Sunnybrook Hospital. The same hospital Aly had been taken to.
Adrenaline pulsed through his veins, heightening his state of mental alertness. He pressed hard on the gas pedal and focused on the road ahead of him and not the memories of the last time he’d been in that hospital for another teenager on the verge of dying.
Kendal’s first snowfall had come earlier that morning. Temperatures had plummeted to sub-zero, but his skin broke out in a hot sweat. He cranked the A/C, tried to breathe through the aching tightness in his chest. Not now. Not again. He couldn’t do this again. Couldn’t see another person he cared about needlessly slip away.
Finally viewing the hospital’s sign, he swerved into the parking lot and found a spot. He shut off the car. Drank some water. Stared out the windshield as new snow began to fall. His phone buzzed with another text from Rebecca. He retrieved it from the passenger seat and read which room Ryan was in.
Shit. They’d played basketball together. He’d been his normal, outspoken, lovable self. And a sprained ankle and a few weeks later . . . he’d wound up in the hospital fighting for his goddamn life. Checking his reflection in the rearview mirror, he scowled at his haggard appearance. At his weakness. He grabbed what he needed and climbed out of the car, shoving one foot in front of the other all the way into the cold, prison-like building and upstairs to Ryan’s floor.
A small crowd of Ryan’s friends and family had gathered in the waiting area not far from his room in the intensive care unit. Rebecca moved from her perch next to Berg and came to join him.
Her eyes widened at the sight of Will. “You okay?”
He gripped the back of his neck with his palm. “Yeah, fine,” he lied. “How is he?”
“Stable,” she said. “It’s been touch-and-go, I guess. They’ve got him on a medication to block the effects of the opioids, and IV fluids. I got to see him a little bit ago. He’s looking pretty rough, but they’re gonna keep him here for a few days.”
Will felt nauseous. His skin clammy. He heard the words she was speaking but struggled to process their meaning over the other sounds echoing all around him. The bleeps and blips of machines; nurses and doctors scurrying through the hallways; announcements over the intercom; murmurings from family members shaken by the events.
“Will?”
“Yeah?”
“I asked if you wanted to see him. They’ll give you a few minutes.”
“Uh . . .” No! He wasn’t ready or in the right frame of mind. “Okay.”
Her gaze filled with concern, she walked him to the room and told him she’d wait outside for him. Those beeps and blips grew louder and more foreboding as he stepped cautiously toward the bed. The kid who usually towered over him looked so small, his eyes closed, head resting against a pillow. There were tubes in his nose and mouth. Monitors everywhere. He was hooked up to a dozen different machines, just like Aly had been when he’d last seen her. When she’d taken her final breaths.
Will’s hands shook. He gasped for air. “I’m sorry. I-I’m so sorry, buddy,” he choked on a sob. “I’m sorry this happened to you. Sorry I c-couldn’t stop it . . .”
He bolted from the room and past Rebecca, who’d been leaning against the wall outside.
“Will?” she called after him.
He didn’t respond. Just kept moving. Desperate to get away from the strangling guilt and grief, the powerlessness.
She raced after him, whirling on him at the end of the hall. “Will, talk to me.”
“I can’t be here. I can’t do this . . . Not again.”
Her hand rested on his arm and rubbed in attempt to soothe him. “Will, it’s not your fault. You called nearly every day. You reached out to him.”
“I didn’t do enough!”
She flinched at the anger in his voice and pulled her hand back. “This is life, Will. Shit happens. Ryan isn’t the first kid to OD at Kendal, and he won’t be the last. But you don’t give up when things get hard. That’s when you step up as a teacher.”
Her words barely registered over the sound of blood rushing through his ears. He was suffocating, the same way he had that day in the health room, and the only thing that helped then was getting out. Getting away. Ryan might not have been the first kid to OD at Kendal, but he was the first kid who OD’d on Will’s watch. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t belong here. I fooled myself into believing I could teach, that I could make a difference in a place like this, but—”
Rebecca threw her arms out to her sides. “You have!” she cried. “Don’t you see that?”
