Chapter 9 Accidents
ACCIDENTS
I call the hospital staff on the taxi ride home from Ollie’s place; the hospital is a few hours north in Rochester, New York, where Nick is on tour.
I still feel hot from Ollie’s touch, my body lit up even as my nerves are making my phone shake in my hands.
After being put on hold for fifteen minutes, a nurse finally picks up to tell me that Nick is conscious and that he will call me when he can.
I sink backwards in the taxi seat in relief, then text Nick to check in.
As soon as I send the message, I get a text from Ollie. Let me know if you need anything.
Thank you, I write back. Nick is conscious. Still sorting out the rest.
Good to hear, he writes back.
When I get home, our babysitter, a young woman named Allison, informs me that Hannah is in bed but has not actually fallen asleep yet.
“I tried, you know? She just wouldn’t go down.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I’ll go sit with her.”
I pay the sitter and then tiptoe into Hannah’s room, where she is still tossing and turning in the darkness.
This is not unusual for her, especially since we came back from Atlanta.
She seems to have too much on her mind to drift off to sleep.
I was like that as I kid, but I always chalked it up to being nervous about what my mother was getting up to; now I wonder if it’s genetics.
I find my usual spot on her small armchair in the darkness, keeping my cell phone on my lap.
“Where were you?” Hannah asks when she notices me there, and I immediately get a vision of kissing Ollie on his bed.
“Practicing dancing,” I say.
“I don’t need to practice Taekwondo,” Hannah says. “I’m just good at it.” I can tell that she’s upset at me.
“I know,” I say gently. My mind is on Nick, and what I may have to tell Hannah, but she doesn’t speak again.
My phone buzzes from a phone call about ten minutes later, and I pick it up and walk to my bedroom, hoping Hannah isn’t still awake enough to notice I’ve gone.
“I’m sorry,” Nick begins. I feel a wave of relief at hearing his voice and knowing he is alive and unhurt.
“I know I should have taken you off the list of emergency contacts, but I didn’t know who else to put on there.
” I think about his retired parents in Florida and his brother, a long-distance trucker along the Northwest coastline.
He is probably right that I was the sensible choice.
“It’s okay, Nick. Just tell me what happened.”
“A drunk driver hit us.”
“Who is ‘us?’”
“Me and Elliot.” He means the lead singer of the band, a handsome young man in his late twenties implausibly named Elliot Steel.
“Our show got cancelled today because of a bomb threat, so he was out partying and got totally wasted all afternoon at this dive bar. I stayed with him so someone would be there to drive him home. I’m like the dad on this tour, I swear.
I’m the most responsible one of the whole group. ”
I don’t mention that he could be a real dad to Hannah if he weren’t on the tour.
“Okay, and then?” I prompt.
“We were on the road, a little after eight—not even late—and this guy just ploughed into us. Crossed the median line. Elliot thinks I saved his life, so that’s the good part.
I was sober. I mean, I had a drink or two but basically nothing, so I managed to dodge the worst of it and Elliot got through without a scratch.
The band is giving me a couple of weeks to recover and then I’ll come back on tour. ”
“Recover from what? What happened?”
“Sprained wrist. It’s in a temporary cast for the next week or two. The problem is that right now I can’t drive,” Nick said. “I can’t play guitar. I can’t even do my own buttons.”
He sounds rueful, but I can sense the inherent question in his words.
I can decide to help him…or not. One option is to let Nick sit alone in a hotel in Rochester for the next couple of weeks, struggling to change his clothes by himself.
I could help him get home to Atlanta or tell him to hire a nurse.
And there’s the other option, the one that will delight my daughter, where I offer him my sofa and look after him.
“I know I have rotten luck, Laur,” he says, interrupting my silence, “but I swear this is different. The tour has been going really well. The guys really like me.”
“I’m not mad at you. It was an accident, and I’m glad you’re not too badly hurt.”
“I just need to do some exercises, and I’ll get better. It’s a small delay.” His voice is quiet, gruff. I used to love that voice so much.
“I think you should hire a nurse or a home health aide if you can’t take care of yourself. Someone who can help you get changed and stuff. It makes the most sense.” I know that’s easier said than done, but I don’t want to admit that.
Hannah bursts in the door and climbs on my bed. “Daddy? Is Daddy hurt? Can I talk to him?”
Of course she is awake. Of course she heard all of that. Hannah reaches around my head as I attempt to dodge her grip and finally pulls the phone from my hands.
