2. Jamie
Jamie
Thirteen years ago…
Loud beating on the front door pulls my attention away from the handheld Nintendo I’ve been playing for the last couple of hours.
I hear my babysitter—Katie—get up to go answer it. My ears perk up, trying to hear who’s there, but all I can make out is soft, hurried whispering and a faint gasp from Katie.
The next moment, the door to my bedroom is pushed open, and Tom is walking through. He looks worried. He’s sweating and his eyebrows are pinched together.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says, not bothering to take a seat.
“Hey. What are you doing here?” I ask, setting my game to the side.
Tom is silent for a brief second, staring at the floor like it’ll tell him what to say, and I start to get anxious.
“Jamie…we need to go to the hospital. Your mom was in an accident—” he chokes on the word, barely finishing the sentence. “I got a call a few minutes ago, telling me they were taking her into emergency surgery. "
Blood rushes in my ears, and sweat pops up along my skin. “Is she okay?! What’s wrong with her? What happened?!” The moment I register the words coming out of his mouth, I pelt Tom with questions, my vision blurring with tears and my heart beating out of my chest.
“Hey, hey, Jamie, calm down, son. We’re going to go check on her, okay? Just get dressed and I’ll help you pack a bag; we might be there a while.”
In his truck, I cry silently as he drives, squeezing my backpack to my chest. His grip is firm on the steering wheel the entire time, and he has to be going over the speed limit. Tom doesn’t tell me it’s going to be okay; he doesn’t say anything at all.
At the hospital, we’re ushered to a family waiting area; they tell us that my mom is still in surgery and they don’t have any updates.
Tom and I sit in the uncomfortable, straight-backed chairs for what feels like hours.
At some point, I dozed off, my head on his shoulder, and I wake up to him gently moving my head off of him.
“Sorry, son. The doctors want to talk to me. You stay right here; I’ll be right back, okay?”
I nod, nervously chewing on my bottom lip as he stands and follows the doctor away.
They turn a corner, stopping on the other side of a window. Tom looks over, making sure I’m still in his line of sight as the doctor begins speaking.
I watch in rapt fear as Tom’s eyes close, his nose scrunches, and his head falls back in response to whatever it is the doctor is saying. He brings a fist up to his mouth, biting his knuckle as the doctor rests a comforting hand on his shoulder.
I feel tears prick my eyes before he even comes back out to me. Something’s wrong. Tom wouldn’t look like that if my mom was fine.
Something is very wrong.
The doctor pats Tom on the shoulder one more time before walking away, leaving him alone to gather his thoughts. His other hand comes up, scrubbing his face with both of them before he looks to me again with an expression I can’t decipher.
His tall form returns, folding himself down to a crouch in front of my chair.
“Jamie,” he whispers, his red-rimmed eyes meeting my scared, tearful ones. “Jamie, I’m so sorry, son.”
I throw my arms around his neck, sobbing into his shirt before he says anything else. I don’t want him to say it.
His strong arms wrap around me, holding me tight, and I feel his chest shake as he takes a deep breath. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers again. “She’s gone.”
* * *
Five days later, I stand in the cemetery, staring at the dirt and flowers where my mother just disappeared. Maya stands beside me, holding my hand, and Tom is behind us, sunglasses hiding his tears.
The three of us stand there until the last of the guests depart. So many people, Mom’s co-workers and friends I barely register, hug me and tell me how sorry they are.
Eventually, we’re approached by Kathy—the social worker who was assigned to me at the hospital. I’m not really sure what her job is, but she spends an awful lot of time arguing with Tom.
She whispers something in Tom’s ear now, low enough that Maya and I can’t hear, but I see his posture go rigid from the corner of my eye. He turns and looks toward the road, and I follow his gaze to see a man leaning against an expensive-looking car.
“Jameson,” Kathy starts, bending down so she’s eye-level with me. “Your dad is here. You’re going to live with him, now, okay?”
Maya’s grip on my hand tightens, and she looks up at her dad. “Why can’t Jamie stay with us, Dad? We can take care of him.”
Tom brings a fist to his lips, repressing whatever it is that he wants to say as he turns away from the three of us, as if he’s unable to bear the earnest look on his daughter’s face.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Kathy responds to her. “You live with your mom sometimes and your dad sometimes, right? Well, Jamie has to go live with his own dad now.”
“But Lucinda said Jamie’s dad wasn’t very nice!” Maya argues.
Kathy gives us both a sad glance before looking up to Tom for help. He pushes his sunglasses onto his head and takes a knee next to the social worker.
“Kids, I need you to know that this is out of our control, okay? Jamie has a dad who is very capable of taking care of him. I would let you stay with us in a heartbeat if it were up to me, but it’s not. Do you understand?”
Tears are rolling down Maya’s cheeks, now. I feel like I could cry, too, but I think all my tears have run out.
“Will we get to visit him?” Maya sobs.
“We will try to visit him as much as we can, Bug. I promise,” Tom pats his daughter on the shoulder before turning and pulling me into a hug.
“You’re so strong, Jamie. I love you, son. I need you to know that, okay?”
I nod into his shoulder, wrapping my arms around him in a hug that feels much too final. My throat feels tight, and I can’t form any words to say to him. I squeeze as hard as I can, afraid to let go.
Maya hugs me next, getting tears and snot on my shoulder, crying uncontrollably. She holds me for so long that her dad has to physically pull her away from my body. Before she goes, she pulls a braided string bracelet from her wrist and slips it over my hand.
Then she falls into her dad’s arms; he stands, picking her up as she continues to weep.
Kathy gently takes my hand, standing and leading me away from the graveside. Away from my mother.
Away from my family.