Chapter 16
sixteen
Percy
I’ve only been to the Mackinac Island Medical Center once when I was fourteen.
Owen had fallen out of one of the big maple trees in the Royal Lilac’s garden and broken his arm.
Most of the night is a blur. What I remember best is the sheer terror I’d felt.
I’d been so convinced Owen—small and scared and only ten years old at the time—was going to die.
How could he not, the way he was screaming his head off?
Thank God for the competent staff. They’d ushered us in, taken a few X-rays, and had Owen calmed down with his arm in a sling within a couple of hours.
We’d both been too wired to sleep, so we’d sat up together until the sun rose, arguing about our favorite characters from Avatar: The Last Airbender (seriously, who in their right mind picks Katara over Zuko?).
The medical center might not be as well-equipped as the full hospital over in St. Ignace, but it’s still a state-of-the-art emergency facility.
Which means, hopefully, it’ll have everything we need to get to the bottom of our own crisis.
The center’s only a couple blocks away, and soon enough, we’re huddled together outside the entrance.
“It doesn’t look like much,” Chris says, squinting against the afternoon sun.
He’s right—with its white clapboard exterior lined with stones at the bottom, the facility resembles a resort or country club more than a modern hospital. Still, I feel the need to come to its defense. “It’s got everything we need inside. Trust me.”
Chris grunts and stalks up the sidewalk toward the building without another word.
I glance at Quinn, who rolls her eyes and mouths, “Moody.”
I’m not sure what happened to set Chris off, but ever since lunch, he’s been even more irritable than usual. For a moment there, things had started to seem almost normal between us—or, at least, marginally less strained. Now he’s back to acting like he wishes I didn’t exist.
Something tightens in my gut. Not that I have any illusions.
I mean, he made it painfully clear where we stood last night at Casa Nostra.
Still, it weighs on me, especially when I’m already fielding texts from my dad about the places I’m supposed to be visiting today to honor my mom.
Even though I did it all for real yesterday, it still feels like a lie to say so since yesterday never happened.
Chris might not care what his parents think, but I do.
Quinn and I catch up to Chris inside the front lobby. Though the others don’t seem to notice it, I gag at the familiar faint whiff of antiseptic. Memories of those final days with my mom in the hospital come flooding back, one floating to the forefront.
It had been past normal visiting hours. My dad had gone home to get a few hours of sleep before work the next day, but one of the nurses let me stay if I didn’t make too much noise. After even card games became too much for my mom to handle, she’d sunken back in bed and closed her eyes.
I remember being struck by how frail she looked—a physical manifestation of exhaustion with her gaunt face and too-thin figure.
Then, she’d opened her eyes and given me a tired smile, and like the ripples in a pool stilling, I’d glimpsed a reflection of the woman she’d once been.
Her illness might have ravaged her body, but it had done little to stifle her irrepressible spirit.
I hadn’t realized I was hunched over her bed, sobbing, until I felt her trembling fingers rubbing circles down my back.
We’d stayed like that for a while, clinging to one another, until I regained my composure.
I’d tried to change the subject to something light—I don’t remember what—but my mom hadn’t let me off the hook so easily.
“Promise me,” she’d demanded in a tone brooking no argument, propping herself up in bed despite my protestations.
Even now, years later, her fervent words still ring in my ears.
“Promise me you’ll pursue your dreams, whatever they end up being.
That you’ll get out there, meet a nice girl, and fall in love.
That you’ll start a family and have kids of your own someday, even if I won’t be there to meet them.
I need to know you’ll be okay once I’m gone, so please, promise me. ”
That had been it—my chance to come out the way I’d meant to months ago.
I could tell her about Chris, from the start of our secret relationship back in high school to its messy end over winter break.
I could let her see me—all of me, even the parts I’d kept hidden—before it was too late.
The confession hovered on my lips like a delicate exhale of relief.
But then my gaze had gone to the small cross my mom kept on her bedside table, and all my doubts and fears had come flooding back. What if she didn’t like what she saw? What if I ruined the fleeting time we had left? What if I tainted my last memories of her with her disappointment?
So, I’d swallowed the words and said the only thing I could. “I promise.”
Less than twenty-four hours later, she was gone. And I’d forever lost my chance to be honest with her.
“Perce? Hey, Percy, look at me.”
I blink away the memory and look up to find Chris beside me, his forehead wrinkled with concern. His bronze eyes are as intense as ever, the flecks of green in them standing out, but there’s a softness there I haven’t seen in a long time.
“Are you…okay?” he asks hesitantly.
“I’m all right,” I croak. “I just don’t like hospitals.”
He frowns at that, seeming like he wants to say more before settling for a curt nod and abruptly turning to march toward the reception desk. “Let’s get this over quick, then.”
It turns out that you can’t simply walk into a hospital and request a comprehensive suite of tests.
The receptionist politely but firmly insists that the soonest she can fit us in is early next week.
If not for Quinn’s uncanny ability to convince anyone of anything, we might have been out of luck.
But after she spins some sob story about how we’ll lose our scholarships and get kicked out of school if we don’t have the tests done by the end of day, the receptionist promises to see what she can do.
Twenty minutes later, a harried-looking doctor hustles Chris and I down a pale-blue hall lined with doors marked by signs with intimidating names.
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of tests, tests, and more tests as we’re poked, prodded, and measured like slabs of meat whenever someone can squeeze us into their schedule.
No wonder that receptionist had been so surprised by our request. My only consolation is getting to see Chris glowering in a hospital gown.
The unflattering floral print shouldn’t be sexy, but somehow, he manages to pull it off.
It’s after 5:00 PM by the time they return us to the waiting room. Chris must’ve texted Quinn while he changed because she’s waiting for us when we arrive.
The receptionist smiles at me as I pass. “Everything go all right?”
“Yep,” I reply with an answering grin. “Thanks again for squeezing us in.”
“Not a problem. I’m glad it worked out.” She presses her lips together, her expression turning stern. “But you’re lucky we weren’t busier. Most places wouldn’t be able to fit you in same-day like that. Next time, don’t wait until the last minute.”
“We won’t,” I promise. “So, when will our results be ready? Do we wait here, or should we come back in an hour or two?”
She frowns, her brow furrowing. “It takes a while to go over the tests.”
“Right, of course.” I nod. “We’ll go grab some dinner and come back later, then.”
The receptionist slowly shakes her head. “I don’t think you understand. Depending on the current backlog, your scans might be ready by as early as next week, but it’ll be two to four weeks until we get the results of your blood tests back from the lab.”
It takes a few seconds for her words to sink in. Two to four weeks…
Thanking the receptionist half-heartedly, I rejoin Chris and Quinn, who’d clearly overheard my exchange. Chris waits until we’re outside to whirl on me. “You realize we’ll never get those test results, right? Everything we just did was for nothing!”
I nod glumly, raking a hand through my wavy hair. “I really thought that would give us some answers or at least help rule some things out. I should’ve realized it wouldn’t be that simple.” My shoulders slump. “I’m an idiot. Sorry I let you down.”
Chris scowls, but to my surprise, he doesn’t chew my head off. “It’s not your fault,” he mutters. “Any of us should have realized the same. And it’s not like Quinn’s plan this morning was any more productive.”
“I’m assuming nothing obvious showed up during your physicals?” Quinn asks, ignoring his jab. We both shake our heads, and she shrugs. “That’s something, at least.”
“Sure, it’s something,” I agree. “But not much. If there’s a physical component to all this, it’d probably be found in our blood or brains, not our weight or reflexes.”
The unfortunate truth is that we’ve burned almost the entire day, and we’re still no closer to discovering what the hell is going on.