Phillip drives down the gravel road that will take us back into town. It’s deathly quiet in the car. He hasn’t said a word to me, and I’m not about to break the silence. I’m mad about the way he treated me at the party. I know he thinks he’s helping, but was it really necessary to drag me out of there? I’ve seen fights at parties before and survived them.
Okay, so I’ve never been the direct cause of one before, but that’s beside the point.
I’m sure it broke up quickly and is already over. The guys are probably back to drinking, telling stories, and having fun.
Without me.
It’s not fair. I could be kissing Danny right now.
I really, really liked kissing Danny. I was also very much looking forward to what might have happened next, as in I just might have taken Lisa’s advice and attacked him. I need to get back to the party, back to Danny.
Phillip pulls his car off to the side of the road, puts it into park, then turns to me, and says, “Stop glaring at me.”
“I’m not glaring at you.”
But I might very well be giving you mad glances.
“Yes, you are.”
“Well, you’re glaring back.”
“Look, I know you didn’t want to leave, but, unlike you, I did the right thing tonight,” Phillip brags.
What is he talking about? This has nothing to do with right and wrong. Except that he was wrong to make me leave.
“The right thing?”
“Yes, whereas you never thought once about whether any of the things you were doing were right or wrong.”
He is chastising me.
I have had about enough of jerk boys tonight, thank you very much.
“I didn’t do anything wrong tonight, Phillip, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
“Really? Did you once stop to think that getting Danny into a fight could possibly get him injured and ruin his football career?”
I stare at him. And, uh, no, that thought did not cross my mind, but I will not share that piece of information with him.
“You ought to think about someone besides yourself for a change,” he says, adding insult to injury.
“I didn’t make Danny do anything. He wanted to. In fact, the whole make-Jake-jealous thing was his idea!”
This boy is infuriating!
He says to me, “Whatever. I’m not going to fight with you about this.”
He puts the car in gear and starts driving again.
Not only are we done fighting, but evidently, we are done talking, too.
“So, where do you want to go?”
“Back to the party.”
He glares at me, so I say, “I really should let Lisa know where I am. I was supposed to ride home with her, and I don’t want her to worry.” What I don’t say is, I wanna see Danny, I wanna kiss Danny, I might even want to, uh, do it with Danny.
I am not ready for this night to end. Why did I let him drag me to the car? What was I thinking?
“I already told Lisa that I would take you home.”
Wait. How did he do that? We never stopped to tell her, and the fight broke out quickly, so that means he planned this.
He’s not just a jerk.
He’s a premeditating jerk.
“Before the fight started?” I call him on it.
“Yes.”
“So, you planned this?”
“Well, let’s just say that I was smart enough to figure out exactly what was going to happen tonight. So, where?”
I really don’t know what to do. I just know I won’t give him the satisfaction of taking me straight home. Maybe the fight will break up the party, and everyone will head back into town.
“Let’s go to The Gas Stop. I’m hungry.”
“Great.” He gives me a cocky grin. “I need to get gas anyway.”
“You would have to turn it into something practical,” I mutter under my breath.
Of course, he hears me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Spontaneous.”
I get the glare again.
“Well, I was almost spontaneous tonight. I almost dragged you out of the party before the fight started, but I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. Obviously, that was a mistake.”
We pull up to the gas pump. Phillip jumps out and starts the pump. Then gets back into the car. I’m checking out the parking lot between the Gas Stop and the bowling alley and see, sadly, that no one is around.
Darn. Now what?
I’m supposed to be hungry. That’s why I wanted to come here, but food does not sound the least bit appetizing. Not even Hostess CupCakes.
I must be more distraught than I realized.
Phillip snarls, “I thought you were hungry.”
I can tell he knows I was lying.
“What can I say? You made me lose my appetite.”
See? Something is your fault. You’re not perfect.
Jerk.
“I see.” He smirks.
The smirk on his face is pretty much the last straw, so I let him have it.
“Phillip, can’t you ever do something just because it feels good? Why do you have to think through and analyze every situation to death?”
“What? Would you rather I was like you and never thought anything through? You were in trouble at the party, and you know it.”
“Maybe I wanted trouble, Phillip,”
“Well, you know what? That would have been fine, but then you had to drag Danny into the whole fiasco.”
“I dragged Danny?”
The boy is playing rough.
Fine.
