“Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point.”
—C.S.LEWIS
I can’t think.
Can’t form one coherent thought to tell my body what to do.
“You’re not driving and that’s the end of it.” Brock already has his jacket on. Clarice has gathered our dishes, washed and put them away, organized Hope’s things, and is ready to take the puppy and Maysie to her house. I’m upstairs randomly throwing things into a small suitcase.
All I know is I have to get to Boston. Now.
“What do you suggest I do, Brock? Sprout wings and fly?” Albany is closest and still an hour away, and I don’t want to risk waiting around the airport. I yank the zipper around the overnight case and glare at him.
“Yeah. Fly. I can make a call and have a plane ready by the time we get to the airstrip. It’s only twenty minutes from here.”
“You can?” I rush through the room, check the bathroom, and grab a toothbrush. “You have a plane?”
“Well, no. But a buddy of mine does. Takes tourists around. Flies businessmen back and forth from New York, Boston. It’s just a prop plane but it’ll get us there.”
Unless we die first. “Fine . . . just . . .” I brush my hair into a messy bun, stare into the mirror, and lose focus. All I see is bright sparks. “Jesus, help me.” I brace myself, palms down.
“Savannah.” Brock has his arms around me before I can contemplate passing out. “Take a breath, darlin’. Okay?”
I let myself lean against him for a minute, nod, and turn to face him. “Are you sure about this? I can drive. I’ll get there just fine.”
“No.” He places two fingers against my lips and nails me with that look I don’t dare challenge. “We’re doing this my way and I’m going with you and that’s that.”
“Brock. You can’t. What about Maysie? And you’re . . . you’re—”
“Dying?” He lifts a brow. “Clarice can handle Maysie. And I am fine. You, on the other hand, don’t look so hot. No offense.” He tips my chin and gifts me with a smile that somehow calms my racing pulse. “And if we go down in a fiery crash, then all my problems will be over.”
“If you’re trying to convince me this is a good idea, you should try another approach.” I manage a shaky laugh, but now I’m petrified. But I don’t have the time to dwell on it. I have to get to Adam. “All right. We’ll fly.” I won’t protest. I need to get out of here fast. And I need Brock.
Because my husband is nowhere to be found.
When we get to the airstrip I’m still making calls. Zoe is on her way to Boston. My parents are already in town, halfway to the hospital, stuck in traffic. Mom is on the phone. We’re still trying to find Kevin.
“Where do you think he is?” Mom is trying not to cry because we both know if she starts, I’ll lose it. “Honey, do you think . . . Do you want me to get your father to call . . . her?”
Alison.
I’ve been thinking it since I got off the phone with Zoe the first time.
We’re all thinking it.
“If Dad can get her number, yeah.” I wipe my eyes and feel Brock’s hand squeeze mine. “I think he’d better. Kevin needs to get to Boston as soon as possible.”
Mom calls back just as I’m about to board the plane. Dad has tracked down the tramp. “She claims she hasn’t heard from Kevin since before Christmas.” My mother sniffs. “I suppose that’s the good news.”
My breath comes out in a slow sigh of strange relief. “But the bad news is we still don’t know where he is.”
Brock sleeps on the flight and I scroll through my messages, hoping to see something I missed from Kevin. The flight is short and relatively turbulent-free. I turn my phone back on as soon as we land. It buzzes immediately, and I somehow set it off silent mode and Martin starts to squawk.
I shoot a furtive glance in Brock’s direction. “Oh, shoot. I’m so sorry. Should I . . .”
Brock rolls his eyes. “Answer it or I will.”
Considering it’s Kevin calling, that’s probably not a good idea.
It’s after 11:00 p.m. by the time Kevin arrives at the hospital. He’s been in Maryland all weekend, apparently. His father took a fall and broke his hip. Or so he says. I can easily confirm it, but right now I honestly don’t care.
He strides down the hall, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, black coat flying, hair mussed, and eyes screaming with worry.
This look I know.
I’ve seen it too many times. Times I can’t bear to think about.
Times I’ve been dragged back to and forced to face since I first set foot in this hospital four hours ago.
“Kev! Kevin, over here.” I rush to reach him and he stops mid-stride, frantically searching my face for answers I don’t have.
