Fall Semester

by Stephanie Fournet

  She ended the call and gave a long sniff. Malcolm reached across her, opened the glove compartment, and dug around, finding the small package of tissues he’d stashed there the last time the ligustrums had bloomed.

  “Here,” he whispered, handing them to her.

  She took them and looked at Malcolm as if seeing him for the first time that night.

  “Oh, thank you. Thank you for coming to get me, Malcolm.” Her lip quivered, and her brown eyes filled again, and Malcolm thought that his heart would break just looking at her.

  “Of course,” he said, softly. She helped herself to a tissue, drew her legs up onto the seat, and hugged her knees.

  She’s so young.

  Malcolm turned his eyes to the road as they approached the intersection of St. Julien and Johnston. At the red light, Maren spoke.

  “I’m not ready for this yet,” she said, her voice closing down again.

  As if it had been only a day instead of 15 years, Malcolm felt that hollowed out ache, and he grabbed Maren’s hand tightly.

  “You’re not supposed to be ready. There’s no such thing,” he said, hoarsely.

  Her wide eyes searched his.

  “Malcolm, I’m so scared.”

  He released her hand, wrapped his arm around her, and pulled her to him. He kissed the top of her head. He felt the sobs shake her shoulders as tears soaked his shirt. The light turned green, and he veered onto Johnston, keeping his arm around her.

  As they drove, Malcolm witnessed a shift in Maren’s composure. The tears and sobs gave way to a tightening, a bracing in her posture. He could feel it in her body, her resolve to be strong enough to shore up everyone else, to carry the weight for everyone.

  She was like a live wire, practically vibrating in her seat when they pulled into the hospital’s drive.

  “You can just drop me at the E.R. entrance,” she said, eyes focused out the windshield.

  “No way,” he said, pulling into Visitor Parking. “I’m coming with you.”

  Maren turned to him frowning.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I’m coming with you.”

  She shook her head.

  “You don’t have to, Malcolm. It’s so late.”

  He found a spot close the entrance, pulled in, and killed the engine. Malcolm faced her so that she could see that this was non-negotiable.

  “Maren, I am coming with you.”

  Maren studied him for a moment, blinked rapidly, and nodded.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”

  Malcolm jumped out of the car so he could meet her on the passenger side. His only thought was to show Maren that she did not have to bear it all on her own. Nothing in the world could have stopped him from going with her. He took her hand and squeezed it as they walked to the entrance. She said nothing but gripped his hand as though it was life itself.

  Maren paused at the automatic doors and bit her lip.

  “I’m afraid of what’s in there,” she said, softly.

  Malcolm wrapped his arm around her and tucked her to his side.

  “I’ve got you.”

  She looked up at him, fear widening her eyes.

  “What if I’ve already lost him?” she whispered.

  Malcolm exhaled a sigh, feeling the sadness that floated under her fear.

  “What if you haven’t yet? What if you still have some time?”

  He watched resolve strengthen her features, and she strode forward.

  They had only just entered the waiting area when a weeping girl with dark curls launched herself into Maren’s arms. Malcolm took a step back to give them room, but he kept a steadying hand on the small of Maren’s back. He wanted to remind her that he was there—for her.

  “I’m so glad you’re here!” Laurel wailed into Maren’s shoulder. “They won’t tell us anything!”

  Maren clutched her sister, and Malcolm watched her fight to control her emotions, to appear strong and unassailable. He thought it an unfair burden to put on herself, but he admired her effort.

  “Shhh, Laurel. It’ll be okay,” Maren soothed. “Where’s Mom?”

  Laurel pulled back and scowled in the opposite direction, roughly wiping her eyes.

  “She’s still in Admitting verifying insurance,” Laurel said with disgust.

  When she stepped back, Malcolm resumed his post at Maren’s side. Looking at Laurel, he could see the resemblance. She was shorter than Maren, perhaps not as lean, and her head was covered in a fury of dark curls, but their faces shared an echo of likeness.

  “Hi…?” Laurel said, taking in Malcolm’s proximity to her sister.

