Half-Truths

by Randileigh Kennedy

  “So what now?”

  “So now I’m apparently not writing songs with anyone, which means my power and water should be shut off in a few weeks, I’ll get to watch ‘Kip’ rise to stardom while working his way through every miniskirt in Nashville, and it turns out my dad might die.” The emotion finally caught up with my voice. “I get to be nobody, poor and unsuccessful, drinking Boone’s Farm in a park like I’m sixteen. All the while beating myself up over everything I left here in Mountain Ridge, for a life that I am completely sucking at.” There it was. This was bottom.

  “Geez, and I complained yesterday about having to put on pants all the time,” he joked, lightening the mood. “You win, hands down. That all sucks pretty bad. I should’ve brought more to drink.”

  I snickered as he made fun of me, and I took another slug of my bottle. “Aren’t you glad this is how you’re spending your Monday night?” I teased. “Looks like you spilled coffee on the wrong girl.”

  A warm smile spread across his face, and he stared at me. “I don’t know, I kind of like this.” He shrugged. “Usually when you get to know someone, it’s only the good stuff. You’re supposed to tell me how smart and successful you are, like you’re the only girl who actually has her life all together. It’s like social media—everyone is full of all these half-truths, right? Their life is perfect and happy and everything goes their way . . . And, even better, when something doesn’t go their way, they go on and on about the injustice of it all, and they get to spill the dramatic takeaways of the positive life lesson they endured. Or at the very least they get a hundred other people to commiserate with them so they aren’t alone in it, and then it’s okay. But I hate all that. Sometimes things just suck. I hate that no one can just say it.”

  “Are you patronizing me?” I said speculatively, trying to read him. He was always smiling, so I couldn’t necessarily tell if he was being serious or just completely mocking me.

  “I’m serious,” he said warmly. “You’re the first girl to tell me you’re unsuccessful, poor, and possibly a little crazy when a man does you wrong. No girl ever admits to that. Not on the first date, at least.”

  “Whoa, who said this is a date?” I laughed.

  “Right,” he countered, nodding. “Well, two strangers in a park drinking three-dollar liquor is every bit a perfect date if I’ve ever heard of one. Or it’s a ‘missing girl’ story on the local news, but I guess we’re not going to know which one this is until the night ends. So you’re right. It’s anyone’s guess at this point.”

  I stared back at him, smiling because my face matched his when he spoke and I couldn’t stop it. I had just told him about my crumbling life, and he didn’t seem phased by any of it. He was able to make light of everything and put me in a good mood anyway. I had laughed more with him in our thirty minutes together than I think I ever laughed with “Kip” for the entire six months we dated.

  “What about you? What’s your life story?” I asked, changing the subject. All my secrets were out, so it made sense to turn the tables and find out about him.

  “I live in an apartment in the city right now. My commute to the hospital isn’t so bad,” he began, still trying to drink from his glass bottle despite grimacing every time the liquid passed down his throat. “But I grew up in a small town outside Nashville up until I moved for school. I was raised by my grandparents mostly, out in the country.”

  “What happened?”

  “Car accident.” He shrugged. “I lost my parents when I was six. Honestly I don’t remember a lot. I have weird memories here and there, but not about anything important. Just my mom and the pants.” He smirked as he said it. “And memories of my father at the local park, teaching me to ride a bike once, fly a kite . . . that kind of stuff. Random memories, but not many of them.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said quietly. “What made you decide to become a doctor?”

  “The old man was a doctor,” he explained. “He had all these books. Medical journals, things like that. After he passed I was obsessed with those books, even though at first I could barely read them. I don’t know exactly why I was so drawn to them right away. Maybe it was because I felt it was the only tangible connection I had with him, or they were just a good excuse to stay withdrawn for most of my childhood because I was always busy reading. I read all of those books front to back, multiple times. My grandparents would always beg me to go outside and play with all the other kids, but I preferred to sit and read those books. As I got older, that was the only thing I knew to do. My grandparents lived about forty minutes outside the city on a beautiful pond in a small town. I’ve always loved that spot, and all I wanted was to live in that house forever and be a doctor. So that’s been my entire focus ever since.”

  “I marvel at people who know exactly what to do with their life,” I stated sincerely. “That’s really amazing.”

  “I don’t know if it’s amazing,” Sawyer continued. “I think as a child I felt some tremendous pressure to be something big, as if it would replace the tragedy in some way for my grandparents, who lost their only son. I felt like the hole in me couldn’t be fixed, but maybe I had it in me to fix the hole in them by doing something big with my life. I swear every time I accomplished the next phase of my plan, the pride on their faces made me think that was what I’d really accomplished—that I’d fixed them from any pain they’d ever had in their lives, which they deserved for all they’d done for me. Then they passed last year, within four months of each other, and now I wonder how much of them I really fixed. Because the hole I feel from losing them—I don’t feel like anyone can fix that.”

  I stared back at him, unsure of exactly what to say. I had chosen to meet up with him because his constant joyous expression seemed so distant from the heartache I was feeling over my father, yet I was learning how much more heartache he had endured himself. I couldn’t imagine losing everyone close to me. I wasn’t sure I could make it through one loss, let alone all the people I loved.

