Wilson Mooney Eighteen at Last

by Gretchen de La O

  I dragged my fingers down his arms before I let them hover at the waist of his jeans. He pushed me back, knowing I’d take him down with me. We tumbled onto his bed together. His skin scorched mine and his muscles flexed stiffly as he adjusted his weight to ride all the pleasurable points of my body. The muscles in his arms and shoulders tightened as he lifted his chest up off me, his weight shifting, causing his hips to swing and drag heavily between my legs. With his head still lowered, his shiny black hair tumbled forward and gave me the perfect opportunity to tangle and lock my fingers in its wisps. I rose up to kiss him. Our mouths opened and tasted our raw desire for one another. His hands slipped behind me, and the heat from his skin ignited me once again.

  We rolled across his bed until I ended up stretched out on top of him. I felt his desire, swollen and hard, between us. Bit by bit I kissed my way down, tracking my lips to where his happy trail led me—to the waist of his jeans. I dragged the tip of my tongue across his stomach. His muscles flexed and his arms pulled urgently against my upper back as he let out a deep, low, animalistic groan. I slipped my fingers around the top button of his Levi’s and released it, then tugged on his boxers and pressed my lips to his exposed skin. It drove him crazy. His breath hitched and my shoulders went cold as he grabbed me under my arms and pulled me up. Forcefully, he thrust his hands down to the front of my jeans and yanked at the snap. His hands sped to pull them off my body while he worked and wiggled out of his own jeans. I watched his body create a magic I wanted to touch. His muscles moved and flexed, exemplifying how sexy he was. He even glistened with a slight shine. We were both down to our underwear when Max pulled the covers down and worked his way under them.

  “Come on, get in here with me,” he growled holding the covers up so I could slip next to him. And I did.

  I smiled—scared, nervous, and even a bit unsure. I didn’t know what to expect. He pulled me in and cradled my backside against his radiant body. Under the covers, through our underwear, I felt how much he wanted me. His lips tasted the skin across my back and shoulder while his fingers slinked up the inside of my thigh, slowly drifting across the front of my panties before maneuvering underneath the waist band.

  My heart slammed against my rib cage and the butterflies sped spastically around my stomach, cheering for the moment they couldn’t wait to have. I held my breath and spread my legs a bit, inviting him to tickle his fingers further down to feel my dampness. I waited impatiently as every muscle below my waist contracted and released in anticipation of his touch. Instead he pulled my panties off my body altogether.

  “Oh, Max,” I moaned.

  “Mmmm,” he hummed.

  I took a breath—I was just about to tell him to make love to me when I heard the front door slam and his mother’s voice escalate to a window-shattering scream. Her voice permeated every wall, window, and door. Her frantic tone saturated my body down to the marrow as she screamed for Max over and over again until his name began to mingle with her cries for help.

  Max flung the covers off and jumped out of the bed. Struggling to pull his pants on, he bumbled and yelled back to her.

  “Mom? I’m on my way.” He looked back at me, adding, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He scooped up his shirt from the floor and sped to the door. Barefoot and half naked, he slammed the door. I could hear Nancy’s voice echoing up the stairs, screaming Frank’s name. Then Max yelled to his sister to call 911.

  My heart pounded in my chest. I hurried to get dressed. I wanted to go and find out what was happening. I ran downstairs. The front door was wide open and I could see Nancy hovering over Frank on the wet, black driveway. Max pushed his hands against Frank’s chest, yelling at his dad not to die. I stood in the doorway frozen, seeing the threshold of Frank’s life teetering on the shoulders of Max. Flashes of my grandfather on his driveway as he lay dying flooded my mind.

  “Max, you gotta save him!” Camille’s scream struck my heart and all my disconnected thoughts vanished.

  Camille bounced off walls with her hands before she plowed through me full force to get to her father. I felt my feet leave the floor and my body lurch onto the porch. I landed on the hard slate ground with pain burning through my knees and fire thrashing against the palms of my hands. I got back up and stood watching Max’s family crumble, dissolving like the steam from my breath in the brisk winter air. Max looked at me before giving his father another CPR breath.

  “Wilson—get back upstairs, now,” Max yelled. I didn’t want to leave but it was his family, his moment to live through. So I did what he told me and turned away from the family I wanted more than anything else in the world.

  Chapter Eighteen

  How was I supposed to react? Max told me to wait for him up in his room, but how could I? The bright lights of the ambulance stroked the enormous picture windows, coloring the faces of his family in crimson. Sinister skeletons of trees I once admired flashed red outlines against the murky sky while Max’s father lay strapped to the gurney. One EMT rhythmically pounded Frank’s chest, while the other medic squeezed a huge bulb, forcing air down his trachea. I watched carefully from the front window in Max’s bedroom—shut in and helpless.

  The brawny EMT wheeled Frank into the back of the ambulance while the slender one continued CPR. I watched as Max lifted Nancy into the ambulance like a ballerina from Swan Lake; if only it were true. She blew him a kiss before she was swallowed by the doors. Her bowed head was framed in one of the back windows. She was the broken image of desperation.

  Quarantined by the inconvenient fact that I wasn’t a Goldstein, I watched as the little power I thought I had dissipated in the eyes of the people to whom I ached to belong. The insecurities of being alone swelled around me and bowled me back to the day I’d been forgotten on my grandparents’ porch. The holes of abandonment were carved into my heart by the woman who was supposed to love me more than any chemical high. The damaging acid of neglect dissolved any memories of my mother’s love. My body felt like it had forsaken me—my arms felt heavy, my head was swimming. I couldn’t stop the ripping sting that dried my throat and the aching pain that clenched my jaw. My nose, saturated with the scent of disenchantment, became clogged with everything I tried to hold back. Salty tears anxiously raced down my face, creating tracks I didn’t want to own. I pressed my hands against the window and dropped my body against the clear, yet breakable boundary that kept me from Max. My lids, heavy with loneliness, slammed shut, releasing the leftover tears that clung to the hope of staying alive within my eyes.