“Yeah, I dragged Danny, kicking and screaming, straight to my lips and forced him to kiss me. Many, many times.”
I don’t know why I think this will upset Phillip. I mean, I know he doesn’t like me, but I do know something about Danny and me together bugs him.
So there.
“Besides, this mess isn’t my fault. It’s Jake’s. He started the whole stupid thing.” I shake my head at him. “And Danny’s a big boy. I can’t make him do anything.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised at what you can make Danny do,” Phillip says like I’m some harlot.
“Phillip, he kissed me. Not the other way around. Granted, he might have done it because he felt sorry for me, but no one, especially not me, made him.” I stop and look closely at Phillip to gauge his reaction. “And what would be so wrong about Danny and me together anyway?”
Phillip looks exasperated. He shakes his head in disbelief and chuckles. “You’d kill each other, for one, because you’d fight constantly. It’d never work. And you’d completely screw your friendship.”
“Well, at least Danny and I feel strongly enough about things to fight about them. It shows we have passion, that something is important to us. You know, Phillip, it’s okay to have feelings.”
Phillip doesn’t respond.
So, I say, “You know what? I give up. All you ever do is make me feel bad because I’m not perfect like you. I don’t need it anymore, and I’m not sure I want to be your friend either. Take me home.” I madly cross my arms in front of my chest with a humph.
“I thought you didn’t want to go home,” Phillip says in a snotty little boy voice.
I don’t get a chance to respond to Jerk Boy because his cell rings.
Maybe it’s Danny!
He sighs at me, looks at his phone, reads the caller ID, and whispers, “It’s Dad,” before he presses Talk. “Hey, Dad.”
I listen to his side of the conversation.
“Yeah, I do. She’s in the car with me now.” He glares over at me. “I was just about to take her home.”
He gives me the snotty little boy look again. Then his expression drops as the color drains from his face. I watch his eyes bug out like he’s hearing that aliens just landed on Earth or something else unbelievable.
“Uh. O-kay.” He looks at me sideways and lets out a sigh. “We’ll be there as fast as we can, Dad. I will.”
I ask, “What? What’s wrong?” I’m worried because whatever his dad said didn’t sound like good news. I wonder if there was a terrorist attack or something equally horrific.
Phillip takes a deep breath, like what he has to tell me is so very bad.
“Your parents were in a serious car accident.” He blows out a big breath. “They are being life-flighted to University Hospital. My parents were following them home when it happened. They’ll meet us there.”
“What?”
Phillip flies out of the car and quickly shuts off the gas pump. We leave the Gas Stop fast, and he’s already speeding by the time we hit the viaduct going out of town.
I look at his speedometer and then at him with a what are you doing look.
Phillip never speeds.
Reading my mind, he says, “I know I’m going a bit fast, but Dad said to hurry.”
That can’t be good, can it? My world feels like it’s slipping out from underneath me, and to top it off, Phillip is mad at me. That’s fine. I’m mad at him, too. But, at the same time, I’m glad he’s here. This is scaring me.
Because life-flighted …
That’s bad, isn’t it?
Just as we climb the hill and go speeding by the high school, a police car’s lights come flashing on behind us.
“We don’t have time for this.”
“What do you mean, Phillip? How bad is it? Phillip?”
He pulls over and rolls down his window. Then, he turns to me. “Bad. Really bad.”
“Bad as in broken bones? A bit smashed up? Paralysis, coma?” I pause and think, Oh my God … “Or like dying bad?”
“I don’t know.”
The officer walks up to the window and shines his flashlight in our eyes. “JJ?” the policeman asks.
I hold my hand in front of my squinting eyes, trying to see whose face the familiar voice is coming from.
Phillip says to the officer, “You know JJ?”
“Sure. Went to high school with her dad. Still play Wiffle ball together.”
Phillip looks up to the roof of his car and mutters, “Thank you.”
In a very businesslike tone, he tells the officer, “Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds were in a bad car accident and are being airlifted to the hospital. I was told to get JJ there. Fast.”
“Not the accident that has the interstate shut down?”
“Um”—Phillip gulps—“yeah.”
“Damn. Leave your car here and come with me,” Officer Myers tells Phillip. “I’ll get you there.”
“Come on,” Phillip says, pulling me out of his car and putting me into the squad car next to him.
“Is there anything you’re not telling me?”
