CHAPTER 46
Palmer
I don’t remember much of the plane ride. If it hadn’t been for Chase and Lindy, I don’t know if I would have even been able to get through the airport. On the plane, they put me in the middle seat between the two of them, each of them taking one of my hands in theirs, refusing to let me feel alone.
The only words that any of us say are meant to be functional. Lindy answers the flight attendant when she asks us questions. Chase rubs my back as I’m gagging into the sick bag, asking for extras that I watch him slip into his back pocket.
We don’t speak to each other or offer any words of comfort; I think it’s because we all know they would be empty promises.
They can’t tell me it’s okay, because we all know it’s not.
The only thing they could say and mean in all sincerity is “we’re here for you,” and that doesn’t need to be said.
Instead, we sit side-by-side and hand-in-hand, hoping, praying, wishing that this isn’t happening. That we’ll land, and Bailey will be there to greet us. Or that we’ll suddenly jolt awake and realize it was all just a bad dream.
But the only jolting happening is from the bump of the occasional turbulence.
The captain comes over the speaker and announces we will be landing in the next fifteen minutes. Flight attendants start to move about the cabin, collecting wrappers and empty soda cans from the passengers who accepted their offer of hospitality earlier in the flight. None of us had.
The morning sun shines brightly above the horizon through the window, and I stare at it, wondering if we might already be too late.
With every inch it moves into the sky, the clocks tick down, minutes come and gone that I won’t ever get back with Bailey.
That our baby girl won’t get with her daddy. That we won’t get as a family.
Tears flow silently down my cheeks, and following my gaze, Lindy slides down the shutter. “We’re almost there, Palmer. Just a little bit farther,” she assures me.
Chase mutters something to the flight attendant, who nods then scurries up to her seat in the front as we begin our descent.
My breath comes in shorter gasps, and no matter how hard I try to get a full breath, I can’t. It’s like the weight of the atmosphere is crushing my lungs, and being inside this tiny tin can hurtling toward the ground isn’t helping matters.
“I… I can’t…” I gasp.
Chase’s hand covers mine. “Look at me, PJ.”
I turn my head to meet his eyes, which are blurred by my tears.
His voice is low and calm, a stark contrast to the spark of fear I detect in his gaze.
“When they tell everyone to remain seated, it’s so we can get off first. We have a car that will be waiting to take us to Bailey, but I need you to stay as calm as you can until we get in the car, okay?
If you want to lose your shit then, you absolutely can.
But we have got to make it to that car so we don’t get stuck in worse traffic than we already will be. Can you do that?”
I nod shakily.
He throws his arm around my shoulder and gives me a brotherly squeeze. “We got this, Peej. Now, grab your bag and let’s get ready to go.”
As soon as the plane taxies up to the gate, the three of us are out of our seats and jogging through the terminal, Lindy and I close on Chase’s heels.
Fuck, I’m glad I wore my tennis shoes.
My steps pound against the tile in a cadence that my thoughts match, each step a syllable centered on the reason I’m here. My heart aches, calling out for him, and the only reprieve is the rhythmic steps calling out his name: Bailey.
Chase moves ahead of us, and by the time we catch him, he has the keys to a car in hand.
“Let’s go.” He motions us to follow out the door to a line of rental cars waiting to be picked up.
We all jump into the black SUV, and I’m grateful Chase only had me bring a small bag with minimal things.
I don’t know that I would have had the patience for all the finagling that comes with putting luggage into a vehicle.
He takes a moment to plug the address into the GPS, then we are backing out of the parking spot and on the road.
Even though it’s after rush hour, the roads are still full of cars. Trees line the roadway, arching toward each other as if creating a tunnel and making me realize exactly how claustrophobic I am.
Give me wide open spaces over this any day.
The thirty-minute drive passes by excruciatingly slow. Despite Chase going at least ten over the entire time, it’s not fast enough. Every minute I spend in this car is another minute Bailey might be slipping away from me.
What if he’s already gone?
I slap my hand over my mouth and mumble, “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Chase lifts his hip and pulls out one of the stowaway sick bags from the plane, and not a moment too soon.
“Thanks,” I say, wiping my mouth on the sleeve of my hoodie.
“No problem. You good?”
Prior to this morning, I would have blamed it on the baby. At this moment, however, I know it’s not; we all know that. But saying it out loud isn’t going to change anything. Instead, I settle on, “Yeah. Just an upset stomach.”
Lindy nods knowingly, and we complete the rest of the drive in silence, our thoughts more than enough to keep each of us company.
