Chapter 4 Hazel #2
Probably, he needs more money. Being a van life influencer traveling around the country may be lucrative for some, but it’s not for my brother.
Every month he texts in need of cash, so what can I do but send what I can?
For most of my life I’ve taken care of him.
I can’t stop now. It’s a little hard to find yourself when your van is broken down on the side of the road.
“It’s only a matter of time,” Jerry tells me every time I check in on the status of my reimbursements.
If he can just build up his following, he tells me, the bigger sponsors will come.
But now, his tone of voice tells me that this is something different. And the fact that this is a call, not a text.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I had an accident.”
He says it like he’s updating me on trip progress. I’ve made it to Montana. The weather’s great.
“I’m in the hospital,” he adds.
“Were you rear-ended or…?” I ask, trying to sort out the details.
“Frogger’s fine,” Jerry assures me, like I cared at all about his van. “It’s me. I broke my legs.”
I move to the corner of the shop for privacy. “Plural?”
“Both, yeah,” he says. “Jumping off a waterfall. I miscalculated how far I’d need to jump. Hit the rocks on the way down.”
“Jesus,” I mutter as I watch people outside the storefront window going about their days.
“Pretty sure I saw him,” Jerry says. “When I hit the water. The pain was unbearable. Swear I saw the light for a second.”
I sigh under my breath. “I’m glad your sense of humor is still intact. What hospital are you in?”
“I’m still in St. George. Danielle’s with me.
They airlifted us to the nearest hospital.
” A sliver of exhaustion is layered into his voice.
“You won’t see it since you don’t have social media, but I’ll have to send you a photo of the waterfall.
It was breathtaking. Literally. It took my breath away. ”
This gives me pause. “Can you send a photo? Of your legs?”
“Of my legs? Hazel, that’s so weird.”
“Or of your hospital setup,” I say, suspicion sweeping through me. “I want to see how bad this is.”
“I’m literally suffering, and you want documentation of it?” Jerry asks. “That’s beyond messed up.”
“You’re right. That was a weird thing to ask. When did this happen?”
“A couple days ago.”
“And you broke both of your legs.”
“Oh my god, yes,” Jerry mutters. “Why are you repeating it?”
Because I don’t believe you. “Because I want to make sure I understand,” I say.
“I needed emergency surgery,” he says, rushed. “They had to put in screws. Something about helping the bones heal properly. The doctor said I got lucky. This could’ve been even worse if I had hit the rock differently.”
Nothing about this feels lucky.
“I’m sorry. That’s awful, Jerry,” I say, focusing on a jar of clotted cream fudge from the UK so I don’t have to feel the flood of guilt that rushes in. They’re so smooth and shiny in their individual clear wrapping—
“Hazel? You there?”
“What? Yeah,” I say, turning my back to the sweets. “I’m glad you’re okay. You’ll be groggy for a bit, I’m sure. Have you talked to Dad? I can fly out—”
“No and no,” he says quickly. “I don’t want to trouble anyone.”
“It wouldn’t be any trouble to come visit my severely injured brother.”
“Thanks, but I’m just… while I’m recovering, I’d rather not see anyone,” he says, “And can you not tell Dad? I want to tell him myself when the time is right. Once I figure things out. Otherwise, who knows what he’ll do to get the money. I don’t know if he can get another loan at this point.”
Obviously, telling Dad would not be good for anyone.
I’m quiet for a moment. “You think he’d need to get a loan for this?”
“This is going to be expensive,” Jerry groans.
The exhaustion has turned to tentativeness.
“I was at the waterfall in the first place to get pictures for a swimsuit brand I’m working with.
It was the biggest deal I had in the works.
They won’t pay me until I send over the deliverables, which isn’t gonna happen. ”
Jerry always has something in the works.
The initial Van Life Plan was for him to pay me back with the money he made from his marketing job, which had gone remote during the pandemic.
Being a digital nomad lasted two years until Jerry’s company wanted everyone back in the office. Jerry did not return to the office.
By the end of our conversations, a little part of me always believes that he’s going to make it work. He learned how to be convincing from Dad.
The one time Dad hit a $30,000 jackpot, he just had to go and buy Jerry a used Volkswagen Westfalia camper.
It was all Jerry needed to give up his apartment and go “find himself.” He promptly named it Frogger and poured his life savings—and a portion of mine, to invest in what he sold to me as a “startup loan”—into renovations, a lime-green paint job, maintenance, and photography equipment.
I tidy the tongs and scoops to distract myself with a task. “How much will insurance cover?” I look at my phone screen after a too-long silence. Still connected. “I didn’t hear what you said.”
More silence.
“Then you heard me,” Jerry finally says.
“You don’t have insurance?”
It’s pointless asking. Of course he doesn’t. Health insurance requires a job or money.
On the other end of the phone, I hear sheets rustling and the beeping of machines. Probably what Jerry’s hooked up to. It’s an awful image in my mind.
“I was on Danielle’s, but then she quit her job last month when we had a few leads,” Jerry says.
Leads. Not even sure things. No contracts in place. They gave up health insurance because a brand might be interested in them.
“Jerry, how much is your accident going to cost?” I ask.
“Nothing firm yet, but I think it might be forty-five thousand dollars based on some discussions and Googling. Because I know you’re going to ask, yes, I looked into the hospital’s payment plans.