He tells me that everything will be okay, but his body language is sending out an entirely different message. He is way tense. I can tell that he is biting down hard on his back teeth. It’s making his jaw look very stiff. I can’t tell if it is because the accident was a bad one or because he is so mad that he hates me now and can’t even stand to speak to me.
“Let’s just get there,” he says, not really answering my question.
Officer Myers, who I do recognize now that he’s not blinding me with his flashlight, does play Wiffle ball with my dad. I think his first name starts with a J, like John or James, but everyone calls him Cookie. Don’t know where they come up with these nicknames. Everyone who lives in a small town—the guys who play Wiffle ball on Sundays, in particular—seem to have them. I think I remember hearing that they call him Cookie because in, like, fifth grade, he stole the neighbor girl’s boxes of Girl Scout cookies and ate them all.
I don’t know why I’m thinking about all this. I feel bizarre. I have tons of adrenaline rushing through my body. Part of me feels like I could jump the tallest building or run faster to the Med Center, but the other part of me feels numb. Like I can’t move. Like I’m paralyzed.
The police car goes fast, the lights flash, and the siren blares. I usually hate hearing sirens. They have always kind of scared me, but for some reason—maybe because it never stops—it’s almost comforting this time.
I pray the whole way there.
Please let them be okay.
Whooh, whooh, whooh.
Please let them be okay.
Whooh, whooh, whooh.
Please let them be okay.
It’s like the siren and my prayer have a sort of rhythm.
I close my eyes. Maybe I’m having a bad dream. Maybe this whole messed up night is just some bad, horrible, crazy dream.
I will myself to wake up. I slowly open my eyes, only to see Phillip staring out of a police car window with a scared and numb look on his face.
So, it’s not a dream.
Okay, I need to mentally prepare myself. Be rational. Whatever this is, I can handle it. Obviously, they are hurt badly if they are being airlifted. But lots of people get better after bad car wrecks. You see it on television all the time. Broken bones heal; scars can be fixed.
They are going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine.
I see the hospital up ahead. We’re almost there. I feel a hand on my shoulder, so I lean my head toward it and touch my cheek to it. I take a long, slow breath and feel myself relax. I feel comforted. As we pull up to the emergency entrance, I put my hand up to my shoulder for more reassurance, but my hand only touches my fuzzy sweater.
That’s weird. For a minute, I thought it was Mom’s hand I touched. She always holds my shoulder like that. But I shake my head at that thought because, duh, she’s obviously not here.
I hear Phillip tell Cookie, “Thanks for the ride.”
Oh, boy. Here we go.
We get out of the car and walk through the emergency room doors. I see Phillip’s dad right away. He’s pacing, waiting for us, and he doesn’t look so good. Truthfully, he looks terrible, like he’s been crying. His shirt’s untucked and dirty, his hair’s a mess, and—oh God, it’s not dirt. It’s blood all over his shirt.
He was there, I remember.
“How are they?” I ask immediately as he takes my hands in his.
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, opens them, and says somberly, “JJ, honey, your mom didn’t make it.”
Didn’t make what?
Oh.
God, no!
That can’t possibly be.
There’s got to be some kind of mistake!
But I don’t have time to think because he drags me down the hall.
“Come on. Hurry. You need to see your dad. He’s been asking for you.”
We’re riding up the elevators to Intensive Care when he adds, “He’s not doing well, JJ.”
I cannot even handle this.
He rushes me into ICU and lets the nurse know I’m here. She leads us to Dad’s room.
Oh my.
All my self-talk in the police car did nothing to prepare me for this.
Saying Dad doesn’t look good is a major understatement. He looks … well, like he’s going to die, and I am instantly petrified. His head is wrapped in bloody bandages. The majority of his face looks swollen and bruised. There are tubes and wires hooked up to him everywhere, and the room is filled with all sorts of beeping monitors.
Part of me thinks this can’t possibly be my dad.
I mean, Dad is big and strong.
He’s invincible. My very own superhero.
I can’t handle seeing him like this. He looks … helpless.
I stand frozen in shock in the doorway. I am totally unable to move. Mr. Mac puts his palm across my lower back and gently guides me closer to Dad’s bed. Then, he turns and walks out of the room.
I stand there and stare at Dad for a minute, not quite sure what to do.
“Daddy?” I finally say.
Dad slowly blinks open his eyes and looks at me.