  Malcolm felt Maren’s arm take hold around his waist.

  “Laurel,…this is my friend Malcolm,” she said, looking at him with an enigmatic smile. Malcolm extended his free hand to Laurel.

  “Hi, Laurel.” The younger girl took it slowly and studied him with a bemused look. Maren took advantage of her momentary distraction.

  “Let’s go sit down, and you can tell me what happened,” Maren said, guiding them, her arm still around him, to a bank of chairs in the corner of the waiting area.

  Laurel complied and sat down on the edge of her seat across from Maren and Malcolm, and Maren clasped her sister’s hands.

  “I was upstairs studying, and I just heard Mom yelling for me,” Laurel’s eyebrows drew together. Malcolm thought this made her look even more like Maren. “She sounded terrified. I ran down, and she was already calling for an ambulance.”

  Her voice broke as her eyes unfocused, lost in the memory.

  “Dad was in their bed, convulsing…he was all rigid and…just not there.” Tears leaked out of her eyes, and Maren wiped them away.

  “How long did it last?” Malcolm heard himself asking. Maren looked at him, somewhat surprised, but then she drew her left hand away from Laurel’s and placed it in his.

  “The first one stopped right before the paramedics got there, but he had another one while they were checking him out, and that’s when they rushed him here,” Laurel said, fear crimping the corners of her eyes.

  Just then, their mother approached. Malcolm knew it was their mother because she was lovely, with eyes like Maren’s and hair like Laurel’s. With grief in her eyes, she went to Maren, who stood at her approach, and Malcolm watched them embrace.

  “Hello, darling,” the woman whispered.

  “Mom.”

  Malcolm watched as both women silently cried in each other’s arms. Witnessing Maren’s helpless suffering made him shift in his seat with agitation.

  Maren pulled back from her mother’s arms and hastily dried her eyes.

  “Mom, this is my friend Malcolm Vashal,” Maren said, managing a smile as she introduced him. Malcolm stood and again offered his hand.

  “Hello, Mrs. Gardner.” He registered the surprise in her eyes as she took him in. She must have been doing the same mental math he ways. Mrs. Gardner looked to be in her mid-40s. Roughly as many years separated her from Malcolm as separated him from Maren. He swallowed in embarrassment.

  “Oh!…Hello. Please, call me Erin,” she stammered, shaking his hand. Yes, she was surprised, and although Malcolm searched for disapproval in her look, he found none. In fact, he may have detected relief.

  “I take it you drove Maren here. Thank you very much,” she said, warmly.

  “I was glad to do it,” he replied.

  Erin patted his arm before turning back to her daughters.

  “Have either of you heard from Lane?”

  “Yes,” Maren said. “He can’t catch a flight back until tomorrow, but he’ll be here first thing.”

  Malcolm pictured the curly-haired youth whom he’d mistaken as a boyfriend. Though he knew it was selfish, he silently thanked Maren’s brother for being out of town on this particular night. Malcolm knew that if the boy had been around, she would not have needed him.

  Do I want her to need me?

  The answer was an unequivocal yes. It was wrong
, and he knew it, but that changed nothing. He was glad that she’d needed him, and he was grateful that he had been able to come to her aid.

  “I wish they’d tell us something,” Erin said, her worried eyes seeking the double doors that separated the waiting area from the emergency room.

  “Mom, sit down,” Maren directed. “We might be here awhile.” Maren sat and tugged Malcolm’s sleeve so that he sat next to her.

  Erin and Laurel followed suit. Without a thought, Malcolm tucked his right arm around Maren, and her body answered by leaning into his.

  It felt good. Not maddening, the way her kisses had harnessed him, driven him, but warm. Her closeness, her body against his was a balm that radiated through him. He looked down at the sweetness of her face, and he understood that there was nothing in the world that he cared about more.

  “Are you comfortable?” he whispered. “Is there anything I can do?”

  She brought her eyes to his and gave him a shy smile.

  “You’re doing it, believe me,” she whispered back. Then her smile grew as she eyed him. “So,…glasses, huh?”

  Malcolm had forgotten he was wearing them. He laughed lightly.