“Daddy, are you hurt?”
I close my eyes in frustration. Hannah is near enough that I can hear Nick’s response. “Just a little, baby. Not badly. It’s my wrist.”
“You can stay with us, and I’ll take care of you.”
I freeze. “He’s very busy, Hannah,” I say.
“Please? Just for a little while?” Hannah is wheedling now. “I’ll take care of him. Please? Why can’t he stay with us?”
I recognize Hannah’s tactic for exactly what it is, but that doesn’t make it easier to say no.
“Your dad is very busy with his tour,” I say.
“Daddy,” Hannah says into the phone, “are you too busy with your tour?”
“I am busy with the tour,” Nick says flatly.
“Playing guitar?”
“Healing my wrist for a bit. I can’t play guitar right now.”
“You can’t play guitar?” Hannah looks horrified. “Then come visit! I miss you.”
“It’s…whatever your mother says,” Nick replies, which is both the best answer and the worst. He didn’t promise anything, but now if he doesn’t come and spend time with her, it will be my fault.
“Please?” Hannah says to me. “Please, please, please. I want him to stay with us so I can take care of him.”
There is a long moment of silence as I take back the phone. I sigh.
“I’ll be okay in Rochester,” Nick offers. “But if you think it would be good for me to spend time with her…”
“All right,” I say at last. “You can stay for a week or two on the sofa until you can use your wrist again.”
Hannah practically jumps up and down from enthusiasm.
“Thank you,” Nick says. “I’ll take the bus down. I’m having the tour hold onto my instruments, so I just have to wait this out until the cast comes off. I know this is a huge favor.”
“It’s okay,” I say, but I can’t feel it. I feel numb.
The next morning, Ollie texts me: Everything still ok?
I text back right away: nick is ok, injured wrist, has to take time off the tour
Ollie replies: glad it’s not more serious
I think about hiding the fact that Nick will be staying with me, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Ollie might as well know the worst of it.
I write, Hannah insisted Nick come stay with us since he can’t use his wrist. He’ll be here for a week or two on the sofa to spend time with her. It doesn’t mean… I take a breath, picking my words. …anything, I finally write.
It is a while before Ollie responds, probably a full five minutes.
Then my phone buzzes. Sounds like you’ll be busy the next week or two.
Unfortunately, I write back.
There’s another long pause. Let me know when he’s gone.
Then another pause, and then Ollie adds: And if you need anything in the meantime.
I understand what Ollie is saying: he’s not going to go out again until he finds out whether I’m getting back together with my ex.
I would probably be the exact same way, but it still makes me want to scream.
It makes me want to confess my love all over again.
It makes me want to act like a teenager and gush that Ollie can’t give up on me because he’s the best thing that ever happened to me.
I don’t write any of that, because I won’t be able to handle it if he doesn’t believe me.
Thank you, I write. Sometimes I hate grown-up Laura.
Nick arrives that night on a bus and takes a taxi from Port Authority to our place in Brooklyn.
He looks like an utter wreck when he arrives, his shirt torn, his arm in a sling.
I wonder if it’s a bit of a put-on, how wounded he looks, because it’s hard to be mad at him when he is crawling over my doorstep like an injured cat, a tired smile on his unshaven face.
Hannah is almost frantic in her excitement, showing him the sofa-bed and then making him sit with her in her room for almost two hours before she finally goes to sleep. I hear her peppering him with questions about his injury while he gently reassures her.
“Let’s let your dad gets some rest,” I finally have to tell her.
When I’ve gotten her into bed, I find him in the living room looking more tired than ever.
I make him a mug of tea and a plate of snacks.
He smiles and drinks the tea quietly, sitting at my table, his eyes occasionally glancing over to take me in.
We talk about the tour a little, and it sounds like he has been playing the role of adult among a group of reckless and unruly kids who don’t quite know how to deal with their sudden, overwhelming fame.
I would be proud of him if we were still together.
In spite of everything, I still feel proud.
“Okay,” I say finally. “I have work in the morning, so I need to get to bed.”
He rises with me.
“Can you uh…?” he asks. He lifts one arm. “Just help with the shirt.”
He gives a grin like he knows he’s being a little ridiculous, but that’s okay, right? Because it’s us, the two of us, like it always is.
I help him get his shirt off, ignoring what this involves. He is inches away, his skin warm, and I pull my attention elsewhere.
“I’ll buy you something stretchy to wear tomorrow,” I say. “Do you need any painkillers?”