He’s okay! He’s awake!
I grab his hand and pull it up to my cheek. I feel relief. It’s going to be okay.
I close my eyes and feel warmth go through me as his hand touches my face even though his fingers feel cold.
That’s weird. Dad’s hands are always so warm.
“Angel,” he says and smiles a little smile at me. I mean, really, only the corners of his mouth go up a bit, but I know it’s supposed to be a smile.
“Daddy, everything’s gonna be all right.”
He looks straight at me with eyes that seem to say, No, it’s not.
Not unlike the look he gave me when he told me that Pookie, our beloved dog, had died when I was nine.
Wait. He doesn’t think he will be all right? Or is it just because he knows about Mom? Does he know about Mom?
Is Mr. Mac even sure about Mom?
He looks very tired and closes his eyes, so I sit there, holding his cold hand to my cheek, staring at his swollen face, trying to think positive thoughts, and praying like I have never prayed before.
His eyelids flutter open for a second, and he whispers softly, “Love.” He takes a shallow breath. “My Angel.” His eyes close again.
I keep his hand on my cheek and let him rest.
I’m sure he needs lots of rest.
But I can take care of him for a while. I mean, he has taken care of me for my whole life. I don’t know what we are going to do without Mom. It’s going to be horrible, awful, but I’ll figure it out. He and I will somehow get through it together.
I look at his chest.
Is he breathing?
My eyes get big, and I feel panicked as I watch his chest, waiting for it to rise again, for him to take another breath. I wait for what seems like forever.
Come on!
The monitors start screeching, and an alarm sounds.
Nurses and doctors come tearing into the room. I hold my breath as I sink down into a chair in the corner, pull my legs up on the seat, and wrap my arms around them. A nurse grabs me and hustles me out of the room.
I say a new prayer.
Don’t leave me, Daddy. Don’t leave me, Daddy.
Please don’t leave me. You can so not leave me!
I say it over and over in my mind while I sit in the ICU waiting room.
I think that’s a horrible name. Waiting room. Sitting around and waiting for someone to live or die. It’s terrible. And I will never in my life forget the smell of it. It smells like hospital disinfectant and microwave popcorn. Someone has just made some, like they’re having a party. I see two people over in the corner, eating it and watching TV. They’re even laughing!
That, quite frankly, is something I might never do again. I might very well be devoid of emotion.
What is wrong with me?
My mom’s dead, and my dad could be, and I have not shed a single tear.
My mom is dead. I can’t believe I just thought those words.
There really has to be some kind of mistake. Can they mix up people in the hospital? Don’t they do that with babies sometimes? Maybe, in all the commotion, they mixed up Mom. Maybe she’s going to walk down the hall and tell me she’s okay, that everything is okay, that it was all just a big mistake.
But I don’t think that is going to happen.
I feel so … I don’t know … twisted.
Speaking of twisted, you know the movie Twister?
I know, not my typical romantic comedy genre, but when you live in the Midwest, tornadoes are scary fascinating, and in the spring, that movie plays on basic cable every other weekend.
So, in the movie, they had no warning.
And that’s why they are out chasing dangerous tornados.
Anyway, I think that’s what happened. An invisible F5 tornado just plowed straight through my life, sucking up everything important to me.
And I had no warning.
No menacing clouds, no rain, no hail, no debris.
And I’m the freaking twisted-up cow that goes flailing in front of Jo’s truck. Like I got picked up way over there and was tossed out of the tornado, landing clear over here, shaking my head and wondering, What the *#!$ just happened?
How fitting. I’m the debris.
I look around for Mr. Mac. Did the F5 suck him up, too?
No. He probably went to get Mrs. Mac and Phillip.
Phillip.
Oh crap.
I am such a freaking idiot.
Phillip was really mad at me.
And, even though some of the stuff he said pissed me off, as usual, Phillip always has the situation figured out, and I hate to admit it, but he’s usually right. That is why I do get mad at him sometimes. I hate not being right.
Phillip and I never fight. And that was, like, a fight. And I said some mean stuff to him. Like I told him I didn’t want to be his friend anymore.
Why in the world did I say that? I didn’t mean it.
I’ve got to tell him I’m sorry.
But what if he won’t forgive me? What if he hates me now?
He barely spoke to me in the police car.
He probably does hate me.
