Of All The Stars

by Ally B

  I look at his legs and a lump forms in my throat when I see his ankle, his foot…

  “What about college?” She asks.

  Fuck.

  “College will be okay. It’s all going to be okay.” I lie.

  It’s not all going to be okay. He’s screwed.

  I mentally curse the family for talking so much about college around her. A seven-year-old shouldn’t be so worried about any of this, but Max shouldn’t be worrying about it either. He’s perfect for Stanford. It shouldn’t even be something he’s worried about anymore. He should be confident in his place on the team, not lying in a hospital bed.

  “Why is he asleep?” She asks me.

  “He’s just resting.” I lie. I have no clue. I feel like I should understand medical stuff more than I do because of mom, but I don’t.

  “When will he wake up?” She asks, fiddling with the hem of her T-shirt.

  “Soon.” I lie again.

  Lying to Mia is easier than telling her the truth. She doesn’t need to know that sometimes people don’t wake up from car accidents. Sometimes people have to spend a year learning how to walk again after their backs get broken in a million different places. Sometimes people refuse to get in cars with anyone but their mother for years after their accidents. Sometimes people take years before they can drive down the road their accident was on without a full-on panic attack. Sometimes people can’t even look at the person they were in the car with without being a little bit afraid.

  No matter how many times they see them sober.

  Canis Minor

  The Little Dog

  “Hi, are you relatives of Max’s?” A nurse asks.

  “This is Mia Sanchez. Max’s sister.” I tell her.

  The look on her face tells me Mia doesn’t need to hear this, so I hand her my phone before following the nurse into the hallway.

  “Mia’s mother, Mrs. Santiago-Jones, is going in for surgery. I can’t disclose much more information due to your lack of relation to the patient, but Mia might be a little shaken up by it.” She warns. “Mr. Sanchez will be in here shortly, but we don’t know how shortly. He might need a moment or so…”

  “I’ve got Mia. Can you tell me anything about Max?”

  “Your relationship to the patient might stop that…”

  “Best friend and neighbor. Basically siblings.” I tell her. “Doctor Novák’s daughter. If that means anything.”

  “Broken ankle. Possible head trauma. He’s going to be fine.” She tells me. “Keep Mia distracted, and don’t tell anyone I told you about a patient. Your mom would kill me.” She gives me a small reassuring smile before heading down the hallway.

  I take my seat in the chair next to Mia’s, who’s playing a rather noisy game on my phone.

  “Can we get a snack?” She asks me, setting my phone on her tiny pink-legging clad lap.

  “Of course. What are you feeling?” I stand from my chair.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “Can we get Goldfish?”

  I feel my heart sink. Mia hates Goldfish. She wants them for Max.

  “Of course. We can get a ton of stuff. All the sugar your parents never let you have.” I smile at her as we walk out of Max’s room. I take one last look back at Max, his chest rising and falling rhythmically under the thin cotton sheet.

  Please be okay.

  She’s finally satisfied with the vending machines near the entrance to the Emergency Room, choosing Goldfish for Max, M&M’s, Starbursts, a bag of cookies, and a Kit-Kat. How do you say no to a little kid with half of her family in hospital who has no answers?

  “When was the last time you ate real food?” I ask her as she destroys the Kit-Kat.

  “Lunch at school.” She tells me simply, a smudge of chocolate on her face.

  “They have real food here, too,” I tell her.

  “I know,” she says. “But Mama never lets me have junk.”

  “Our little secret.” I wink.

  “I’m totally telling on you,” Max mutters from his hospital bed.

  “Maxie!” Mia shouts. I have to keep her from jumping on him, carefully picking her up and setting her down on the empty space in the bed next to him.

  “Hey, Mimi,” he says groggily, grabbing her hand.

  “Don’t tell Mama. Pretty please.” She holds out the bag of Goldfish.

  “Are you bribing me?” He raises an eyebrow.

  “Only a little.” She grins.

