Chapter 15 Coast to Coast #2
I accelerated up the on-ramp again, marveling at my own stupidity. You need anything? That was the question I’d just asked Rikker. Today, for once, I really meant it. Too bad it took a freaking tragedy to extract my head from my ass.
The headache kicked in around White River Junction. And by Montpelier, it was fierce. “How fast can I drive this stretch?” I asked Rikker. I hadn’t seen a cop in a good long time.
“Eighty,” he said without hesitation. “They don’t patrol very hard. Just watch those U-turn spots in the median. Slow down for the ones that are blocked by trees.”
I kept our speed up, and I tried to ignore the pressure along my brow line. Rikker grew agitated as we approached the Burlington area. When his foot tapping started making me crazy, I reached over and settled a hand on his knee.
“Sorry,” he sighed.
There was nothing I could do but drive and give his leg a squeeze. No more texts had come through, either.
“You want exit fourteen,” Rikker said eventually.
Yes, yes I do. The last five miles seemed to take forever. But then we were finally pulling into a big parking lot, and then jogging on stiff legs toward the E.R. doors.
Inside, Rikker charged toward a desk, although there were too many other people waiting in front of it. Abruptly he changed course, veering into the waiting area. I spotted Skippy with two older women, and they were waving him down.
Skippy stood up to wrap Rikker in a hug, which should not have bothered me. But there was something awfully intimate about that hug, the way he pulled Rikker’s ear close to him and began to whisper. And Rikker’s eyes fell shut, listening to whatever soothing words Skippy had to say.
It’s hard to describe how badly this ate at me. But it wasn’t a typical lover’s jealousy. The problem was that I had never greeted Rikker that way, and certainly not in a room full of people. It struck me how badly I wanted my share of that affection. I’d been missing out, and all because of fear.
Right then, a little light went on inside my thick head.
I already knew that my refusal to come out had hurt Rikker.
But until that moment, I don’t think I ever understood that it had hurt me, too.
Because the cost of avoiding unfriendly eyes wasn’t nearly as great as the cost of forgoing even one of Rikker’s hugs.
I approached the two of them slowly, making a path between the people. And not a soul was bothered by the two men embracing on the green linoleum tiles.
When I arrived beside them, Skippy stepped back, but he held tightly to both of Rikker’s hands.
“Okay, here’s what we know. If you’re going to have a stroke, you want to do it in a room full of people.
She got her first CT scan about twenty minutes after she collapsed.
And the window for treating a stroke with the strongest meds is something like three hours. ”
“Did they give it to her?” I asked. “What’s that stuff… it breaks up clots, if you get it soon enough?”
Skippy nodded. “They gave it to her. She’s being scanned again right now.”
“John,” one of the older women said. She wrapped a wrinkled arm around Rikker. “Hang in there, honey.” Then she extended a hand to me. “I’m Gertie.”
Gertie? The one who cheats at poker? “Graham,” I said, shaking her hand.
“If you don’t mind,” Gertie said, “I’ll take John to try to find the doctor that explained everything to us. He won’t be able to see her until she’s back from the tests, though.”
“Is she conscious?” Rikker asked, his voice husky.
Gertie shook her head. “No, honey. But the doctor said that’s not unusual.”
Rikker’s eyes closed, and then opened again. “Let’s go, then.”
They walked off toward the back, leaving me standing there with Skippy and a woman who looked an awful lot like him. She had the same quick brown eyes. “I’m Linda,” she said. And then I saw that she had the same carefree smile as her son, too.
“Graham. Nice to meet you.” We shook, and my head gave me a stab of pain.
Now that my hands were finally free, I could indulge in a full-on massage of my own forehead. The ache had spread, radiating out to my hairline and temples.
“Are you okay?” Linda asked.
“Sure.”
“Wait… you have a head injury, I thought?” Skippy asked.
“I’m okay, I’m just…” probably going to collapse now.
Because I’d delivered Rikker to the hospital, my body chose that moment to experience a massive adrenaline crash, and a blood sugar crash, too.
Also, I’d skipped my head-injury-patient nap.
The only thing to do was to look around for an empty chair.
And when I found it, I sort of oozed into it like a blob.
“My goodness,” Skippy’s mother said. I felt her sit down beside me, although I couldn’t see her because my face was in my hands. “Can I scare up some aspirin for you?”
“That is a great idea. But I’ve got it.” I shoved a hand in my pocket and came up with my magic little bottle. I’d downgraded to plain old ibuprofen, and it usually took the edge off. I took out two of them and dry-swallowed them.