Regardless of the fight, I mean, he is my best friend, and I don’t know what I would do without him.
Especially now.
I mutter another prayer.
Please don’t let him hate me. Please don’t let him hate me. Please don’t let him hate me.
The elevator dings, and I stand up in front of my chair and watch the doors open. Standing inside the elevator are Mr. and Mrs. Mac and Phillip.
I try to read Phillip’s face as he steps off the elevator, but I’m unable to judge what he’s thinking. I do notice that his eyes don’t look angry anymore, so maybe there’s hope.
Phillip doesn’t say anything.
He rushes to me, wraps me in a one-armed hug, and pulls me close.
I close my eyes and whimper in his ear, “I’m so sorry, Phillip. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean what I said. Please forgive me. Please forgive me.”
“Princess,” he whispers back, “you know I could never stay mad at you.”
And that’s when the tears come.
Standing there, in Phillip’s arms, this whole nightmare becomes, well, real.
Nothing is ever real until I tell it to Phillip, I think. Why should this be any different?
“She’s dead, Phillip.” I sob into his shoulder. “I think he might be dead, too.”
Mr. Mac says loudly, “What?”
“He might be dead, too. He talked to me—well, he said my name, and he sorta smiled at me. I thought that meant he was going to be okay. But his hands were so cold, and his hands are just like Phillip’s. They’re never cold. Then, he stopped breathing, I think. A bunch of alarms went off, and they made me leave. But no one has come out to tell me anything.”
Because Phillip is smoothing down the back of my hair with the palm of his hand, I actually manage to get the words out.
Mr. Mac drops into a chair, runs his hand through his hair, hangs his head down, and keeps it there. He’s changed out of his, you know, dirty shirt and is wearing a green scrub top. It looks really out of place on him because he’s always a very polished suit-and-tie kind of guy.
Mr. Mac has known my dad longer than I have, I suddenly realize.
We sit in uncomfortable waiting room chairs and wait and wait for what seems like an eternity.
Everyone handles the stress of waiting differently. Mr. Mac paces up and down the hall, jingling some change and keys in his pocket. Mrs. Mac plays hostess. She makes us all coffees and then cleans up a mess that isn’t really there. Phillip sits next to me and holds my hands. I just stare into space, my mind in overdrive, trying to figure out how I am going to deal with this.
Finally, a nurse comes out. She tells us they revived Dad. I feel hopeful, but then she quietly adds that his outlook isn’t good, and a doctor will be out to talk to us soon.
“Is there a chapel here?” I blurt out, feeling a sudden need to have a chat with God.
“Down the hall and to your right,” she tells me.
“I’m gonna go down there, okay?” I tell the Macs.
“Can I come with you?” Phillip asks me. “Or do you want to be alone?”
“Come with me. I might need backup,” I tell Phillip hastily as I march off.
“What do you mean?” he asks as he follows me down the hall and to the right.
“I’m pissed, Phillip. I’m mad at God, and I want him to know it!”
Phillip follows me into the empty chapel.
I walk to the front and hold my arms in the air.
“Okay, God?” I say to the sky. Not that I expect an answer, but I need to get this out. “I mean, what in the hell did they do to deserve this? Why them? Why me?”
“JJ! You can’t say stuff like that in here. It’s totally disrespectful.”
“You know what, Phillip? He pretty much took my parents away from me tonight in one fell swoop. I think I’ve earned the right to say a few bad words. I mean, jeez, could it get any worse?”
Phillip sighs. “You know God doesn’t cause accidents. They’re just that. Accidents.”
“So, what happened, Phillip? Who or what caused this accident? And like God couldn’t have saved them if he wanted to? Haven’t you ever heard of miracles? Don’t you think he could’ve even spared just one?” I yell at both Phillip and God.
Phillip studies my face and begins, “Well, a woman lost control of her car. Crossed the median.” He gulps. “They collided head-on.”
“Oh, figures. And I suppose she wasn’t even hurt. Probably walked away without a scratch while my mom is dead, and Dad is … oh, I don’t know what he is exactly.”
“Actually, they were on the interstate, going seventy-five miles per hour when they collided. They say she was killed instantly.” He intensely looks at me and continues in a measured tone, “Her four-year-old daughter was in the backseat and miraculously only has a few cuts and bruises.”
Oh, sure, throw my miracle request back in my face.
“So, it could be worse. You could be a four-year-old with no mom.”
