Chapter 30
30
MALCOLM
M y head is leaning against the arm of my sofa and my eyes are scanning the pages of Dante’s Inferno when I hear my phone buzzing on the coffee table. I still have a few minutes before I need to leave for the bar for my opening shift and I’m planning on going back to Ophelia’s place afterwards. Dante and Virgil are trying to enter the fifth ring of Hell but are interrupted when whoever called me, calls for a second time. Leaning over, I grab my phone and answer it when I see Marshall’s name flashing across the screen.
“Hello?”
“Malcolm,” Reese’s voice comes over the line which I find odd, seeing as how it was Marshall’s caller ID on my phone. His voice is panicked, almost scared. “You need to come, it’s Marshall.”
I stand from the couch so fast I get lightheaded for a moment and fall back down. Marshall. Need to come. Panicked sounding.
“What’s wrong with Marshall?” I demand, standing up from the couch again, frantically looking for my shoes and keys.
“He…he’s not well. He fainted at the gym and…” Reese’s words are getting caught in his throat and I can picture his sullen face in my mind as if he were right in front of me.
“Where are you?” I press, trying to keep my voice calm even though my brain is already spiraling in a million different directions.
“In the ambulance now, they’re taking him to MUSC downtown. It’s his heart, Malcolm.” The sound of his voice breaking nearly brings me to my knees. No one cares about Marshall as much as I do, but I don’t even shine a light next to Reese.
“I’ll meet you there.”
* * *
The next several hours are a ruthless game of waiting and hoping. Ophelia arrived with Bailey soon after I called her and sat next to me while we waited for answers. As we sat, Reese filled me in on what had been going on with Marshall over the last few months and I learned that he had been diagnosed with a heart condition long before I met him. He’s been living with it for years with the help of medications and taking care of himself, but the residual effects of his past drug use and stress of running the restaurant, and being an active member of the sobriety community had worn him down.
“His doctor told him to slow down, but you know Marshall,” Reese explains as we sit in a sterile waiting room.
“The man won’t slow down unless stopped by a freight train,” I reply and we both try to smile. It feels wrong though, to smile, knowing that Marshall is sick and there’s nothing I can do to help him.
“Hey, we’re gonna go get some food from the cafeteria, you two want anything?” Kolbi’s voice comes up from behind me and I turn to face him. Standing next to him are Conrad and Hank who are both looking at Reese and I. Magnolia and Bailey are sitting across the waiting room with Ophelia, huddled together and whispering.
“I’d take a coffee if you don’t mind,” Reese requests, looking up at my friend. They all arrived at the hospital not long after Marshall was admitted and had refused to leave even when I told them they could. My friends know how important he is to me and it means a lot that they are willing to play the waiting game with me.
“I’m okay, thanks though.”
“Okay, brother, if you change your mind, I have my phone on me.” Kolbi places a gentle hand on my shoulder and I nod in response.
Once they’re gone, I lean back in my seat as Reese gets up, excusing himself to use the restroom. Tilting my head up towards the ceiling, I close my eyes and try to slow my breathing when I feel her take the seat next to me. She doesn’t say anything but simply tucks her hand into mine and rests her head on my shoulder, allowing the muddled background noises of the busy hospital to comfort us.
“Thank you for coming,” I say just above a whisper before sitting up and resting my head on hers.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“It still means a lot to me that you’re here.” I turn and place a kiss on the top of her head, pressing my lips into her hair for a second longer than normal. When I pull away, she turns to look at me.
“You mean a lot to me, Malcolm. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than right here with you.” We hold each other’s gaze for a few beats before I speak. The words tumbling out of me like a pile of rocks rolling down a hill.
“I don’t know what I’ll do if he?—”
“Shhh, don’t go there. He’s going to be fine, I promise.” Her hand is on my cheek and I close my eyes to focus on how solid it feels there. When my entire world feels like it’s crumbling down around me, she’s there to keep me steady.
“But what if he?—”
“Family for Marshall Westing?” the voice of a stranger calls out across the room. We all stand immediately, Reese coming back at the perfect time, and look at the woman wearing a white coat.
