by Stacie Ramey
She warms the stethoscope on her hands which no one has done for me since I was five, but I appreciate it. “So how are you feeling?” She puts her face next to my chest and listens as she moves the stethoscope all over my chest.
“I’m fine, I guess.”
“Cough,” she says. “Big one.” And then she moves the stethoscope to the small of my back. “Again.” Moves the stethoscope. “Again.”
I guess I pass muster, because she tells me to lie down on the table, but I truly hate this next part.
“Your first time on the trail?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I hold my breath.
“Try to relax,” she says as she presses on my stomach, rooting around for whatever is supposed to be there. That makes me think of the stars and the sky. If you have your kidney removed or your spleen and you go to the doctor and don’t tell them, would they search for the parts of you that are gone? That makes me think about Dad again. Like how he’s missing from my life and there’s no amount of probing this doctor or anyone else could do to find that hole. But I know it’s there. I must hold my breath, because she says, “That’s it, we’re done.”
I sit up, the only one aware of this hole in my stomach where Dad’s missing lives, the only one aware that it’s expanding inside me.
“You look fit and healthy. I hiked the trail when I was twenty-one. Loved it.” She stares at me. “Is there anything you want to tell me, Dylan?”
“No.”
“Okay. Well, I I’m not supposed to release any information about other patients, but I can tell you that the hiker that was brought in earlier is in stable condition, and his family has been notified and is on the way. I’ll be telling the press that same information, without revealing names, of course, in an hour or two. So, I don’t see why I can’t tell you that much.”
I don’t say a thing because the words that are lined up trying to force themselves out are being kept at bay for this second, guarded by my throat that constricts and pushes them back down inside me.
“Also, your mother is on her way. She seemed very relieved that you were okay and is eager to get you home.”
I stare at the scabs on my hands. They’re almost healed.
“We can have a social worker help you through that meeting if you’d like.”
I look her straight in the eye. Looking someone straight in the eye shows them you are serious. “No. I can deal with that myself. I need to apologize for worrying her. She’s kind of used to me being a pain in the neck. I won’t run away again.”
“You seem like a nice kid.”
I laugh. “That’s because you don’t know me.”
She smiles, but looks back at my hands. “Seems like you might’ve already gotten into a fight with a tree, no?”
“You could say that.”
“Well, they look mostly healed. You must have taken good care of the cuts. You won’t need any more treatment for those.” She holds each of my hands. “Flex.” I do. “Make a fist.” I do. “Wiggle your fingers.” I do. “Yup. They look good. I think we’re done here. Nice meeting you, Dylan. Good luck with the rest of it.”
She walks out of the room, and Officer Stanton is waiting for me.
“I’ve got someone for you to talk to.”
I figure they’re going to make me speak to a psychiatrist or psychologist or something. Maybe the doctor reported the marks on my hands and thought I was dangerous. I tell myself to not get worked up. I’m bone tired, so it’s hard to tap into my anger.
As we walk, the officer says, “You know we were supposed to dispatch to a different hospital.”
“Okay.” I’ve got no idea where this is going.
“Yeah. I brought you here, even though it was more than ten miles farther away.”
“Huh.”
He continues, “Rain Man is a legend on the trail for always helping people out. Everyone was so broken up when his wife died. She was a gem. They’re good people, for sure.”
I’m not sure why the officer is telling me this. I know it’s for a particular reason, because he’s slowed our pace, as if he’s trying to build suspense, but I’ve got no idea why.
We take the elevator up to the third floor. The hallway smells of disinfectant and the floor is shiny, like it’s just been waxed. Finally, we stop in front of a patient’s room, which is weird, because I was sure we were walking to psych.
“What’s…” Then I see her name on the wall. Sophie Mattox. I point. “Is that… Is she…”
“You earned this, kid.”
Chapter 27
At first I’m worried to see her. I’m worried she’ll be mad at me for leaving her and for going on to find Rain Man without her, even though I didn’t have a choice.
“You going to go in, Dylan? It’s not nice to keep a girl waiting.”
Sophie’s voice breaks through my reverie. “Dylan? My Dylan? Is that you?”
My Dylan. Before I know it, I’m rushing to her bedside.
Sophie’s in a private room. The bed is lifted so she’s at an incline, her foot is elevated in one of those trapeze things. I sort of forget about being careful about her injury and throw myself at her, which makes her laugh and yelp in pain at the same time. We hold the hug for a long time, maybe even a record time for me. Maybe even twelve whole seconds when I hear someone clear his throat behind me. I release Sophie and turn to see who’s there.
An older guy, like Dad’s age, who is really thin with curly hair and glasses says, “You must be Dylan.” He’s holding a coffee, which smells amazing. That’s when my stomach goes nuts, growling loudly. I’m so embarrassed. The first impression I’m making on Sophie’s dad is that I’m a pig. Wait, scratch that. The first thing he knows about me is that I let his daughter hike for days on a bad foot. Then when I see her again, I smother her and hurt her more.
He must not be too put off though, because he thrusts his hand out and I shake it. “I’m Sophie’s dad. Mr. Mattox.”
I square my shoulders. “Dylan Taggart.”