  He wipes the smudge of chocolate off of her face with his thumb. “You little stinker.” He smiles, rubbing his tired eyes. “Where’s Mama?” He asks her.

  I shake my head subtly, hoping he’ll notice.

  “In a room with Daddy and Phoebe’s Mama.” She explains.

  “Thank you, Doctor Mimi.” He ruffles her hair.

  “Hey, bud.” Mr. Sanchez’s voice is a stark contrast to the quiet of the room.

  “Hey,” Max says, pushing himself up on his elbows, the struggle evident.

  “Don’t stress yourself too much,” Bill says, helping him into a sitting position. I’ve never seen him look this weak—this fragile—like he could break at any moment.

  “I’m fine.” He shakes his head. “Just a little sore.”

  “Your ankle…” He trails off.

  “It’s going to be fine,” he reassures his father instead of the other way around. “We only had a few more games anyway.”

  “It’s really not. They could hesitate on the offer because of—”

  “Dad? Can we not?” Max cuts him off. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to—”

  “I get it. Sorry.” He shakes his head.

  “How’s Mom?” Max asks.

  Bill shakes his head ‘no,’ glancing at Mia wearily.

  “Mi, why don’t we go and find some real food?” I suggest reading the room.

  “I don’t wanna,” she says with no real inflection, playing a game on my phone.

  “It’ll be a fun adventure.” I grab her hand, basically pulling her out of her chair.

  “Can we get mac ’n’ cheese?” She asks as we exit the room.

  “Our hunt begins.” I give her a valiant smile.

  We make our way through the hospital, following the signs to the cafeteria—our hunt ending when we find some bright yellow mac ’n’ cheese for Mia. Knowing Camila would kick my ass if she found out I was giving Mia GMO-filled crap, I feel a tinge of guilt as we sit at an empty table as she eats her food with a flimsy plastic fork.

  The cafeteria is almost eerily empty, but the glitter-coated cardboard pumpkins, hanging with the orange and black streamers, make it hard to be hopeless as people going through similar and uncertain situations enter and exit the haphazardly decorated area.

  “How was school today?” I ask Mia.

  “We painted in art class.” She stabs her fork into the pasta.

  “That’s fun,” I say with a little too much enthusiasm for the somber cafeteria, garnering stares from the couple at the table next to ours.

  “I don’t like painting. My favorite is drawing,” she says. “Paint is messy.”

  “Drawing with what? Crayons, markers, colored pencils.” I rattle off a list of every medium used in an elementary school art class that I can think of.

  “I like markers,” she pauses, “and crayons.”

  She finishes her mac ’n’ cheese in silence as I try not to hurry her while thinking about Max and Camila upstairs.

  How did they even get in an accident? Who was driving? Was it their fault? I know nothing about it.

  How did I manage to find out absolutely nothing?

  We walk back to the elevator and head upstairs, walking back toward Max’s room.

  “I didn’t even have an offer yet.” I hear Max nearly shout.

  “And you blew any chance you did have! And your mom is in surgery because you can’t watch where you’re going!”

  “He pulled out in front of me! There was nothing I could’ve done!” I know this voice. I know whe
n Max yells so he doesn’t sound like he’s about to fall apart.

  “Your fucking brakes, Max! It’s right next to the gas!”

  “I slammed on my brakes! I was too late! He was going too fast!” I hear the tears in his voice now. “You think I’m not beating myself up enough about it? I don’t need your help!”

  Bill doesn’t answer, but his head is in his hands as he walks back down the hallway toward Camila’s room, not even seeing us.

  Mia runs toward Max’s room before I can even think to do the same.

  “Mia, wait a second!” I shout to her, but I’m too late.

  “What’s wrong?” She’s sitting next to Max on his hospital bed.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Mimi,” he says softly as I walk in, standing against the wall next to the open door.

  “Did you eat the Goldfish we got you?” She asks.

  “Not yet, but I definitely will later.” He gives her a reassuring smile, but it’s meaningless when it’s paired with his red, puffy eyes.

