Julian's Pursuit (14 page)

I listened, struggling to put all the details in place in my mind. “Will…” I drew in a hard, controlled breath. “Will he be okay after that?”

“We’ll have to wait and see. He’ll be closely monitored.”

After a charged pause, Dr. Bonner added, “Once Evan is stabilized, he’ll need cardiac catheterization with stent placement to relieve any obstructions in his left pulmonary artery.” I swallowed nervously, and the doctor kept his voice calm and even. “It’s a relatively simple procedure.”

Another heart procedure
.

My gut twisted at the thought and I ached for my son, as if my own heart would burst out from my ribcage.

“Do you have any more questions?” Dr. Bonner asked. “Any concerns?”

Yes, I did have plenty of concerns, but I only shook my head. I had no energy left for conversation. Just hearing the word
procedure,
regardless of what kind of procedure, was hard to digest, especially with a kid with a congenital heart defect.

In a dazed stupor, I walked back into Evan’s room and sat by his side.

He looked as pale as the white linen sheets, the skin beneath his eyes a dark blue.

Cold sweat ran down his face, and he wouldn’t stop shivering.

I smoothed a stray hair from his fevered brow and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

His skin was scorching hot to the touch and his lips were chapped.

The medical staff came in every hour or so to check on him.

By dark, Evan was sleeping, but his fever continued to rise.

Near midnight, my phone rang and I answered on the first ring.

It was my mom. Her voice was sharp with urgency, and I did my best to calm her down and fill her in on everything.

“Jesus-Mary-Mother-of-Joseph,” she cried out in anguish. “I feel like we’re climbing up that mountain again—the fucking Matterhorn! Hasn’t Evan been through the wringer enough? Can’t my poor grandson catch a break?”

“I know, Mom.” I exhaled hard and pressed my fingers against my eyes. “I know.”

“I want to be there for you, and for Evan…” There was a small break in her voice. “But I have no way of getting there. You know I can’t drive.”

I said nothing. Mom’s driver’s license was suspended after her last DUI and she had no one to blame but herself.

“What can I do?” she asked desperately. “To help?”

“If you want to help me… if you want to help Evan, then please, Mom—
please—
help yourself.”

“I will.” She injected resolution into her voice. “I promise you I will.”

I didn’t know if I believed her. Not when she’d always played me like an instrument tuned to her hands.

“Okay, Mom.” I sighed. “Okay.”

After I hung up, I sat in the shadows by Evan’s side, watching him breathe.

His breathing sounded labored, raspy, as if the air were scratching him as it went in and out.

I closed my eyes. I knew I should try and grab a few hours of sleep before morning, but my mind wouldn’t slow down.

I kept thinking of all the things that could go wrong.

I felt panic tug at me, fraying all my thoughts.

What if the surgery doesn’t help?

What if Evan continues to deteriorate?

The scariest thing was of course the most obvious.

I couldn’t even say it, couldn’t verbalize it. Intermittently, I felt like crying or throwing up at the thought of losing my son.

Blinking back scalding tears, I thought of Harper Connor, the four-year-old girl who’d succumbed to PLE just six months ago. Over the years, I’d gotten to know Harper and her lovely parents through our Mended Little Hearts support group.

Harper was such a brave and strong little girl, an inspiration to so many, and now she was gone. Her death played in my mind more often than I would have liked to acknowledge.

Because that could have been my own child. That could have been Evan.

The very thought of that pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

It was as if, once again, a trap was closing around me, doors closing around hope, and I was suffocating.

Inhale
, I told myself.
Just inhale
.

Taking a long, deep breath, I bit down on my lower lip until I tasted blood.

God
, I whispered under my breath.
He’s my son, my little man, and my best friend. And I need him
.
Please don’t take him away from me
…
I’m not ready to let him go.

Chapter Fourteen

I used to hate copywriters. Despised them. Just thought they were the biggest hack writers of the universe—all failed comics and failed novelists, devoting all their time and energy to figuring out a rhyme in time to save a tagline.

That was until I, myself, was hired on as a copywriter five years ago and made a career out of spinning versions of the truth.

Then I realized I’d been sorely mistaken. Yes, there were a few hacks in the bunch who resorted to rhyming—the cheesiest, laziest, cheapest form of hackistry known to mankind. But there were also a lot of smart, creative copywriters trying to make something entertaining and artful.

It was ten past nine on a Friday night, and I was still holed up in the War Room with a bunch of these superfluous creative people, brainstorming over cups of coffee and chai lattes. Notepads were filled with scribbles and persuasive voices were fighting over each other to be heard.

“Fill a Daisy Diaper and they will come,” Blinky shouted. Ben was his real name, but he called himself Blinky—after the three-eyed orange fish from the Simpsons that was mutated by a nearby nuclear plant.

“Do not shake before opening,” Clive offered.

“In case of emergency, give to husband,” Sara suggested.

“Real babies do it in Daisy Diapers!” Blinky exclaimed.

“I’ve got one.” Perry snorted. “Let’s make a deal! No more carrots, no more blowouts.”

“To pee or not to pee,” Sara said theatrically.

“This side down!” Blinky raised his voice amidst the cacophony. “Do not pull tabs.”

“No.” I shook my head. “The tagline has to feel clean and relatable. Anytime we’re doing diaper ads, we want to emphasize cleanliness.”

“All right,” Sara mused out loud. “Daisy Diapers… to boldly go where few babies have gone before.”

I expelled a frustrated sigh. None of their ideas seemed to be working.
They
knew it, and
I
knew it.

Silence descended upon the War Room like a grey cloud.