“That’s us,” Reese says, taking a step forward and I follow. The doctor looks at us and probably has so many questions about how we’re family when we look nothing like him. With me, being a nearly six foot Asian and Reese being an elderly Black man who hardly hits my shoulders. But that’s the thing about family, they don’t always have to look exactly like you or share your DNA to love you as if you do.
The doctor pushes out a breath and gives us a somber expression. “He’s waking up but he’s weak. You can go in and see him, but only one person at a time, please.”
I look at Reese. “You go, let him know we’re all here for him. I’ll go in once you’re done.”
He gives me a tight smile and a nod and bows his head to the doctor before following her down the hall towards his room. I fall back into the seat next to Ophelia who watches me with concern. I try a smile but I’m sure it comes off as more of a grimace than anything else. When she takes my hand in hers, she squeezes it twice before we go back to silent comfort. When Reese comes back after a while, I can see that fresh tears have stained his cheeks.
“He’s asking for you,” he chokes out. Bailey, who is seated next to Hank and my friends, stands and walks to place an arm under Reese’s.
“Why don’t we go for a walk outside, Mr. Dawson? I think some fresh air would be good,” she soothes and Magnolia stands to go with them.
“I think a walk would be nice, thank you ladies.” Before they walk away, Reese steps towards me and grabs my forearm. “He loves you, Malcolm, remember that.”
All I can do is nod and try to swallow the knot in my throat to respond. I feel Ophelia’s hands wrap around my free arm and I look at her and try to find any sense of solace in her deep brown eyes.
“I’ll walk down with you.”
We head in the direction of his room and once we reach it, I run my finger along the paper label with his name on it. Marshall Westing. The impact of his name and everything he’s done for me hits me like a ton of bricks. I clench my jaw and set my shoulders back as if doing so will stop the wave of uncertainty from taking over my insides.
“I’ll be right here if you need me,” she soothes before pushing up on her toes and planting a kiss on my cheek.
“Thank you, little fox.” My thumb runs along the back of her hand before I drop it and walk into the hospital room.
I nearly fall to my knees when I see him. Laying flat in an oversized bed that dwarfs him with ease, he has cords and tubes connected to him in multiple spots and his eyes are closed. It hardly even looks like he’s breathing. As I take in all of the machines that are around the room, my dislike of hospitals and memories of my past nearly overtake me. But this isn’t about me, it’s about Marshall. He was there for me when I needed him most and I’ll do the same for him. I carefully walk around the hospital bed he’s lying in and sit in the chair that’s been pulled up next to him. When I lower myself into it, his eyes open warily and find me.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he croaks, giving me a feeble smile.
“And you look like you got run over by a bus,” I jab back, trying to get him to laugh. He does, but his laugh is quickly followed up by heavy breathing and him trying to regain control of his lungs. I wait for his breathing to steady and try to figure out what to say to him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he chastises.
“Like what?”
“Like you won’t know what to do with yourself when I’m gone.”
“Gone? You’re not going anywhere, Marshall, you’re going to be fine. The only place you’re going is home or to Butcher and Block. Maybe even the training center. You—you can’t be gone.” The words fall out of my mouth before I can even process what I’m saying or what he said.
‘When I’m gone.’
“I admire your determination, son, always have.” His eyes close again and he sucks in a few deep breaths, each one seeming to require what little strength he has left to do so. “I’m going to need you to keep leaning on it for me. Think you can do that?”
“Anything. I’d do anything for you. Just like you have for me.” My hand reaches for his and I clench my teeth together so hard my jaw begins to throb. He gives it a shake and I feel like I’m holding nothing but a piece of paper between my fingers.
“I know you will, Malcolm. You’re a good kid. Always have been, even when you get a little lost.” He opens his eyes and looks at me out of the corner of them and it’s as if he’s looking straight at my soul.
We sit in silence because the words I want to say to him are stuck in my throat like a rock. But they feel bigger than that, they feel like a massive boulder has lurched itself into my throat and is preventing me from saying everything I want to say to him. The thanks he deserves to hear from me. How much he saved me and changed my life in the last five years. How I wouldn’t be who I am or where I am if it weren’t for him. But instead of saying any of that, I say nothing and just sit quietly next to him, holding his hand and looking anywhere but his face because looking him in the eye is almost as painful as forcing the words out.
“Is your girl here?” he asks after several long minutes.