  “Make sure Mama doesn’t see.” She looks at him knowingly.

  He shakes his head. “I’ll make sure Mama doesn’t see.”

  “Mia?” I hear Bill’s voice from the hallway. “Lita Paola is here to bring you home.”

  “Are you and Mama coming home?” She asks him.

  “Not yet.” He shakes his head.

  “You’re going to have so much fun with Abuelita,” Max speaks up. “I bet she’ll let you stay up past bedtime.”

  “Really?” She looks at him doubtfully.

  “All you’ll have to do is say ‘please Abuelita’” He bats his incredibly long eyelashes, making her giggle.

  “Will you come home soon?” She asks.

  “Of course. I’ll see you soon,” he tells her as she climbs down from the bed.

  Bill picks her up, walking toward the door before turning back. “Phoebe, can you stay with him for a bit? I’m going to wait with Camila after I drop her off.”

  “Dad I don’t need a—”

  “Of course.” I cut Max off, sitting in the chair next to his bed and watching through the glass as Bill and Mia walk down the hallway.

  As soon as they’re out of the room, I walk over and sit in the chair beside his hospital bed.

  “You don’t have to stay,” Max says, staring blankly through the window at the busy hallway.

  “I know,” I tell him.

  “Don’t you have dinner with your dad tonight?” He asks.

  “He can wait a few days,” I answer.

  The silence isn’t comfortable, but it’s one I’ve grown used to between us in the past few weeks. Chatter from the hallway and voices over the intercom fill the quiet, but it’s still uncomfortable at best.

  “It wasn’t my fault.” He finally speaks up. “The accident.”

  I allow his words to linger for a moment. “What happened?”

  “I was driving down Redwood Road. You know that nasty blind spot?” He asks me.

  I nod. Of course I do. I’d memorized every blind spot in Emerson before I even dared to get behind the wheel of a vehicle. He knows that.

  “I was on the brakes the second I saw him, but it was too late.” He pauses. “Hit mom’s side of the car.”

  “That road is terrible.” I shake my head.

  “Yes,” he whispers, looking past me, distantly.

  “Do you want these?” I offer him the little plastic bag of Goldfish.

  “Not right now, thanks.” He sounds too formal.

  “Are you feeling okay?” I ask him. “I know how…”

  “Just numb right now,” he answers, staring at the wall.

  “Max Sanchez?” A nurse knocks on the already-open door.

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “We’re going to move you to a room upstairs. They think they can get you in for surgery later this evening. There was a cancellation.” She tells him, stepping aside to allow two other people into the room.

  “Can we wait until my parents are back?” He asks.

  “We’re just going to move you now. We can update your father when we get you up there.”

  I can tell Max is uncomfortable, so I speak up. “He’s a minor. Can’t you just wait?”

  “Not if we want to get him into that slot.”

  “I don’t need to go in now. I can wait.” I can see the panic in Max’s eyes.

  “I’m texting your dad now,” I reassure him.

  Bill Sanchez

  They’re about to move Max somewhere upstairs. - Phoebe

  I’ll let you know where. - Phoebe

  Two nurses begin to move the hospital bed out of the room.

  “I can walk or just use a wheelchair. This feels a little excessive.” He sits up on his elbows.

  “It’s protocol, honey.” The first woman says, wheeling the bed toward the elevator.

  I grab Max’s hand in mine as we wait for the elevator door to open. He’s shaking. “Max?” I ask him softly.

  “My foot fucking hurts,” he says as he lowers himself back into a lying position.

  “Anything else?” I ask him.

  “Just whiplash.” He shakes his head.

  “Did they do an MRI?”

  “Yeah.” He shifts in the bed as the elevator door opens.

  “You’re going to have to take the visitors elevator over there.” The nurse tells me, pointing just up the hall.

  “What’s the room number?” I ask, trying to press down the panic rising inside me.

  “724,” she says loud enough for me to hear as she wheels him into the elevator, and the door closes quickly behind them, Max’s eyes locking on mine as they do.