  “But that’s the beauty of this world, right?” he said. “Horrific things happen, but it keeps on spinning. And somewhere in that there’s purpose, and beauty, and happiness, despite all the things that have gone so wrong.”

  “I don’t know how you do it.” I shook my head.

  “What?”

  “The way you can talk about all that but still look like you’re happy. The way you still seem to have perfect focus over what you want despite the world throwing you those kinds of curveballs. I’ve never lost anyone, and I feel like I can’t keep it together most days.”

  “You’re probably doing a better job than you think.” He smiled.

  I wondered if that was true. Sure, people probably fell apart over far less. But being twenty-three without a college degree, on the verge of homelessness—not to mention the humiliation over being cheated on by essentially the only career prospect I had—felt like a pretty deep pit to me.

  “I don’t know. I just feel like I’m doing it all wrong,” I replied. “Maybe I should’ve listened to my mother. I should’ve finished college, majored in something really practical like engineering, or marketing, or accounting . . . I could be working a normal, stable job by now doing, I don’t know . . . spreadsheets all day or something.”

  “Bleh, no, spreadsheets are awful.” He laughed. “That’s no life for a girl like you.”

  “I know, right?” I agreed.

  My phone buzzed at that moment, taking away my focus. I read the text on the screen next to my brother’s name.

  Not sure where you are, can’t find you in the hospital. Meet us back in the room. It’s important.

  My heart sank.

  Chapter 6

  “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” Sawyer asked with heavy concern in his voice. Apparently he could see the fear on my face.

  “I’m not sure. It’s my dad,” I said quickly, standing up from the bench. “Something must be wrong.” I handed him my near-empty bottle as guilt washed over me. Here
I was, irresponsibly drinking at a park with some guy while my family was looking for me with news—obviously bad news—about my dad. What was I doing?

  He stood up as well, setting everything down on the seat. “Are you heading back to the hospital? Can I walk with you, or do you want to be alone?”

  “I’m fine,” I choked out, hoping not to cry in front of him. “I’ll go alone.” I appreciated his concern and politeness, but I had no interest in turning to mush in front of a guy I barely knew. He may have been impressed with my honesty about my finances and poor choice in men, but this was all far too personal.

  He reached out and grabbed my phone from me, quickly maneuvering his fingers across the screen. “Here’s my number, just in case,” he stated, handing the phone back to me. “If you need anything, even just someone to talk to, I’ve been through it all. I’m a good listener.” He offered me a sincere smile, and I reached out for his hand and gently squeezed it.

  “Thanks for the park party,” I said quietly with a smirk, still trying to force back my tears.

  “Hand squeezing. This is a better goodbye than yesterday. We’re making progress,” he teased. “Seriously, call me. Please. Just to tell me how you are. Even if you tell me you’re fine and it’s only half true, that’s okay too.”

  “Thank you,” I replied quietly. The tears slowly fell from my face, and I smiled back up at him, knowing it was time to walk away. I offered him one last light grin, truly thankful for his company, then turned and headed toward the walking path that led to the hospital. The tears came faster as I walked.

  Within minutes I made it through the main entrance doors and began my ascent up the elevator to the eighth floor. As soon as I stepped off into the hallway, my brother intercepted me.

  “Where’ve you been?” my brother asked curiously, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

  “Out getting some fresh air. What happened?” I questioned. “Is he okay?”

  “Why do you smell like alcohol?” he asked, stopping to look down at me.

  “I was just out with an old friend, waiting for Dad’s buddies to leave.” I shrugged. “What does it matter?”

  “Does ‘old friend’ mean you were with Wes?” he probed.

  “What does it matter to you? Stay out of my business,” I huffed. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

  “I don’t know. They want to talk to us together,” he said nonchalantly, as if perhaps it wasn’t such an emergency after all.

  We walked into the hospital room, and my mom and dad were lying side by side in the tiny, awkward hospital bed.

  “Looks like we should’ve knocked,” my brother joked as we entered.

  They both smiled at us.

  “We talked to someone new tonight,” my dad began. My mom got up from the bed and moved to an open chair instead. “He’s a surgeon, who also won’t perform any kind of surgery on me. He agrees with the others that it’s too risky. But he knows someone who will do it.”

  “So that’s great news,” I said skeptically, still unsure of the entire situation. I wasn’t a fan of the word risky, but it sounded like this was still progress nonetheless.

  “There is a doctor at Stanford who takes worst-case scenario patients like me,” he continued. “He doesn’t necessarily have a better prognosis for me, but he’s willing to attempt it.”

  “What does that mean?” Warren asked for clarification.

  “Well, it means that the situation still doesn’t look good,” my mom explained, “but at least at Stanford, they have other backup plans if the surgery doesn’t work. Something called an LVAD, I think? Or possibly even a heart transplant, if it comes to that.”

  Whoa. That sounded big. I knew nothing about procedures like that, but at least it sounded like we finally had an option. No one else had really given us one yet.

  “So that’s great. When is that happening?” my brother questioned.

