I glanced at Max, waiting to see what he was going to say. Nobody knew how to handle this situation. His eyes were wide, filled with the responsibility of being the glue to hold his sister together.
“Everything is going to be okay, Camille. I’m right here,” he whispered to her, stroking his hand down her long, brown hair. She leaned back from him and shook her head.
“Oh, Max, I’m so scared and I tried to call Danny, but I can’t get ahold of him.”
Max turned his face, red with emotion, toward me. His eyes looked worn. He motioned for me to come over and be with them, but I was unsure. I felt like that was a moment for him and his sister to bond—no Dan, no me—just them, living through the pain only siblings could embody.
Camille glanced over at me too, and held her arm out, reassuring Max’s desire to include me. I hurried to them. She wrapped her arms around me, touching both of our backs, connecting the three of us in a very sad reality.
“Max and Calvin Goldstein? Camille Finch?” A voice filled the waiting room. Camille’s body stiffened, Max’s hands dropped to his sides. The walls of our bonding moment crumbled. We turned to the voice coming from the huge oak door propped open by the woman saying their names. She scanned the room, locking on the three of us, the only people who reacted to the names she called out.
“Frank Goldstein’s family?” she confirmed before she pushed the door, her arm and leg extended, opening it wide enough for us to pass. Three badges were stuck to her fingers with big black numbers indicating who we belonged to. Max grabbed one, Camille the other; Calvin’s badge hung in the air. Assuming it was for me, the nurse pushed her hand my way. It was supposed to be Calvin’s badge, the second son of Frank and Nancy Goldstein; the son nobody had called. Who was I to use his badge? I stood there for a moment, frozen by the thought of being an outsider once again. Max pulled the sticker ID off the nurse’s finger and pressed it to my chest.
“You belong with me.” He slid his hand down and grabbed mine.
“Calvin belongs here,” I whispered.
Camille and Max just stared at each other.
“Please follow me. My name is Sharon, I am one of your father’s nurses tonight,” she informed us. Camille went in first, then Max and I followed. Sharon was dressed in light blue from head to toe. Her feet, muffled by her shoe covers, didn’t pound like other peoples’ walking through the halls of the hospital. The soft patter told me we’d just been given access to an area of the hospital where nobody really wanted to be.
Instead of taking us to Frank, she stopped in front of a small room; the door was slightly ajar, and I could hear a woman weeping and a deep, robust voice telling her he was very sorry. Pushing her fingertips to the door until they glowed white, Nurse Sharon held her other arm out, indicating for us to go in.
Max’s mom sat at a round, wooden table. Her spirit looked broken, her complexion white as a sheet hanging from a clothesline on a cloudy day. Her eyes were hollow with loss and her warm, familiar smile drooped, unrecognizable. The doctor who’d been comforting her stood, extending his hand to indicate for us to sit down. We obeyed. Camille sat first, clutching her mother’s hand. Max pulled my chair out, then went over and grabbed his mother’s shoulders. Nancy caught her breath and started to cry again. Max’s eyes glazed with tears. She plucked his hand from her shoulder and pressed her drenched lips to the back of it. He bent down and kissed her head; he understood what his mother needed. I was captivated by the unexpected tragedy that thrust this loving family into a chaos I thought I knew all too well. Max remained behind her, his hand pressed against her collar bone. Nancy’s hands were filled with her children’s lives; the only thing she had left to cling to.
“Your father suffered a pretty sizable heart attack. We have him stable right now; we are just waiting for our surgical team to arrive. They will try and repair the damage to the heart—” the doctor took a breath.
“What are the chances of him surviving the surgery?” Camille asked. I could hear the hope carried in her voice.
“Conservatively—ten to fifteen percent. They won’t know until they can see the heart and the damage it sustained. The EKG indicates he suffered a major heart attack. I am really very sorry.”
“Can we see him?” Max asked.
“Not right now; we have already prepped him for surgery,” the doctor answered; his eyes locked with Nancy’s for an immeasurable moment and then he softened. “Five minutes,” he whispered as he stood up. “I wish I had better news, I’m sorry.”