  I didn’t see the ambulance drive away, and for what seemed like an eternity, I didn’t know where Max went. When I heard him breathing heavily behind me, short and fast pants, I knew the pain he was experiencing; knew it all too well. I turned to him. He was frozen in his doorway. His rosy color having deserted him, his face was ghostly white—pale with fear of losing his dad. I looked into his swollen, bloodshot eyes.

  “I am so sorry, Max,” I said. I held fast to my spot against the window as I continued to fill the vacant gap between us with words I knew I had to say. “You need to go and be with your family.”

  They were so hard to dislodge from my larynx. I wanted to be with him through this. It was my chance to heal him, make him okay, but at that moment I was only in the way. Selfishly, there was a part of me that wanted him to choose to stay with me, but I knew he would resent me if his father died in the hospital and he wasn’t there.

  He shuffled toward me, unsure of where he should be. I could tell he was struggling with the commitment he’d made to being with me. When I reached for him and we embraced, he clung to me.

  “Wilson,” he choked. I felt his body ripple vulnerably as he cried.

  “Shhh, Max, it’s going to be okay.”

  “I don’t want this right now,” he mumbled into my tear-damp hair.

  “I know, but your family needs you.” Suddenly for the first time, I was reassuring him. “Do you want me to call Calvin?”

  “No. I don’t
think he could handle this right now. He’s still really upset at my dad.” Max pulled back from me. I watched him wipe his tears on the back of his hands. He noticed I had been crying. “Are you okay?” he asked as his hands tangled in my hair.

  I nodded, hoping to avoid crying more. But my eyes swelled with damn tears. I wanted so badly to be there for him; I didn’t want to come across weak or needy. He needed me to be the strong one. “You should go and be with your mom and sister right now.” I pushed him back from me as I took a deep breath.

  “Come with me.” He snatched at my arms. “I want you there with me.”

  “Oh Max, I don’t think so. This is your family moment.” I couldn’t look him in the eyes; it was too hard to see his hurt.

  “Wilson, I won’t go without you. I know I told you to stay in my room, but I only did that so you wouldn’t have to…” he stopped. I looked up at him. “It’s just so soon after your grandfather,” he finished.

  “I understand. Thanks for wanting to protect me. But Max, that’s life, you can’t shelter me.”

  “I will always want to protect you, Wilson. I love you.” He dragged his lips down from my forehead to my nose and past down to my waiting lips. He always knew how to get his way.

  “I love you too,” I breathed after our kiss.

  ****

  It didn’t take long to get to the hospital and Max did his best to hold it together as he drove. But by the time he pulled into the parking garage and shut off the car, he was a total mess.

  I knew his spirit was beyond broken and there was nothing I could do to fix it. I couldn’t smash his pain or soak up his anger; all I could do was sit by him and wait. He had his head pressed against his hands, still grasping the steering wheel. He lingered a moment before lifting his head to speak.

  “I don’t want to go in there and see him…dying,” he choked.

  “Max, your family needs you.” I reached out and intertwined my fingers in the wisps of hair dangling in front of his bowed head.

  He looked at me, his eyes damp with disappointment. “I’m sorry, this isn’t what I had planned for us on your birthday.”

  “Max, don’t worry about it. I want to be here with your family. We belong here now.” I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He swung his arms around me and buried his face in the curve of my neck. Time owed us, and I wished we had enough of it to stay in that embrace.

  “Thank you for coming with me,” he mumbled.

  “You’re welcome. Now come on, you can do this.” I pulled away and swung my door open. Max sat motionless.

  After a slight moment, though, he pushed open his door and stepped out. His once lofty, gorgeous physique moved reluctantly, like a broken man resistant to change. I held his hand as we walked up the stairs into the hospital that was hopefully keeping his father alive.

  The sliding doors buzzed open. The quiet thuds of rubber soles pacing the immaculate, speckled tile floor vibrated between us. Floating scents of Simple Green attempted to mask the reality that this was a hospital stacked with sick people. I felt Max’s hand tighten on mine.

  The old man sitting purposefully at the volunteer desk smiled at us. I smiled back, Max didn’t.

  “Good evening. Welcome to Aspen Valley Hospital. Can I help you?” the volunteer asked.

  Max stared at the old guy for an awkward moment before speaking.

  “Uhh…yeah. My father, Frank Goldstein, was brought in by ambulance…”

  “Oh, I see. You will want to go to the ER department. Follow the red arrows down this corridor, turn left, then take your second right and then the first left. You’ll come to a set of double doors, go straight through and you’ll be in the ER’s waiting area.” The old man’s wrinkled and splotchy hands swung through the air, miming the convoluted path we were supposed to take.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Good luck.”

  Why do people say that? I never will understand someone wishing me luck as I go to experience something that is out of my control. Give me a break. It isn’t like we are running a race or entering a raffle. I’m going to the emergency room to see my boyfriend’s father who could be dying. I don’t need luck; I need Frank to be okay.

  When we made it to lobby of the ER, Max went up to the registration nurse and asked where he could find his father. I heard Camille call Max’s name. Her eyes were worn with the fears of her father’s failing health. She jumped up and scurried over to Max, grabbing him and bursting into tears. He held her while she collected herself enough to tell him what was going on with their father.

  “Max, he had a major heart attack. Mom is in there with him now. He’s got machines beeping and tubes hanging from everywhere. I told Mom I would wait out here for you. It doesn’t look good.” Camille burst into tears again.

  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.