That Boy (20 page)

Why in the world did I say that? I didn't mean it.

I've got to tell him I'm sorry.

But what if he won't forgive me? What if he hates me now?

He barely spoke to me in the police car.

He probably does hate me.

Regardless of the fight, I mean, he is my best friend, and I don't know what I would do without him.

Especially now.

I mutter another prayer.

Please don't let him hate me. Please don't let him hate me. Please don't let him hate me.

The elevator dings, and I stand up in front of my chair and watch the doors open. Standing inside the elevator is Mr. and Mrs. Mac and Phillip.

I try to read Phillip's face as he steps off the elevator, but I'm unable to judge what he's thinking. I do notice that his eyes don't look angry anymore, maybe there's hope.

Phillip doesn't say anything.

He rushes to me, wraps me in a one armed hug, and pulls me close.

I close my eyes and whimper in his ear. “I'm so sorry, Phillip. Please forgive me, please forgive me, I didn't mean what I said, please forgive me, please forgive me.”

“Princess,” he whispers back, “you know I could never stay mad at you.”

And that's when the tears come.

Standing there in Phillip's arms, this whole nightmare becomes, well, real.

Nothing is ever real until I tell it to Phillip, I think, why should this be any different?

“She's dead, Phillip.” I sob into his shoulder. “I think he might be dead too.”

Mr. Mac says loudly, “
What?
”

“He might be dead too. He talked to me, well he said my name, and he sorta smiled at me. I thought that meant he was going to be okay. But his hands were so cold, and his hands are just like Phillip's. They're never cold. Then he stopped breathing, I think. A bunch of alarms went off, and they made me leave. But no one has come out to tell me
anything
.”

Because Phillip is smoothing down the back of my hair with the palm of his hand, I actually manage to get the words out.

Mr. Mac drops into a chair, runs his hand through his hair, hangs his head down and keeps it there. He's changed out of his, you know, dirty shirt and is wearing a green scrub top. It looks really out of place on him because he's always a very polished suit and tie kind of guy.

Mr. Mac has known my dad longer than I have, I suddenly realize.

We sit in uncomfortable waiting room chairs and wait, and wait, for what seems like an eternity.

Everyone handles the stress of waiting differently. Mr. Mac paces up and down the hall, jingling some change and keys in his pocket. Mrs. Mac plays hostess. She makes us all coffees, and then cleans up a mess that isn't really there. Phillip sits next to me and holds my hands. I just stare into space, my mind in overdrive, trying to figure out how I am going to deal with this.

Finally,
a nurse comes out. She tells us they revived Dad. I feel hopeful, but then she quietly adds that his outlook isn't good, and a doctor will be out to talk to us soon.

Shit!

“Is there a chapel here?” I blurt out, feeling a sudden need to have a chat with God.

“Down the hall and to your right,” she tells me.

“I'm gonna go down there, okay?” I tell the Macs.

“Can I come with you?” Phillip asks me. “Or do you want to be alone?”

“Come with me. I may need back up.” I tell Phillip hastily, as I march off.

“What do you mean?” he asks, as he follows me down the hall and to the right.

“I'm pissed, Phillip. I'm mad at God, and I want him to know it!”

Phillip follows me into the empty chapel.

I walk to the front and hold my arms in the air.

“Okay, God?” I say to the sky. Not that I expect an answer, but I need to get this out.

“I mean what in the hell did they do to deserve this? Why them? Why me?”

“JJ! You can't say stuff like that in here. It's totally disrespectful.”

“You know what Phillip? He pretty much took my parents away from me tonight in one fail swoop. I think I earned the right to say a few bad words. I mean, jeez, could it get any worse?”

Phillip sighs, “You know God doesn't cause accidents. They're just that.
Accidents
.”

“So what happened, Phillip? Who or what caused this
accident
? And like God couldn't have saved them if he wanted to? Haven't you ever heard of miracles? Don't you think he could've even spared just one?” I yell at both Phillip and God.

Phillip studies my face and begins, “Well, a woman lost control of her car. Crossed the median.” He gulps. “They collided head on.”