“All I see is a kid I thought I helped hooked up to a bunch of machines. Whatever I did with him wasn’t enough. I’m not enough. I’m not Super Teacher who swoops in to save the day. I’m not you!”
“Is that really what you think? I feel sorry for you, Will. There are lost kids everywhere, at every school. They don’t need you to save them, they need you to care. I don’t know what your angle is anymore, if you’re just teaching to make yourself feel better or to quell any guilt you have over your sister’s death or whatever, but this is bigger than you. It’s not about you at all! And until you can figure that out, maybe you don’t belong here.” She sent him a long, pained look and then broke eye contact.
“I’m doing my second practicum at Crestwood,” he said in a rush.
“Oh.”
The single syllable seemed to pop out of her before she could catch it, but it dropped on him like an anvil. He needed to get it all out. “It’ll most likely turn into a full-time position.” Maybe he could have a greater impact there with kids who didn’t have so damn much working against them. Maybe he had a better chance of relating to them than he did with—
“So that’s it, huh? You’re just going to bail?” Her head shook slowly, disbelieving.
“I’m not bailing. I’ve known I’d be going for a few weeks.”
Rebecca reared back as if he’d slapped her. “The whole time we’ve been together?”
He saw tears fill her eyes and stepped toward her, but she moved out of his reach. “These three weeks have been the best of my life, Rebecca,” he said, meaning every word.
“So naturally, you want them to end.”
He struggled to swallow, his throat thick with shame. “I’m just—I’m not cut out for this. Not like you. You . . . you’re strong, but you can’t carry me, and you shouldn’t have to. You deserve someone better.”
“You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, so of course you’d always go for the easy route.” Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest, but despite her defensive posture, he sensed she was holding herself together. He wanted to reach out to hug her, but her expression told him that was the last thing she wanted from him right now.
“Rebecca, I—”
She held up a palm. “You know what? I knew better. I knew better, but I did it again.”
“Did what again?”
Rebecca plowed ahead as if he hadn’t spoken. “You’d think being a teacher, I’d learn. But I never do.” She backed up a step, then took two more. “Go on. Don’t worry about Ryan, and don’t worry about us at Kendal. We were perfectly fine before you graced us with your presence, and we’ll be fine after you’re gone, so don’t let our messy little lives hold you up.”
“Rebecca,” he tried again.
But she spun on her heel and took off down the hall at a jog. He stared after her, wondering if the whole scene had been real or some kind of nightmare.
She and Will hadn’t spoken since their fight. She’d heard from Addie, who’d heard from Ethan, that Will had moved out. And she wished she could say out of Kendal, out of mind. But he never drifted far from her conscious thoughts. Ryan had been discharged from the hospital, which was wonderful news, though the first person she wanted to share that news with was long gone.
She pulled her jacket tighter and ducked her face to avoid the bitter chill of the winter wind. Christmas festivities were in full swing. Every year, a different town receive
d the honor of kicking off the Christmas parade, and this year, Kendal was lucky enough to be the starting point. She’d already made plans with Hannah and Kent to attend the tree-decorating ceremony in the town square, expecting she’d have Will by her side.
God, what a fool she’d been.
She would have far rather stayed home and avoided the merriment, the faces glowing with festive cheer. But Hannah insisted, saying it would help pull her out of her funk.
Yeah, not happening so far.
Why did it hurt so much more with Will? She hadn’t been this despondent when Derek had broken up with her and, hell, she’d planned on marrying the guy. But he didn’t love her. Will clearly shared his sentiments—or lack thereof.
“There you are!” Hannah trotted over in her leather boots and purple peacoat and linked arms with Rebecca. “Babe, I know this is probably the last place you want to be, but I think it’ll be good for you.”