“Seriously, are you okay?” Skippy asked, sitting on my other side. “When’s the last time you ate?”
“Uh,” good question. “Yesterday, I think. We were on our way to a party when you called.” There was probably a vending machine around here somewhere. And I knew I should find it.
Skippy made a sound of disapproval. “You know it’s almost five o’clock?
” He pulled out his phone and tapped it a few times.
“Hiiiii Sweetie! No real news yet. But Rikker got here, so that’s good.
His boyfriend is about to pass out, though.
So maybe we should have that Thai food sooner rather than later.
” Skippy tipped his head in my direction. “You eat Thai?”
“Sure?”
“Put in an extra pad Thai for Rikker, because that’s good warm or cold. Thank you, Sweetie. Love you too.”
Skippy’s mom, who had wandered off, returned to my side. This time, she held out an ice cold can of Coke. “This is what I drink when I have a headache.”
“Wow, thanks,” I said. Sugar and caffeine were excellent headache remedies. “You didn’t have to do that.”
She smiled at me. “We’ve been here all day, just wishing there was someone we could shore up,” she said. “You’re elected.”
Skippy’s mom put one hand on my back, and Skippy added one on his side.
I was so delirious with exhaustion that it almost seemed as though their touch was the only thing holding me together.
I popped the can open and took a long drag of the soda.
Then I looked down at the floor so neither one of them would notice that my eyes had become curiously damp.
Rikker
A month ago, when I watched them carry Graham off the ice, I thought I knew fear. But it was nothing like this.
They finally let me in to see Gran about an hour-and-a-half after I got there. And then I almost wished they hadn’t. The ICU was full of frighteningly ill people. And Gran frightened me the most. She was so still, and so fragile-looking in that bed.
It was a lonely vigil, because only one family member was allowed to accompany her. There was nothing I could do but sit in another awful plastic chair and make deals with God. Please make this turn out okay, I begged.
The trouble with this strategy was that I wasn’t on great terms with God.
Even if he looked past all the swearing and fornication, I hadn’t been a regular churchgoer for years.
And I was angry at pretty much anyone who brought up Jesus in a non-ironic way, because I’d been brought up by and among a bunch of fundamentalist homophobes who claimed to be doing God’s work as they shunned me.
That wasn’t really His fault, though. But prayer was probably a dead-end for me. That only left hope, and I guess I had plenty of that.
I hoped Gran would wake up.
I hoped that the effects of her stroke would not be too vast. (And by too vast, I meant that I hoped her sharp mind and her sharp eyes would scrutinize me by morning.)
I hoped that I could help her even a fraction as much as she helped me.
At some point during this vigil, I fell asleep.
Someone patted my hand.
I woke up with a start, to find that the hand-patter was a stout nurse. “She’s awake, honey.”
My eyes flew to Gran, who was looking around critically. Another nurse raised Gran’s head a few inches, and then held the straw of a water glass, and I saw Gran take a sip. When she swallowed, a little of the water dribbled out on one side. “Dis can’t be good,” she slurred.
At the sound of her voice, my eyes welled. And that was the moment she locked onto me, and I saw her make a sad face.
“Oh, don’t you worry about him,” the nurse said to Gran. “He’s just exhausted because it’s the middle of the night.”
I heaved myself out of the chair and wiped my eyes. “Hi, Gran,” I said. I leaned down to give her a kiss on the forehead, and my stupid eyes filled again.
“Honey,” she said, her voice thick and awkward. “I’m shtill here.”
“I can see that,” I managed. But I was losing my battle with the tears.
“Go home,” she said. “S’late.”
“She’s right, sweetheart,” the nurse who’d awoken me said. “Tomorrow morning she’ll be transferred to a proper room. You can talk then.” She gave me a gentle nudge. “Your grandmother will rest better if she’s not worrying about you.”
I took a minute to mull over that logic, and decided that she had a point. “Okay. I’ll come back first thing.”
The nurse fished a scrap of paper from her pocket. “Your friends left this note for you, in case your phone went dead. Now have a good night.”
I kissed Gran once again, and she looked at me with soft eyes.
Then I stumbled out of the ICU, leaving all of its beeping machines behind.
The note was from Skippy. “It’s midnight.
Taking Graham home with us. Ring if you need anything, or want us there.
Or come over. Call my cell or knock on the window to the right of the stoop. ”