“Oh, figures. And I suppose she wasn't even hurt. Probably walked away without a scratch, while my mom is dead and Dad is……..oh, I don't know what he is exactly.”

“Actually, they were on the interstate going 75 miles per hour, when they collided. They say she was killed instantly.” He looks at me intensely and continues in a measured tone, “Her four year old daughter was in the backseat and
miraculously
only has a few cuts and bruises.”

Oh sure, throw my miracle request back in my face.

“So, it
could
be worse. You could be a four year old with no mom.”

Leave it to Phillip to find the one damn ray of sunshine in my whole dark life.

“Fine,” I sigh. “So it could be worse. Regardless of my age, Phillip, I can't handle this. How am I supposed to handle this?”

I am starting to freaking freak!

“I'll help you.” He grabs my wrists and leads me to a pew. “My family will help you. You know our parents agreed to take care of each other's kids if anything happened to them. Your being eighteen doesn't change how they feel about you.” He runs the back of his hand across my cheek, then holds my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “We love you. I love you. We'll get through it together.” He breaks a little smile. “You know, Grandma Mac used to say,
God never gives you more than you can handle.
”

“My grandma used to say something like that, except hers was,
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger
.” I shake my head, “It looks like I'm about to get a whole helluva lot stronger.”

“Jadyn,” Phillip says, stroking my cheek again.

Jadyn? Phillip has
never
called me that.

“You're the strongest,” he smiles, “and most stubborn person I know. I think maybe you'll realize just how much strength you already have.”

I don't know if it's thinking about Grandma, or what Phillip said, or the way his touch relaxes me, or just having it out with God, so to speak, but I feel a little better.

I say another silent prayer.
Sorry for yelling, this is just such a shock. Please help my dad, and please help me
.

Maybe I can get through this. I mean, lets face it, do I really have a choice?

No. I have to.

For
my parents, I suppose.

“Thanks, Phillip. We better get back. I don't wanna miss the doctor.”

He holds my hand as we walk back to the waiting room and that gives me strength somehow.

Mr. and Mrs. Diamond must've just arrived. They are crying and hugging the Macs.

They see me and hug me too.

“Oh, JJ. We're so sorry, honey. I just can't believe this,” Mary says tearfully.

We update Chuck and Mary, and I complain that we still haven't heard from a doctor.

“That's ridiculous!” Chuck tells us and marches straight into ICU. Danny's dad is an attorney and a lot like Danny, a very take charge kind of guy. I'm glad he's here because I don't think Mr. Mac is going to be able to take charge of anything. He's not dealing so well.

While Mr. Diamond is in the ICU, Mrs. Diamond is on her cell trying to reach Danny. “Straight to voicemail,” she complains. “I can't,” she starts crying again, “I can't just tell him this on voicemail. And I talked to him right before Julie called. He said he saw you guys at a party in town.”

Phillip nods at her.

Jake. Danny. The party. It seems like a lifetime ago.

“Why he didn't bother to stop and see his mother while he was in town, I have no idea,” she mutters. “Anyway, I know his phone's not dead. Why have one if you're not going to keep it on and answer it?”

“He's probably back at his dorm by now. Why don't you try there?” Phillip suggests.

“Why don't
you
try?” she says to Phillip. “Maybe he's just avoiding his mother.”

Phillip takes out his cell and punches in Danny's number. I hear him leave a message.

“Hey, it's Phillip. Your mom's been trying to reach you for a reason. Call me as soon as you get this. It's Jay's parents. Um, there's been an accident and it's… uh, not good. Call me - no matter how late.”

Mr. Diamond walks out of the ICU. He's lost his swagger. “The doctor will be out in a few minutes,” he announces.

Then he walks over and sits down beside me. He puts his big hand on my knee, but I'm not sure if it is meant to comfort me or bolster him. “You need to prepare yourself, JJ. The news isn't going to be good.” He swallows hard and tears well up in his eyes, and he starts to cry as he says, “They don't think he's going to make it and want to talk to you about organ donation.”

