Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
PRESENT DAY
The hospital is cold. The sharp scent of antiseptic stings my nose. My fingers ache, and my skin throbs. My mind wanders to places I don’t want to think about.
My mom.
The man in the blue truck.
What will happen to us if Margie doesn’t make it through this? I can’t stomach the thought. It’s unbearable without Ruth as it is. Losing Margie might be the fracture we can’t survive.
If she’s gone, would we lose Will and Cory too?
Will they still want to be part of our family if the glue is no longer here?
I can’t breathe when I try to picture it.
As much as I might’ve once rejoiced over the idea of having a single holiday without them, now it’s unfathomable.
Even the attempt to consider a future where they’re not with us feels like a twisting knife.
It’s hard to put into words the pressure built into this moment. We won’t just lose Margie—I’m sure of it. This will change our lives forever, shatter us permanently.
Then, because, apparently, I’m a masochist, I think of Mom.
Of what would happen if the roles were reversed. If Mom were on that operating table and Margie were here, how would I feel?
Alone.
Isolated.
Surrounded by family that isn’t really family.
If Mom died, I wouldn’t want to see them anymore. The truth is there—a quiet, unavoidable whisper. If Mom died, I would cut Margie, Will, and Cory out of my life forever to avoid being connected to the pain. To forget, if even in the slightest way.
The twisting knife sinks deeper in my gut as the hours tick by. My stomach clenches with nausea and dread.
Next to me, Will hasn’t moved. He’s frozen in place, his body rigid, as if holding perfectly still might keep the universe from collapsing. He holds my hand, his only perceptible movement the occasional skirt of his thumb over my knuckle.
I can feel the tension coiling through him, mirroring my own.
Mom keeps pacing. She brings us coffee and snacks, despite the numerous packages and cups still waiting untouched. She needs something to do. I’m not sure the boys even notice the clutter piling up on the chairs and tables around us.
When the door finally opens and we see the surgeon, all four of us stand at once. Will drops my hand. He moves forward, Cory right beside him. Mom and I follow close behind.
The surgeon draws in a deep breath as he looks at us. I’m trying hard to read every crease in his skin. Every shadow on his face.
The second he opens his mouth, it’s as if the rest of the room falls away.
“She made it through the surgery. We’ve stopped the bleed.”
Collectively, we exhale, a ripple of relief passing through us. Mom pats my back, squeezes my shoulder. Cory throws an arm around Will.
“They’ll bring her back upstairs within the hour. She’s still got a long road ahead of her, but the immediate threat is over. We’ll give her a day or two on sedation before we discuss next steps.” He draws in his lips with a small smile. “For now, though, she just needs to rest.”
“When can we see her?” Cory asks.
“Not right away,” the surgeon says cautiously.
“The next twenty-four hours are going to be critical. She’s still at a high risk for re-bleeding and increased intracranial pressure.
We need absolute control of her environment.
It’s important we keep it quiet and low stimulation.
For now, she’s sedated and well cared for.
You’re all welcome to go home. I’ll have the care team call you in the morning, or sooner if anything changes. ”
He asks if we have any questions, then disappears through the doors. We turn to face each other.
“We’ll go to my house,” Mom says. “We can rest there, and we’ll be together tomorrow for the update. I can make a pallet on the floor, like when you were kids.” Her eyes glisten with sudden tears.
“I can’t. I need to go to Will’s,” I say softly.
My voice sounds hollow to my own ears. “I’ll have to go back to work tomorrow.
” Guilt eats at me for even daring to think the words, but I also know this could be a long road.
I can’t afford to take weeks or even months off, especially when I’m still so new at my job.
“But you guys go,” I tell them. “And I’ll come over as soon as I’m off. Or I’ll meet you here.”
Mom gives a small, disappointed click of her tongue. “Are you sure you don’t want to come by and eat lunch at least? Or nap first and have dinner? There’s leftover food and it’s still early. You could go home this evening.”
“No. She’s right,” Will says. “I should go home too. I need to check on the apartment and try to get some work done. While I can.” He pauses, then pulls her into a deep hug. “But thanks, Betty. Really. I’ll call you the second I hear anything.”
She nods, drying her eyes, then looks at Cory. “What about you?”
I hold my breath, realizing the last thing I want is for Mom to be alone right now. If Cory doesn’t agree to stay, I’ll have to change my plans.
“I need to get Richie from Miranda’s,” Cory says. Then, “I’m not going back to work just yet, but she holds every day she has to keep him against me. Even for this. Maybe I’ll bring him over after. Just for the night.”
Mom squeezes his shoulder. “I’d love to have you both.”
I hug her too. The warmth of her arms comforts me, even if it’s fleeting. “Promise me you won’t answer the door if you are alone. And if you see the blue truck, I want you to call us.”
She scowls as she pulls back. “Oh, Opal. You’re being ridiculous.”
“Promise me,” I say again, more firmly this time.
“Fine. I promise.”
“We’ll take care of her,” Cory says, eyes locked on mine. He hugs Will, then we split up, saying one final round of goodbyes.