by Kayt Miller
I tear drips down my cheek, but I ignore it. I clear my throat again, “Good. It sounds good. We’ll see you there, Hank. Right?”
Hank reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “Yep, we’ll see you there. I’ll be right behind you guys.”
Chapter 38: Roni
The drive to Chicago seems to take a week even though it’s only a two-hour trek from Plymouth. Dad and I listen to the radio and chat about mundane things like Chicago sports and his job. Just as we pull into the edge of the city, my phone chimes. I don’t recognize the number, but I know it has to be about Mick. Please let him be okay.
“Hello?”
“Roni? It’s me, Emily. Where are you now?”
“We just pulled into the city. We’re on Lake Shore Drive heading north. We should be there soon.”
“Um, hurry. Okay?”
I gasp as fresh tears start pouring out of my eyes. “Is he?”
“No, he’s stable. He’s been in and out of consciousness. But, he keeps saying your name.”
“My name?” I squeak.
“Yes. That and… um, well, he’s agitated, and that’s concerning the docs here. Just drive safely and let the receptionist in ER know you’re here. They’ll send you back as soon as you get here.”
“Okay.” I turn to dad. “He keeps asking f-f-for me, Dad,” I sob.
“I’ll get you there as quick as I can, Roni.” Dad presses down on the accelerator, and I lurch back at the new speed.
“Thanks, dad.”
He smiles at me and then turns his eyes to the road. In record time, I look up and see the large sign indicating the Emergency Unit of Northwestern Memorial. Dad pulls up to the entrance and stops. “Go ahead, Roni. I’ll park the car and sit in the waiting area until you come out.”
I hesitate. I don’t like leaving him alone.
“Go on. I’ll be okay. I’ll get a cup of coffee and call your mom. She’ll need to be updated.”
“Okay.” I lean over and kiss his cheek. “You’re the best dad in the entire world. You’re my hero,” I whisper. I may say it quietly, but I mean it.
Dad gives me a shy smile, “Thank you, angel. I love you. Now, go see your fella.”
I laugh at his use of ‘fella.' “I’ll see you in a few.” I jump out of the car and jog into the ER. It’s a busy place. People are everywhere. Some are injured, some sick, and others are just waiting with their loved ones. There’s a big difference between the little hospital in Plymouth and the one here.
I meander my way through the crowd to reach a desk near the ER. “May I help you?”
“I’m looking for someone who was brought in on Life Flight. They told me to tell you when I got here.”
“Name.”
“Mick Flynn.”
“No, sweetheart. Your name?”
“Roni. Um, Veronica McGonigall.”
The woman clicks away at the computer and then pauses. Then, she clicks again. “I don’t see anything here about that. You’re going to need to take a seat.”
“But…”
“Next!” she shouts.
There’s nobody behind me, so I’m not sure what she’s doing.
“Ma’am. I was told…”
“To. Sit. Down,” she says curtly.
I turn to the waiting area and search for an empty seat. It’s then that I see my father walk in. He looks around, and his face says it all, WTF? I walk over to him and tell him I’m supposed to sit down.
“Text Emily. Let her know you’re here.”
“Good idea.”
Me: We’re here, but they won’t let me back there.
Emily: Jesus. Fecking idiots. I’ll be right out. Are you in that hellish waiting area?
Me: Yes.
“She’ll be right out.” Before I can even sit down, Emily is throwing open the emergency unit doors and looking around. She’s wearing blue scrubs like she’s working. I lift my hand in a little wave as she motions me toward her. I step toward her, but my dad stands still, not knowing what to do.
“You too, dad.” She shouts. She turns to the woman at the reception desk and says something. The woman sneers back at Emily but says nothing. Ignoring that interaction, dad and I follow Emily into the large and chaotic Emergency unit. “He’s back here, Roni.”
We follow her down a long corridor then we take a left turn. Emily stops in front of a large opening in the wall. When I look into the room, it’s a sea of Flynn's. I think every one of them is here. “Hi,” I say weakly. I notice that Hank isn’t standing among them. He must still be on the road.