Leave it to Phillip to find the one damn ray of sunshine in my whole dark life.
“Fine,” I sigh. “So, it could be worse. Regardless of my age, Phillip, I can’t handle this. How am I supposed to handle this?”
I am starting to freaking freak!
“I’ll help you.” He grabs my wrists and leads me to a pew. “My family will help you. You know our parents agreed to take care of each other’s kids if anything happened to them. Your being eighteen doesn’t change how they feel about you.” He runs the back of his hand across my cheek and then holds my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “We love you. I love you. We’ll get through it together.” He breaks a little smile. “You know, Grandma Mac used to say, ‘God never gives you more than you can handle.’”
“My grandma used to say something like that, except hers was, ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’” I shake my head. “It looks like I’m about to get a whole helluva lot stronger.”
“Jadyn,” Phillip says, stroking my cheek again.
Jadyn? Phillip has never called me that.
“You’re the strongest”—he smiles—“and most stubborn person I know. I think maybe you’ll realize just how much strength you already have.”
I don’t know if it’s thinking about Grandma or what Phillip said or the way his touch relaxes me or just having it out with God, so to speak, but I feel a little better.
I say another silent prayer. Sorry for yelling. This is just such a shock. Please help my dad, and please help me.
Maybe I can get through this. I mean, let’s face it; do I really have a choice?
No, I have to.
For my parents, I suppose.
“Thanks, Phillip. We’d better get back. I don’t wanna miss the doctor.”
He holds my hand as we walk back to the waiting room, and that gives me strength somehow.
Mr. and Mrs. Diamond must’ve just arrived. They are crying and hugging the Macs.
They see me and hug me, too.
“Oh, JJ. We’re so sorry, honey. I just can’t believe this,” Mary says tearfully.
We update Chuck and Mary, and I complain that we still haven’t heard from a doctor.
“That’s ridiculous!” Chuck tells us and marches straight into ICU.
Danny’s dad is an attorney and a lot like Danny, a very take-charge kind of guy. I’m glad he’s here because I don’t think Mr. Mac is going to be able to take charge of anything. He’s not dealing so well.
While Mr. Diamond is in the ICU, Mrs. Diamond is on her cell, trying to reach Danny. “Straight to voicemail,” she complains. “I can’t—” She starts crying again. “I can’t just tell him this on voicemail. And I talked to him right before Julie called. He said he saw you guys at a party in town.”
Phillip nods at her.
Jake. Danny. The party. It seems like a lifetime ago.
“Why he hasn’t bothered to stop and see his mother while he is in town, I have no idea,” she mutters. “Anyway, I know his phone’s not dead. Why have one if you’re not going to keep it on and answer it?”
“He’s probably back at his dorm by now. Why don’t you try there?” Phillip suggests.
“Why don’t you try?” she says to Phillip. “Maybe he’s just avoiding his mother.”
Phillip takes out his cell and punches in Danny’s number. I hear him leave a message.
“Hey, it’s Phillip. Your mom’s been trying to reach you for a reason. Call me as soon as you get this. It’s Jay’s parents. Um, there’s been an accident, and it’s … uh, not good. Call me, no matter how late.”
Mr. Diamond walks out of the ICU. He’s lost his swagger.
“The doctor will be out in a few minutes,” he announces. Then, he walks over and sits down beside me. He puts his big hand on my knee, but I’m not sure if it is meant to comfort me or bolster him. “You need to prepare yourself, JJ. The news isn’t going to be good.” He swallows hard, and tears well up in his eyes. He starts to cry as he says, “They don’t think he’s going to make it and want to talk to you about organ donation.”
“Jesus, Chuck! Don’t you think they should try to save him before they start auctioning off his body parts?” Mr. Mac yells. He madly throws his coffee cup in the trash and storms down the hall.
We all ignore his outburst. We know he’s very upset.
I watch him walk down the hall, sigh, and say to Mr. Diamond, “I think he wanted that.”
“He did. I took care of your parents’ estate planning. You’re going to be okay, JJ.” He looks at me with worried eyes and adds softly, “Well, at least financially.”
I sort of roll my eyes because, I’m sorry, finances are the least of my worries right now.
The ICU doors part, and a doctor walks out.
I stand up and rush toward him. “Is he okay?” I ask.
“Jadyn Reynolds?” the doctor asks me.
