Chapter 41
I sat in the hospital parking lot for almost an hour before I was able to get out of the car.
Once I did, I walked toward the main entrance with slow, steady steps, which was hard because my legs felt like limp noodles.
I had gone over and over in my head what I would say to Ryder today and every iteration of my passionate speech flew out the window as soon as I parked my car.
Putting my head down, I make my way up the sidewalk toward the hospital main entrance, not paying attention to my surroundings since I’m lost in thought. So, it doesn’t surprise me when I ram into something. Just my luck that I’d do a header into the door.
“Lizzie?” Large hands grip my shoulders and I peer up to meet pale brown eyes like Ryder’s but on an older face creased with lines of maturity.
“I am so sorry, Mr. Cutton!”
His face morphs into one filled with concern and he gently guides me to a bench nearby. “You look a little peeked. Are you feeling alright? Is the baby okay?” He sits down and brings me with him.
He and Faith have been great about the whole “I don’t know if the baby is Ryder’s or Jayson’s” thing. I should have known that the Jamesons and the Cuttons would treat the baby as if he or she was part of their family. They did the same with me and Hailey.
“We’re both good,” I assure him. “I, uh…I was hoping I could see Ryder.”
Randy is a bear of a man physically—tall and built like a brickhouse—but he has a soft heart full of kindness and compassion. He was always like a second dad to me growing up. I miss his fatherly hugs.
Randy takes my hands in his, his expression somber. “Today’s a bad day, sweetheart. He’s been throwing up constantly since he finished chemo, even with taking the anti-nausea medicine.”
Oh God. Oh God. Suddenly it feels like I can’t breathe. I only hear a part of what Randy says next.
“…so if anyone can make him feel better, it’s you. Just be prepared, okay.”
Black spots are dancing around the periphery of my vision.
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” he asks me again, his mouth tipped down with worry. That’s all he needs is to be fretting about me when his attention should be with his son.
I concentrate on filling my lungs with air and breathe out slowly. The black dots get fewer and fewer.
“I’m good. Promise. The uh, vomiting—they expected that to happen, right? It’s a normal thing?” Please say yes. Please let it be something the doctors know how to easily treat, and that Ryder will be fine.
“It’s normal. Still breaks my heart to see my boy going through it.” I squeeze Randy’s hand and he gives me a wan smile.
He looks tired, like he hasn’t slept for days. I’ve never seen Mr. Cutton with a beard, but he’s definitely sporting one now. I guess things like shaving are inconsequential when compared to helping your child fight for their life.
“Is everybody else here?” I ask about Faith, Brea, and Jamie.
“They left a little while ago to head back to the hotel for a shower and a nap. They’ll be back in a couple of hours. Want me to take you up?”
I stand from the bench, eager to be on my way, the desire to lay eyes on Ryder strong. I need to see him myself to make sure he really is okay. “Yes, please. I’d appreciate that.”
Randy tells the nurses at the station that I’m family and then he leaves me to it.
One nurse, Paula, instructs me through the protocol.
She takes my temperature and asks if I’ve been sick recently or have been exposed to someone who has been sick.
I tell her no, but that I am ten weeks pregnant.
I was expecting the look she gives me, so I don’t take it personally. I get those looks all the time now.
Paula has me wash my hands thoroughly. Next, I’m suited up in hospital coveralls, booties for my feet, and I’m given a hair cap to cover my head.
I have to wear a face mask and nitrile gloves on my hands.
Basically, I’m covered from head to toe in puke green, which is not a good color on me.
Once I’m done, she escorts me to Ryder’s room.
I hate the smell of hospitals. The acrid scent of disinfectant seems to soak into every surface. It reminds me too much of the times I was in hospital. After the car accident. After I had a memory blackout in the public library last year. And then more recently after the fight at the Fields.
As we walk, we pass by other isolation rooms with cancer patients, some old and some very, very young.
And each face I see breaks my heart. Paula explains to me about the rooms being positive pressure rooms to help protect patients from germs. Air from inside the room is allowed out, but not vice versa.
Makes sense. I’m glad she warned me because when she opens the door to Ryder’s room, I’m hit with a blast of air that would have probably scared the mess out of me if I wasn’t already prepared for it.
“How’s my favorite patient?” Paula says, walking into the room with me following closely behind. She makes sure the door closes properly behind us.
I stumble to a standstill when I see him.
He looks awful and I can’t stop the tears from welling.
Ryder gives me a weak smile, not realizing that it’s me.
He must think I’m another nurse. I just stand there mute and not knowing what to do.
Clasping my hands tightly in front of me, I wait while Paula collects a sick bag full of vomit from Ryder’s bedside. My stomach lurches at the sight.
Paula says something to Ryder about medicine and lunch, but I’m so focused on him, her words are like white noise in the background. Then she leaves. Ryder looks over at me. Crap on a stick. Okay, Meredith’s analogy isn’t the most pleasant one, and I need to stop thinking it.
Ryder watches me, expecting me to do something. What do I do? My body suddenly goes into panic mode.
I can tell when Ryder figures out who I am. There is no hiding my moss green eyes even though every other part me is covered. His face drains of even more color even though he was already pallid before.
“Elizabeth?” he croaks.
Move, dammit. Go to him. Do something.
“Hey you.” My voice is soft and clogged with unshed tears.
His fists grip the sheet covering his legs. “What are you doing here?”
What am I doing here? I rack my brain for my preprepared speech. Nothing. My eyes dart around the room and when they land on Where the Red Fern Grows next to his bed on a rolling cart, I walk over and pick it up.
Ryder watches me as I pull up a chair and sit down. His dark brown-black hair is disheveled. His eyes are slightly sunken with purple rings rimming them underneath. His lips look dry and cracked. But his copper brown eyes are the same.
His mouth thins under my perusal. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
I look directly into his eyes, letting him know I do see him. Every part of him. “You are still the most handsome man in my eyes.”
“Elizabeth, you shouldn’t—”
I ignore him, opening the book to the first chapter, and reach out to grab his hand, the one that doesn’t have the butterfly needle inserted for the IV line. His hand feels clammy and cold against my warm skin.
“Hush,” I tell him, and he stops mid-sentence, then he tries again.
“Elizabeth, please—”
“Shh. I just want to be here with you.” I’m not going to listen to him try to rationalize why I shouldn’t be there. No long conversations about the baby, or our relationship, or anything else.
He rests back into the pillows bunched behind him and closes his eyes, and I begin reading to him.
Just like we used to do as kids. All the while, our hands remain gripped tightly in one another’s.
We never let go. Not once. I read to him until my voice goes hoarse, but I still don’t stop, not until Faith walks in.
Ryder’s eyes slowly open. I bend over the side of the bed and press a mask-covered kiss to his hand.
Then I get up and calmly walk over to the door.
Randy must have told Faith that I was here because she pulls me in for a long, silent hug.
“Thank you for coming. He needs you,” she whispers in my ear.
Looking at Ryder one last time, I tell him, “See you next Sunday,” before walking out of the room and straight to the nearest ladies’ restroom so I can finally break down and cry. Alone.