“You hungry?” her dad asks.
I put my hand over my stomach. “Perpetually.”
He takes his keys out and flips them around in his hand. “To be a teenage boy. You like hamburgers or pizza more?”
With the mention of food, my stomach does a marathon roar.
“I’ll get both. Give you two a little time to talk. There’s a place right around the corner, so I won’t be long. You deserve real food, not hospital food.”
He leaves and Sophie smiles at me. She pushes some of her hair behind her ear and sits up a little more. I see the IV attached to her arm along with the soft cast on her leg.
“It’s an antibiotic. I’ve got an infection,” she says.
Her hands point to her foot. “It’s broken. I had compartment syndrome, which I guess is pretty serious. I’ve already had three surgeries. I might have more. They say you saved my life by removing the boot.”
I hardly feel like a hero.
“I should’ve known to do that, but I guess…” she trails off.
“It’s hard in the moment.”
She nods. “They’ve got me on painkillers and antibiotics and a bunch of other stuff. I can’t remember it all, probably because of the painkillers. They also make me puke, so that’s been fun.”
I sit in the chair her father probably sat in while he watched her recover from those surgeries. I think of how Dad’s foot didn’t heal properly after he injured it and how he didn’t run anymore. Maybe that was one of the reasons he had the heart attack. I wonder how this will affect the rest of her life. She gives me her hand and I take it in mine. It’s soft and feels so substantial.
“I heard you saved Rain Man,” she whispers like it’s a sacred secret. Sacred secret, two points. Then she says, “Hey, you okay?”
I want to tell her I almost bungled savi
ng Rain Man, I want to tell her how sorry I am about her foot, but instead I kiss the inside of her wrist and let the tears come. They’re grateful tears because she’s okay, regretful tears because it’s partly my fault she’s here, and sad tears because I know soon Mom will be here to take me home, and I won’t be with Sophie anymore.
“Aww, Dylan. I’m okay. Really.”
“I was so worried about you.” And for the first time I start to think about how awful it must have been for Mom all this time, how worried she must have been.
“But I’m fine. And you’re here.”
“I wasn’t sure I’d even get to see you again.”
“Those books you read me? They would never end like that… With us not being together again.”
Us. That word makes the ones I wanted to say to Sophie jam the gates of my mind, but I sift through them carefully. “I should have made you go to the hospital sooner.”
“It was my choice,” she says simply.
“I should’ve pushed harder. Your foot…”
“It’s going to be fine. It’s already better. The reaction to the painkillers is the worst of it. They make me really tired too.”
“So rest.”
“I’m glad you came to see me. I was worried you wouldn’t or couldn’t. I was scared I’d never see you again.”
My lips brush her hand. “I was worried you wouldn’t want me to.”
“That’s ridiculous. ‘You are the king of all wild things.’ And even more than that to me,” she says, then closes her eyes. They pop right back open. She takes her hand from mine and holds up a bossy finger. “Promise me you won’t leave without saying goodbye.”
I laugh. “Promise. Now go to sleep.”
“Rain Man is okay?” she asks dreamily.
“I guess. I haven’t seen him, but I’m not sure he’s going to talk to me anymore, or even you. He was pretty mad.”
She looks away from me. “I bet he will.”
Then I remember the note he wrote her. “Hey, he sent you a note. It’s uhhh…” I look at the bag of clothes on the floor.
“What did it say?”
“It basically said… Just to go on. Your mom would want that.”
She closes her eyes.
“Sophie, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just tired. But why was he mad at you?”
“People don’t always want help even if they need it.”
“That’s right,” Mom’s voice floats into the room. “They don’t.”
I’ve been dreading this very moment since I pushed the sat phone button, and now it has to happen here. In front of Sophie. Awesome.
Chapter 28
If I ever thought I had any control in the universe, that belief was completely unfounded. I’m still holding Sophie’s hand, and I can’t really see Mom’s expression, because the room is dark and she’s walking in from the bright hallway.
She takes a step into the room. Her hands are in front of her, a tissue balled in one fist. She stands stiffly, her head cocked slightly, like she’s asking me a question. That gives me hope. Maybe she isn’t only angry with me. Maybe she’s angry and other emotions too. What are the best first words when seeing your mother in weeks after you ran away without so much as a goodbye? All I can come up with is one squeaky word: “Mom.”
She’s wearing her gardening jeans with tiny worn-away spots on the knees, the ones she only wears when she’s working in the yard. It’s like she got the call and drove straight here without changing, which makes my heart ache in ways I didn’t know it could.
She reaches out to me, and I drop Sophie’s and hand to go to her. Mom wraps me up in a fierce hug. She’s crying and so am I. I don’t know what else to say, but she must know what I’m thinking because she murmurs, “I know you’re sorry. I’m sorry too.”
The hug lasts and lasts, but I’m okay with that. I’m surprised by how much I missed Mom. Her perfume, Allure, the same kind she always wears. Her shampoo, Paul Mitchell, coconut scent. Her strong arms and hands with her trimmed nails painted in a neutral, pale white, called Bubble Bath, which Dad used to joke sounded too girlish for how sexy it looked. These tiny reminders pop through my head about all the things she did for me a specific way, because that’s how I needed them done. I thought of how she made me food I could eat. Spaghetti was okay with sauce, but nothing else was. No lasagna. Even without the disgusting ricotta cheese. No potatoes. Although after being on the Trail, I’d probably eat just about anything.
