Chapter 2
Ispent the entire two-hour drive from Columbia to Charleston trying not to catastrophize. But my brain wasn’t having any of that. Each time I tried to think of something positive or nothing at all, my brain forced me to think about the worst.
When I called Ethan this morning, I asked him for advice on this case I’m working on—something I do more often than I’d like to admit. I can’t remember if I said I love you before hanging up.
I must have. Right?
We spoke for only a few minutes before we both had to get back to work.
Will that be the last time I talk to him?
I try to shake the thought from my head.
I’ll never see him again. Did I say I love you? Does he know?
By the time I make it to the hospital, my hands are sore from how tightly I gripped the steering wheel. I’m feeling disoriented. I don’t even remember what played on the radio or if it was even on. My mind was bouncing from one topic to the next, trying to latch onto something. Anything.
I knew my mind was spinning out, bordering on an anxiety attack. But I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I was just the passenger in my brain, forced to go where it led me.
I make my way to the waiting room, where I find my parents. Glancing around the space, I notice a few other people.
My parents look exhausted—like they carry the weight of the world on their shoulders; I suppose in many ways, they do.
They’re both staring at the wall; neither of them is speaking.
Worry is plastered on their faces, and I’m positive my expression mirrors theirs.
I feel the anxiety rolling off my body, my heart won’t slow down, and my palms feel sweaty. It’s like I can’t catch a full breath.
I look down to see Mom clutching Dad’s hand with both of hers; the sight is jolting. He’s her lifeline, and I’m glad he’s been here, so she isn’t dealing with this on her own.
Dad notices me first and pats Mom on her leg with his free hand to get her attention, then gestures to me.
I’ve always known Dad to be confident, always speaking with authority. Growing up, I knew I could always rely on him for anything. He always listened to Ethan and me, offering advice when we needed it. He’s still that rock for me.
They must have come straight from work. Dad is still wearing a dark gray suit, but he’s taken the jacket and tie off—which are now on the empty seat next to him—and rolled up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt. Mom is wearing jeans, a T-shirt with her bakery logo on it, and a cardigan.
Dad is the stereotypical tall, dark, and handsome.
He’s just over six feet tall, with dark brown hair peppered with gray.
He gives me a small smile as I make my way over to them.
He seems so small right now. His shoulders are slightly hunched forward, and his usually vivid blue eyes, a little darker than Ethan’s, are dull and lifeless.
I’ve always thought Mom was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
She’s the same height as me—five feet, five inches.
Her blonde hair is sprinkled with silver-gray threads.
It’s currently twisted in a bun held in place with a black clip.
Her usually vibrant green-with-gold flecks eyes—the same color as mine—are watery, and I know she’s trying to hold back tears.
She doesn’t live for the trends or care what others think about her. She knows what she wants and has never been afraid to demand it. I’ve always loved that about her.
They’re both fit and have stayed active, even though they are in their early sixties now. They’ve always loved to go on hikes, ride their bikes through the neighborhood, and go boating on the weekends.
Now? They look so broken, and it’s startling to see them this way. It makes me more worried for Ethan.
“Hey, baby girl, how was the drive?” Dad’s usually smooth voice is shaky as he approaches me, giving me a quick hug.
“It was fine, Dad. I stopped at my apartment to grab a few clothes.” I don’t want to tell them how chaotic the drive felt. That I couldn’t stop thinking about Ethan. That I’m terrified.
Mom kisses me on the cheek before wrapping me in her arms. “Hi, pretty girl.” Her voice is fragile—it cracks my heart open. The use of the nickname she gave me as a child always warms my heart. But it feels off right now.
“Hey, Ma.” I hug her back. Once we step away from our embrace, I ask the question burning through me: “What happened?”
Mom’s face crumples as her body racks with sobs.
Oh God!
I can count the number of times I’ve seen Mom cry on one hand. My mind immediately goes to the worst, but I remain silent as Dad and I pull her into an embrace, one of us on each side of her.
We stand there until Mom’s body calms and her tears stop. My world is at a standstill until I know what’s going on.
