Chapter 28 MJ
MJ
The bottom falls out of my stomach as I enter the hospital.
It’s like when the kids used to insist Henry and I go on those gravity-defying rides at the spring carnival the school hosted every year.
All we could do was hold on tight and pray the rusty bucket we were putting entirely too much trust in wouldn’t snap off, sending us crashing to our untimely ends.
And we did it all without letting on we were afraid.
We held their tiny hands and promised everything would be okay, that no harm would come to them.
But the truth is, we never really knew. We only hoped.
I still hope.
Before I have time to scan the room, Lindsey is rushing toward me. Her eyes are puffy and mascara has shadowed the hollows of her eyes. I gather her in my arms, rocking her gently.
“How’s Oliver?” I ask. “Have you seen him?”
“Not yet,” she answers, blowing out a breath. “He’s okay. They’re treating him now. I should be able to see him soon. They’re keeping him overnight, just to be safe.”
My shoulders sag in relief. “Good. That’s good news.”
She scrubs her hands down her face before tucking them under her chin. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
“And how are you?”
A glossy film covers her eyes, and her lower lip trembles.
“It’s okay, honey. How about we find a restroom?” I ask, curling my arm around her. “Splash some cold water on your face.”
She nods, allowing me to lead her down the short corridor where the overhead signs direct me. I push the door in, the heels of my boots clicking along the tile floor. There are only a few stalls, all of which are empty at the moment.
I wave my hands in front of the automatic dispenser until I have a couple of paper towels clutched in my fingers and dampen them under one of the faucets.
Lindsey is leaning into her reflection, palms on the counter. “Mom, I’m a mess. A mess and—” She chokes back a sob, unable to finish her sentence.
I turn her so she’s facing me and dab the towels beneath her eyes, removing the small black flakes clinging to her bottom lashes.
“I know, sweetheart,” I murmur. “But Oliver’s okay.”
“What if he wasn’t, though? What if—”
“But he is,” I cut in. “He’s going to be fine.”
“I don’t know if I can do this.” Her voice comes out weak and childlike.
“Do what?”
“This,” she cries, throwing up her hands.
“Being with somebody. Especially when that somebody risks their life for a living. He told me this didn’t happen—that they mostly answered medical calls and got cats out of trees.
I let myself fall into this false sense of security that somehow Oliver was exempt from bad things happening. But he isn’t.”
I swallow hard, but my throat is dry.
“When his number showed up on my phone and I answered it and it wasn’t him…I can’t do that again.” She shakes her head. “I can’t get another call like that. If anyone can understand how I feel, it’s you.”
I do understand.
Losing someone you love changes you. It alters you on a cellular level.
It’s not like loss is new, of course. We know it happens.
I felt it when Rose and I lost our parents.
I’ve felt it when I lost friends over the years to illnesses or car accidents.
After each one, I swore to live each day like it was my last. And I did, for a moment, anyway.
Then life inevitably got busy again and I’d get buried in the minutia of the day to day until the next loss happened, when I’d start the cycle over.
I’d promise myself this time would be different.
This would be the turning point, when I’d stop viewing life as a promise that couldn’t be broken.
But with every day that stretched between losses, the seconds blurred until the next death snapped everything back into focus.
We think we still have time, that we have tomorrow.
We’re always surprised to find out we don’t.
“I get it,” I say finally. “I do.”
“What do I do?” She shakes her head, folding her arms over her chest like a shield. “Tell me what to do, Mama.”
I give her a sad smile. “I wish I had the answers, kid. Contrary to what I’ve let you and your brother and sister believe, I don’t know everything.
” That elicits a small chuckle from her, so I continue.
“I can’t tell you what to do. I can tell you what I wish for.
I want you to have someone to grow old with.
Someone who’ll rub your feet after a long day, who you’ll want to strangle sometimes because they snore like a bear.
I want you to have every frustrating, magnificent, heartbreaking moment that comes with falling in love with the person who becomes your best friend. ”
I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip and sigh.
“But what you have to understand is that love comes at a cost that someone must pay, and as much as I want you to have that kind of love in your life, only you can decide if it’s worth the price.