All eyes turn to me. There are several smiles, a few relieved expressions, and one scowl. Yep, Jennifer is here. I thought she and David were splitting up. I think to myself. Dad is standing behind me with his hand on my shoulder. “Um, this is my dad, Jeff.”
“Hi Jeff,” says everyone at the same time. It makes me giggle.
“How is he?” I say nervously.
A tiny woman walks toward me. I’m going to guess this is Sarah Flynn, Mick’s mom. “Hello, sweetheart. I’m Sarah. I birthed most of them back there,” she points her thumb back to the crowd. “You must be Veronica.” Sarah smiles broadly and the reaches out to shake my dad’s hand. “Sarah Flynn. Pleased to meet you, Jeff. Thank you for finding our son.”
“You too,” dad says tiredly. The poor man has been up for twenty-four hours now.
Sarah turns back to me. “Now, Mick is still in and out of consciousness. He hasn’t opened his eyes, but the physicians here say that’s normal. He’s been asking for you, so we’ve gotten permission for you to go in and see him.”
“Oh. Okay. Now?”
“Yes. Now. Walk with me.” She takes my hand and leads me down the corridor. “Sweetheart, it’s nice to finally meet you.”
“You too, Mrs. Flynn.”
“Sarah. Please. Mick told me all about you.”
“He did?” I squeak that out. “Why?”
She gives me a sly smile. “We both know why.”
“I don’t. I really don't.”
“Uh huh. Here we are dear.” We are standing in front of a beige curtain that hangs floor to ceiling. “We’re all going to grab something to eat and have a family meeting while you’re in there. So, if the waiting area is empty, we’re just downstairs. Okay?”
“Okay. Thanks, Sarah.” I take a deep breath and find the opening in the curtain. When I walk in, I’m shocked. I know I saw him at the accident, but this is a little overwhelming. He’s lying on the bed, covered by a white sheet. There are tubes and wires all around him and attached to his arms and chest. I walk around to the side of his bed that is free of beeping and whirring machines.
Thankfully, he’s been cleaned up, so the blood is gone. The closer I get the more physical damage I see. His face is covered in cuts and the start of bruising. His nose has a white bandage is running over the bridge. He must have broken his nose. His lips are swollen and cut, and there are Steri-Strips on his forehead that act as stitches. The most significant injury is on right side of his head. They’ve shaved off a large section of his hair and the gash that extends from his forehead back about four inches has been stitched with traditional sutures.
The sheet covers the rest of his body so I can’t tell what else his body endured. I think I’m glad about that. This is overwhelming as it is. I lean over him so I can speak to him. “Mick? It’s me, Roni. I’m sorry I made you leave last night. It’s my fault.”
Just then, his breathing starts to sound labored. I can see the heart monitor is showing more activity, but it’s almost like he’s getting upset. His body is moving around slightly. “Shhh, it’s okay. You’re going to be fine.” I attempt to reassure him, but it’s not working. Shit, I’m upsetting him.
“Mick? It’s okay.” I reach out and slide my hand under the sheet searching for his hand. When I feel it, I notice that he’s chilled. I slide my hand into his and grasp it. I run my thumb over his palm and wrist. I feel a slight squeeze from his hand, and he seems to calm
a little bit.
I stretch out awkwardly so I can grab the one and only chair in his room while still holding his hand. I slide it next to his bed so I can sit and hold his hand. I talk some more, “Your entire family is here. My dad came with me too.” I continue to rub my thumb over his hand trying to think what else I can say when I hear a sound come from him.
In a low, raspy murmur, I hear my name. “Roni?”
“I’m here. I’m here,” I say leaning over him.
“The baby,” he mumbles.
The baby? I’m not sure who he might be talking about. “Katie? Are you talking about Katie? She’s fine. Don’t worry about that.”
“Our baby.” He mutters again. His head is turning from side to side as I watch him get agitated again.
The only baby he could be talking about is his baby with…
“Roni. Love.”
I’m taken aback. Did he just say he loved me? I wait to hear what he says next, “Love…. Lauren,” Mick says more loudly. “Lauren.”