Maybe it was the unspoken words between them that made him change his mind, I don’t know. He delicately tapped Nancy on the shoulder before leaving us in the room to understand what had just happened.
“Maxi?” Nancy wavered.
“Yeah, Mom,” Max answered.
“Calvin—get him here.” She turned to Camille and ordered, “Call Dan, he should be here too. I want us all here when your father wakes.” Nancy’s voice cracked, her moment of determination crumbled, and she began to sob; like dominoes, one by one, Frank’s family toppled, sobbing for the unknown outcome and the fear of losing a husband and a father.
The door swung open and the same nurse, Sharon, who’d brought us into that tiny, vacant room, waited a moment before asking us to follow her.
Max helped his mother stand, kissed her temple, then took hold of me. Camille grabbed her mother’s arm. We followed behind Nancy and Camille. I watched their slow, deliberate steps as they sauntered down the hall.
“Doctor Sweeney told me you would like to see Frank. Because of his delicate state, there’s a chance he may already be in surgery,” Nurse Sharon said matter-of-factly to Nancy.
Nobody said a word. Max squeezed my hand and I responded by brushing my thumb across the back of his. It was our silent conversation, trying to keep our feelings of despair under control.
A haunting voice announced over the speakers that were peppered methodically throughout the hospital, “Code Blue, ER 203…Code Blue, ER 203.”
Sharon became rigid. A nurse dressed in seafoam green scrubs jogged down to us. She spoke breathlessly in coded medical terms—aortic something-or-other, acute…hyper…cardio…ventricular fibrillation—words I couldn’t understand, while Sharon shook her head. My eyes vacillated between Sharon’s conversation and Nancy’s reaction; I knew something wasn’t right. When Sharon turned to us her eyes said everything, and I knew Frank was gone.
“What is going on? What is happening with my father?” Camille demanded.
Sharon looked at Camille, her eyes glossy with the responsibility of telling us that the man who helped create this beautiful family would not be coming home. Nancy’s knees buckled and she fell back against Max. Camille grabbed for her as Max lowered their mother to the ground, and I stood, frozen in witness to the desolation of their family.
Nurse Sharon shouted for help, and within seconds, the staff had a wheelchair and two huge male nurses to help lift Nancy.
“Mom! Come on, Mom,” Max spoke nose to nose with his mother.
“Is she okay? Is she going to be okay, Max?” Camille kept repeating. She couldn’t hold it together. Max looked at me and nodded toward his sister; I wrapped my arms around Camille and held her tight until she stopped asking questions.
“I am so sorry,” I whispered through my tears and she finally understood. She clung to me and sobbed. It was the longest forever I’d ever experienced.
“Mom, the nurse is going to take you into one of their rooms. Just so you can catch your breath.” Max enunciated each word, like a grownup speaking to a child.
“Maxi, I can’t…”
“I know, Mom, I know—” Max repeated as he walked alongside her wheelchair. His voice tapered off as he disappeared into a room.
Still clinging to Camille, I guided her toward the same room Max had disappeared into with Nancy. I didn’t know what else to do. It felt wrong for me to be there, but I was caught in a nightmare that played one frame at a time—every movement, every
cry, every word relentlessly playing out despite our refusal to believe any of it. What was the next step in this horrendous situation?
Camille began to hyperventilate; she struggled to catch her breath as she watched her family crumble.
Max grabbed her by the forearms and snapped her back into listening to him.
“Camille, I need you to go call Calvin and Dan. I need you to do that right away, please,” he whispered in a firm voice.
She stared into his eyes, frozen in the moment of realization that their world was collapsing. She lowered her head as Max let go of her arms. Camille had the unfortunate responsibility of telling Calvin there would never be an opportunity to make things right with his dad. If mercy existed, Camille wasn’t going to taste it.
“Max—I,” Camille slurred.
“You have to,” Max prodded before he pulled the door and held it open. As he waited for Camille to make her way out into the hall, the muscles in his neck flexed and his arms grew stone hard.
I could smell the agony of other patients slithering in through the open door as nurses and doctors scurried back and forth down the hall, hoping to gamble and win their patients’ lives back.