I nod my head.
“Let’s sit down.”
I cringe at that. On TV, bad news always follows that saying.
I sit down next to Phillip, who grabs my hand and tightly squeezes it.
“Your father suffered severe brain trauma, and his body is shutting down. We’ve revived him once, but we need to discuss what you want done if it happens again. Did he have a living will?”
I look at him, kind of puzzled because I’m not exactly sure what that is.
Danny’s dad stands up and says, “Yes, he did. Here. I brought a copy.” He hands the living will to the doctor.
“What’s that for exactly?” I ask.
Chuck turns to me and says very slowly, “Well, your parents didn’t want you, or each other, to ever have to make difficult decisions about medical care should something like this happen. So, they put their wishes in something called a living will. Your dad did not wish to be held in a vegetative state.”
Oh my gosh, I think. Vegetative state?
“So, bottom line is that he’s going to die?” I ask incredulously.
Please let this be a bad, bad dream.
“Yes, it’s inevitable,” the doctor tells us.
“When?” I ask and then hammer him with a whole slew of questions. “Can I go talk to him? Can he hear me? Is he in pain? What are we supposed to do? What am I supposed to do?”
“Yes, you can talk to him.” The doctor is young, good-looking, and has compassionate eyes. If I wasn’t in such distress, I’d probably be flirting with him. “He’s highly medicated, and he won’t be in any pain. He’s slipped into a coma, so he won’t talk back, but we believe coma patients can hear you. So, go talk to him, tell him you love him, and say good-bye.” He stops and sighs. “I know this is tough, but he signed the back of his driver’s license, indicating his wish to be an organ donor. We need your approval for that. He was a strong, healthy man, and his organs could help many families whose loved ones will die without them.”
I zone out most of what he said because all I can focus on is the word was. He was a strong man.
Was?
I turn and glance at Phillip. “Was?” I put my elbow on my knee, hold my chin in my hand, and close my eyes.
How am I supposed to do this?
I cannot do this.
A voice inside my head—probably the same stupid one that can never say no to a dare or take no for an answer—says, You have to.
“You didn’t answer the when part,” I say.
He shakes his head and purses his lips. “Not long. Maybe a few hours; maybe a few minutes.”
“When do you need to know about the organ donation stuff?”
“When you make a decision, let his nurse know, and she’ll get you the appropriate paperwork. You can all go in to see him, but please, no more than two at a time.” He gets down on his knees in front of me, touches my hand, and says seriously, “Jadyn, I’m very sorry about both your mother and father. I was here when they both came in, and we really did everything we could.”
And I realize that this has been hard on him, too. “Thank you. I appreciate everything you did,” I manage to say.
Mr. Mac comes walking back down the hall. Mr. Diamond heads him off and updates him on the situation.
“I’m going in there,” I state.
I want to see Dad, but I feel sick to my stomach. Part of me feels like, if I just pretend this isn’t happening, then maybe it won’t be. The other part of me needs to say good-bye. I feel like a big, fat chicken.
Get ahold of yourself. You are so not a chicken.
I walk up to Mr. Mac, look at him with well-practiced puppy-dog eyes, and give him a hug. He really looked like he could use one, and truthfully, I’m hoping to soften him up a little.
“Would you come in with me?”
Okay, so maybe I’m a bit chicken.
“I don’t know if I can, JJ,” he answers truthfully. “It tears me up to see him like that.”
“Me, too. But we have to. We’ll do it together, okay?”
He nods his head, and we walk into the ICU.
I hate to say it, but Dad looks worse. His skin is very gray. I don’t know why this is such a shock to me, but it is. I nod my head to Mr. Mac, indicating he can go first.
He puts his hand on my dad’s shoulder and says, “Hey, buddy. Not our best night ever, huh? And we have had some nights, haven’t we?” He pauses, remembering and smiling. Then, he continues, “Things aren’t looking so great for you, so I want you to know I’ll take care of your Angel, as promised.”
Huge tears stream down his face, and he doesn’t bother to wipe them away.
It’s really hard to watch a grown man cry.
He slowly backs away from the bed, so I walk over and perch gently on the edge of it. The hospital smells like cleaner and medicine and disinfectant, yet through it all, I can still smell my dad.
It’s not even his cologne.
It’s just him.
I lay my head across his chest. “I love you, Daddy. So much. I don’t know what I am going to do without you and Mommy.”