“She’s not my?—”
“Don’t be an idiot,” he scoffs, swinging his head towards me and if I’m not mistaken, rolling his eyes at me while he does.
I swallow hard before answering. “Yeah, she is.”
“I’d like to talk with her, if that’s okay.”
“Why do you want to talk to her?”
“Why must you always question me?” He sighs indignantly.
I sit up straight in my seat and bring my eyes to my hands which are now in my lap after being scolded.
“She’s in the hallway, I can go get her if you want?”
“I’d like that very much, thank you.” My feet push against the floor as I stand to go and grab her. Once I’m nearing the end of the bed, Marshall speaks again.
“I’ll always be in your corner, kid. Never forget that.”
I stare at him for a beat and try to come up with something good to say. Something meaningful. But instead I can only come up with, “I know.”
Once I reach the hallway, I find Ophelia leaning against the wall with her arms crossed in front of her chest. Her head is stooped and tucked into her chest and once I move to stand in front of her, she quickly wipes her cheek with the back of her hand before meeting my gaze.
“He wants to talk to you.”
“He does? Why?”
“I don’t know, I asked him that and then got yelled at for being difficult.” We both chuckle and the feeling of shared joy between us makes my heart feel a little less sore.
“Malcolm,” she starts and reaches for my hand.
“You should go, he gets annoyed when people don’t listen to him.” I try to smile but it does nothing to change the disheartened look on her face. I take a step closer to her and she welcomes me in, wrapping her arms around my center. Leaning down, I place a soft kiss on her cheek and whisper into her ear. “Go get him, little fox.”
She pulls away and looks at me with tears threatening to spill over her eyes and nods before heading into the room. I position myself on the wall along the open door but out of sight so they can’t see me. When they start to speak, I can hear every word.
“Hello, Mr. Westing.”
“Ohh, none of that now. It’s a little too late for formalities, don’t you think? Please just call me Marshall.”
“Okay, Marshall. You look like shit,” she deadpans and it elicits a booming laugh from him. One that everyone knows is his when they hear it and I feel my cheeks push into my eyes before they sink quickly as the sounds of his wheezing fill the room.
“You are a spitfire. I’m not surprised our boy is in love with you.” I want so badly to turn around the doorway to see her reaction to his words but something in me freezes me where I stand. Whether it be the fear of any sign of rejection or the revelation that what he says is true for her, too, I can’t bring myself to move. So instead, I continue to listen. I can hear her fall into the same chair I once sat in and move it closer to the bed, the wooden frame of it scraping against the old linoleum tiled floor.
“He’s not in love with me,” she says, and I can just picture the eye roll she gives him.
“Oh, he’s something. Might be love, might be something more than love. Whatever it is, he has it for you. I can see it in his eyes,” Marshall’s raspy voice affirms. There’s a long stretch of silence before his voice starts again. “Can you do something for me?”
“Sure…”
“Don’t be silly like me and wait until it’s too late to tell someone you love them. I know it’s scary and it can hurt like hell, but it can also heal you in ways you can never imagine.”
“Who did you wait too long to tell them you love them?” I’m glad to hear her ask because I wonder the very same thing. He’s been single as long as I’ve known him. He’s always just been Marshall.
“Let’s just say sometimes the people we’re closest to can also become the people we love the most.” I hear her gasp as she realizes what he means at the same time I do.
Reese.
“Oh, Marshall.”
I hear her voice crack and want to move to her, to console her. I almost do but then I hear the shushing noises.
“Now, now, none of that. I have something else I need you to do for me.”
“I can try.” She’s crying now; I can tell by the way she’s breathing. My fists clench at my sides and my jaw tightens, trying to keep myself together as I eavesdrop on their conversation.
“Promise me you’ll take care of him, of Malcolm. He’s going to need someone strong like you to help him through what comes next.”
“Don’t talk like?—”
“Promise me,” he demands, cutting her off.
I hear her suck in a breath. “I promise.”
“Ophelia…pretty name.” His voice sounds distant, faded, like he’s falling asleep as he speaks.
“I like it a lot.” She stumbles through more tears. As she does, it’s as if every machine in his room goes off on a timer.
But the one that rings the loudest is the unforgettable, undeniable, flatline tone that you never want to hear in real life.