All day I’ve held it together. I talked Zoe down from her ledge of worst-case scenarios twice, maybe three times. Told my parents it would be okay more times than I can count. I even managed to hug Maysie before we left, when she held on tight and started to cry. I kissed her sweet face and said we’d be back soon and everything would be fine. I’ve talked to Adam’s school. Talked to the attending physician. Talked to Beth and John and Paul, but I let my mother handle Peg. I’m even a little proud of myself for making it this far without morphing into a raving lunatic.
But right then, when Kevin’s haunted gaze lands on me, I’m done.
“Savannah.” He wraps me in his arms and breathes into my hair. And I hug him back and hang on with everything I’ve got left.
Then I take his hand and we walk toward Adam’s room.
Past my parents, huddled together, concern aging their tanned faces. Past Zoe, looking desperate to shoot out of her chair and hug her daddy but still too angry with him to do it. Past Brock, who just sits there, stalwart, yet a silent presence I am grateful for.
I doubt Kevin even sees him.
Inside the darkened room, a nurse fiddles with the IV tube attached to my son’s arm.
My son.
My handsome, talented, athletic son . . . who tried to take his own life today.
Kevin drops his bag, shrugs out of his wool coat, lets it slide to the floor, and steps over it. I pick it up from habit, fold it over a chair, and almost hold my breath as he stands over the bed and stares at our son in utter disbelief.
“Hey, kiddo. Dad’s here.” He reaches out to brush thick dark hair off Adam’s forehead.
All I can do is stand at the end of the bed, trembling. Kevin rubs his jaw and takes a few quick, short breaths. He sniffs, turns, and looks at me. And I see it then. See it in his eyes. What he can’t, won’t say, because it would be his undoing.
He is completely, utterly terrified.
I clasp my hands, bring them up to my mouth, and pull air into my lungs. Let out a slow breath and hold on to the footboard of the bed for support. The nurse leaves us, quietly closing the door behind her.
“What has the doctor said?” Kevin rasps out.
Silence wages war with unspoken accusations and questions I cannot do battle with right now. “They pumped his stomach as soon as he got here. They’ve sedated him. He’ll be groggy when he wakes up, but they wanted him to sleep tonight.” I’m repeating what I’ve told everyone already. “Beth saw the lights on all weekend but figured it was probably you. They had a family function so she didn’t go over until today. And she . . .”
I can’t continue. Can’t think about that scene. Beth found him. On the floor in his bedroom, music blaring. Pills everywhere. Pills from a bottle he could have bought over the counter or found in our medicine cabinet.
They don’t know how many he took, but the doctor said it was a good thing Beth found him when she did. I figure it’s better not to share that with Kevin.
“They’re not sure how long he was unconscious. If there’s brain damage.”
“What?” His eyes widen. Tears slip down his ashen cheeks.
“They’ll know more when . . . if . . . he wakes up.”
“When he wakes up.” He leans over the bed and looks into Adam’s face. I don’t know what Kevin is thinking, but I’ve got a pretty good idea what he’s feeling. “He’s breathing on his own, right? That’s good, right?”
“Yes. And he came around in the ambulance. They said he was still pretty out of it. But yes, the doctor seems to think we can hope for the best.”
He shifts, turns his head, and stares at me through wet eyes. “I can’t do this again, Savannah.”
God, help me.
Neither can I.
I can’t respond so I manage a shrug. “I’ll be out in the hall. My parents don’t need to be here. I’ll send them home. And Zoe.” I sniff, not sure if he’s listening. “There’s nothing we can do right now except wait.” And pray.
It’s like he doesn’t even hear me.
Outside, everyone wants news. I have none. “He’s the same. Sleeping. The nurse said his vitals are good.” Mom and Dad hug Zoe, and my father tips his head toward Adam’s room.
“He okay?” He means Kevin. I’m surprised. I shouldn’t be. My father is gracious.
“I don’t know.” I blow my nose and glance at Brock. “I think he’s just . . . in shock, maybe?” Shock. It’s the only word I can think of to describe the atmosphere of this day. The burst of heat that sliced through my soul with Beth’s phone call has boiled down to simmering coals, creating a fog I cannot see through.
Brock stands and walks the few steps needed to join us. “You should eat. Let me go grab some food.”