When we finally sit down, my parents share what they know.
“Ethan was on his way to meet one of his clients,” Dad explains, his voice quiet.
“About an hour after he left the office, I got a call from one of the people here. I’m his emergency contact.
” He shrugs at the last part. “So, anyway, the man told me Ethan was being admitted to the hospital and needed emergency surgery.”
He pauses, taking a deep breath and blowing it out before continuing. I remind myself to breathe as Dad quietly speaks.
“He said Ethan was in a car accident and they suspected internal bleeding and a possible brain injury.”
Shit. That… that can’t be right. I furiously brush away the silent, hot tears streaming down my face.
“I dropped everything at work—practically ran to my car.” Dad lets out a choked sob as he looks down at his hands in his lap. I just stare at him—stunned. I don’t know how to process Dad crying.
I’ve never seen him like this. He’s always stoic, even when his parents died a few years back. I’ve always thought of Dad as being strong. But now? Right now, he looks—it terrifies me.
Putting her hand on his knee, Mom picks up where he left off. “Dad picked me up, and we came straight here.” She squeezes his knee and gives him a small smile.
The one thing I’ve always loved about my parents is how they support each other, always picking up where the other one falters. They care deeply for each other and aren’t afraid to show it. I only hope I can have the kind of love they have.
“There were police officers here when we arrived. They told us someone who saw the accident called 911. Ethan was driving on the interstate when his tire blew. His car hit the median.” Mom can’t hold back the tears anymore; mine haven’t stopped despite my best efforts to wipe them away.
“His car bounced off the median and rolled a few times.” Dad’s voice is all business now, as if he has to put on his work persona so he can finish telling me what happened. “He had to be extricated from his car,” he says that last part so quietly, I almost didn’t hear it.
Stunned into silence, I just sit here, my hands gripping the strap of my purse. I’m trying to wrap my head around what they’re telling me, but it doesn’t seem right.
Nothing seems right.
“Have you talked to the doctors?” I finally croak out.
“No,” Dad responds. “No one has been out to see us. I asked someone at the nurse’s station, but they didn’t have any updates.”
I don’t know what else to say as my mind reels from the news. Ethan’s been in surgery for a few hours already.
My parents’ words play on a continuous loop in my mind as I try to make sense of them. But nothing does.
I can’t understand what happened. How did his car hit the median and then flip? How did he lose control? Why did his tire blow like that?
Did I tell him I love him when we spoke this morning?
Did I say I love you?
Did I say I love you?
Did I say I love you?
We sit in silence as I stare at a spot on the wall—a stain left from who knows how long ago. I’m not even sure how much time passes, but I start to feel my legs cramp.
My parents snap their attention to me when I stand suddenly. “I just need to stretch my legs. I’m going to take a walk; maybe find the cafeteria and see if they have anything to eat.” I wave Dad off when he starts reaching for his wallet.
I wander the hospital halls, following the signs that point me in the direction of the cafeteria.
After purchasing pre-made salads and bottles of water for each of us, I head back.
My parents are the only ones left in the waiting room when I return.
Handing them their food and drinks, I sit back down in one of the uncomfortable chairs.
The worry twisting my gut makes it impossible to eat, but I push the salad around the plastic bowl it came in with my fork.
The silence of the hospital waiting room is deafening.
Finally, a doctor walks in, breaking the quiet. “Oaks?” he calls from the doorway. It's weird since we're the only ones sitting here. But we all raise our heads at the name and watch with bated breath as he sits in a chair across from my parents.
The doctor’s expression is guarded. This can’t be good, then. “I’m Dr. Ford. I’m the emergency-room doctor today and have been helping your son.” He takes a breath, composing himself.
“Is my brother ok?” I blurt out.
Dr. Ford shifts his focus to me. “We did everything we could, but his injuries were too extensive. I’m afraid to tell you that Ethan died on the operating table.”
The waiting room is too bright, and all I hear is buzzing. I can’t make out the words Dr. Ford is saying.
Did I say I love you?