by La Jill Hunt
Midlife Crisis
La Jill Hunt
www.urbanbooks.net
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Sylvia
Sylvia
Sylvia
Janelle
Sylvia
Janelle
Sylvia
Janelle
Sylvia
Janelle
Sylvia
Janelle
Sylvia
Janelle
Sylvia
Janelle
Sylvia
Janelle
Sylvia
Janelle
Sylvia
Janelle
Sylvia
Janelle
Sylvia
Janelle
Sylvia
Teaser chapter
Urban Books, LLC
300 Farmingdale Road, NY-Route 109
Farmingdale, NY 11735
Midlife Crisis Copyright © 2019 La Jill Hunt
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.
ISBN: 978-1-6016-2129-0
eISBN 13: 978-1-60162-466-6
eISBN 10: 1-60162-466-2
This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.
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Sylvia
“Hello?” Sylvia whispered into the phone. It was more like a question than a greeting because she was wondering if the phone was really ringing or whether she had been dreaming. No one ever called their home phone.
“May I speak with Garrett Blackwell?”
Sylvia leaned over and stared at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was almost four in the morning.
“Excuse me? Who is this?”
“My name is Elizabeth, and I’m a nurse at Mercy Hospital. I’m calling to speak with Garrett Blackwell.”
“He’s not in. He’s traveling on business. Mercy Hospital, where is that?” Sylvia asked. She had never heard of it, so she knew it couldn’t be located in the area.
“We are in Drakeville,” the woman said. “Is there a number where Mr. Blackwell can be reached?”
“Drakeville? What’s going on?” Sylvia asked. She was now wide awake and started sitting up to turn on the lamp. Drakeville was over four hours away from their home.
“There’s been an accident, and Mr. Blackwell is listed as the next of kin for Miranda Meechan.”
“Who?”
“Miranda Meechan,” the woman repeated.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know anyone by that name,” Sylvia told her.
“Is there another number where Mr. Blackwell may be reached?”
“I will reach him and give him your information.” Sylvia reached into the nightstand and fumbled for a piece of paper. She wrote down the name and number of the hospital then quickly dialed Garry’s cell phone number. Her husband of nearly twenty years was a district manager for Xerox and often traveled for business.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” Garry answered without even saying hello. She knew he had to be just as frightened by this early morning phone call as she was.
“Garry, Mercy Hospital just called asking for you.”
“What? Why?” he asked.
Sylvia imagined her husband frowning and squinting because he didn’t have on his glasses and was blind as a bat.
“They said you’re the next of kin for someone named Miranda Meechan. I don’t know who that is. Do you?”
“Who?”
“Miranda Meechan.”
“Miranda Meechan,” Garry repeated, and then said, “Baby, I don’t know who that is or what they could be calling me for. I don’t know.”
“Me either, Garry. I told them they probably had the wrong number.”
“How did they get your number?” he asked. “That’s weird.”
“They called the house.” Sylvia nestled back under the covers. “I have the number if you wanna call them back.”
“Naw, no need. You already told them they had the wrong number. Where is Peyton?”
“Garry, it’s almost four in the morning. Where do you think she is?” Sylvia answered.
“I guess that was a dumb question, huh? She’s doing exactly what you and I both need to be doing. Sleeping.”
“Well, I hope that’s what she’s doing. You know I looked on Facebook one night last week, and she liked somebody’s pictures at three in the morning. That child, I swear—” Sylvia sighed.
“What? You didn’t tell me that when I was home this weekend. Whose pictures? It better not have been some knucklehead. I keep telling you that we’re gonna have to monitor her with this internet stuff, Sylvia.”
“Calm down, Garry. I didn’t tell you because it was already handled. She’s a seventeen-year-old honors student and athlete, and she’s never been in any type of trouble. She’s headed to college and has a successful life ahead of her.”
“I know that, Sylvia. That’s because we raised her right, but that doesn’t mean we can slack off. If anything, we need to keep a closer eye on her.”
“Good night, Garry,” Sylvia told her husband.
“Good night, Syl. And Syl, you are doing an amazing job raising our daughter. You know how much I love and appreciate you, right?”
Sylvia smiled. She knew that Garry loved her and Peyton. Over the years, she learned to pick her battles. It was easier to just let Garry talk and move on.
“I love you too, Garry.”
“Still?” he asked, as he had done every time since the first time she told him nearly twenty years ago.
“Still,” she said, and they hung up.
* * *
“Mom, can you pick me up late tomorrow?” Peyton asked the next morning as they headed out the door. Sylvia had a full day ahead, and dropping her daughter off at school, as she had for the past twelve years, was the first thing on her agenda. Even though the school bus picked kids up right on the corner, Sylvia enjoyed the time they shared during the drive. It was their bonding time. She used the time to talk about current events and celebrity gossip that they heard on the morning radio shows, and she tied it in with real-life situations and scenarios. At times, Sylvia used the subjects as teaching moments, pointing out acceptable and unacceptable behavior.
