Chapter 15 The Tree #2
Hannah ducks around her dad to watch him leave. He looks back at their group when he reaches the doors, and there is a vein throbbing in his temple. “I’ll be praying for you all,” he says, wielding the words like a weapon. Then the automatic doors open, and he has gone out into the night.
“Dad—” Hannah says. “You didn’t have to—”
“No, Hannah, I did,” he interrupts, still breathing like he just finished a boxing match. “Hate like that—when it’s disguised as love, or concern—I’m not going to subject you to hate like that. I’m not going to let that happen, honey.”
Hannah falls into his arms, pressing her face into his old gray sweatshirt. It smells like his aftershave and her mother’s laundry detergent and the candles Joanie likes to burn all over their house. She loses herself in the smell of home and thinks about nothing else.
It’s a little over an hour later when Clay stumbles into the waiting room, flanked by his parents on each side. His eyes are still bleary with alcohol and tears, and his nose and left eye have swollen from fighting.
Dr. Landry pulls out a chair for his wife, then commands Clay to sit in another one. “Not a word,” he says in a deadly voice. “Sit there silently and do not move.”
Fresh tears well up in Clay’s eyes, and Hannah and her friends turn away.
The adults start to discuss the party damage, with Dr. Landry sharing all the details from his conversation with the Baton Rouge Police Department.
“Drove all the way up from New Orleans just to be told that it’s the biggest party they’ve had to break up in a decade.
And now this one”—he jerks his thumb at Clay—“might have jeopardized his walk-on status at LSU. We’ll be lucky if they don’t revoke his acceptance altogether. ”
Mrs. Landry stares straight ahead, her eyes glassy. When she speaks, it sounds as if she’s coming out of a trance. “We never should have bought that house. We never should have risked that hill.”
Dr. Landry says nothing. Clay hangs his head and tries to pretend he isn’t crying again.
Hannah stands up and turns to Joanie, then Wally and Luke, and at last to Clay. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” Joanie says.
“For a walk.” She turns to the parents. “We won’t go far. Just thought you all might want some privacy.”
Joanie, Wally, and Luke stand up to follow her. Dr. Landry nods at Clay, who lumbers off his chair and surreptitiously wipes his face on his sleeve. Hannah leads them through a new set of double doors, down a deserted corridor, into the deep silence of the hospital.
“Where are we going?” Joanie asks again, but Hannah shushes her and studies the map on the wall.
They reach their destination a few minutes later. Hannah pulls the door open and leads the way inside, saying nothing. The others follow behind her without question.
She chooses a row in the back and files in to the farthest chair.
Joanie follows after her, then Wally, then Luke, then Clay.
They all kneel down at the same time, the most in sync they’ve been in months.
Wally and Clay bow their heads while Luke keeps his back unnaturally straight, his face screwed up like he’s struggling to understand something.
Joanie, kneeling next to Hannah, closes her eyes and moves her mouth around silent words.
Hannah stares at her folded hands until the skin starts to blur through her tears.
Please help her. Please take care of her. Please take care of us all.
Clay stands up at the end of the row. Hannah opens her mouth to protest, to tell him to sit back down and pray, but the words die in her throat when she sees what he is doing. He has walked to the front of the room to light a candle. It flickers with a tiny yellow flame.
Clay sits back down and takes Luke’s hand. Luke takes Wally’s hand, and Wally takes Joanie’s hand. And Hannah, upon seeing what they’re doing, reaches for Joanie’s hand before Joanie can reach for hers.
In the anxious silence of a hospital chapel, with one small candle to light the darkness, five teenagers hold hands and pray.
When they wander back into the waiting room, half of the adults are asleep. Hannah’s mom opens a bleary eye and reaches for her.
“Anything?” Hannah whispers.
Her mom shakes her head no. Without another word, Hannah and her friends slump down into the vacant chairs to resume the torturous waiting game.
Nobody speaks. They barely even move. Hannah has no idea what time it is, or whether that even matters anymore.
All she can do is stare at the beige tile floor, at the dirt caked into Mrs. Shackleford’s sneakers, at the frown lines etched into Dr. Landry’s forehead.
They are just twelve anxious souls, joined at table in the middle of the night, watching and praying, bracing for whatever comes next.
Hannah’s not sure whether thirty minutes or three hours have passed when she finally hears soft footsteps coming down the hall. She looks up, and her heart stops when Mrs. Hadley walks through the double doors.
Mrs. Hadley wipes a shaky hand across her eyes, and Hannah’s entire world balances on a pin.
“She’s going to be okay.”