“Dad loved you, Camille—so much; do this for him.” Max’s eyes swelled with tears.
Camille stumbled, seemingly unsure of the way she was supposed to walk, before she managed to widen her gait and walk out the door. Max pressed his hand to her shoulder as she passed him, an unspoken thank you between them.
The nurses were fussing over Nancy and I could see she didn’t like the attention. “Maxi, don’t you dare leave me here,” Nancy gasped through the murmuring and questions from the nurses.
“I’m right here, Mom,” Max said as he let go of the door and went to her. I watched him scoop up her tiny, pale hands and squat in front of her. “I sent Camille out to call Calvin and Dan,” Max continued gently.
“Is she going to call the Vaughns too?” Nancy took a deep breath. In her attempt to keep from crying, she curved her lips and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. Her chin wrinkled and crumpled in the struggle to keep from bawling.
“I’ll tell her to call them,” I offered as I left the room without making any eye contact with Max or Nancy.
I had to leave. The pressure of her loss kept building in the back of my throat. Every word and action between Max and his mother reminded me of the pain my grandpa and I went through the day we lost my grandma. I didn’t want to be the pebble that caused the house of cards to fall and I knew if I stayed with her and Max, I would be the one to obliterate any control they still had over their emotions. The moment I pulled that door closed behind me, the tears roared to life and streamed down my cheeks.
Frank was gone. Nancy and Camille didn’t want to come home. But when the Vaughns showed up at the hospital, they took them to their house. That left Max and me, together—but alone. We drove back to his family’s cabin in silence. The whine of the engine was the only constant I could rely on to soothe the anguish that consumed me. There was nothing I could do or say to heal Max. I couldn’t make it better or take away his pain. Nothing could erase the excruciating fact that his father was dead.
The car swayed in a lulling motion down the long driveway to the Goldsteins’ darkened cabin. It felt like ghosts with murky intentions lingered around the bushes and trees. The beam of the headlights danced across the front windows, casting a glimmer of hope that someone, anyone, would wake us from this nightmare. I wanted to feel the relief of waking up. But of course that wasn’t going to happen. I watched Max lift his burdened arm up, and with his long finger, push the button on the garage door opener; we were finally home. A feeling of reprieve washed over my body when I heard the garage door moan shut and the familiar garage fell silent. He sat for a moment. Pieces of him were gone—lost, and left at the hospital. I reached over and touched him. He seemed so rigid and worn out when he looked at me.
“You need to sleep,” I said. He turned away, pushing his door open as he lifted himself out of the car. I watched him return to a vacancy nobody wanted and his motion was heartrending. I sat, stone cold and lost, while he came around to my door. My mind turned and searched, working to find what to say—what to do to help him through this. He pulled open my door. Damn it, even hurting he can’t stop taking care of me.
I love him so much.
I wanted to take every last painful experience from him and bury it deep in the sea under a massive rock so it couldn’t float up and find him. I wanted to cling to his skin and erase every memory of all the disappointment he felt today. He wrapped his arm around my waist as I stood up; I could feel his heat scorching me right above my hip as he slid his hand underneath my shirt, pressing against my skin. He pushed his face against my hair and his warm breath brushed my ear.
“Thank you for being here with me,” his voice cracked as he whispered.
“You’re welcome,” I answered.
Max pushed the door open and we meandered into the kitchen. In silence we removed our shoes and dropped them into the rattan basket Nancy intentionally set by the door. Frank’s muddy work boots sat, lonely, on a folded newspaper, left there to be cleaned later with the expectations he’d be returning. Max didn’t notice, or maybe he didn’t want to. His hand danced down my arm, ending at my fingers. Our hands locked together and he dragged me through the dining room, past the great room, to the stairs.
We stood at the base of the staircase with the front door behind us, locking away the visions of Frank lying on the cold, wet cement. Max turned and looked at the rippled glass, clear enough to make out the black, open space just beyond the earthy stone porch. He blinked and paused for a long moment before he pulled me up the stairs.