“
Jesus, Chuck! Don't you think they should try to save him before they start auctioning off his body parts?
” Mr. Mac yells, throws his coffee cup in the trash madly and storms down the hall.

We all ignore his outburst. We know he's very upset.

I watch him walk down the hall, sigh and say to Mr. Diamond, “I think he wanted that.”

“He did. I took care of your parents' estate planning. You're going to be okay, JJ.” He looks at me with worried eyes and adds softly, “Well, at least financially.”

I sort of roll my eyes because, I'm sorry, finances are the
least
of my worries right now.

The ICU doors part, and a doctor walks out.

I stand up and rush toward him.

“Is he okay?” I ask.

“Jadyn Reynolds?” The doctor asks me. I shake my head yes. “Let's sit down.”

I cringe at the
let's sit down
. On TV, bad news
always
follows that saying. I sit down next to Phillip, who grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly.

“Your father suffered severe brain trauma, and his body is shutting down. We've revived him once, but we need to discuss what you want done when it happens again. Did he have a living will?”

I look at him kind of puzzled because I'm not exactly sure what that is.

Danny's dad stands up and says, “Yes, he did. Here. I brought a copy.” He hands the living will to the doctor.

“What's that for exactly?” I ask.

Chuck turns to me and says very slowly, “Well, your parents didn't want you, or each other, to ever have to make difficult decisions about medical care should something like this happen. So they put their wishes in something called a living will. Your dad did not wish to be held in a vegetative state.”

Holy shit, I think.
Vegetative state
?

“So bottom line is, he's going to die?” I ask incredulously.

Please let this be a bad, bad dream.

“Yes, it's inevitable,” the doctor tells us.

“When?” I ask and then hammer him with a whole slew of questions. “Can I go talk to him? Can he hear me? Is he in pain? What are we supposed to do? What am I supposed to do?”

“Yes, you can talk to him.” The doctor is young, good-looking and has compassionate eyes. If I weren't in such distress, I'd probably be flirting with him. “He's highly medicated, and he won't be in any pain. He's slipped into a coma, so he won't talk back, but we believe coma patients can hear you. So go talk to him, tell him you love him and say goodbye.” He stops and sighs. “I know this is tough, but he signed the back of his driver's license indicating his wish to be an organ donor. We need your approval for that. He was a strong, healthy man and his organs could help many families whose loved ones will die without them.”

I zone out most of what he said because all I can focus on is the word
was
. He
was
a strong man.

Was?

I turn and glance at Phillip. “Was?” I put my elbow on my knee, hold my chin in my hand and close my eyes.

How am I supposed to do this?

I cannot do this.

A voice inside my head, probably the same stupid one that can never say
no
to a dare or take
no
for an answer, says,
you have to
.

“You didn't answer the when part.” I state.

He shakes his head and purses his lips, “Not long. Maybe a few hours, maybe a few minutes.”

“When do you need to know about the organ donation stuff?”

“When you make a decision, let his nurse know, and she'll get you the appropriate paperwork. You can all go in to see him, but please, no more than two at a time.” He gets down on his knees in front of me, touches my hand and says seriously, “Jadyn, I'm very sorry about
both
your mother and father. I was here when they both came in, and we really did everything we could.” And I realize that this has been hard on him too.

“Thank you. I appreciate everything you did,” I manage to say.

Mr. Mac comes walking back down the hall. Mr. Diamond heads him off and updates him on the situation.

“I'm going in there,” I state. I want to see Dad, but I feel sick to my stomach. Part of me feels like if I just pretend this isn't happening, then maybe it won't be. The other part of me needs to say goodbye. I feel like a big fat chicken.

Get a hold of yourself. You are so not a chicken.

I walk up to Mr. Mac, look at him with well practiced puppy dog eyes, and give him a hug. He really looked like he could use one and, truthfully, I'm hoping to soften him up a little. “Would you come in with me?”

Okay, so maybe I'm a bit chicken.

“I don't know if I can, JJ.” He answers truthfully. “It tears me up to see him like that.”

“Me too. But we have to. We'll do it together, okay?”

He shakes his head yes, and we walk into the ICU.