  “Yeah, I take out my contacts at night, so I wear these before bed and right when I wake up,” he said. “I’m pretty blind without them.”

  “They look good on you,” she said, grinning. Then she reached up to his face. “May I?”

  He raised his brow at her but leaned forward indulgently. She slid the glasses from his face, and the world went fuzzy, but she was close enough to see as she peered through the lenses.

  “Wow, Malcolm. You are blind.” Instead of handing them back, she slipped them onto her face and blinked at him. “How do I look?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’m blind, remember?” But even blurry, she was unbelievably cute in his glasses and sweatshirt. He could not imagine finding her more captivating.

  “How long have you two been seeing each other?” Laurel asked, breaking him out of his reverie. Maren handed him back his glasses, and he replaced them to see a serene smile on Erin’s face and a look of amused curiosity on Laurel’s.

  “We’re friends, Laurel,” Maren said.

  Erin frowned doubtfully, but Laurel rolled her eyes.

  “Yeah, right,” she muttered. “Keep telling yourselves that.”

  “Laurel!” Erin hissed, but with good humor.

  Laurel’s question needled him. It meant that he could not hide how he felt any more than Maren could, but he decided to let it go. He had a hard enough time trying to explain to Maren why they could not be together; he didn’t want to take on the job of explaining it to her whole family.

  “Pido disculpas por mi hermana,” Maren whispered.

  Malcolm had forgotten that Maren spoke some Spanish. He felt the effect of the reminder along his spinal column.

  “Yo te perdonaría cualquier cosa, mi belleza,” he said, swallowing against the thrill.

  Te amo más que a nada, his heart added.

  She frowned, trying to catch all the words, and he waited for her to ask for clarification when a female doctor in scrubs approached.

  “Mrs. Gardner?” she asked.

  Erin shot out of her chair, and they all got to their feet. Malcolm felt Maren cling to him, her muscles straining with tension.

  “I’m Dr. Guidry. Your husband has been taken to ICU. We were able to stop the seizures with medication, but I suspect that they indicate that metastasis in his brain is worsening,” she said, grimly. “We can run a few tests in the morning to know more if that is what you would like to do. I understand that you have medical power of attorney.”

  “Is he conscious? Can we see him?” Erin asked, holding Laurel who had started to cry again.

  The doctor nodded.

  “He is conscious, but we’ll also be managing his pain with morphine, so he won’t be very alert just now.”

  “He’s been on Tramadol for pain,” Erin said.

  “I’m aware of that, Mrs. Gardner, but my examination indicated that the Tramadol is not as effective at this point. We can explore other options if the sedating effects of the morphine affect his quality of life and his time with his family, but I wanted to make sure he could rest well tonight after this ordeal.”

  “Of course,” Erin said, paling.

  Even without looking at her, Malcolm could feel Maren’s hackles rising.

  “Let’s wait for his oncologist to look in on him in the morning, but it is probably time to arrange for hospice care if—as his chart says—Mr. Gardner would like to remain at home and not in the hospital.”

  “Yes, that is what he wants,” Maren interjected, firmly. “He wants to be alert, and he wants to be at home.”

  “In that case,” the doctor cut her eyes to Maren, “he’ll likely be released tomorrow. We need to observe him tonight to ensure that he doesn’t have any more seizures. You can go up to ICU on the fifth floor, but only two visitors are allowed in at a time.”

  The doctor left them, and Erin inhaled deeply and stood up straight.

  “Let’s find the elevator. Maren, please text your brother with an update,” she said.

  Erin led Laurel to the elevators, and Malcolm made to follow them when Maren held him back.

  “Malcolm, you don’t have to stay. It’s almost midnight,” she said.

  He still held her in the crook of his arm, and he squeezed her to him.

  “I’m not leaving until you do,” he said, firmly.

  She stared at him for a beat, her brows drawing together in confusion.

  “Boy, you really don’t see yourself clearly,” she muttered. “Let’s go.”

  They found Erin and Laurel waiting at the elevator banks and joined them.

