are dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes. It’s a shock to see her like this. She’s normally so camera ready. Even that night she fell and scraped up her hands and her chin she looked put together.

  Now, standing with her hands clasped, her chin resting on them, she looks down at me with a mixture of exhaustion and relief. The exhaustion winning the competition between the two, so much so that there’s a decent chance the AC kicking on would knock her over.

  Kacey walks back in as Helen goes to leave. She pauses next to Kacey. “I’m getting the doctor so we can do something about his pain. Have him go easy on the water. It’s going to hurt like heck goi
ng down for the next day or so.”

  Kacey nods and then skirts around Reilly to come back to stand by my head. She looks just as exhausted as Reilly. That doesn’t stop her from being the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  After the explosion, the blast sent me flying and darkness set in. I feared I’d never see Kacey again. The fucking muddy scramble to the deck, the flames around me lighting the way, I was sure I wasn’t going to make it.

  If Erik hadn’t of pulled me from the heap I landed in and pushed me forward, I would have died there. I tasted the fumes all around me; it was God awful and terrifying.

  When I first started working on the rig, I had dreams where I’d fall off the side and drown. Surrounded by those flames made drowning sound peaceful in comparison. The fire sucked away all of the oxygen. It was fucking hell on earth.

  My eyes focus on the plastic cup Kacey is holding. My eyes move up to her face and when her eyes focus on mine, I let my gaze travel down to the cup and open my mouth.

  She understands me, thank goodness. She leans forward, lifting the bottom of the oxygen mask and lines the straw up to my lips.

  The first sip sucks.

  My mouth and throat are like dry earth during a drought. After weeks of no rain, the ground has forgotten how to absorb it. I’m the same way, pain and dryness making the water more irritation than a balm.

  By the time the nurse is back with the doctor, I’ve managed to take four more sips. Each of them hurt but I’m getting used to the sting or it’s dulling.

  The doctor introduces herself as Dr. Malkin. She has Helen increase my pain meds and I drift off back to sleep.

  The sound of a game show wheel spinning makes me blink. Is this a dream?

  “That’s loud Reilly. You’ll wake Jake,” Kacey whispers.

  Kacey is lying next to me, her front pressed to my side, her arm a warm weight across my stomach. Turning my head, I see Reilly sitting in a chair on the far side of my bed furthest from my door. She’s looking at a TV mounted to the ceiling of my room, a game show on. That accounts for the spinning sound.

  “Hey,” I rasp, pleased that speaking doesn’t hurt as much as it did the last time.

  “Jake,” Kacey cries, lifting her head and turning it to look down at me.

  “Hey, Killer,” I reply.