They crossed the street to the square, where a crowd had gathered to watch Matt Tully—Amy’s Matt—and some of the workers from the Tully Tree Farm hoist the town tree. Rebecca spotted Amy waiting in the wings for him to finish. Addie and Ethan were cuddled up together on one of the benches, a blanket over them. Gwen and Shawn strolled hand in hand along the perimeter. Everyone had their special someone to celebrate with.
She sucked in a breath of frosty air, hoping to blast away the aching disappointment that lingered in her heart.
Hannah pulled her in the direction of Kent and his daughter who stood near the tree, cups of hot chocolate in their hands.
“Hi, Rebecca,” Kent said, smiling. “It’s nice to officially meet you.”
“You, too, Kent.”
“This is my daughter, Diana.”
Diana hugged her in greeting, revealing a toothy grin minus her two front teeth. No wonder Hannah had fallen for her just as hard as her daddy. “Hi, Miss Rebecca! Daddy said you teach at the big kids’ school. I hope you’re my teacher one day.”
“Aww, I hope so, too, sweetheart.”
She stood with Hannah’s posse for a while, until all the children in the audience were summoned to help decorate the tree and Diana begged her father and Hannah to come with her. Hannah was loyal to a fault and intended to stick close to Rebecca’s side, but she encouraged her friend to join in the fun.
“It’s your first Christmas together,” she said. “Go and decorate with them. I’ll be fine.”
Hannah forced a smile. “Okay. But don’t go anywhere, all right? We’ll get some hot chocolate after and visit some of Amy’s craft tables.”
“Okay.” She stood in place for several minutes and gazed longingly at the three of them together, picking out decorations and giggling. Kent lifting Diana on his shoulders so she could reach the part of the tree she most desired.
She could have had that with Will. Regrettably, she’d let herself believe he was the one she was meant for. That this would be the first of many Christmases they’d celebrate together.
“It’s a lovely tree, isn’t it, dear?” Carmen stood next to her in a fur-hooded knitted coat that fell to her calves, her unique presence ever-calming.
It is,” she agreed.
Their eyes met, and countless unspoken words passed between them.
“I know the pain you’re feeling,” the older woman said. “I felt it once, too, but for you, I’m certain it’s only temporary.”
Rebecca shook her head. “He’s not coming back. He made that perfectly clear.”
Her gloved hand reached for Rebecca’s. “I read his palm. His mind’s journey isn’t over yet, but his heart’s is. It belongs to you, pet. Don’t give up on him.”
No. She couldn’t be right. Even if he cared for her the way she did for him, how long was she supposed to wait? When would her world—her life—be good enough for him?
Light snow began to sprinkle the ground, and the crowd broke into a spontaneous rendition of “White Christmas.” Her ears perked when she heard Russell Whitaker’s sweet voice above the others, a voice she’d become accustomed to hearing most every morning. She scanned the circle of faces and spotted him in his signature fedora. Waving to get his attention, she smiled when he caught sight of her and headed their way.
Carmen’s gaze was trained on him as he approached, a dashing older man whose white teeth flashed as brightly as the snow.
“Have you two met?” Rebecca asked, her eyes darting between them.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” Russell said.
“Carmen Deacon, meet Russell Whitaker, my charming neighbor and maker of the best sweet tea you’ll ever have.”
Russell took Carmen’s hand in his. “It’s lovely to meet you, Carmen. I’ve seen your tent in the square on Sundays. I’ve been meaning to come by.”
Carmen’s mouth quirked. “I hope you do, Mr. Whitaker. I’m surprised we haven’t met.”
“Oh, I’m fairly new in town and keep to myself mostly . . .”
Grinning at her own matchmaking handiwork, Rebecca slowly backed away from the couple and walked by herself for a while. Through the snow. Through the wind. Hopefully, someday, she wouldn’t have to go it alone anymore.
He must have picked up the phone to call her a hundred times. But what could he say? He’d blown it. The one woman who’d stood by him, supported him, taught him, trusted him, loved him . . . She’d prepared him to take on any challenge. And when his first real test came along and he had a chance to show how much he’d learned and grown, he’d failed her.