“Why?” Sylvia asked, checking her phone again to make sure her ringer was on. She had tried to reach Garry, but he didn’t answer. Normally he called both of them before they left the house, but this morning, he didn’t.
He probably overslept. After all, I did call and wake him up at four this morning, she thought. But deep down, something didn’t feel right.
“We’re having a meeting about our community service for our senior projects.”
Peyton’s school required all graduating seniors to complete a minimum of sixty hours of community service and do a presentation based on their experience. When she first heard about it, Sylvia thought the hours were a bit excessive. After learning more about the requirements and seeing the projects that previous students had completed, she agreed that it was a great idea. She had spoken with one of the women at their church about having Peyton volunteer with the senior citizens group over the next few weeks.
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“Fine,” Sylvia agreed. She made a mental note not to forget and was grateful that it allowed her a few more hours to complete the tasks she had already scheduled, most of which involved her upcoming vow renewal. She thought planning her twentieth-anniversary wedding ceremony would be easier than planning her first wedding, but she quickly found out it was just as exhausting.
“Thanks,” Peyton said, turning up the radio and listening to the local radio station’s topic of the day, which was infidelity. The caller was a woman who said that she always told her husband if he ever cheated, it would be better if he was up front and honest about it, rather than have her find out some other way and he lie about it.
“Why would you want your husband to tell you he cheated? That’s crazy.” Peyton shook her head. “Who does that? You’re gonna betray my trust and then brag to me about it? I don’t think so. She’s stupid. She basically gave him permission to cheat.”
Sylvia laughed. “I don’t think you understand. It’s not about him cheating. No one wants their spouse or significant other to cheat. Her point is if he did make the mistake of cheating, be a man about it and tell her. Don’t lie and say it didn’t happen or let someone else be the bearer of bad news. She wants him to own his behavior.”
“Nope. I’m not buying it. If my boyfriend cheats on me, he better know better than to come and fess up, because once I find out, I’m going for the jugular, and I’m trying to kill him!”
“What boyfriend? Is there something going on I should know about, young lady? Last I heard, there was no boyfriend. Only friends. Is it that guy whose pics you liked the other night at midnight? What’s his name again so I can send him a friend request?”
“Oh my goodness, Mom. No, there’s no boyfriend. And I’m not telling you his name. I can’t believe you are all on my page like that anyway. You’re almost as bad as Daddy.”
Sylvia looked over at Peyton. “Oh, really?”
“Okay, you’re definitely not that bad. He’s way worse.” Peyton laughed. They pulled up to the school, and she leaned over and gave her mother a kiss. “See ya, love ya, bye!”
“See ya, love ya, bye,” Sylvia repeated. She pulled off and turned the radio back up, which was now playing Keith Sweat. Her phone rang, and she answered thinking it was her husband.
“Oh my God. Is it true? Please tell me this is not happening to you.”
“What are you talking about?” Sylvia asked her best friend, Lynne.
“I just talked to my mother. She said that you told Auntie Connie she can come and stay a few weeks.”
“Yes, it’s true. Good news travels fast, huh?”
“You must be a glutton for punishment. I can’t believe Garry agreed to her coming in for that long. You know it’ll be at least three or four months until her place is ready, right?”
“I know, but it may be sooner than that. And I haven’t mentioned it to Garry yet. I am gonna wait and tell him when he comes home this weekend.”
“Boy, I wish I could be a fly on the wall when you tell him that one. You know he don’t like no one in his house, not even family. That man . . . I swear. He will give you the shirt off his back, but when it comes to that house, it’s a whole ’nother story.”
Sylvia thought about the phone call she had gotten in the middle of the night, and now, her husband’s sudden unavailability. It didn’t sit well with her.
“Hellllooooooo,” Lynne sang out. “Are you here?”
“Yeah, let me call you back in a little while,” Sylvia said and hung the phone up before Lynne could respond. She tried Garry’s cell twice more. It no longer rang but went straight to voicemail. She didn’t leave a message. She hit the screen of the radio, changing it to GPS, and routed her destination as Mercy Hospital. Keith Sweat was definitely right about one thing: Something just ain’t right.
Sylvia
“Can I help you, dear?” the white-haired woman at the patient information desk asked. Her cheerfulness did nothing to calm the nerves Sylvia felt in her stomach. Suddenly, the master plan she’d created in her mind during the three hour and twenty–minute drive to the hospital was now gone. She tried to think.
“Good morning. It is still morning, isn’t it?” Sylvia looked down at the gold Movado watch Garry had given her last Valentine’s Day.
“Well, for the next fifteen minutes it certainly is,” the woman said. “Are you here to see a patient, or do you have an appointment?”
