“So?”
“So they arrested her, that’s what!” Her eyes flashed with indignation.
“Mags, you didn’t interfere, did you?” asked Ethan with a sinking feeling.
“What was I supposed to do, stand there and watch?”
Ethan groaned, but at the same time he felt a sense of pride rush through him.
Peter, meanwhile, said, “Yes, that’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”
“Well, since when have I done what I was supposed to?” She smirked at him. “Besides, what’s the use of being the mayor’s daughter if I can’t help people sometimes?”
“Did you help this person?” asked Ethan quietly.
“I tried,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I don’t know if I helped or not, but I tried. I asked for her name and told her I’d get my father to do something. Then the munchies told me to back off, and they took her away. Just like that.” She gestured helplessly. “I don’t know what’s happened to this country.”
“Nine eleven happened,” said Peter. “Six Flags happened.”
“I feel like things took a wrong turn somewhere. They didn’t have to end up this way.”
“Well, they did,” Peter said. “This is the way things are, and we have to learn to live with it. Either that, or end up like that woman. Arrested by the munchies and carted off to one of those detention facilities . . .”
“You mean concentration camps,” said Maggie bitterly.
“Would both of you be quiet?” Ethan glanced around nervously. “No question that this is a public place.”
“I don’t even care anymore,” said Maggie. “They can record whatever they want. They’ve probably already contacted my dad. He’s gonna have a cow when I get home. But that woman hadn’t done anything. She was legal. Just because some relative somewhere . . . It’s not fair.” Her eyes welled up, and suddenly she was crying.
“Jeez, Mags.” Ethan took her into his arms, letting her sob against his shoulder. He looked at Peter, who was flushed red with embarrassment and purposefully looking away, as if something of great interest had caught his eye down the beach.
“Er, I guess I’ll go change into my suit,” Peter said awkwardly.
“You go too, Ethan,” Maggie said, giving him a shaky smile as she stepped away.
“Will you be okay?”
She wiped her eyes. “Of course I’ll be okay. Do you think they’re going to come for me while you’re gone?”
“Of course not,” he said, though a strange dread rose up in him at her joking words. “C’mon, Pete. Let’s get changed.”
They hurried away, both of them eager to be gone as briefly as possible. Ethan glanced back before entering the air-conditioned locker room, and Maggie, who had been watching the whole time, waved.
Inside, he and Peter were alone.
“She’s braver than I’ll ever be,” Ethan said at last as he undressed.
“Is that what you call it?” asked Peter.
“What do you call it?”
Peter raised a placatory hand. “Okay, okay. I agree with you. She’s braver than me, too. But it’s going to get her into trouble one of these days, even if she is the mayor’s daughter. You can only play that card so often.”
Ethan sighed. “I know. I’m worried that she’ll get mixed up in something when she goes up to Chicago. There’s a lot of unrest at that school.”
“At every school,” said Peter. “Especially now that they’re talking about bringing back the draft.”
“It’s weird, isn’t it? History repeating itself.”
“Only without student deferments this time. That means—”
“I know what it means.”
“It means we’re screwed.”
“Well, at least it’s fairer that way.”
“Yeah, everybody’s screwed.”
They finished changing in glum silence and then hurried back outside. Maggie was waiting for them, sitting on the blanket and applying sunblock to her arms and legs. She looked up with a smile. “Can you do my back, Ethan?”
“Your wish is my command.”
“And don’t you forget it,” she said mock-sternly, standing and handing him the tube, then turning her back to him.
Ethan squeezed lotion onto her shoulders and began spreading it over her back, sliding his hand under the strap of her bikini top.
“Mmm, nice,” she said, wriggling her shoulders.
The heat and silky smoothness of her skin beneath his hand was arousing, and he shifted to obscure the effect it was having on him. God, she was beautiful! It was a sublime torture to be so close to her, touching her like this, wanting more. He always wanted more of her, no matter how much they kissed, how far beyond kissing they went in their explorations of each other’s bodies. Yet they hadn’t slept together. And not because Maggie had refused his advances. On the contrary. He was the one who’d spurned her. Not because he didn’t want to, as he tried to explain to her, not really understanding himself but knowing in his heart that it was true and right. He wanted her so badly that he ached with it. But some obscure yet powerful intuition told him that it would be a mistake they would both regret. What was the hurry, anyway? They had all the time in the world. Maggie had said she understood, but he could tell that his refusal had left her feeling confused and hurt, rejected. It had left him feeling confused as well. What was he waiting for? What was the matter with him?
But that all seemed miles away now as she reached back and pulled up her hair. “Make sure to get the back of my neck.”
He couldn’t resist leaning forward and kissing the nape. There was a small mole there that he loved, right below the hairline.
She squirmed. “That’s not what I meant, Ethan.”
“Sorry. How’s this?” He licked her.
She giggled. “What do I look like, an ice-cream cone?”
“Yum. My favorite flavor, too.”
At this, Peter made a gagging sound.
“Jealous?” asked Ethan.
“Yeah, I really wish you would slobber all over me next,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. “I’m going for a swim before you two start talking baby talk.”