He’d failed Ryan, too.
The day after he’d left town, he’d called Berg to let him know he was heading back to his alma mater and to thank him again for everything. Berg had told him that Ryan had been discharged from the hospital. He’d barely held it together long enough to hang up before he’d cried tears of joy. Of relief. The kid was in good hands. The KHS community would rally around him and get him back inside their doors.
Will clicked through his emails in the office they’d set up for him at Crestwood. A private office on the third floor. With no one there to greet him when he walked in every morning. No one to banter with, flirt with, commiserate with.
Attending Crestwood as a student had been pretty awesome in many ways. There were tons of course options. They offered a diverse extracurricular program that appealed to every individual’s interests. Everything was new, spit-polished, and sparkling—classrooms, computers, sports equipment, and playing areas. The best of the best.
Experiencing Crestwood from a teaching standpoint was a revelation. The things he’d found enticing as a student were bothersome now. On his first day in the health room, he’d nearly fallen over at the sight of the technology. Smartboard, smart table, digital textbooks. A tablet for every student. And these students were academically inclined and needed little in the way of disciplinary action or refocusing. In addition to that, there was a clear divide between staff and students. They weren’t shooting hoops together. They weren’t having heart-to-hearts in the hallways.
One of his first missions after returning to his alma mater was to seek out the guidance counselors, particularly the two who’d been working at Crestwood at least since the beginning of Will’s high school career. Still feeling shaken up over Ryan’s OD, he’d been accusatory, asking how they’d let Aly slip through the cracks. How they, as trained professionals, could have missed the signs. They’d simply proven Rebecca’s point. Do you know how many kids there are like her? Deep down, he’d known it was true. Of course, it was true. But Aly was his sister, and it wasn’t supposed to happen to his sister. His family.
He’d left in a fog, realizing he was back at square one again, blaming himself and everyone else for Aly’s death.
In addition to their fleet of guidance counselors, Crestwood now employed two onsite social workers to help lessen the burden. Kendal High relied first and foremost on their frontline workers, the teachers, to care for and protect their students just as a prudent parent would. And he’d lashed
out at the one who cared the most, used her compassion against her because he felt like he’d never match up.
Blowing out a heavy sigh, he clicked open an email with the subject line “Breathing exercises to help with your grief.” He’d been seeing a therapist recommended by his brother, of all people. Joey had noticed at the Whitney family Christmas that he’d been off. He’d told his brother about his breakdown at the hospital and during the documentary he’d played for his health class. Instead of mocking him, Joey had slipped him a card after dinner with his therapist’s name and number. Will hadn’t realized his brother had been as affected by Aly’s death.
Some people hid their grief better than others.
His biggest issue was in working through the guilt and the blame. Accepting that the universe could be unpredictable sometimes, and that some things happened beyond his control. He’d said from the start that he’d wanted to make a difference, but that didn’t mean solving every problem and preventing every bad thing from happening. That meant following these kids on their journey, touching their lives, and inspiring them to be better people for as long as he had the privilege of knowing them.
Rebecca had once shared the wisdom passed down to her from another teacher: Students don’t care about what you know until they know that you care. He could finally appreciate the validity of that sentiment. Christ, he missed her. Missed Berg, Margaret. The KHS kids.
What would Rebecca do in his situation? She wouldn’t try to fix the problem. She’d try to understand it.
Opening a new tab, he typed the words “eating disorders” in the web browser and pressed enter. He spent the next hour gathering information on the subject and printing out resources. By the time he’d finished, he had a two-inch stack of reading material and an empty ink cartridge. Pushing back from his desk, he shut down his laptop and packed up the rest of his stuff. Baseball practice started tomorrow. He’d volunteered to help coach the Titans’ team. Maybe, like at Kendal High, the coaching would help him to feel more connected to the school, the students.
Learning to Love Page 22