  “Girls, I want to see your dad alone first,” Erin said.

  “Of course, Mom,” Maren said. Laurel nodded, still tearful.

  On the fifth floor, Erin approached the nurses’ station, and the charge nurse pointed to Mr. Gardner’s room, directing the rest of them to the smaller waiting area. Maren sat down again, pulling Malcolm and Laurel on either side of her, clasping a hand of each of them.

  They sat in silence, Laurel’s eyes trained on the entrance to Maren’s father’s room.

  “Hospice means it’s a matter of days, doesn’t it?” Laurel asked.

  Maren gripped Malcolm’s hand more tightly. He shifted their clasped hands into his lap and covered hers with both of his.

  “A few weeks, maybe, but yes…soon,” she said in a hushed voice.

  With his thumb, Malcolm drew circles on the back of her hand, again wanting to remind her that he was there to comfort her. At the end of his mother’s life, no one had sat beside him, anchored him, and he would never allow that to happen to Maren.

  “Hospice also means that your father will be as comfortable and have as much dignity as possible,” he told them both.

  The sisters looked at him in unison, but only Maren spoke.

  “Were they there for your mom?”

  Malcolm nodded.

  “Yes, thank God. They were able to give her so much more than I could by myself.”

  Laurel’s eyes widened.

  “You were by yourself?” she asked.

  “Yes, it was just the two of us,” he said.

  Maren’s eyes met his, and she held his gaze for a long moment. Without looking away, she laced her fingers through his and ran her thumb along his palm. The three of them sat in silence until Erin returned a few minutes later. Her eyes were red and raw with fresh tears, but she smiled at her daughters.

  “He’s awake, and he’s himself, thank God,” she said. “Maren, he’s asking for you, and he’d like you to introduce your friend.”

  Erin gave Malcolm an encouraging smile, but Malcolm felt himself pale. Maren’s father was on his deathbed, and Malcolm knew he did not deserve any of the time the man had left with his family.

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

  “Come on,” Maren said,
standing and tugging him up with her. “I want him to meet you.”

  Malcolm followed her out of the waiting room only to stop her.

  “Maren, I can’t take up any of his time with you. It doesn’t feel right for him to have to deal with a stranger.”

  “You’re not a stranger,” Maren said, blushing. “I’ve told him a little bit about you.”

  Malcolm’s eyebrows leapt in surprise.

  “You have?”

  Maren nodded.

  “Well,…not everything.” Her blush deepened. “But a little about our friendship and how good you’ve been to me. Please? I really want you to meet.”

  Of course, he could deny her nothing—except what would hurt her—and this would not. If anything, meeting Maren’s father might further cement his intentions to keep their relationship chaste and innocent.

  “If it’s what you want,” he agreed, letting her lead him by the hand.

  They approached the glass partitions that walled off each of the patient beds and stood at the entrance of her father’s room. Malcolm heard Maren gasp softly as she laid eyes on the ashen, frail-looking man in the bed. Even with the trappings of grave illness, oxygen tubes in his nose, an IV drip in his arm, and a heart-rate monitor on one finger, Malcolm could see that the man was much too young to be facing death.

  Maren’s father smiled at his daughter with absolute love.

  “It’s alright, Merry. It’s still me,” he said.

  “Dad!” Maren dropped Malcolm’s hand and flew to the bed, collapsing on top of her father. Malcolm leaned against the entrance, watching the woman he adored but did not deserve weep fiercely. Even as he wondered if he should step away and leave them, his heart twisted for her, and he longed to go to her again.

  “It’s alright, my love,” the sick man whispered and held his daughter. “It really is alright.”

  Maren’s father held her as she calmed, but he locked eyes with Malcolm across the room. To Malcolm’s great surprise, he saw welcome in the man’s eyes.

  “Maren, please introduce me to your friend,” he said, softly.

  “Yes,…of course.” Maren straightened up, sniffing, and quickly dabbed her eyes on the sleeve of her sweatshirt before returning to Malcolm and pulling him into the room. “Dad, this is Malcolm Vashal….Malcolm, this is my father, Mark Gardner.”