He must want to see Lauren. It’s hard to know what he wants, but I need to try to help him. I squeeze his hand one more time and say into his ear, “I’ll be back, Mick.”
I stand and turn to leave when I hear, “No! Lauren.” This time it’s clear and much louder.
I am doing my best to keep from crying. I hold back the tears and leave through the curtain. Breathing in and out to keep myself calm, I make my way to the waiting area. It’s nearly empty except for one person. Jen.
When I walk in, she stands and walks toward me tentatively. “How is he?” she asks sounding sincere.
“He’s still unconscious.”
“They said he might be out for a while. They’re confident he’ll wake up, though.” She reaches out like she wants to comfort me.
“He was asking for Lauren.”
With a look of pity on her face, she slides her palm down my arm, “Of course he did. He still loves her, and she loves him. They’re meant to be together,” she simpers and then sighs. “You should really just accept that, Roni. You look tired. You should go on home and leave this to his family. This should only be family here now.”
“But…”
“I know what you’re thinking, and I am family. David and I are working things out. Why else would I be here?”
I nod my head and turn to leave. I pull my nearly dead cell from my pocket and text my dad.
Me: I’ll be outside the ER entrance when you’re done. I’m ready to leave.
By the time I make it outside into the chilly air, I get a reply.
Dad: Be there in a few minutes.
I lean against the rough brick exterior of the hospital and close my eyes. It’s then that everything hits me. Mick nearly died because of me, and he wants to see Lauren. I’m not sure what his family was thinking. He doesn’t want me.
I look up and see my dad exiting the hospital. He looks over at me and gives me a look only a parent can give. It’s filled with love and concern. I walk up to him and wrap my arms around his neck and sob. “He…he didn’t want me, dad. He w…wanted Lauren.” I cry so hard I feel nauseous. And like a good father, he wraps his big arms around me and holds me until I’m all cried out.
Chapter 39: Roni
By the time we make it to my place, mom is sitting on the curb in her car. Stepping out of the car, she reaches into the backseat for something. My luggage. Mom was kind enough to pack up my things.
“Hi mom,” I say tiredly.
“How is he?” she directs the question to dad.
“Stable. Still unconscious but they think he’ll be okay. He’ll need surgery on his leg, I guess. But I didn’t get any more information about that.”
“Thank goodness,” mom says with a sigh.
Dad turns to me, “Sweetheart. Are you going to be all right if I head home?”
“Of course,” I say with a fake smile. “I’m exhausted. I’m just going to crash for a while.” I wrap my arms around him again, “Dad. Thank you so much. I love you. You mean everything to me.” I feel the burn of tears, but I resist. There shouldn’t be another drop left for me to shed.
I feel him hug me tighter. “You know you’re my favorite, right?” he whispers in my ear.
That makes me giggle. “Thanks, dad. I always knew that.”
He chuckles with me, and we let each other go. I hug mom and watch them pull away from the curb. Clutching my suitcase and overnight bag, I trudge into my building. I look to my left at the staircase. I almost always take the stairs so I can at least claim that as exercise but I don’t have it in me today. I walk forward and press the up button on our little elevator.
Once the old death trap opens up, I step in. The doors shut slowly then I feel it lurch upward. I pull out my house keys and wait. A few minutes later, I’m on the third floor. I grab my bags and drop them in front of my apartment. Unlocking the door, I slide it open and then use my feet to kick my bags inside.
Leaving them by the entrance, I lock up and lumber into my bedroom. I walk to the side of my bed and fall face first onto the soft mattress. So tired. In minutes––maybe seconds––I’m asleep.
I’m woken by sounds. Dinging sounds. I lift my head up and feel the drool that has gathered beneath my face running down my chin a little. “Gross.” I look around my space trying to remember how I got home. It’s then that I remember Mick’s accident and the events of last night.
I peer at the clock on my nightstand. “It’s five o’clock?” I slept for over four hours? I guess that makes sense. It’s already dark outside which isn’t uncommon for November in the Midwest. I walk, gingerly, into the bathroom. I flip on the light and wince at my own reflection. “Holy hell.” I look like utter shit.