He pushed open his bedroom door and my heart dropped to my feet. The flowers still displayed their beautiful colors in the room, the bright yellow envelope still leaned against the clear glass vase, and the banner still hung against the picture window. I’d forgotten it was my birthday. I looked at the clock beaming red numbers—12:32. No, I was wrong. It wasn’t my birthday anymore.
Max was so exhausted he fell onto the unmade bed. The sheets were still twisted down at the foot of it, and his pillows were scattered across the bed and on the floor—evidence that we’d been here less than four hours ago, ready to go all the way. I stood pressing my knees against the edge of the bed. I wasn’t sure I wanted to pick up where we’d left off. How could we return to the moment when Max and I were going to become tethered to my first time?
I pushed back from the bed and went over to my flowers, wanting to see the card Nancy had left for me. I wanted to feel her happiness. I slid my fingers across my name before I picked it up. She’d written in script with black ink. The bed shifted behind me and I felt the floor vibrate. I waited to feel Max push up against my back; he didn’t. I wanted him to press his chin into my shoulder and slip his hands around my waist, I wanted to feel him against me. But he stayed back, standing far enough away to give me a private moment.
I pulled at the corner of the envelope, making a jagged rip, and I couldn’t help but notice the frayed yellow edges. They became prisoners to the thin, white, wounded lines created by my desire to see that they loved me. I looked up at Max as he stood carefully, almost lightly on his feet waiting to see if what his mom had written was enough to bring me to tears. He was waiting to make sure I was going to be okay.
I pulled the card out and a cute, fluffy elephant trumpeted the words ‘Happy Birthday’ from its dark gray trunk. I opened it and inside it read, ‘…from a handful of mixed nuts!’ I noticed they’d all signed it: Nancy, Frank, Camille, and Max. I pressed my fingers to their words. I wanted to know what emotions they’d been feeling when they thought of the touching words they wrote before signing their names. Nancy, of course, wrote a beautiful note wishing me the best day ever; Camille kept her words short and to the point; Max just signed his name.
Then I saw it—Frank’s name, written in his handwriting. I pressed the card to
my heart. Max didn’t wait to give me a moment to hurt before he was next to me and pulling me into his chest. I was so moved by their choice to accept me into their family.
A massive, thick bubble sat wedged against my vocal chords, but I held back my need to cry. Max tightened his arms around me, the card pinned to my heart just beneath my hands. I knew Max was hurting so much more than me, and yet again he was making sure I was okay. I couldn’t let him worry about me.
I could feel Max’s breathing become shallow, his heart thumping faster, and I knew he was struggling to stay strong for me. He pushed his face against my shoulder before turning to press his lips to the space between my collar and the bend of my neck. He took a deep breath before his hands pushed harder against my back. I felt him ripple as he battled to catch his breath, and knew he didn’t want me to know he was crying. Worn from the emotional rollercoaster of the day, I pushed him slightly toward the bed.
“Honey, I think you should try and get some sleep,” I told him as I pulled slightly away from him. But he adjusted his hands and held me tighter.
“I can’t let go. Please—I don’t want to let go.” He struggled to say the words that admitted he was broken.
“You don’t have to,” I whispered, trying to soak up his pain.
We stood in each other’s arms for a good five minutes. I rocked back and forth, swaying my hips in a hypnotic rhythm. Then I felt Max take the lead and continue the motion until he loosened his grip to a relaxed pressure across my back.
He pulled away, making sure he didn’t make eye contact as he led me to the bed. I didn’t question him. I let him take me wherever he needed to be healed. He knew what he needed, I wasn’t about to change that. Turning to face me, his gaze rose to meet mine. His red and wet, eyes searched for some type of answer to help him heal faster. I wished I had it—wanted to have it for him. With his hands pressed warmly on my cheeks he kissed me. His lips, salty from his tears, tasted painful, achy, and remorseful. I cautiously kissed him back. My butterflies trembled down low, trying to keep from being discovered. I didn’t want anything to stop us, but he was balancing on such a precariously thin edge of anguish and guilt.
The Wilson Mooney Box Set Page 40