The Year I Almost Drowned (37 page)

and mouthed “stop,” trying to calm him. He ran his fingers though his dark hair.

“They have to know something by now.” He folded his arms against his chest,

standing

in

a

defiant

stance.

I moved to an empty chair and sat down. “Finn, don’t you want to go home and

rest a little?” Nana asked, standing over me. She touched my cheeks, her

expression

was

thoughtful.

“No.” I shook my head. “I’m not going anywhere until I see Jesse,” I said. “Can

one

of

you

call

Mom

and

let

her

know

I’m

okay.”

“I

will,”

my

dad

said.

“I’ll

call

her

for

you,

Finn.”

“Thank

you,”

I

mouthed

to

him.

He kissed me on the cheek and left the room. Nana and Meg sat down next to

me. Hannah gave me a warm hopeful smile and watched as Matt continued to

pace the entire room. Jesse’s uncle stood against the wall watching the television

as it blared the twenty-four hour news. We all sat quietly and said nothing. Jesse

was

on

everyone’s

minds.

“Mr.

Dunne,”

a

hospital

employee

said.

“Yes,” Jesse’s uncle answered, as everyone stood up and moved closer to her.

“We have some news about your nephew. He sustained a severe second degree

burn on his fore arm. He won’t need skin grafting and is expected to fully recover

within eight weeks. They’re more concerned about the amount of smoke he

inhaled and are keeping him overnight to monitor him. He’s been moved to room

232.”

I felt a major sense of relief like the whole world had been lifted off of my

shoulders.

“Can

we

see

him?”

Matt

asked.

“Yes,”

she

answered.

We didn’t hesitate for even a second and moved in haste toward the elevator. I

impatiently hit the “up” button several times in frustration. I wanted to see him. I

had

to

see

him.

The elevator bell rang as the six of us squeezed into the small, confining space.

I hit the second floor button, and the door closed. The elevator slowly made its

way to the second floor. It would have been faster if I had run up the stairs, I

thought. We exited the elevator and searched for room 232, which was all the

way

down

the

long

corridor.

One-by-one, we entered his hospital room. Jesse lay on the bed, oxygen tubes

running through his nose, an IV hooked into his one arm, his eyes barely open.

His other arm was completely covered in white bandages. He was drained of all

color,

the

palest

I’d

ever

seen

him.

“You look like hell,” Matt nervously teased. Jesse looked awful, frail, not like his

usual

strong

self.

“Thanks,” Jesse said weakly, his voice hoarse and scratchy. “Your mug is not so

great,

either.”

Nana shook her head and gently touched the top of Jesse’s head. “My sweet boy,

we

were

so

worried,”

she

said.

He smiled weakly and then looked over at me. “Are you okay, Finn?” he asked

me. There he was asking how I was, when he was the one on lying on that

hospital

bed.

He

was

the

one

in

pain.

“I’m

fine.

It’s

you

we’re

all

worried

about.”

“I’m good,” he lied and then coughed again. “Have y’all been waiting around al

this time for me? You should all go home and get some rest. It’s late.”

“We want to stay here with you,” Meg insisted and Hannah nodded her head in

agreement.

“You’ll have plenty of time for that. They said I can’t go back to work for eight

weeks.” He coughed and a low rattle hummed from the depths of his sternum. I

watched as his chest rose and then fell flat. “I’m pretty beat. Y’all go on home and

get

some

rest.”

Everyone relented, complying with Jesse’s wishes and said their goodbyes. “Let

me talk to him for a minute,” I whispered to Nana as we stood near the door about

to exit. She gave me an understanding nod and walked out the door, giving us

our privacy. I moved toward him and sat in the chair beside his bed.

I laid my hand on top of his palm. “I’m so glad you are all right,” I said. “Jesse, I

need to know. Why did you go in the diner,?” I was desperate to know.

He took another deep sounding breath. His tired eyes searched mine. “I thought

you

were

in

there,

Finn.”

“What?”

I

asked

in

disbelief.

“Why?”

“I was on my way to the pool and saw the fire. The whole place was up in flames.

Then I saw my father lying outside on the ground in front of the diner. He kept

saying your name over and over again. I asked him where you were and he just

kept saying your name. He was so drunk. I thought you were in there,” he said

and grimaced. “I ran inside the diner and searched for you. The smoke was so

thick. It was hard to see anything. I couldn’t find you and worried you had passed

out from the fire.” He gently squeezed my hand and continued, “The heat was so

intense and the fire was spreading so fast. It was getting hard to breathe.

Everything in the back of the diner was on fire and coming at me with full force. I

knew I couldn’t save you. It was too late. I thought I had lost you,” he said quietly,

his lips twisted into a frown. “It was the one of the worst moments in my life, short

of losing my mom and Charlie. The thought of losing you, Finn,...” He trailed off

and paused for a minute and then said, “As I walked through the thick cloud of

smoke toward the door, flames were spreading all over and caught onto my arm.

I ran outside and rolled onto the ground to get them off of me.”

I leaned down and lay my head against his heart. Tears fell from my eyes. “It’s

my fault. You got hurt because of me. If you hadn’t gone in there,” I began. I

hadn’t

felt

that

much

guilt

since

my

grandfather

died.

He stroked my hair with his hand. “Shh,” he said soothingly. “It’s not your fault.

