Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
PRESENT DAY
It’s late when Mom first suggests I go home.
I resist. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want Margie to wake up without me here.
But as the hours drag on, Will and Cory begin to agree too. Their reasons are valid.
It’s late.
There’s not a lot for me to do right now.
Margie’s in the ICU, and Will and Cory are the only ones allowed to see her. Mom has to be here for them, the way we know Margie would stay for me if the situation were reversed.
But none of that matters to me. I want to be here. For her. For them.
For me.
It was never supposed to be this way. They built this big, extended family for us—one we were supposed to rely on all our lives—and in the blink of an eye, it’s nearly halved.
Mom was never supposed to carry this on her own.
And the boys were never supposed to lose two moms. I was never supposed to lose two moms.
Ruth is gone. If Margie dies, Mom will be all we have left.
I shake the thoughts from my head. I can’t go there. I just can’t. Margie will fight. I know she will.
And maybe they’re right, I concede, their reasoning coming at me from all sides. I should be rested when she wakes up—because she will. There’s no reason for me not to get a few hours of sleep until we know more.
In the end, I’m exhausted trying to prove why I deserve to be here. And so, with the promise I’ll be back bright and early, I leave.
I give them all distracted hugs, my head spinning, and make my way to the parking lot. Except, when I get in my car and start driving, I realize I’m not going back to Will’s.
I can’t.
Right now, all I need is to be in the house where I grew up, where I was loved by Margie and by Ruth. I need to sleep in my mom’s bed.
The next morning, I wake to the sounds of someone knocking somewhere in the distance. It takes several seconds for me to process where I am and what the sound is.
By the time I do, the knocking has stopped.
I jolt out of bed, shoving the blanket back, and rush through the house.
When I reach the front door, I peek outside through the small window, searching for the source of the sound. But there’s no one on the porch.
My heart thuds in my ears.
No one comes out here. Mom wouldn’t knock, and the only other people who ever come to the house are at the hospital right now.
Or dead.
My breathing hitches.
In the driveway, there’s a blue truck.
The blue truck…maybe.
My heartbeat stumbles.
The truck is old. Possibly vintage. Baby blue with no back seat.
I can’t see the driver, just the truck idling in the driveway, exhaust clouds fading into the wind behind it.
Part of me is tempted to open the door, to demand to know who he is and what he wants, but I don’t. I can’t. I’m here alone.
With a sudden surge of panic, I think about the back door. Is it locked? Mom never locks any of her doors.
I bolt through the house to the back and twist the lock, resting against it with a heavy breath. Then I check the windows.
By the time I return to the front, the truck is gone. And I’m left with no answers at all.
I dial Mom’s number, and when she picks up, her voice is exhausted.
“Good morning, honey. Are you already on your way?”
“Someone was here,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
Her tone changes. “What do you mean? Who? Where?”
“At your house. I…I came here last night instead of going back to Will’s, and I woke up to a man in a blue truck knocking on the front door.
Er, someone knocking, anyway. It could’ve been a woman, I guess.
I didn’t see the driver. By the time I got out of bed, they were already back in their truck. They’re gone now.”
“Don’t answer it if he comes back,” Mom says, and her voice is sterner than I’ve heard in a long time. She sounds…scared.
“You know who it was?”
“No, but I don’t like it. Don’t answer the door while you’re there alone. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
She inhales an unsteady breath. “The truck is gone now? You’re sure?”
“Yeah, and I locked both doors and checked the windows.”
Mom is quiet for a beat. “Why are you at my house?”
I don’t have an answer for that. “It’s just…where I came.”
She doesn’t say anything.
“I’m okay,” I assure her. “It just scared me. I’m still half asleep. Any news on Margie yet?”
“The boys are in with her again now. They came to give us another update around six. Basically, the surgery stopped the bleeding, but they’re saying the damage is pretty bad.
A…subdural hematoma.” The words sound as strange on her tongue as they feel to my ears.
“I’ve been trying to research, but it’s all so specific.
They said something about her midline being off, or…
or shifted…or something. Something with an eight.
Or maybe her score was an eight. I don’t remember, honey.
I’m sorry. I’m…I…” She sniffles. “She’s fully on a ventilator now, but they said once the swelling goes down, they’ll try to wake her up.
They just keep saying the next forty-eight hours are critical. ”
She’s trying to sound strong, but there’s a heavy sadness in her words.
She’s already buried one of her friends, her sisters.
I can hear it in her voice—she can’t do it again.
“They still won’t let me in to see her. Immediate family only.
But the boys say she looks okay. Considering.
They shaved a patch of her head, though. She’ll hate that.”
Her voice cracks with the dry joke, and she’s crying now, and I wish more than anything I could be there with her. Could hold her hand. I never should’ve left.
“I’m going to get dressed, and I’ll be on my way,” I tell her softly. “What can I bring you guys?”
“No. No. Don’t come. We’re… I already told the boys we should go home for a bit.
They’re visiting with her this morning, and then they agreed to leave with me.
We need to eat, shower, change. I’m hoping we can all get some sleep.
The doctors say they’re just going to let her rest and recover on the ventilator today, so it’s a good time. We’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Okay. I’ll cook something for you guys, then,” I tell her, doing the mental math in my head to decide what I might manage not to ruin. “How’s… How are they?”
“As good as can be expected.” She sniffles again. There’s a pause. “Food would be nice, honey. We’re all starving. I think this hospital is hoping to make people sick with the food they’re offering.”
My lips curl with a soft smile. “I love you, Mom.” I feel like I need to say that now more than ever. “See you soon.”