“Fuck!” Perry crumpled up a piece of paper, tossed it in the air, and caught it. “It’s starting to smell like a hot diaper in here! We’re so fucking screwed.”

Indeed we were. Trying to come up with a fresh tagline for Daisy Diapers was like trying to screw for virginity. It simply wasn’t happening, and we
had
to lock it down tonight.

The deadline was fast approaching, and my team was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself that we were just working on a magazine ad. Not even a full-paged ad, for that matter.

I knew I had to push my team, but in order for them to be inspired, they needed to relax and chill the fuck out.

“Guys.” I looked around the room. “Remember Bertrand Russell.” A statement, not a question.

“Yeah, yeah,” came their low grunts and groans.

They’d all heard this speech before, but they needed to hear it again. “So remember, one of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that your work is terribly important.” I paused for a moment to let that sink in. “We’re not saving lives here. We’re just doing an ad. That’s all. A diaper ad.”

Blinky blew out a breath, exasperated. “A diaper ad that’s going down the fucking toilet.”

“Look,” I went on. “I know you’re frustrated, but we need to keep going. Keep your ideas coming. We need to fan the sparks until it becomes a flame. Feed the flame until it becomes a fire.”

“Arrgh.” Sara buried her face in her hands. “Don’t say
fire
. It makes me think we’ll get fired if this campaign is a flop.”

“No one’s getting fired,” I assured her. As I began pacing back and forth, a slight movement in the corner of my eye arrested my motion.

I stopped and turned, looking through the glass walls of the conference room.

It was Sadie. She was in her office, frantically opening and shutting some file cabinets.

What the hell was she doing here at this hour?

I frowned, watching her briefly before Perry’s voice drew my attention away.

“Now if anyone should worry about getting fired, it’s
her
,” he remarked.

“Wait,” Sara said suddenly. “Are we talking about Sadie Frost?” A frown pulled at her brows. “Why would she get shitcanned?”

Perry was only too willing to fill her in on the details. “I heard she lost the Miyasaki account. They weren’t willing to extend her the deadline for their spring campaign. And when Sadie couldn’t roll, they left so fast the revolving door must have flapped for days.”

Now Sara looked concerned. “But Sadie’s never lost a client.”

“I know,” Perry concurred. “That woman’s a machine. Never drops the ball, but this time she did.”

I’d sensed for a time that something wasn’t right. Sadie hadn’t been herself lately, almost as if she’d checked out. And she’d hardly been in the office the past couple weeks. When she did show up, it was only for a few hours and it was apparent her mind wasn’t on work.

“Let’s take a fifteen-minute break,” I announced.

I stood just outside her office, watching her for a moment. Her hair, which was usually up in a severe ponytail, was down and disheveled. And she looked hollow-eyed with fatigue, exhaustion layered into her forehead in lines.

I imagined she often got so mired in work that she forgot to eat or even sleep.

“Sadie?”

She looked up from her computer.

I thought of things to say:
I’ve fucking missed you
.
I wish we could be friends again. I think about you all the time.

I said none of them. “I’m sorry you lost the Miyasaki account.”

If she was surprised by my unprecedented forwardness, she didn’t show it. She only nodded.

The silence between us grew thick and weighted.

“Hey,” I said after a time. “Don’t let it get to you. You win some, you lose some, right?”

“Not in this business,” she said bitterly. “You win some, you win some. You lose some, you lose your job.” She paused. “I can’t afford to lose mine.”

There was pain behind her bitterness. It was hidden, but it was there. “Is everything okay?” I almost regretted the words as soon as I’d said them. The last time I’d asked her if everything was okay, she accused me of sexual harassment.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Her face, her voice… it seemed as if they were carved out of sorrow and despair. Then tears began to fill her eyes, spilling over, tracing a glistening path down her cheeks.

“Why are you crying?” My voice grew soft, intimate. I wanted to reach across the distance between us and wipe away the sadness I saw in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, keeping her gaze downcast. “It’s just… my son. He’s not…” She paused, sniffling back tears. “He’s not doing too well.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” I paused. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

She dabbed away the tears with the back of her hand and took a moment to pull herself together. Then she looked at me and managed a smile. A genuine smile that took some of the exhaustion off her face. “No,” she said. “But thanks for asking.”

In the lingering silence, she took one long last look at me before sliding her gaze back to the computer screen.

I left Sadie to her work and returned to the War Room. The minute I stepped into the conference room, Perry demanded gleefully, “Was the Sadist Ice Queen really bawling her eyes out?”

“No,” I said tersely and skewed him with a savage glare. “And don’t ever call her that again.”

Perry shrank back in his seat, and for the next two hours we continued hammering out ideas for the Daisy Diapers campaign, lighting a hundred little fires to see what would catch.

It was close to midnight when Blinky rapped his knuckles on the table. “Booyah! I’ve got it!” he cried. When he was satisfied he had our full and undivided attention, he said slowly, “We could all use a little change.”

Every single person in the room stopped and stared at Blinky like he was a double fucking rainbow.

I paused to let his words sink in. And when they did, it was like music to my ears.

Like Hamlet’s second soliloquy.

The changing of the diapers made it relatable
and
Daisy Diapers was relatively new to the market, thus making it a good change. Essentially, this tagline lit two bums with one flame. “Daisy Diapers.” The strength of my voice rent the air. “We Could All Use A Little Change.” I paused. “Goddamn. I think we’ve got it. That’s our tagline.”

“Yasssss!” Blinky threw a punch in the air. “Nailed it, mawfuckers! Now we can get the fuck outta here. Girl, bye!” He grabbed his shit and practically flew out the door.