This sucks.
No one should ever have to go through this. It’s just so horribly, incredibly awful.
The organ donation thing comes to mind, and I think, if I can save even one family from having to go through this, I should do it.
I walk straight out to the nurse and say, “Let’s do it. Let me sign the papers.”
While I’m signing, she says, “You know you’re doing a wonderful thing. In a few minutes, people across the country will get the call they have been hoping and praying for. Because of you.”
“No. Because of my dad,” I say and walk back in to be with Dad.
He dies a few hours later.
Phillip’s parents drive us home. We get to their house, and like a robot, I wash my face, brush my teeth, and pull on a pair of Phillip’s sweats and a T-shirt. Danny’s mom whips up some sandwiches. They look good, but I have no desire to eat. I sit there on the sofa and don’t say a word.
Really, no one says a word. I think we’re all in shock.
Finally, Mrs. Mac breaks the silence. “I think we should all try to get some sleep.” She turns to me and says, “JJ, the doctor gave us some sleeping pills for you. I think you should take one.”
I shake my head. “There will be a lot to do tomorrow. Oh, I guess it already is tomorrow. I mean, like, later today. Anyway, I helped my parents plan Grandpa Reynolds’s funeral last year, so I know there’ll be lots to do, and I don’t want to feel all groggy.”
I took a sleeping pill once after I broke my arm and had a hard time staying awake the next day.
Danny’s dad says, “JJ, we can do everything for you, honey. You don’t have to.”
“Yeah, I do,” I tell them. “I think I need to.”
Phillip’s cell rings. “Danny,” he says to me.
He gets up and walks into the dining room to talk. Obviously so I can’t hear. As usual, Phillip is trying to protect me.
Like I’m not already painfully aware of what happened tonight.
He walks back into the room and hands me his phone.
“Are you okay?” I ask Danny.
“Ohmigawd, Jay. Yes, are you okay? No, that’s a stupid question. Of course you’re not okay. I am so sorry. God, I should’ve been there with you.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“I’m headed out the door now. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
“Don’t do that, Danny. It’s been a long night, and I don’t want to worry about you driving. And we’re all just getting ready to go to bed, so get some sleep first and come in the morning, okay?”
“O-kay,” he answers.
There’s silence on the other end, and I wonder if the call dropped, but then Danny sighs, “Jay?”
“Yeah?”
“It wasn’t just about making Jake jealous. See you in a few hours.”
Phillip takes the phone away from me and gives it to Mrs. Diamond.
“All right. It’s been a long night.” Mrs. Mac stands up and claps her hands together. “Everybody to bed.”
The Diamonds go home, and I ask pathetically, “Is it okay if I sleep in Phillip’s room? I don’t wanna be alone.”
“Sure, honey,” Mrs. Mac says, hugs me, and heads to her room.
Phillip grabs my hand and leads me upstairs. He lies on his bed, props a pillow behind his back, and holds out his arm. I snuggle into the crook of it, put my head on his chest, and close my eyes.
Phillip doesn’t say anything to me. He just runs his fingers through my hair over and over again.
It is incredibly soothing, and at some point, I must fall asleep.
I wake up a few hours later, still lying on his shoulder.
“You’re awake,” he whispers.
“Why …” I start to say, looking at him and wondering where I am.
Then, it all comes rushing back.
“Oh God. It really happened?”
“Yeah, it did.” He strokes my hair again.
God, he’s sweet.
“It seems like so long ago, but I’m sorry I yelled at you after the party.”
“I doubt it was for the last time.” He chuckles.
“Phillip.”
“Well, at least I hope it wasn’t the last time because it would mean you weren’t with me.”
I roll my eyes at him. I don’t get mad at him that often. Just when he disagrees with me.
“I’ll always love my Princess.” He smiles. “Even when she’s mad at me.” He winces and says seriously, “I’m really sorry about everything. This is going to be so rough, but I want you to know that I’m here for you. My family’s here for you.”
And they were there for me.
Especially Phillip.
He stood by my side and held my hand through it all. As I picked out caskets and gravestones, planned the funeral, chose the pallbearers, picked the music, the scriptures, the speakers, and even when I had to decide what clothes they should wear.
And, every night, the only way I could go to sleep was lying on his shoulder.
I never could’ve gotten through these last few days without him.