“We’ll be right behind you,” said Maggie. “I just want to do Ethan’s back first.”
“What about my back?” Peter asked plaintively. “Who’s going to do that?”
“What a baby,” Maggie said. “I’ll do yours too.”
“Great.” He turned, presenting his broad shoulders. “You can lick if you want.”
“You wish,” she said as Ethan mimed throwing up.
“Ethan Brown?”
He turned, startled. A pair of munchies was standing about five feet away. He hadn’t even heard them approach. They stood ramrod straight, the sun reflected in their dark visors and off their white body armor so that he had to squint. Their tasers were pointing downward at forty-five-degree angles, but somehow he felt like they were pointing right at him.
“I’m Ethan Brown,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “What’s wrong?”
“Is this about that woman?” Maggie asked, stepping up and taking his arm in both hands.
The munchie who had spoken said, “I’m required by law to inform you that certain private information has been accessed pursuant to the provisions of Article 3, Section 21.b.iv of the Patriot Act, as amended, governing temporary suspension of privacy rights for U.S. citizens in the event of a duly declared national or personal emergency.”
“What?”
“There’s been an accident, Mr. Brown. The hospital has been trying to reach you, but your cell seems to be off.”
“An accident?” Ethan echoed numbly.
“A car accident,” the second munchie clarified. “Your mother was hurt.”
“Oh God,” said Ethan as Maggie gasped. He felt her hands tighten on his arm. “Is she . . .”
“She’s at Olathe Medical,” said the first munchie. “That’s all we know, Mr. Brown. I’m sorry.”
As
the munchies turned away, Ethan was already fumbling at his backpack. Maggie and Peter were saying something, but he ignored them. He pulled out his cell phone; sure enough, he’d left it off. It buzzed as soon as he activated it, and the words “Olathe Medical Center” flashed onto the screen.
“Hello?”
A female voice said, “Mr. Brown?”
“Yes. I just heard about my mom. Is she okay?”
“Your mother has been in a car accident. Her injuries are severe.”
“Is she going to be all right?”
“She’s in surgery now. Please come as soon as you can.”
“I’ll be right there.”
While he was talking, Maggie and Peter had packed everything up. Now, as they hurried back to the car, the object of curious stares from other beachgoers, Ethan filled his friends in on the situation . . . or what little he knew of it. He spoke with a calmness that surprised him. He felt as if he were standing a little bit outside his body, watching events unfold. A sense of unreality had slid over the day like a thin film, transparent and subtly distorting. Was this what it was like to go into shock? He didn’t remember feeling this way when his father had died. He couldn’t remember much about that day at all. It was probably a blessing.
“Do you want to change out of your suit?” Maggie asked as they neared the car.
“I’ll change when we get there,” he answered. “Let’s hurry!”
“We’re only a few minutes away,” Peter said soothingly as he keyed the car doors open.
They piled into the car, Ethan in front and Maggie in back, and drove off.
“Faster, Pete,” Ethan urged as they turned on to 151st Street.
“We don’t need another accident,” his friend said.
“She’s going to be okay, Ethan,” Maggie said, leaning forward, one hand on his shoulder.
Ethan reached up and took her hand, but he didn’t say anything in reply.
He was too busy praying.
Peter dropped Ethan and Maggie off at the emergency room entrance, telling them that he’d join them inside as soon as he parked the car. Ethan was already running up the sidewalk before Peter had finished speaking. Maggie followed, carrying their backpacks with their clothes.
Bursting through the doors, Ethan made straight for the reception counter, barely registering the presence of other people in the waiting area. The nurse on duty, a tall African American man with a shaved head, a thin, trim mustache, and a gold hoop in one ear glanced up as he approached, frowning slightly as if disapproving of his attire.
“Can I help you?”
“My mother’s been in accident!” he gasped out.
“And her name is . . . ?”
“Brown. Lisa Brown. I just talked to a nurse. I’m Ethan Brown.”
“Yes, your mother’s in surgery,” said the nurse, glancing at a computer screen.
“How is she? What happened?”
“A car accident. Multiple vehicles. She was coptered in.”
“Oh my God!” This from Maggie, who had come to stand beside him, once again clutching his arm.
“Is she going to be okay?” Ethan asked. “What are they operating on her for?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have that information.”
“Who does? I want to talk to them.”
“I’ll have someone come talk to you,” said the nurse. “Please take a seat.”
“I don’t think I can sit down right now.”
“That’s fine,” said the nurse soothingly. “Excuse me one minute.” He went to the far side of the counter, picked up a phone, and spoke into it with a low but urgent voice.
“Come on, Ethan,” said Maggie, gently pulling him away from the counter. “You’re shivering in this air-conditioning. You need to put some clothes on.”
“I need to be here.”
“It’ll just take a second. I’ll stay right here. If someone comes, I’ll call for you, I promise.”
“Okay.” He scarcely knew what he was saying or doing. Numbly, he took the backpack she thrust into his hands and stumbled into the men’s room. There was no one else inside. He stepped into a stall and shut the door behind him.
Then it hit him.
He was going to lose his mom. He knew it somehow. She was going to die.