I always thought your father and I would go out like they did in The Notebook, old and moments apart, but life isn’t as kind as fiction. ”
She blows a strand of hair from her eyes. “My mind is a mess. I’m so afraid of making the wrong decision.”
“I don’t think you need to make any decisions tonight.
It’s been an emotional evening. Sleep on it.
The important thing is, Oliver’s okay,” I say.
“Listen, sweetheart, I don’t know if he’s the man for you, but I do believe he’s a good man.
I know it’s only been a short time, but it’s clear he cares about you. And I know you care about him too.”
“I do. That’s what makes this so hard.”
The bathroom door opens, starling us both, and a petite blonde woman comes in.
“Lindsey, they just got Oliver in a room,” she says. “You can go see him now.”
Lindsey nods. “Thanks, Tessa.”
The girl gives her a warm smile and acknowledges me with a small wave before ducking out of the room.
Lindsey steeples her hands in front of her mouth.
“Go see him,” I say. “I’ll wait here as long as you need me to.”
“Will you come with me?” she asks, her words unsteady.
“Of course, I will.” I smooth my hand over her hair. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Lindsey reaches for my hand, and I give her an encouraging smile to conceal the tremble of my own lips.
The fire marshal leads us to Oliver’s room, deep in the bowels of the hospital.
I hate this place so much. Nurses are milling around and people are talking softly on cell phones outside of closed doors.
So many stories are taking place in this building, each on a different page.
Some are just beginning while some are coming to an end.
Some will even stop in the middle of a sentence.
Those books will be closed and put away, only to become one of the many tales that linger in these halls.
The greatest story of my life ended here, within these walls.
The echoes of my worst moments exist here.
Despite the grim scene I witnessed then—the paramedics shouting orders and statuses I didn’t understand—I still held hope. I told myself that miracles happened all the time, and that if anyone deserved one, it was my Henry.
I’m so sorry, Mrs. Haggerty. We did everything we could.
“Here we are,” Joe says once we reach Oliver’s room. He knocks before sticking his head in. “Beckett, you’ve got some visitors.”
Joe holds the door and nods. “I’ll be outside if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Joe,” Lindsey says as we enter the room.
“Hey.” Oliver’s voice is a bit scratchy, but he still greets us with a smile, his gaze focused on Lindsey. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? I’m sorry about our date.”
“That’s the last thing I’m worried about,” Lindsey says, rushing to his side. “How are you feeling?”
I stand back to give them a moment. My heart aches, seeing Oliver in that bed—seeing Lindsey bear witness to that, knowing the turmoil her heart is going through.
Love comes at a cost that someone must pay.
God knows, I’ve paid dearly, but if I had it to do all over, even knowing how it would all end, I’d still do it in a heartbeat.
The cost was steep, but the life Henry and I had together was worth every penny.
But is it a price I’m willing to pay again with someone else?
“MJ, I’m so glad you came,” Oliver says, reaching a hand out to me.
I step forward and take it, giving it a squeeze. “And I’m glad you’re okay.”
“It’s nothing, really,” he insists. “It could have been much worse.”
My daughter’s back stiffens where she’s seated on the edge of the gurney.
“I’m just grateful everyone made it out safely,” he continues, “and I’ll be able to return to work in a couple days.”
Lindsey wavers. “Are you sure you ought to go back so soon? Maybe you should take some time off. Make sure you’re feeling a hundred percent.”
“After I get some rest and fluids, I’ll be just fine,” he says. “This kind of thing is par for the course, and what I experienced tonight was minor. The guys got me out of there fast.”
Lindsey’s jaw tightens, and I know she’s imagining a future time when they don’t.
“Promise.” He reaches for my daughter’s hand and threads his fingers through hers, as though he can see the thoughts flashing through her mind. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?”
She nods like she believes it, but I know she doesn’t. Because she can’t. Because I can’t. Life doesn’t work that way.
I lean forward and pat Oliver’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’re exhausted. Maybe we should let you get some rest.”
“I can stay,” Lindsey offers. “In case you need anything.”
He touches her cheek. “You should go on home with your mom. It’s late, and I’m afraid I won’t be very good company anyhow, unless you like watching people sleep with the TV on. I’ll text you as soon as I get discharged.”
“I’ll come back and take you home in the morning,” she says.