4. The Other Side of Despair
Summer
Some amount of time later—I was in a bit of a fog, to tell the truth—the man was still driving, and I was still holding Delilah. That is, until she said, “You’re … wet. Making me colder.”
“Oh.” I pulled away. “Sorry.” My arms wrapped around myself instead, because I needed to hold on to something. My teeth were chattering, I was freezing, my skin felt clammy, and my mouth was dry as the Sahara despite the deluge outside. I felt very, very weird. The man was driving fast. I knew fast driving, and he was doing it. Like an … an entitled athlete. Arrogant.
The thought was hazy. It was also unfair, I realized dimly, trying to hold on, to stay here. I pulled my knees up to make myself into a ball, trying to get warm, and forced myself to focus. To think. He’d helped us. He was driving fast because … because he was taking us to the hospital. I should talk to him, ask his name. I should say thank you. I should figure out what we … what we …
Delilah. The van. Our things. All of it.
I couldn’t. My cut hand and leg started throbbing even worse at the thought, my mind trying to go blank. I couldn’t let it go blank, though. The man wasn’t in charge here. He was helping, yes, but it wasn’t his problem. It was my problem, and I was in charge. The minute we got to the hospital, I was going to have to … to figure everything out.
He got to a city—this had to be Dunedin—and slowed down, so we were off the motorway, then taking some turns. We must be getting close. It was good he knew where the hospital was. We’d go in, and I’d …
A driveway. The car pulled into it with a mighty splash and stopped in front of glass doors.
This was it. Up to me.
“Th-thanks,” I said. My teeth wouldn’t stop chattering, and my mind was still doing that blank thing. I fought it, pulled at the door handle with a trembling hand. “If you can help me get … help me get her out.” He was our ride, not our savior. Just our ride.
I was out of the car, then, around to Delilah’s side, saying, “Can you walk?”
“Sure,” she said, but when she tried to get out, she sank back, put a hand to her head, and said, “Just a little … dizzy. My head hurts a lot.”
“Come on,” I said, my arm around her waist. Then I had to put out a hand and steady myself against the door. Just for a moment. “I’ll help. We’ll go …”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” It was the man, behind me. “Would you let me do it?”
“You can’t … park here,” I said. That was clear to me. That was the focus. “Help me get her up. I can … I can take her.” I couldn’t get enough breath. Why couldn’t I breathe? I was fine. I was fine! “Life begins on the other … the other side of despair.” That was by Sartre. My mantra, lately. “What if you can’t … what if you can’t get to the other side, though? I don’t think I can …”
I didn’t realize I’d said all that aloud until Delilah said, “Oh, my God. Just stop and have despair. I can’t take any more quotations.”
I said, “I … I …” I still couldn’t breathe, or maybe that was the rain, but my throat was closing up. Was I having an allergic reaction? Was I going to …
The man swore again, worse this time. Delilah said, “Summer doesn’t approve.”
“Pardon?” he asked.
“Swearing,” she said.
“Bloody hell,” he said. “It’s everywhere I go. Right. Get back in the car, both of you, and hang on. I’ll go get somebody to help.”
I didn’t get back in the car. It seemed too hard. I shut the door on Delilah, put my non-bloody hand on the car’s roof, and waited in the rain, feeling like a left-behind dog, uncomprehending.
Think, I told myself as fiercely as I could manage. You’re not a dog. Think.
I couldn’t. I was wet. I was hurting. I was so cold. And it was all gone.
Somebody coming, then. A woman in scrubs and a raincoat, getting wet herself, pushing a wheelchair.
I opened the car door with fumbling fingers. “Here. She hit her … head. She …”
“He told us,” the woman said, pulling Delilah from the car and depositing her in the wheelchair. I said, “Oh,” and began to go after her.
Oh. The man. Still standing there. I turned and said, “Th-thanks. I’ll—I’ll—” Then stopped, because I had no idea what I’d do. What happened now? I felt for my phone in my pockets, then remembered I didn’t have it.
He said, “I’ll park and come find you.”
“You don’t have to.” That was the one thing I seemed to know. “It’s not your … problem.”
“As your campervan is decorating my hillside,” he said, “it’s very bloody much my problem.”
“Oh. I’ll—” There I was again, with nothing to say.
“Stop standing here in the rain,” he said, “and go inside and have them see to all that. I’ll find you.”
“But I’m—but you’re—” It was so hard to focus. I had my hand on the car again. Why was I dizzy? I hadn’t hit my head. Why couldn’t I breathe? “I’m …”
He muttered something—something dirty, I was sure. I couldn’t quite hear it. Everything was going a little gray, suddenly. He opened the car door, but on the passenger side, picked me straight up off my feet, and put me in there. Then he shut the door and headed around to his side.
“What?” I was still saying when he closed his door and started driving. “Delilah! I have to—” Wait. Was he kidnapping me?
Oh. No. He was driving around to the parking lot and pulling in. I was halfway out of the car by the time he’d turned it off, saying, “Right. You parked. Right.” Aware that I was babbling, but not able to do anything about it.
He said, “I’ve never been the hero type.” I was still blinking at that when he reached down and picked me up.
I said, “What? I can … I can walk.”
“Yeh? Didn’t look like it to me.” He was striding through the parking lot, then, the same way he’d strode down that hill. Through the doors into Emergency and up to a desk with somebody behind it. A nurse, probably. There was no sign of Delilah. That was good. That meant they’d be taking care of her.
“She was with the other girl,” the man told the nurse. “Hypothermia. Shock. She’s bled a fair bit, too. Not making much sense. In a daze.”
I was not in a daze! I was cold, that was all! I said, my teeth still chattering, “I’m … fine. I’ll be fine.”
The nurse said, “Sit with her a minute. I’ll get somebody,” and picked up a phone.
Did the man put me down? Not exactly. He sat down. With me in his lap. Things were getting fuzzier, though. I closed my eyes.
If I could only get warm.