Chapter 10
Hours later, I walk through the hospital in a daze, after Mom forced me to leave Farmor’s side in search of food. I have zero appetite—in fact, I feel sick to my stomach. But I know I need to force something into my body if I want to stay healthy.
We kept a vigil by Farmor’s bed as the afternoon bled into evening, then on into night.
Nurses and doctors have come in and out, drawing blood, running tests.
The latest we’ve been told is they think the swelling in her brain is why she’s unconscious.
They’re monitoring her closely because if it gets worse, they may have to operate to remove a piece of her skull to allow her brain space to swell or drain the edema.
And through it all, I’ve sat by her side, clutching her still hand in mine—trying to keep myself from drowning in the relentless riptides of fear.
Until Mom finally noticed how long we’ve been in that room with no food or drink, and forced me to go eat.
The windows I pass as I move through the hospital are dark; streetlights and headlights illuminate the night beyond the windowpanes—cars moving through the darkness to their mundane destinations.
There are few things more jarring than to be trapped in the miasma of tragedy and then to look out a window and see so many other people going on with their normal lives.
Heading to the store, stopping at a drive-thru for dinner, arguing over what to listen to on the radio—not realizing how quickly life can end, how suddenly your last conversation can become your last conversation.
Farmor hasn’t moved, not even a flutter of her eyelashes or twitch of her lips. She’s as still as a corpse. We’re powerless to do anything to help her, capable only of praying for a -miracle.
But I can’t help but wonder if God is weary of our pleadings—if He has already given us our allotment. Or maybe He answers only every other need for a miracle. No for my dad. Yes for me. No for Farmor.
When I reach the cafeteria, the smell of the food makes my stomach roil.
But my mom is right, I have to eat. And honestly, so does she.
It’s only been in recent months that she’s finally regained a little bit of the weight she lost last year when I had that scare.
Neither of us can afford to fast for too long—although for me, it’s much more serious than losing too much weight again.
I can’t let my electrolytes get too imbalanced, or it could directly affect my heart function, and I’ll end up admitted to the hospital too.
And that reminds me that as much as I loathe the idea of leaving the hospital without knowing if Farmor is okay or not, I have to find a way home because I also can’t miss my nighttime meds.
Sometimes I truly hate the rigidity of what it takes for me to stay alive.
I sigh and force myself to walk into the cafeteria—and then halt. A familiar man sits at a table across from me, a computer open in front of him, his tie loosened, and his shirt open at the throat, a shadow of stubble darkening his jaw—except for where it doesn’t grow because of the skin grafts.
“Hunter?” I ask.
He glances up, and a wave of what—strangely—appears to be relief washes over his face. He immediately pushes back his chair and strides to where I stand frozen in place by his unexpected presence.
He reaches out, his fingertips skimming my forearm before he abruptly pulls his hand back—as if he didn’t quite realize what he was doing. The fine hairs on my arms rise.
“How is she?” he asks.
“Why are you here?” It bursts out without thought.
Hunter flinches. I realize how rude I sound—and for once, I don’t mean to be.
In the midst of so much worry and stress, my filter is missing, and on top of that, now I’m being assailed by confusion.
Talia and Lou left hours ago, when they found out no other visitors would be allowed in the ICU.
It never occurred to me that Hunter would stay.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I . . . I’m . . .” I flounder, then say, “There’s no change. The doctors think she has cerebral edema, and that’s why she’s unconscious.”
“I’m really sorry, Liv.” Hunter swallows, his throat moving beneath his stubble. I don’t know why I notice that. I don’t know why I notice so many details about him. Like the shadows beneath his eyes. Or the taut curve of his shoulders, as if he’s carrying a weight like the one pressing down on me.
I cross my arms around my rib cage. “I’m really not trying to be rude, but why are you here?”
“I . . . I’ve been trying to text you, to see if you need a ride home or if I could get anything for you—your medicine, a toothbrush, I don’t know. But you didn’t respond. So I waited.”
“You waited,” I repeat, a spark that is part wonder, part disbelief coiling in my chest, sharp and bright. “In the cafeteria. For”—I glance at the clock—“five hours?”