I requested hardship assistance, and because I did have some earnings last year, they should cover half,” he explains.
Jerry has looked into this already? That’s new.
Before I can say anything, he adds, “I know you just sent money last week, but I don’t know what to do about the ten-thousand-dollar down payment. Can you please just tell me what to do? You have good credit, right?”
This wasn’t a call for comfort. It was—as expected—a call for cash.
Does he think I have that kind of money lying around?
I mentally add up what I have in my savings and the two-week payout I’ll get from my company.
I should also be getting paid out for all the PTO days I didn’t take, which was most of them, give or take a sick day or two.
This down payment alone would wipe out three-fourths of my bank account.
I feel like a body floating, and I’m just watching myself move around Sweet Escape. I’m a husk of myself. I hear the words he’s saying, but I don’t feel the weight of them.
“I… yeah?” I decide not to pile on to his situation by sharing that I’ve been laid off, but I do say, “I already have all my bills and the house—”
“Grandma and Grandpa’s lake house?” Jerry asks. “You’re still paying that off?”
“Dad can’t afford the mortgage on his own, so, yeah. And once it’s paid off, we agreed that it would be mine.”
“I didn’t realize you still wanted it.”
Jerry and I used to spend our summers with my grandparents at their lake house, just the four of us. Dad would get a break from us. We’d get a break from him. My happiest childhood memories all happened there. It was where I could breathe. Relax a little. Be a kid.
My grandparents had a pontoon named Wishful Sinking that we’d take out every night to watch the sunset while we drank pink lemonade.
Then, in an ironic twist of fate, in the summer of ’09 we lost Wishful Sinking when it sank after a heavy rain.
The loss didn’t deter us. Our nightly boating turned to sunset swims.
The lake was where I learned how to swim. It made me realize we didn’t need anything fancy to enjoy the water. And when the waves were rough, Jerry and I sat on the dock playing cards while our grandma grilled and Grandpa made his famous blackberry pie with homemade whipped cream.
But then my grandparents died within a year of each other. Dad inherited the house, and we moved out of our apartment rental and into my grandparents’ home, which was fully paid off. Moving in after such a painful loss was like pressing on a fresh bruise with all the strength I had.
It drudged up losing Mom, too. Dad grieved her death by gambling, chasing losses and dopamine hits. He’s still grieving.
At sixteen, I only had a couple of years there before heading off to college on a swimming scholarship.
I found moments of peace in my daily swims, this time at sunrise.
On very quiet mornings when I had the lake to myself, I could hear the motor of the pontoon, feel my grandparents’ laughter, and taste the blackberry pie.
Being in that house, it reminds me of Mom and her parents.
It reminds me of what it felt like to be carefree. I want that feeling again.
My rational thinking stops my memories from taking on a too-vibrant hue.
Dad owned the home free and clear, until he didn’t.
After one too many bad bets, he took out a mortgage on the house a few years after moving in.
I worked my way through college, setting money aside for tuition, textbooks, and the house, pocketing whatever remained. For years, this is how it’s been.
“Yeah. I want the house,” I say quietly.
“Okay, well, it sounds like the remaining amount will be a payment plan. If you can get a loan, I’ll pay you back.
I swear. With interest! Easiest money you ever made,” Jerry says with the casualness of that time he happened to be driving through Chicago during Lollapalooza.
Though asking for leg surgery money is not the same as asking for concert tickets.
I let out a thinking noise because I don’t know what else to say.
“I didn’t know who else to turn to,” Jerry says. “Did I ever tell you you’re my favorite sister?”
And this is how it goes. Jerry comes to me when he doesn’t know what to do. It could be van troubles or festival passes or broken legs. In the end, I always show up for him. I always will. He knows this. I know this.
“Let me figure out some things on my end,” I say. “Do you have a contact at the hospital? Give me the name. I’ll call—”
“Don’t make any calls,” Jerry pleads. “You’re already helping me enough.”
“I want daily updates.”
“I’m not calling every day.”
“Text, then,” I insist. “I’m serious. Or I’m coming out there.”
Jerry groans. “I regret this.” There’s a seconds-long silence. “Fine, I’ll text.”
We hang up. Right away, as if done out of spite, Jerry sends a photo of his cast-covered legs on a hospital bed.
LMK if you need any more proof, his text reads.
Shame shoots through me. I have the data to prove Jerry isn’t to be trusted. There’s always something wrong, and he’s never paid me back, to start. But this looks bad.
I envision the dark-blue sky and swords of the fortune teller’s card.
Lightning strikes. Storm clouds. Painful.
“Hey, everything okay?” Emma asks. She hands me a bag tied off with orange ribbon when I meet her at the counter.
“Oh, here,” I say, handing her my credit card.
“You already paid,” she says nicely. “I added some extra sour strawberries. I know you like those.”
I blink. “Right. Sorry. Thank you.”
I head back home, itching to get my job hunt started. As I walk, I research broken legs and surgeries. Depending on how long Jerry stays at the hospital, this might be a lot more expensive than he thinks.
I’m clutching the charm bracelet in my hand. The little gold dove with its black gem eye stares back at me.
Now birds make me think of the fortune-telling reading… and Logan. If birds as a collective whole are going to remind me of him, that will be very inconvenient.
Without thinking, I take the lottery ticket out of my bag and flip it over to Logan’s phone number.
Maybe I need a little sunshine.