Chapter 30
Riley
I’ve always loved twinkling lights, especially in December.
They remind me of what the Christmas season brings…
music in every shop. Tinsel that falls off the tree and ends up everywhere in the house.
Frosted cookies and hot cocoa. Tacky school crafts hanging on every inch of my refrigerator surface.
But I don’t love twinkling lights when they’re blindingly red, followed by the sound of a siren.
“I want to ride with him,” I say as I stand on my tip toes, trying to see inside the ambulance where one of the EMTs is hovering over Noah.
“Miss, we understand your worry,” the other EMT says calmly.
“Do you though? I mean do you really? I doubt either of you has a kid with CF,” I cry.
“No. But we see it all the time. And the ambulance is cramped as it is. We will meet you at the hospital.”
I want to argue. But that would waste time and time is something we don’t have right now. So I watch as they close the doors to the ambulance and I rush to my car to follow.
We skip the clinic and go straight to the ER. I sit at the bedside, feeling helpless as Noah is hooked up to a hundred machines and tubes as they prep scan rooms for him. Meanwhile, I’m being asked a thousand questions that I’m not in the mental space to answer.
“How has he been feeling the past week?”
“A little under the weather but nothing out of the ordinary.”
“What were his symptoms?”
“A cough. Lethargic but nothing alarming.
“And wheezing?”
“Maybe some? He seemed fine.”
I realize how stupid I sound right now and break down. “It’s the weather. He always gets wheezier when it rains. I didn’t think it was anything to worry about. I didn’t think–” I stop right there. Because that’s the end of the sentence. I didn’t think.
As a mom of a kid with cystic fibrosis, I should always be thinking.
Nonstop. I should never let my guard down, not even for a minute.
But between the stress of starting a new business and all the drama with Cameron, not to mention my fight with Brianna, I guess my guard has been very low.
And it’s unacceptable. If something happens to him… it will be unforgivable.
“I’m here. Fill me in, where are we at?”
I look up just in time to see Cameron whizzing into the room in full blown doctor mode. The ER doctor rattles off a slew of medical terms as Cameron checks him over, asking a new question for every answer he receives.
“Alright. Let’s get those scans done STAT. I want to see those lungs. Then take him up to PICU,” Cameron says and they wheel him out.
For the first time he looks down at me, letting out a breath. He lowers himself down in front of me, squatting so he can look me in the eyes.
“Listen to me,” he says but I am a mess.
“I didn’t know. It was a cough, no fever. I didn’t know.”
“I know. And you didn’t do anything wrong, honey. We’re going to do everything we can.”
“It’s never been this bad,” I say. “I’ve never seen him like this. He wasn’t breathing, Cam. He wasn’t…”
With that, Cameron stands up, taking me with him and pulling me into his chest. “I know. It’s okay. I know. But listen to me, Riley. I am going to do everything I can. You hear me? Every single resource I have, I will exhaust into your boy.”
“He’s my baby, Cameron,” I sob.
“I know,” he says, pulling me back into his arms. “I know.”
The next hour passes like days as I wait by Noah’s side. He is stable but that’s about it, sleeping soundly with jagged breaths. After what seems like an eternity, Cameron comes back in the room and sits down next to me.
“Did you get the scan results back?” I ask, sitting up straight. Cameron nods. “What did they say? What does he need?”
Cameron wipes his hand down his face before his eyes meet mine. They’re blue, as always. But it’s a dark blue. A blue like the sky before it rains. A blue that takes my breath away and not in a good way.
“He needs lungs, Riley.”
“Obviously,” I say but his gaze stays hard.
“I mean now.”
I cover my mouth looking back at my little boy before the waterworks pick back up all over again, this time Hoover Dam level.
“Are there any available?” I ask.
“I’ve got people on the phone with every hospital in the country. If they’re out there, we’ll get them,” Cameron assures me. But it’s not enough to ease my worry.
A nurse makes up a bed for me next to Noah’s and while I am determined to stay awake, I lose the battle around 5am, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. When I wake up, it’s to the sound of nurses talking quietly, machines beeping steadily and Cameron’s voice too.
“Let’s get him prepped. We are good to go in twenty. Riley?”