I reach over and turn on my little shower. I undress and step in. The fastest way to feel normal again is to shower. I work quickly to wash my hair and body. Grabbing my towel from the bar next to the tub, I dry off and walk naked into my bedroom.
Since everything I took home is dirty, I dig through my drawers for some old leggings and t-shirt. “Might as well be comfortable. Okay, I need to stop talking to myself. I sound like a crazy person.” Yep, I said that aloud.
Once in my kitchen, I start a pot of coffee and go in search of my cell phone. Finding it on the entry table next to my keys, I plug in my dead phone. I look around my little living room to take it all in. It seems like it’s been weeks since I’ve been home but it has only been one. The last time I was here, Mick was sitting on my little love seat.
I close my eyes at the memory. I wish things had ended differently for us because I think I was falling in love with him. Hell, who am I kidding? I was in love with him. Am. I am in love with him. But, it’s not in the cards for me. I need to settle down with some safe, boring guy, have two point five kids, a dog, and a cat and I need to do it soon. My biological clock is ticking like a time bomb.
My eyes scan the room and end up on my answering machine, circa 1999. It’s flashing furiously at me. If you count the blinks, you can see how many messages you have. It’s flashing continuously. Hitting the ‘play’ button, the automaton says, “You have twenty-two messages.”
“Twenty-two messages?” The only people who call me on my landline are people from work, telemarketers, my doctor and dentist offices, and my parents. I listen to one message after another sounds. There are several messages from Mick from early in the week. Deb and Martha from P&P have called numerous times. There have been some hang-up calls. People just don’t like to leave messages these days.
There are two quick messages from Bill’s assistant, Gloria. She wants me to call her back. Surprisingly, there are three messages from the man himself. In the most recent, he asks me to call him on his personal cell phone. I grab a notepad and pen to jot down the number. I’m surprised. To my knowledge, only Gloria has that number.
As expected, there are telemarketing calls and one wrong number. But the last two calls surprise me. They’re disturbing. The first is an angry male voice
who says, “You are a fat, fucking bitch.” Then they hang up. The final call on my old machine is a woman––an angry woman. Her lovely message for me is, “You’re a fat slut. I hope you get what’s coming to you.”
“Okaaayyyy. Nice,” I say aloud. It’s strange, but the guy sounded like Chris Smith and the woman sounded a lot like Trisha Kepler. Shaking off the final calls, I look at Bill’s cell number. “Should I call him?” The answer to that is yes because I think I’m going bat-shit crazy without a job. And without Mick.
I pick up my landline and dial. After two rings, Bill says, “Roni? Is that you?”
“Yes, this is Roni. I, uh, got your message.”
“Terrific! I’m glad you called. I’d like to sit down and have a little chat. Would you be amenable to that, Roni? Does tomorrow work for you? Ten? My office?”
“What’s this about?” I know it’s about my job, but I need to ask.
“Can we talk about that tomorrow?”
“Sure. I can meet you at ten.” I’m not sure why I agree to this, but I might as well see what he wants. It’s not like I’ve got a lot going on right now.
“Great! I’ll look forward to seeing you. Thank you for calling me back, Roni.”
“Sure. See you tomorrow.” I hang up my phone and breathe deep. What did I just do?
A loud growl from my stomach sounds, and it reminds me that I haven’t eaten for hours. The last morsel of food I consumed was dinner before I went to Smitty’s. Curious if my parents made it home safely, I pick up my phone and give them a quick call. My second call is to Bangkok Thai Cuisine.
When I’ve got my Pad Thai and an order of Spring Rolls on its way, I make myself a cup of coffee and plop down into the comfy chair that used to sit in my office at P&P. I’m glad I brought it home. It’s the most comfortable piece of furniture I own. Just as I’m turning on my television to watch a little tv, my phone starts to ding and chime telling me it’s 1) charged enough to get my messages and 2) that I have texts and voice mails waiting for me.
I slide out of my chair and walk over to my entry table. “Crap.” There are a bunch of texts from Emily Flynn and Hank Flynn and voice messages from Emily as well. I click on the text icon and see that most of them are from around the time I left the hospital.