by Lexi Eddings
How did people do it? How did they commit to each other? How did they give their hearts away knowing everything could be gone in a blink and they’d be left alone?
Crystal was out of the truck and running toward the entrance almost before Seth put his vehicle into park. Angie climbed out but didn’t run after her.
Angie was too full of dread for that. She barely felt it when Seth took her hand. She put one foot before the other, and forced herself to push air in and out of her lungs, but she was numb inside as they walked toward the hospital’s front doors. Crystal and Noah were about to be reminded that no matter what ties they’d forged, either with each other or with their son, none of them were unbreakable.
Life was precious. It was also fragile. Too fragile to bear. Angie hadn’t been this deeply aware of her lonely, single “only-ness” in a long while. It pressed down on her like a heavy weight.
Noah wasn’t the only one in the waiting room. It was ringed with other poor souls whose loved ones were receiving care elsewhere in the hospital. Some were trying to distract themselves with their phones or the dusty magazines, but they skewered the newcomers with a half-wild thousand-yard stare. It was a potent mix of hope that it might be a doctor with news and dread over what that news might be.
But Crystal didn’t seem to notice the others. She only had eyes for her husband.
When Angie and Seth caught up to her, she was already in Noah’s arms. The air around the couple crackled with suppressed panic. Heather and Michael were standing close by, their faces studies in worry and sympathy. Jadis had staked out the far corner and, eyes closed, appeared to be praying or meditating or sending “white light” or whatever it was admitted agnostics did in times of crisis. Judging from her intense frown, it didn’t seem to be helping Jadis in the slightest and there was no telling how or if her intense concentration affected Ethan’s well-being. Everyone in the room was afflicted with the paralysis of helplessness and afraid of what the next few breaths might bring.
Hospital waiting rooms are the anteroom of hell.
“Noah, what happened?” Crystal pulled back from their embrace far enough to look up at his face. “Were you hurt, too?”
Crystal’s husband was a big, strapping guy. A respected member of the community. Looks, money, power—he had everything. Folks around Coldwater would say Noah Addleberry lived a charmed life.
Now the guy who had everything broke down and wept like a child. “Oh, God, it’s my fault.”
To Crystal’s credit, she held him while his massive shoulders shook. “What do you mean?”
“It was my valium,” he choked out. “Ethan must have gotten into the medicine cabinet and downed a bunch of tablets.”
“When did you start taking valium?” Crystal asked as they sank onto the nearby couch together.
“Last week.” Noah dragged a hand over his face. “I couldn’t sleep without you—”
“So you’re saying this is my fault?” Crystal interrupted, but then bit her lower lip to stop herself. “No, forget I said that. Please go on.”
Noah drew a shuddering breath. “Anyway, I asked the doc to give me something to help me nod off.” His voice broke and he half sobbed, “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”
Tears left dark mascara runnels on Crystal’s cheeks. “Me too, Noah. Me too.”
Noah held her tighter and they rocked back and forth. They were united again. Finally. But it was a broken sort of unity. It had taken the worst of things to bring them closer.
Angie studied the tips of her shoes. She wasn’t aware that Heather had approached Noah until she heard her friend say, “How many tablets did Ethan take?”
“I don’t know,” Noah said in total misery. “I wasn’t careful about how many I took—some nights more, some less—so I don’t know. I brought the bottle, but Doc said it’s not much help if we can’t figure out how many pills should be in it. A lot. That’s all I know. There should be a lot more.”
“Where’s Ethan now? Can I go to him?” Crystal asked.
“They’re working on him in the ER, trying to get him to wake up.” Noah stared at a distant point on the horizon only he seemed to see. “He fell asleep on the couch and just wouldn’t wake up.”
“I’ll go see how he’s doing,” Heather said, and headed to the emergency room.
Noah swiped his eyes. “Aren’t you going to rip into me?”
Crystal shook her head.
“But I deserve it this time,” Noah said.
Crystal swallowed hard and moved, almost imperceptibly, a little bit away from him. But when she spoke, her words were gentle. “It was an accident, Noah. It’s . . . it’s not your fault.”
“It will be if he . . .” Noah couldn’t finish his thought, but they were all thinking it with him.
If he dies.
One moment Ethan was a nerdy little fifth grader glued to his iPad. The next he might be gone. He’d had so few moments. And for the short years of his young life, how often had Crystal and Noah made a mess of Ethan’s moments. How much struggling for control, how much frustration, how much anger over things that didn’t count for anything in the long haul, only to end up exhausted in a hospital waiting room together. All that flailing, all that fuss, over nothing of lasting importance.
And no matter what they did now, in a blink, their child could be gone.
Noah reached a tentative hand toward Crystal’s, but at that instant, she began digging in her purse and emerged with a tissue. Angie didn’t think Crystal had meant to avoid her husband’s touch. It was just a chance miss.
And a missed chance. A moment to reconnect was lost.
How many missed chances could a couple survive?
Something like panic rose in Angie’s throat. It was so hard to watch Noah and Crystal struggle toward each other, one step forward, two steps back. They’d never really come together at this rate.