I stir awake, the words materializing and forcing my eyes open. “What’s going on? What happened? Is Noah okay?”
“Noah is being prepped for surgery,” Cameron tells me as everyone in the room buzzes around us.
“Surgery?” I echo, not sure I heard them right.
But Cameron just nods with a smile. “We got lungs, Ri.”
“What?” I ask, hopping up off the bed.
“They’re coming in right now.”
“He’s getting new lungs,” I say, needing to hear the words out loud again.
“He’s getting new lungs,” Cameron says.
Then one of the nurses smiles over at me with tears in her eyes too. “He’s getting his wish.”
The average lung transplant for a singular lung can take anywhere from six to eight hours. A bilateral lung transplant can take up to twelve.
It is safe to say that it is the longest twelve hours of my life.
Despite everyone’s insistence that I should grab coffee, catch a few more hours of sleep or even try eating something, I pick a spot in the waiting room and stay there.
I have no desire to move or do anything else for that matter.
Not until the surgeon comes out with good news.
When I heard that Cameron wasn’t allowed to do the transplant because of being too close to the patient, I wasn’t surprised.
And honestly, I was a bit relieved when I found out that as soon as they got word of available lungs, he also had one of the best surgeons in the country flown in.
“You really should eat something,” Cameron says, sitting down next to me with a yogurt.
“I’m going to tell you the same thing I told every nurse that walked out here and Amber who has stopped by twice. I’m not hungry.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he shakes his head. “You need it. You getting sick won’t help anything and you know that.”
I stare at him but Cameron is just as stubborn as me and he stares back. Eventually, I have to blink and when I do, I spitefully take the yogurt.
“I hate waiting like this,” I say around a huge bite of it. As much as I hate to admit it, it’s good. “I feel helpless.”
“I get that,” he says, leaning back in his chair next to me. “I wanted to be in there. But I can assure you he’s in good hands. The best.”
I take another bite without saying anything.
We still haven’t actually talked about anything that happened, including him denying being the man on the roof even though I know he’s that man.
I also know that I didn’t sleep with anyone else around the time Noah was conceived which can also only mean one thing.
And that means he is avoiding the truth.
Which means he must care as much about us as I was led to believe.
I just wish I could get him to admit it.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks and I glance over at him. “I’m sure your brain is a minefield right now.”
“It is,” I admit without answering his original question.
“Listen Riley, I got a call from my lawyer the other day,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “The gig is up.”
“Cameron I have been awake on and off for over thirty six hours and my son is in the middle of a very risky surgery right now. I would appreciate it if you could just drop the idioms and say what you want to say.”
“My brother figured out that our contractual agreement to get married was just that.”
I stop and turn to look at him. “What? How?”
“Apparently he hacked into my computer. He saw the email between us. And he took it to our lawyer. Not only do they know what they were trying to do, but there might be a lawsuit on my head. For fraud.”
“So you’re not getting the money?” I ask and Cameron shakes his head. “Not yet anyways.”
“Cameron, I don’t have insurance anymore. I quit my job. This surgery–”
“Will be covered by his Pay It Forward account. It’s skyrocketed, you know, especially since the surgery started.”
“Who posted that he was in surgery?” I ask. I’ve been so frazzled by it all, I haven’t even checked the page, or any social media for that matter.
“One of your friends,” he answers. “Brianna I think.”
My eyes fill with tears but I do my best to blink them back.
“And whatever else he needs, I will see to it that he gets it before the lawsuit sucks me dry.”
I nod, swallowing back the persistent, burning lump in my throat. “You know…” I say, knowing full well that this conversation is going to go over like a lead balloon. “There is another way you could help him.”
Cameron stares at me and I almost wonder if he knows where I am going with this.
“You could get that paternity test done.”
“Riley,” he sighs.
“I know you don’t believe it’s possible. And I know you’re going to deny that it was you I was with on that rooftop. But we both know the truth.”
“Riley–” he starts in when suddenly the doors open and the surgeon appears.
I stand up.
“Miss Underwood? Noah is out of surgery.”
“And?” I ask, shoving up from my chair. “How is he? Is he okay?”
“He’s stable. And it went very well.”
“Can I see him?” I ask, crying again.
“Of course.”
And just like that, nothing else matters right now.