You

and

your

martyrdom.”

He

sighed.

I shot up and looked at him. “Yes it is,” I protested. “If I had just cooked for your

dad when he came in the diner,” I shook my head “the fire wouldn’t have started

and

you

wouldn’t

have

gotten

hurt.”

His forehead creased, and he gave me a bewildered look. “Cook for my father?”

“He came in when we were closed and wanted something to eat, and I just sent

him away when I should have cooked for him,” I cried. “I didn’t know he was so

hungry. I just thought he was drunk.” I wiped the tears from my eyes. “He broke

into the diner and started to cook. I tried to warn him, to tell him not to add so

much

grease.”

His head tilted forward, his eyebrows burrowed. “He started the fire?”

“Yeah,” I breathed. “But not on purpose, Jesse.” I stared into his eyes, trying to

get him to see reason, but I could see the look of contempt in his light blue eyes.

“All that oil started a grease fire,” I paused, “and he poured water on it. It wasn’t

his

fault,

Jesse.

He

didn’t

know

what

he

was

doing.”

“Quit making excuses for him,” he growled and let go of my hand. “He’s my father,

Finn, and he could’ve killed us both!” he shouted. “He. Burned. Down. The. Diner!

Not you. He’s a lousy drunk that doesn’t care about anyone but himself.” He

placed his hand up to his forehead and ran it down his tense face, his lips turned

down.

“How

will

you

ever

forgive

me?”

“Forgive you?” I said in disbelief. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

“He’s my father, Finn. And every time you see me, you’ll think about the fact that

he’s responsible for burning down your grandfather’s business and that he almost

killed

you.”

His

facial

expression

was

stressed.

“You’re wrong, Jesse. You’re so wrong.” I reached for him, carefully touching him.

“Maybe you don’t feel that way tonight, but in time you’ll resent me for being

related to him. You’ll blame me for what he did. Finn, what has he done!” he cried,

pounding his fist against the bed, and wincing in agony at the same time.

“Jesse,” I said. “Please,” I begged. “I would never blame you. You have to know

that.”

“Go home and get some rest, Finn. You need it.” He moved his arm so that I was

no

longer

touching

it

and

stared

in

the

opposite

direction.

He truly believed I would blame him for his father’s actions. Never, ever, would I

consider doing that. He had to know that. “But,” I started.

“Goodnight,

Finn,”

he

cut

me

off.

I got up from the chair and headed toward the door. I took one last look at him,

lying helplessly on that bed, in excruciating pain, both physically and mentally.

My heart felt the weight of heaviness, and I wondered if I had lost Jesse Quinn

for good.

I slept and slept and slept. Several hours. Almost a full day. My eyelids felt heavy.

It was as if a brick had been dropped on my chest, like my muscles became an

elastic rubber band and had been stretched beyond their capacity. I slowly got

up, with a lot of effort, and shuffled my way through my room toward the door.

Now

I

knew

how

old

people

felt.

As I navigated through the dark room, I hit my big toe on the corner of my desk.

“Ow!”

I

whined.

I could hear crickets chirping outside. Nana’s voice carried all the way upstairs.

Every sound from downstairs bounced off of the walls and found its way dead

center into my room. I opened the creaking door, letting the light from the hallway

in,

and

headed

down

the

stairs.

“There’s Sleeping Beauty,” Nana said to me as I slogged toward her. “For

someone who just slept twenty-four hours, you sure look beat.”

I yawned. “I am.” I sat down next to her on the couch and nuzzled as close as I

could get to her. She smelled like strawberries. “Who were you talking to?”

“My insurance rep.” She twisted her lips to the side. “He talks a lot. It’s hard to

get a word in edge-wise.”

“What’d he say?” I lay my head on her shoulder and stared at the teal green wall–

Nana’s latest endeavor. Before it was teal green, it was bright orange. The fact

that

she

was

painting

the

walls

again

was

a

good

sign.

“This and that,” she muttered. She ran her fingers through my unkempt, tangled

hair,

putting

me

in

a

trance

like

state.

“Like...,” I murmured.

“We’re going to be okay,” she answered.

I lifted my head from her shoulder. “Meaning?”

“I mean, I’ll get plenty of money from the insurance company. It’s pocket change,

really. Your grandfather was the most frugal man I have ever known, but you

knew that already,” she said, and I nodded in agreement. “Anyway, we had lots

of money saved up, lots and lots, enough for me to live on and then some. Plus,

we’ll get more when I rebuild the diner and then sell it and the property it’s on.”

“To

Mike

Wyatt,

right?”

I

knew.

Somehow

I

just

knew.

“Probably,” her voice trailed. “I’m sure he’ll want to buy it once it’s rebuilt. We’d

have a harder time selling it if we left the property bare.”

We both sighed and propped our feet on top of the coffee table. We leaned back

against the couch cushions and just sat there, saying nothing, thinking.

She looked in my direction. “Something’s buggin’ you. I can tell. What is it?”

“Nothing,”

I

lied.

She

looked

at

me

incredulously.

“Everything.”

I

sighed.

She shifted her body and was now facing me sitting cross legged. For someone

in their late sixties, Nana was incredibly flexible. “Like?” she probed.

I sat up and turned to the side so I could look directly at her. “I miss Grandpa. I