Without a word, Michael Evans sat down on the couch on the other side of his sister and took her hand. Angie and Seth settled into the chairs across from them. No one said anything, but Angie noticed Seth bowing his head and closing his eyes. Though his lips occasionally moved, no sound came out.
At times like this, Angie wished she could pray and believe Someone was listening. She’d done it when she was a child, but she had no evidence that her words ever made it any farther than the ceiling above her head. Once she became an adult, she figured God was too busy to be bothered with the small doings of her life. Besides, she could take care of herself.
She had to.
But she wondered if it would be a cheat to try to pray now when things were terrible since she’d ignored God when times were relatively good?
Then, too, she’d have to care about someone to pray for them. And caring about someone was the sure path to devastation. She only had to look at the couple on the couch to see that. Crystal and Noah were both shattered, holding themselves together with the slenderest of things.
A bit of spit and baling twine disguised as hope.
Heather came back into the waiting room. Everyone rose to their feet in unison.
“Ethan has been moved to ICU,” she said. “Doc Warner is doing everything he can.”
“Like what?” Crystal asked. In anyone else, it would have sounded like a demand, but having been on the receiving end of Crystal Addleberry’s truly demanding tone, they all recognized this as a simple plea for more information.
“Ethan’s stomach has been pumped and he’s been given flumazenil. That’s a medication to reduce the effects of the valium,” Heather explained.
“Is he awake?” Noah asked, his voice ragged. “Can we talk to him?”
Heather shook her head. “He’s on a respirator.”
Crystal gave a small gasp and Noah put his arm around her. She seemed to lean into him. “He can’t breathe on his own?”
“Yes, he can. But Ethan was breathing so shallowly, his O2 sats were lower than the doctor wanted to see, so he ordered the respirator. Ethan’s just get
ting some help with his breathing for now. This is a good thing,” Heather said reassuringly. “Adequate oxygen flow protects his brain function and other organs.”
“But when will he wake up?” Crystal asked, her tone small and vulnerable as a child’s.
Heather didn’t answer immediately.
“We should know more in an hour or so,” she said, but the slice of silence before Heather answered had already spoken volumes. Ethan’s life was balanced on the edge of a knife. It could go either way.
“So all we can do is wait?” Noah asked.
“No,” Seth said. “All we can do is pray.”
He held out his hands to Angie at his side and to Noah, who was across from him. As one by one the others joined hands, a circle began to form. Even Jadis left her corner and came to stand between Angie and Heather.
There was a time when Angie would have given anything to be part of a family for real. To be included in a loving circle, even a grieving loving circle. But now she felt as if she was being sucked against her will into a heartache waiting to happen.
It was selfish of her, but her life had been one goodbye after another. She didn’t think she could bear another loss.
Even one that belonged to someone else.
Then, softly but confidently, Seth started talking to God. He didn’t use any “thees” or “thous.” He just spoke to God as if He was a friend he was used to checking in with on a regular basis. Sometimes there were long stretches of silence between sentences, as if Seth were listening for an answer.
In those silences, Angie heard only the ambient white noise of the hospital, a few beeps at regular intervals, the clack of shoes on vinyl floors and the low whirr and click of medical equipment. But then she began to hear the shuffle of feet on the waiting room’s industrial grade carpet, and felt a hand on her shoulder.
Some of the other people in the waiting room had set aside their own pain and worry and had risen to join the circle praying for Ethan.
All Angie could do was wonder why they’d risk it for someone they didn’t even know. Why offer up your hope if it was just as likely to be dashed to pieces as rewarded with a happy outcome?
When Seth finished praying, someone else picked up where he left off, asking for wisdom for the doctors and expressing thanks for Ethan’s young life. The voice was strong and steady and . . . familiar.
That’s George Evans, Angie realized, amazed that Ethan’s grandfather could sound so at peace in crisis.
She felt a small hand reach for hers. Angie opened her eyes. Riley had wormed her way into the inner circle and was trying to separate Angie and Seth’s hands so she could take her place between them. The usually chipper six-year-old looked up at her, her eyes enormous and solemn as a judge. Even though all the adults in her life were desperate with worry over her brother, Riley wasn’t frantic. She seemed sober, but calm.
And far older than her years.
When her grandfather finished praying, Riley started in. Her voice small and reedy, she asked God to help her brother “get okay.”
Simply. Trustingly.
If Ethan died, Riley was in for more hurt than she’d ever known. Not only would her brother be gone, Angie knew her parents were statistically more likely to divorce after the loss of a child. Plus, Riley’s childish faith would be smashed to bits.
I’m a terrible person, Angie realized, heartsick over the moment of self-understanding. She wasn’t proud of it, but she knew it was true. I can’t risk this. I can’t be involved.
Gently, she pulled her hand away from Riley’s and put it in Jadis’s. Then as the others continued praying, she slipped out of the circle, down the hallway, and out the hospital doors.
The wind bit her cheeks, but she turned up her collar and started walking home.
Alone. I may as well get used to it.