“Um, a patient,” Sylvia told her.
“Great. What’s the patient’s name?”
“Miranda, Miranda Meechan.”
The woman typed on the computer keyboard, glanced up at Sylvia, and frowned. “She’s in ICU. Well, she’s actually in surgery right now. Are you family?”
“Yes, I am,” Sylvia lied. When she heard ICU, she knew there was a risk of being told only family could be seen by the patient.
“Do you have an ID?”
Fumbling in her purse, she found her driver’s license and passed it across the desk. The woman looked at her name, then the computer screen.
“Sylvia . . . Blackwell,” she murmured and clicked the mouse. “There’s a Garrett Blackwell in the ICU waiting room already.”
Hearing that Garrett was already at the hospital took Sylvia by surprise. She sucked in her breath slightly and then nodded and said, “Yes, he’s my . . . brother.”
The woman scanned a copy of the card and then passed it back to Sylvia along with a sticker that read Visitor and an ICU room number. “Take the elevator to the ninth floor, and when you get off, go to the left. The surgical waiting area is right there.”
“Thank you.” Sylvia nodded then headed to the elevators.
She hated hospitals. She had spent enough of her early adulthood in and out of them. Her father was a hardworking man. He was a few years shy of retirement from the shipyard when he was diagnosed with asbestos poisoning. Sylvia was only twenty-three when he died. Her mother, who spent years washing her father’s uniforms, died less than two years later of lung cancer. It was the most difficult time in her life, and most days she didn’t know how she would make it. Garry was right there by her side, not only holding her hand, but holding her up when she could barely stand. He had been her rock.
She braced herself as she walked toward the entrance of the surgical waiting room, nearly bumping into an older, bearded gentleman dressed in green scrubs as he brushed past her.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she told him.
“No, it’s my fault.” He smiled and continued walking. He entered the same open glass door that she was headed to, and as she got closer, she caught a glimpse of Garry walking over and shaking the man’s hand.
Sylvia inched closer until she was within earshot and listened, wondering if they could hear her heart, which was beating hard and loud.
“Mr. Blackwell, we did the best that we could, but it’s still touch and go at this point. As you already know, there was a lot of internal bleeding and extensive damage to Ms. Meechan’s chest and abdomen. Only time will tell at this point.”
Sylvia saw the stress and strain in Garry’s face as he listened to what the doctor was telling him. She could see that he hadn’t slept all night.
“Right now she’s in a coma. All we can do is wait,” the doctor continued.
“I understand.” Garry nodded.
“But your daughter is resting in the post-surgical recovery room, and she’s going to be fine. You can see her in a couple of hours.”
“Thank you,” Garry whispered.
Your daughter . . . daughter . . . daughter....
The words seemed to echo over and over as Sylvia stood watching the two men talk. She closed her eyes, praying that she was dreaming and not standing there catching her husband in the biggest, most confusing lie he had ever told.
Just as she was about to go and confront him about what was going on, a mass confusion broke out. There was an announcement of some code over the intercom, and Sylvia could hear beeps coming from d
own the hallway. She turned to see nurses pushing a large machine into one of the rooms. The doctor came running by, and right behind him, she saw her husband. His eyes met hers just as he was about to pass her, and then he stood frozen, as if he didn’t know what to do. His eyes went from the direction of where the hospital staff was headed then back to Sylvia. She decided to make the decision easy for him and fled to the elevator.
“Sylvia! Sylvia!”
She heard him calling just as the doors closed and she pressed the button for the first floor. The millions of thoughts and questions in her head came faster and faster as the elevator stopped on each floor. People got on and off, chattering and smiling, causing Sylvia to want to scream, “Shut the hell up so I can think!” The doors had barely opened when they finally arrived on the first floor before she squeezed her way out and rushed toward the exit.
Where the hell did I park? she thought, trying to get herself together. She recalled taking a parking ticket out of the machine, but she couldn’t remember what floor she’d parked on.
Think, Sylvia, think.
“Sylvia! Stop!”
She turned and saw Garry running toward her, and she took off toward the parking area. She blinked away tears as she tried to think of what numbers were on the cement pole she had parked in front of. She recalled parking beside a green Camry, or maybe it was a Taurus.
Think, Sylvia.
As she reached into her purse to retrieve the ticket, she felt someone pulling on her arm.
“Get the fuck off of me, Garry!” She snatched away.
“Please wait, Sylvia. I’m trying to talk to you!”
“Talk to me? Are you crazy? Have you lost your mind? There is nothing to talk about!” Sylvia snapped as she pulled her purse back on her shoulder.
“Don’t be like that. I just need for you to listen to me,” Garry said, reaching for her again.
“Don’t put your damn hands on me, Garry. I mean it.”
A security officer pulled up to the area where they were standing and asked if everything was okay. Sylvia nodded, and the guard gave Garry a questionable look.