* * *
We pull up to the hospital, and Chase pauses at the door. “If you guys want to hop out, I can park the car and meet you inside?”
Lindy looks back at me for guidance.
“No,” I say, a wave of anxiety rushing over me. “I don’t even know where to go. And what if they don’t let me in? How am I even supposed to know what to say?” Despite my chest heaving, I can’t get enough air. “And what about Bailey? What if… what if he’s…” I can’t finish the sentence.
Chase takes his foot off the brake. “You’re good, PJ. Let’s go park, then we can go in together, okay?”
I nod wordlessly, my body trembling.
We pull into a parking spot, and the three of us walk toward the door together, Lindy and I arm-in-arm, and Chase following a couple of steps behind us.
As we step up to the front desk, we’re greeted by a friendly looking man with a gentle smile on his face. “Hi there! How can I help you folks?”
I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out, just breathing punctuated by the shivering of my body. I try again.
Nothing.
Lindy speaks up for me. “We’re looking for the ICU.”
“Sure thing!” The man (whose nametag says Devin) gives us directions and points us down the hall to the elevator. “And remember: If you hit the windows, you’ve gone too far!”
“Thanks for your help,” Chase says, then the three of us walk quickly toward the elevator.
* * *
The ICU is quieter than the rest of the hospital. It’s the same sterile walls and tile, just quieter. I try to push the intrusive thought from my head that it’s only because the patients can’t talk.
We approach the nurses’ station that prevents our entrance. This time, I’m able to speak.
“Hi.”
The nurse glances up from her charting.
I continue. “Um, I’m here to visit a patient.”
She nods, her face stoic. “Who’s the patient?”
“Bailey Diaz,” I say softly, almost as if I say his name too loudly, he might slip away from me.
She clacks away at her keyboard, her short nails clicking against the plastic. “Friend or family?”
The question gives me pause; I don’t know how to answer that.
Thankfully, she takes pity on me and asks, “What’s your name, hon?”
“Palmer. Palmer Jade.”
“There you are,” she says a couple of taps later. “It’s got you listed as family and says you’re on the approved visitor’s list.”
My heart pounds in my chest. I’m family?
“Can I just get your ID to verify?”
I hand over my license, which she quickly scans then hands back. She asks Chase and Lindy for their identification as well, verifying that they are on the list, too.
The nurse stands and presses a button to open the doors. “Stop just inside the door. I will come around and walk you back to his room.”
* * *
We stop just outside of door 6. The nurse turns back to me and says, “Sergeant Diaz’s mom just stepped out to grab something to eat, but she will be back shortly. Please feel free to go on in.” She walks away and stops two doors down before going in.
I turn to face the door. Lindy asks if I want them to go in with me, and I shake my head at her, the only movement I can muster.
“Okay then,” she says understandingly, taking a few steps back. “We’ll be right out here if you need us.”
The lights are dim in the room, and when the door swings shut behind me, the brightest light is from the TV mounted in the corner. I stop a couple of steps inside and freeze, my breath caught in my throat.
Bailey.
Beneath the blanket, Bailey is shirtless.
He’s hooked up to a bunch of wires, almost as if he himself is a machine.
One of the monitors beeps, startling me, and I take another couple of steps toward the bed.
Bailey’s head is elevated; his lips are wrapped around the tube for the ventilator.
His face is covered in cuts, burns, and bruises, and his left eye is swollen shut.
Bandages cover various parts of his body: his head, around his torso, and parts of his arms. I can see his legs are elevated on pillows under his blanket, but the place where the mounds of his lower legs and knees should be is flat against the bed.
Hot tears course down my cheeks as I close the remaining distance to the side of his bed.
Careful not to touch the parts of his skin that look sensitive, I grab his calloused hand.
The hand that has caressed my face, petted Mouse, and helped me do a thousand other things lays heavily in mine.
It doesn’t squeeze mine back. The thumb doesn’t stroke the back of my hand.
The warmth radiating from his skin is the only thing that lets me know he’s still here.
I study Bailey’s face, silently begging him to open his eyes, but my prayers go unheard. Instead, I watch his chest rise and fall along with hiss of the machines, realizing that those machines might be the only reason he’s still here.
And if they turn them off?
What then?
Leaning forward, I press my lips softly to his forehead. “You can’t leave me. You promised,” I say, tears dripping from my cheeks and sliding along his skin.
“Please,” I plead, my voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t leave us.”