Chapter 32
When folks start jawin’ about whether some imaginary glass is half empty or half full, I always wonder to myself, why don’t they just take a real one out of the cupboard and fill the darn thing to the brim?
—Junior Bugtussle, who thinks if you want half a glass you should find a smaller glass
“Emma, I’m back,” Angie called when she came through the kitchen door, stamping her feet to get some feeling into them. It was more than a mile from the hospital to her place. There was ice in the wind’s breath and Angie’s toes burned with the cold. “Emma?”
There was no answer, but the girl had left a note on the counter.
My mom called and wanted me to come for Thanksgiving dinner. Maybe she’ll let me stay. Either way, I’ll call you. I’ve been thinking about all the things I’m thankful for today and you’re at the top of the list, Ms. H. I don’t know what I’d do without you.
Emma
Angie sank onto one of the counter stools. Emma was only fifteen, pregnant, and not sure where she’d be sleeping tonight. Yet she’d been counting her blessings.
I really am a terrible person, she decided once again. All she could think about was how Emma’s moving out would affect her.
If Emma did move back home, Angie would be equal parts sad and relieved. She didn’t want to admit it, but she’d enjoyed having another beating heart in the apartment. The cat didn’t really count since Angie was never sure whether Effie would bestir herself to greet her when she came home.
But if Emma was once again her mother’s responsibility, Angie wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore. She wouldn’t have to fret about what the girl decided concerning her pregnancy. Or if she should keep and raise the baby herself or give the child up for adoption.
Angie wouldn’t have to care.
Or risk being hurt if things turned out badly.
Only that morning, Angie had pondered asking Emma if she could adopt her child. It had seemed a logical solution at the time. Emma could continue her education. She’d be able to see the child on occasion through the years. If Angie adopted the baby, he or she would never know the isolation and insecurity of a foster situation.
If Angie became an adoptive mother, she would finally have a family of her own.
That was what she’d meant when she’d told Seth she wouldn’t be making any important decisions without talking to him first.
Now Angie was glad she hadn’t mentioned an adoption to Emma. If she gave her love to Emma’s child, she’d be destroyed if something happened to the baby. Ethan’s sudden catastrophe proved that. She barely knew the boy, but Angie was still so shaken by his situation, she could hardly function.
I’m a miserable, selfish . . .
She wanted to add heartless to her list of sins, but the truth was Angie had a heart. It was just small. Whether it had atrophied from lack of use or shrunk because she’d kept it hidden to protect it, she wasn’t sure. But she had precious little heart to offer anyone.
And Seth deserves so much more.
Angie took off her coat, made a cup of coffee, and sat on her couch, tucking her feet up under her. After a while, Effie came out to investigate. The cat snuggled up against her for a few minutes without purring. But when Angie didn’t speak or deign to pet her, the feline moved to the far arm of the couch and glared in her direction. Finally, Effie hopped down and disappeared into the other room.
Evidently, it was highly unsatisfying to the cat to be ignored.
Shoe’s on the other foot this time, huh, cat?
The light through the windows facing the Square grew dusky, but Angie didn’t move from her spot on the couch. Every time thoughts of Ethan and the rest of the Evans clan invaded her mind, she chased them out with ruthlessness. She didn’t dare hope. Didn’t dare pray.
Heather was wrong. The whole premise behind the Warm Hearts Club was wrong. Being involved in other people’s lives wouldn’t make hers better. All it did was open her up to more hurt, more disappointment, more loss.
The only safety was in being alone.
A soft rap on her back door finally made her stir. Her feet had gone to sleep.
/> Kind of like my heart.
Her toes prickled as blood streamed back into them. In her heart, she felt nothing as she opened the door.
Seth stood on the other side.
“How is he?” she asked because she knew she should, not because she thought she could bear to know the answer. She’d already tucked her heart behind a wall. Was this how it would be from now on? She’d go through the motions of appearing to care while tamping down her feelings like crazy to keep from being hurt by the caring?
“He’s awake.” Seth came in without being invited. “And breathing on his own.”
“Thank God.”
“Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Thank God?”
“Seth, I—”
“When we finished praying, I looked up and you were gone.” He cocked his head at her, his expression a mix of bewilderment and concern. “Why did you leave?”
Angie turned away from him. She couldn’t bear to look at his face any longer. He was too dear. “I . . . I had to.”
“Why?” he demanded.
How could she explain it? She wasn’t even sure herself. She searched her feelings and came up with one true thing. It was something he might understand and not hate her for.
“I was afraid.”
His tone softened. “What of?”
“Of Ethan dying.” She raked a hand through her hair as she turned back to face him. She decided to lay everything out there. She owed Seth that. “Of God not caring.”
“You think if Ethan had died it would have been because God didn’t care?” Seth asked.
“Well, yes.” What else was she supposed to think? If God was really all powerful, He could heal a little boy who’d accidentally taken some of his father’s meds without breaking a sweat. If Ethan died, it would be because God couldn’t be bothered to stop it from happening.
That kind of impersonal, unfeeling God was too terrifying to contemplate.
“Angie, that’s not how it works.”