  “Well, they don’t have a spot for me right now,” my father said hesitantly. “They’re full.”

  “What does that mean? They won’t take you because you don’t have a reservation?” I muttered sarcastically. “There’s no room at the inn, so they’re cutting you open in a stable of hay?” I put my hands on my hips, completely frustrated by this entire ordeal.

  “We just have to wait,” my mom said calmly.

  “Wait for what?” I raised my voice. “Every doctor who comes in here has worse news than the last, and every single one says Dad won’t make it through surgery. You’re telling me there is only one person who will even attempt to do anything for him?” My anger was rising. This entire situation baffled me.

  “Well, there are two, but one is across the country in Ohio. Transporting your father anywhere is an issue in his condition, because if something goes wrong en route, they don’t have the capability of resuscitating him given the condition of his heart,” my mom regurgitated as if she was simply stating words someone else had used earlier. “So given that Stanford is just a few hours from here, that seems to be our best choice.”

  “As if we have so many choices to make,” I mumbled.

  “What does this actually mean?” my brother asked.

  “We wait,” my dad said softly.

  ***

  I peeled my face off the sweaty vinyl hospital couch and looked around the room. My eyes were puffy from crying the night before, not to mention my lack of sleep from the repeated wake-ups all night long. It was ironic that every nurse and doctor had instructed my dad to rest when they kept coming in every hour to take his vitals, give him pills, check his urine output . . . There was nothing restful about nights in this room. The erratic machine sounds never gave me peace or comfort, yet any pauses in their rhythm caused me to bolt awake as well. There was no solace here.

  My dad was still sleeping, so I gathered some toiletries from my bag and opted to take a nice long shower. I even straightened my long hair and put on a little makeup in an attempt to feel human again after living out of a suitcase on a pull-out couch.

  “They’re going to kick you out of here in just a bit,” my dad stated as I ate orange sherbet for breakfast by his bed. “I have a lot of tests today. They’re going to wheel me out of here, and I won’t be back for a while.”

  “I know, Mom mentioned that.” I sighed, looking out the hospital window. The sun was bright, and there were no clouds. It was the kind of day made for spending at a pool or hanging out on a sandy beach, but there seemed little room for daydreaming now. I couldn’t possibly relax with everything going on.

  “Why don’t you get out and do something fun? I’m guessing you don’t need a ‘life is short’ speech from me this morning,” he said with a cracked smile.

  “No jokes today.” I shook my head.

  “Just promise me you’ll do something fun today. Get away from all this.”

  “I’ll strongly consider it.” I smiled, cleaning out the rest of my Styrofoam bowl. Warren walked in and sat down. He explained he was going to spend the day waterskiing with his old high school buddies. He asked if I wanted to join, but that sounded like torture. I hadn’t been waterskiing for years, not to mention his friends were dopes who used to spy on me in my room every time they were over at our house. They were lame and annoying.

  Sure enough, we were eventually ushered out of the room. I dialed Brie’s number.

  “What are you doing today?” I asked as soon as she picked up the phone.

  “Working, story of my life,” she replied. “Why? Are you going to let me hack up your hair? Pretty please? Come by the salon.”

  “Maybe.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. My dad is in for testing all day, so I just kind of wanted to get out.”

  “Damn, I have appointments all day. Give me thirty minutes, and I’ll see if I can get them cancelled.”

  “No, don’t do that,” I responded.

  “Come on, it’s not every day my best friend randomly shows up in town,” she pointed out.

  “I know, but you’re busy. All th
ose cancellations will just anger people. There’s no need for that. Let’s just hang out later,” I insisted. “Maybe you can hack off my hair some other time.”

  “I’m off at four,” she informed me before we hung up. “I’ll call you then.”

  I stood in the hospital lobby for a minute, unsure of who else to call. My fingers scrolled across my phone screen and finally stopped at Sawyer’s name. I knew he was probably at his convention already, but I felt compelled to call him anyway, if for no other reason than to apologize for my abrupt exit last night.

  He picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “It’s Whitley,” I said quickly, unsure if he would recognize my voice.

  “I’m sorry, who?”

  “Whitley, from last night?” I felt stupid saying it, but his reaction confused me.

  “From the escort service?”

  “What?” I replied, taken aback. “No, from the park.”

  “I know, I’m kidding.” He laughed. “Sorry, that sounded better when I thought of it silently in my head.”

  “You make me question your sanity.” I shook my head. “What are you doing today?”

  “Learning about intestinal obstructions, obviously.” He snickered. “What else would someone rather learn about over crappy coffee and stale muffins?”

  “Right, you’re at the convention all day. I kind of figured that, but I just . . . I don’t know, I just . . .” I wasn’t sure what I even wanted to say. It just felt good hearing his voice.

  “More importantly, what are you doing today?” he asked sincerely.

  “I guess I’m trying to figure that out. My dad is undergoing a bunch of tests today, so they kicked me out. I was just walking around the lobby of the hospital and thought . . .”

  “That I may be the only thing better than pacing a hospital corridor for the next eight hours?” he interjected.