  I hurry to the elevator bank and hit the button a million times, trying to hurry it along—knowing logically it doesn’t work that way. So instead, I stand at the elevator doors for too long, waiting for the doors to open. I think about calling my mom, but I know I can’t.

  Vi

  It’s a serious issue we’re going to have to resolve - Vi

  U need help - Vi

  Like text therapy or something - Vi

  It takes me a minute to realize she’s still talking about my texting habits.

  Vi

  I’m at the hospital right now. I’ll text you later. - Phoebe

  The hospital?????????????? - Vi

  R u okay????? - Vi

  Texting ur mom - Vi

  I can be there in 15 - Vi

  I’ll be there in 15 with Max - Vi

  I’m fine Vi. - Phoebe

  Max. - Phoebe

  Can’t talk. - Phoebe

  I push the power button on my phone before shoving it into the pocket of my jeans as the elevator dings.

  The elevator stops twice on the way up, the first for a doctor in a lab coat who presses the button to go to the eighth floor from the third. The second is a woman with a bouquet of flowers going to the sixth from the fourth. Both of them are wearing black shoes. The man has shiny dress shoes. They’re either brand new, or he’s very good at taking care of faux-leather. The woman is wearing heels, which leads me to believe she didn’t know she was coming to the hospital. Who would willingly wear open-toed heels and a blazer to the hospital? Especially the sixth-floor maternity ward? First impressions are important, I guess.

  I finally get off the elevator on the seventh floor, walking for what feels like years until I reach room 724. There are people crowded around him, making the tiny room seem much smaller. I’m finally able to enter when a few people in scrubs leave.

  “I thought you ran away,” he speaks up as I enter.

  “Thought about it.” I try joking, sitting down in the chair next to his bed.

  Bill Sanchez

  724. - Phoebe

  “I can’t believe I did this,” Max says, staring blankly at the wall in front of him.

  “You didn’t do anything.”

  “I could’ve hit my brakes faster.”

  “You did everything you could.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I
hear his voice break.

  “Hey, why are you apologizing to me?” I ask, taking his hand in mine.

  “I know how bad car accidents are for you.” His voice is soft. Not in a calming way, in the way he speaks when he’s trying not to get overly emotional.

  I look down at his fingers interlaced with mine, shaking my head. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  “You didn’t drive here, right?”

  “No. Quit worrying about me, okay?”

  “Never.” He gives a small smile.

  “Hey,” Bill’s voice overwhelms the dull silence of the room.

  “Hey,” Max responds, sitting up a bit more in the bed. “Mom?”

  “She’s in surgery. Her spinal cord,” Bill stops and clears his throat.

  “Is she—”

  Bill cuts him off, “there’s little to no concern about paralysis.”

  I see Max’s face drop. “I didn’t know it was that serious.”

  “She’s going to be fine. She fractured a disc. It happens all of the time. They just didn’t want to wait, fearing she’ll suffer nerve damage and—”

  “That’s what happened to Phoebe, and she couldn’t walk.” There’s panic in his voice.

  “Four discs and nerve damage because they took too long figuring out what they were going to do.” I remind him. “They got her into surgery fast, Max. She’ll be fine.”

  I swear I see Bill let out a breath of relief after I explain. “Has your mom said anything?”

  “I’ll text her and see if she can come up. She might have a minute now that Camila is in surgery.” I pull out my phone.

  Mom

  Can you come up and talk to Bill about Camila? - Phoebe

  What room number? - Mom

  724. - Phoebe

  On my way. - Mom

  “She’s coming up now,” I tell him.

  “Why is she even in today?” Max asks.

  “I have no idea. I think she’s covering for someone.” I confess

  “I’m glad she was here,” Bill says while pacing back and forth in the tiny white room.

  “Sit.” I stand from the cushioned chair.

  “I’m fine.” He waves it away.

  “Dad,” Max says quietly.

  Bill takes the seat.