It’s the most forceful feeling of relief Hannah’s ever experienced.
Her heart practically collapses with exhaustion, and her whole body seems to cool over as it comes down from its adrenaline rush.
She drops her face into her hands and the only thing she can think is Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
“She just regained consciousness,” Mrs. Hadley says, her voice worn in the way only a mother’s can be.
“She has a broken rib and some bad bruising, and they had to stitch up some cuts on her collarbone and hairline, but the doctor said it could have been much, much worse. She’s all right, thank God. ”
Hannah loves the collective sigh that runs around their circle, loves the way Clay leans back against the wall and bursts into grateful sobs, loves the way Mrs. Shackleford closes her eyes and bows her head into her fingertips.
“Jack’s sitting with her now,” Mrs. Hadley continues. “She needs rest. They’re not going to release her until late tomorrow, at the earliest. You all don’t have to stay.”
“We’ll bring you dinner tomorrow night,” Hannah’s mom says.
“I’ll bring it Sunday night,” Ms. Sumner says.
Mrs. Hadley nods. “Thank you.” Then she pulls her lips together and blinks very fast at the floor, as if steeling herself for something.
“Hannah,” she says abruptly.
Hannah looks up, her heart beating fast again.
Mrs. Hadley meets her eyes, and it’s impossible to read her expression. “She’s asking for you. Will you come see her?”
The rest of the circle looks at Hannah, but she looks past them all, nodding at Mrs. Hadley. She stands and follows her through the double doors without looking back.
“Hannah…,” Mrs. Hadley says when they’re on the other side of the doors.
Hannah waits.
“I don’t know everything that happened tonight. I don’t know what’s been going on with you and Baker.” She swallows and closes her eyes for an extended second. Her chin quivers as she breathes in through her nose. “But I have an inkling.”
Hannah feels the blood rush to her face.
“This is difficult for me,” Mrs. Hadley continues. “This isn’t what I—” She twists her hands together, her beautiful diamond ring catching the light. “I love my daughter, Hannah. Above everything else, I love her.”
Hannah nods. “Yes, ma’am. I know you do.”
Mrs. Hadley brushes a finger against her wet eyelashes. “Be patient with me, Hannah,” she says, sniffling. “Help Baker be patient with me, too.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hannah says, her heart rising. “I will.”
Mrs. Hadley closes her eyes and nods to herself. She gives a short, watery laugh, almost in embarrassment. “I’m a silly woman.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am, honey, but that’s okay.” Mrs. Hadley fixes a smile on her face. “Let’s go see Baker now, hmm?”
It’s funny how Hannah can’t think of anything to say to her.
Funny, because all she’s done for the last few weeks is think of everything she wants to say, everything she wants to confess and profess.
Now she stands in this hospital room and blinks at Baker through her tears, but the swelling of her heart seems to have taken the words away.
“We’ll give you some privacy,” Mrs. Hadley says, her tone outlined by a softness Hannah hasn’t heard before. She pats Mr. Hadley’s arm and the two of them step out of the room.
Hannah stares at Baker, wondering how to start. Baker looks back at her, her eyes dark and familiar.
“How bad is it?” Baker asks, her voice raspy. “Do I still look like a prom queen?”
Hannah laughs through her tears. She can feel her heart in her throat. “Not too bad.”
Baker’s bottom lip, split and shining red, lifts in a smile. “Liar.”
“You look like you’re hurting.”
“I am. But not from the fall.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I should have done it ages ago.”
They look at each other, and the eye contact is so powerful that Hannah might collapse from it. She steps closer, waiting for Baker to look away at any second, but Baker never does. Hannah steps closer until she’s right there at her side, close enough to touch her.
Baker swallows hard. She keeps looking at Hannah, but tears start to pool in her eyes. Hannah watches her try to blink them away.
“Han—” she says, her chest rattling.
“Don’t cry, Bake. Please don’t cry.”
“I’m not, I’m just—I’m just—breathing,” she heaves.
Hannah touches her cheek. “Don’t cry.”
Baker closes her eyes and shifts her head so that Hannah can touch more of her cheek. Tears slide beneath her eyelids and down onto Hannah’s hand.
“Baker,” Hannah says, her voice catching on the name.
“I’m so sorry,” Baker rasps.
“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay.”
“I’m so sorry.” Baker heaves again. She opens her eyes and the tears spill out freely. “So sorry, Han, so sorry. I was so wrong—I was so awful to you—to you—”
“You were scared—I know you were scared—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Baker says in a rush, her voice reaching a high pitch.