He groaned aloud and sank to his haunches, shuddering with the effort of holding back his tears.
What was wrong with him? This wasn’t helping anybody. Besides, he didn’t know his mom was going to die. His fears were getting the better of him. But he couldn’t help it. First his dad, now her . . .
Please, God, he prayed silently. Don’t let her die! I’ll do anything . . .
He kept imagining her in the wreck, her body torn and broken amid the twisted metal. Or laid out on the operating table as the surgeons worked feverishly to save her. At the same time, he saw her as he’d last seen her that morning, before she’d left for work. Healthy, smiling. It seemed impossible that in such a brief time she could go from that state to whatever state she was in now.
But he didn’t know anything about that. And he wasn’t going to find out here, sniffling and shivering like a little kid in the bathroom stall. It reminded him of something, the sense of hiding here, as if there were something out there looking for him. Or, no, as if he were trapped here, waiting for some monster to arrive . . .
He got to his feet and quickly pulled on the clothes in his backpack.
Then he exited the stall and went to the sink and splashed his face with water.
That was when Peter came in.
Ethan looked up, water running down his face, and locked eyes with his friend’s reflection in the mirror above the sink. “Is there . . . ?”
Peter shook his head. “No news yet. I just came in to check on you.”
“I’m fine. I was just coming out.”
“Dude, she’s going to be okay.”
“How the hell do you know that?” He turned to face Peter, suddenly angry.
Peter flinched as though he’d struck him. “Uh . . .”
“Sorry,” he said. “But I just wish people would stop saying that.”
“Okay,” said Peter.
“I mean, nobody knows anything. It’s just pretending to say you do.”
“You’re right,” said Peter. “I guess I wasn’t thinking. I just don’t want anything to happen to her, is all.”
“You think I do?” he replied. “But I’m not going to pretend.”
Peter nodded. “I called my mom,” he said. “She wants me to drive back home and get her. So I gotta leave for a while. But I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Okay.” Ethan grabbed a paper towel and dried his face, then crumpled up the towel and tossed it into the receptacle. “Thanks, Pete. Sorry I went off on you there.”
“No problem,” said his friend. “Shit, if it was me, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“It sucks,” Ethan said. “The not knowing. I guess I better get out there.”
“Yeah, Mags is probably wondering if you’re okay.”
Ethan took a breath. “Listen, Pete. In case things go crazy, and I forget to say this . . . thanks, man. Thanks for being a good friend. The best.”
Pete’s face turned fiery red. “Listen, dude. I’m not going to pretend, okay? Fuck that. But I’m going to hope. Yeah, and pray too. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
Ethan felt himself tearing up again. “No. Nothing wrong with that at all.”
Outside, Maggie was anxiously pacing back and forth. She’d put her clothes on over her bathing suit. When Ethan stepped out of the bathroom, she ran to him and threw her arms around him. He hugged her back hard, grateful beyond words for her presence.
“Still no news,” she said.
Ethan returned to the counter, where a different nurse was now on duty, a white woman this time, plump and grandmotherly. “I’m Ethan Brown,” he told her. “Someone’s supposed to come and talk to me about my mom. She’s in surgery.”
&nb
sp; “Oh yes,” said the woman, whose name tag read Matthews. “I spoke to you earlier, on the phone.”
“Can you tell me anything, Nurse Matthews?”
“I’m afraid not, but someone from Social Services really should have spoken to you by now.” She pursed her lips as she looked at the computer screen. “Just give me a minute.”
“That’s what the other nurse said.”
“I’m sorry about that. I—oh. There’s Dr. Sung now! He’s chief of surgery.”
The Asian-looking man who advanced toward them across the room was slender and of middling height, with jet-black hair and an olive complexion. He wore gold-rimmed glasses and green hospital scrubs.
“Dr. Sung, this is Mrs. Brown’s son, Ethan, the boy we were trying to reach.”
Dr. Sung nodded briskly.
“How is she, Doctor?” Ethan asked.
“Lucky to be alive,” said Dr. Sung in a clipped British accent. “A tractor-trailer overturned outside St. Louis, and Mrs. Brown was caught in the pileup. She suffered severe internal injuries, broken ribs, and head trauma.”
Ethan was holding on to Maggie’s hand for dear life. “Is . . . is she going to be okay?”
“She came through the surgery, so that’s good,” said Dr. Sung. “But she’s not out of the woods yet, Ethan. The next hours and days are key.”
“Can I see her?”
“Of course. As soon as she’s settled.”
“Is she conscious?”
“In cases like this, with serious brain trauma, the standard procedure is to induce a coma, which is what we’ve done here. I understand from your mother’s records that your father died some years ago, Ethan.”
“Yes.”
“Is there anyone else we should notify? An uncle or aunt, perhaps?”
Ethan shook his head. “There’s just me, Dr. Sung. No other family.”
“I see.” Dr. Sung gave Maggie a curious look.
“I’m his girlfriend,” Maggie said.
Dr. Sung nodded and looked back to Ethan. “How old are you, Ethan?”
“Eighteen,” Ethan said. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“It means you can act on your mother’s behalf as next of kin without the appointment of a guardian.”
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