I want to tell Mom that. I want to tell her about how I camped like Dad always wanted us to. I want to tell her how I cooked and filtered water and slept in different places, even without my Dramamine and my chants and drums. I want to tell her that I pooped in the freaking woods. I have all of these conversational streams running inside my head, but all I get out is, “I’m sorry I ran away,” and then, “But Mom, it was amazing.”
She nods and cries some more, and then Sophie’s dad comes back carrying so much good-smelling food I don’t even care that Mom’s here to drag me home, or that I’m going to be in so much trouble, or even that there are things I don’t want her to say in front of Sophie or her dad. There’s no controlling the chaos that is unfolding in front of me.
Sophie’s dad gives me a bag and a pizza box, and then extends his hand to Mom. “Reggie Mattox.”
“Lilian Taggart,” Mom replies.
I can feel my eyebrows lift. Lilian. Mom never uses her full name. Interesting.
The smell of grease is making me notice how empty my gut feels, but I feel like I should wait before diving into the food. This makes Mom’s eyebrows lift. Guess she’s not used to me considering others’ feelings.
“Eat up, Dylan. It’s all for you. Unless you want to share with your mother.”
“Go ahead, hon,” Mom says. “It’s very nice of you to get him food.” She takes her wallet out of her purse. “What do we owe you?”
Sophie’s dad waves her away. “Are you kidding? Your son helped my daughter. He probably saved Sophie’s life.”
“Sophie?” Mom’s eyebrows lift again, but at this point, I’m already digging into the hamburger and inhaling the fries.
“Hi, I’m Sophie.”
Mom looks around her as if she’s just now taking in everything that’s going on and everyone who’s in this room. “Oh, Sophie. Hi, I’m Dylan’s mom.”
“Yeah,” she says, “the pain meds have me feeling kind of loopy, but I got that much.” She smiles.
Because there aren’t enough people in the room already, Officer Stanton knocks and enters. “I see you found him.”
Mom nods.
The officer who gave me the doughnut and coffee earlier is also here, grinning widely like this is some kind of homecoming parade, like at any minute there will be cheerleaders and streamers and people eating popcorn and hot dogs, which were both on the pre–Appalachian Trail approved list of food I would eat. He keeps looking around the room, his eyes pinging from one person to the next. Has he forgotten that I evaded the law, or that Mom is going to go ape-shit once she gets over how worried she was about me? What about that I still don’t want to go to that stupid school? Nothing has changed.
“You hear that Dylan’s a hero?” Officer Nice Guy asks.
“Reggie was just telling me he saved Sophie’s life.”
I’ve got a mouthful of pizza, so I am not in the position to argue, but I should. I should argue my head off. I didn’t save Sophie. Well, okay, I technically saved her, but then I pissed her off so much that she chased me in the middle of the night on her hurt foot and could have killed herself.
I hear Mom’s voice telling Dad that he could’ve gotten a blood clot or worse, and Dad responding, “But none of those things happened.” But now I get Mom’s side. I do.
I don’t even have a chance to offer my opinion when Officer Nice Guy s
ays, “He also saved one of the most loved veteran hikers of all time.”
Mom startles. “He did what?”
“He saved this guy called Rain Man. A hiker.”
Mom aims her stare at me. “What happened?”
Officer Stanton steps forward. “Your son figured out that Rain Man was suicidal and followed him. He found him after he’d taken what would have been a lethal dose of tranquilizers had he not called it in.”
Mom starts crying again. She doesn’t even wipe the tears from her eyes. Big tears mean deep wounds, according to a hypothesis I haven’t tested yet, but it is the one I postulated back when I made Emily cry. I start to recognize that I’ve made a lot of people cry over the years. I imagine a bar graph of the people I’ve made cry repeatedly.
And then I remember I’m supposed to be paying attention to Mom and why she’s crying, and I’m distancing myself from these feelings again and that reminds me of how Emily used to smack me in the arm when I did stuff like this, when I missed the cues as to how to behave like a typical person. A person who gets social cues and doesn’t stay in their head, but in the world with the rest of the people. This whole exchange makes me miss Emily so much I can’t take it. I’ve got to do something, so I finally say to Mom, “Why are you crying?”
“Because you noticed other people, and you got involved with what they needed…and you went out of your way to help…and you.…you’re such a good kid, but sometimes you can be so…”
So I go forward and grab her hands that are starting to fly around. Mom’s hands flying is never a good thing, and I hold them. “I know, Mom. It’s emotional. You are mad at me because I worried you. I’m always worrying you or scaring you. But this time I scared you the worst and I’m sorry about that, but while I was doing this thing that was bad, I was also busy doing things that you always wished I would. I was putting others’ needs before mine. On the trail, I had to get over my weird issues. I had to adapt, and I did. I even ate macaroni and cheese.”