Hunter shrugs. “I thought you’d eventually need to get something to eat. I didn’t know where else to wait, and I didn’t know where your farmor is—they wouldn’t release any information to me since I’m not family. I came here and hoped for the best.”
I clamp my teeth to keep a surge of feeling locked away. This man, who I thought might actually hate me, has been sitting here for hours because he figured I might need him to get my medicine or drive me home? “Why?” My voice falters, raw and hoarse.
“Because I know what it’s like being stuck at a hospital when you’re out of your mind with fear.
” The green flecks in Hunter’s irises are darkened to a deep jade, shadowed by pain that haunts his gaze when it meets mine.
“And even though you might not believe it, I’m usually not a monster.
” He exhales, then adds in a rush, “I was worried about you.”
His unexpected thoughtfulness is so startling it makes my head spin. I don’t know what to say—or how to handle the sudden addition of bewilderment to the vortex of my already beleaguered emotions.
“That’s really considerate of you,” I allow, afraid of trusting this disconcerting kindness.
As if he can sense my wariness, he changes gears. “Let’s go get you some food. And then I can run you home or go get your medicine and bring it back . . . whatever you need.”
I stare at him, unmoving, unable to take that step toward him that somehow feels a lot more like a leap off a cliff than merely shuffling into a line of other weary hospital patrons. “I don’t get why you’re doing this. I thought you ‘don’t do scar buddies.’”
A muscle in Hunter’s jaw tics. “There’s nothing I can say to excuse the way I’ve acted. I’ve been in a really bad place, and you became an undeserving target.”
“And now . . . you’re in a better place? A few days later?” I can’t keep the disbelief from my voice.
“No,” he acknowledges. “But this has been one of those days that forces you to get a little perspective. You’ve done nothing to deserve how rude I’ve been.
” The apology is there, in the way this giant of a man somehow shrinks in on himself.
“Please, if there’s anything I can do to help you, let me. ”
I swallow, squeezing my arms even tighter around myself. I don’t have the energy to figure out whether he’s being sincere or not. All I know is that he’s here . . . and I do need my medicine. If he’s willing to get it and bring it back, then I don’t have to leave Farmor’s side.
“Okay,” I relent.
He nods, the tightness at the corners of his mouth releasing. “Tell me what you need me to do, and I’ll do it. But first, let’s get you some dinner.”
I exhale and step forward to stand beside him as we join the line.
An alarm’s wail shocks me out of sleep. I’m hunched halfway over in my chair, my hand still on top of Farmor’s. There’s a sharp pull in my neck as I straighten, and it feels like I have sand beneath my eyelids when I peel them open. I have no concept of what time it is.
But all vestiges of sleep flee when her hand spasms beneath mine, and I realize her entire body is shaking.
She’s seizing again.
“Help!” I scream, scrambling to my feet.
At the same instant, the curtain rips open, and medical personnel stream through the doorway, shouting commands, flattening her bed, surrounding her body, dragging me and my mom away, out into the hallway.
Mom’s eyes are wide and bloodshot as we huddle together, shaking with shared dread.
Within moments, Farmor’s gurney is rushed past us, down the hallway and out of sight, leaving us clinging to each other outside of an empty room, shell-shocked and silent.
“Mrs. Karlsson?”
We both turn at the soft voice of a nurse standing next to my mom.
“Your mother is being taken into surgery. The intra-cranial pressure from her edema has caused another seizure and possibly another stroke. They are going to remove a piece of her skull to alleviate the swelling and prevent further damage. It’s going to be a while.
Would you like me to show you to a waiting room, where you can get some drinks and snacks if you need them? ”
I can only stare, mute with terror.
Mom somehow gathers herself and nods. “Okay. Thank you for letting us know.”
“Follow me this way. One of the doctors will come find you as soon as there’s any news.
” The nurse gestures, and we fall into step behind her, even though every cell of my body fights to stay where we are—to wait in Farmor’s room.
Because a part of me is scared that if we leave this place, if we go to that waiting room, the next time one of these nurses or doctors comes to find us, it will be to tell us that she’s gone.