“No, I couldn’t.” The thought makes me nauseated.
“He’s right, honey. You need food.” My mother rubs my back, trying to comfort. “At least some soup or a sandwich. And water. You need to hydrate.”
“Don’t tell me what I need!” Anger strikes without warning. “I need my son to wake up! I need this to not . . . to not be happening! I need . . . Mama . . . I can’t do this!” I collapse into her arms with a wail that comes from some untapped place of grief inside and terrifies me.
“I know, sug. It’ll be okay. Sweet Jesus, let it be okay.” She hugs me hard and I stay in the safety of her embrace until I hear the door of Adam’s room open and close.
Kevin comes toward us, his eyes still wide and filled with disbelief. He’s on the verge of breaking, too, and his shaky sigh betrays him. That’s enough for Zoe.
“Daddy . . .” She launches herself at him and he folds her into his chest.
“Hey, baby.” Kevin steadies himself, stands back, and cups her face. “He’s going to be all right, Zo. Stay positive, okay? We need to stay strong.”
She wipes her tears, nods, and hugs him again.
Brock clears his throat and sways on his feet a little. I place a hand on his arm and notice a few beads of sweat on his brow. He’s not looking good.
Kevin lets Zoe go, shoves his fingers through his hair, and pins us with a scathing look that burns through me. “What is he doing here?”
“I . . .” Have no idea how to answer that.
Brock lifts a hand and shakes his head. “I’m here because Savannah needed someone. I didn’t want her driving or coming alone. And you were nowhere to be found.”
“Now you wait just a minute . . .” Kevin steps closer, eyes flashing dangerously.
“Calm down, son.” My father puts a hand on Kevin’s shoulder while Mom pulls Zoe away.
My stomach lurches and I shoot up a prayer for intervention. If God doesn’t send a sudden power outage or something, this is going to get ugly.
“Stop it, both of you.” The words come out in a hiss and I glare at Kevin, then Brock. He’s in no shape for this. He knows it as well as I do, but I can tell he’s not about to back down. “This is a hospital! Adam is lying in that room, so don’t you dare even think about starting anything, either of you.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’,” Brock drawls, folding his arms across his chest. He narrows his eyes and takes two steps closer to Kevin. “Do you have any idea how frantic Savannah was today, not knowing where you were? You can get ticked all you like, but you ever put her through that again and I will plow my fist into your face before you see it coming. Got it?”
“You son of a—” Kevin lifts his arm and pulls back.
“Don’t!” I leap toward him and yank it back down with a sharp cry. “Stop it! Kevin, you can’t hit him!”
“Give me one good reason why.”
Brock sighs and steps away. “Because I have a tumor pressing on my brain. If you hit me, I’m likely to lose consciousness. I might even go into cardiac arrest. And quite frankly, I’d just as soon leave y’all the heck alone and go home. If that suits.”
Kevin stands there gaping while Brock walks away, picks up his jacket, and saunters toward the elevators. I run to catch him, the heels of my boots clicking against linoleum.
“Brock, wait.”
“Leave it, Savannah.” He pulls on his coat and gives a grim backward glance at my family. “I’m gonna head back to the airport. I want to be home when Maysie wakes up in the morning.”
“Okay.” There isn’t any use in trying to change his mind. And I don’t want to be worrying about the two of them lighting into each other every second. “Was that true, what you said, what would happen if he hit you?”
A grin slides across his face. “I have no idea, but it sounded good, huh?”
“Oh my gosh. You’re terrible.” My eyes fill again and I half laugh, half sob as he leans in and plants a kiss on my forehead.
“I acted like a jerk.” His eyes cloud over. “His son is . . .”
“Brock.” I shake my head. “Forget it. We’re all stressed.”
“Tell him I’m sorry anyway.” His concerned expression makes me want to cry all the more.
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Call us with an update. Anytime. I should be back home around three, if there are no delays.”
“Go straight to bed. Don’t write.”
He rolls his eyes and zips up his leather jacket. “What are you, my mother?”
We share a smile and I’m all choked up. “Thank you. For getting me here. For . . .”
Brock nods, stares down at his beat-up cowboy boots, then lifts his head. “I’d do anything for you, lady. Just so you know.”
All I can do is nod. I do know.
And right now, it’s more than I can bear.