chapter fifteen
“THE VISIT WAS PHENOMENAL,” Rick exclaimed when I picked him up from the airport. He’d been on his phone talking to his agent when I pulled up, so I’d had to idle at the curb as he finished his call.
“Sorry about the wait,” Rick apologized as he threw his bag and coat into the backseat and climbed into the car. “Things are moving very quickly.”
“So everything went well?” I asked, pulling away from the curb and trying to avoid pedestrians weaving through traffic.
“Incredibly well. They’ve got some fantastic writers on their faculty, it’s a top-notch MFA program, and NYU is absolutely filthy loaded.” Rick stretched out in his seat, trying to work out a kink in his neck.
“So the people were nice?” I asked.
“Absolutely lovely—the kind of people I’d actually want to grab a drink with. Regular folks, not hoity-toity snobs. Real artists, all of them.” He listed a series of bold-faced names, among them the famous writer who had told me, long ago, that seminar was a “fucking waste of time.”
“So where did they take you?” I asked, wincing inwardly.
“Oh, all over—we ate at this great little Ethiopian restaurant, and afterwards we heard some jazz at a club. I hit the Strand and Zabar’s, of course, and took a walk through Central Park. God, I hadn’t realized how much I missed New York.”
I didn’t say anything. I hadn’t visited New York since grad school, when I spent the night sleeping on the floor of a friend’s fifth-floor walk-up and then got stuck in a blackout while riding the train back to New Haven. We’d sat on the tracks in the sweltering heat for two hours before some buses arrived to rescue us.
“And Christ, you should’ve seen the apartments that NYU subsidizes for faculty. They’re insane—hardwood floors, doorman building, overlooking Washington Square Park. Easily worth twice what they charge faculty in rent! And the pay’s not shabby, either. I’m telling you—it’s nice to work for a school with resources. They understand you have to pay top dollar to attract talent, unlike some places I know.”
I sighed. Fairfax was a respected small liberal arts college, but it wasn’t in the same league as a research behemoth like NYU. “Fairfax can’t really compete,” I mumbled.
“No kidding. Did you know NYU has campuses all over the world? I could teach a semester abroad in Abu Dhabi or Shanghai, all expenses paid. I’d get regular sabbaticals, too, to write and travel. Could you imagine? It would be absolutely perfect.”
“It does sound incredible,” I said.
“Hold on,” Rick said, pulling out his phone. “It’s my agent again—I’ve got to take this call.”
I tried to concentrate on driving as Rick chatted on the phone. I told myself I was happy for him. From the beginning, we’d agreed that we were just having fun—no pressure, no expectations. We’d never talked about what would happen if one of us moved away, whether we’d still date long-distance or let the relationship fizzle out. It seemed foolish and pathetic to bring it up now.
“It’s such an amazing opportunity,” I told him when he got off the phone. “You have to take it.”
“You think so?” Rick asked.
“Yes! It’s NYU! It’s in the heart of the Village! You’ll have amazing colleagues and students!”
“That’s true,” Rick said, leaning over to give me a kiss. “Thanks for being so supportive. It’s too bad Fairfax couldn’t get its act together.”
“They still could—you never know,” I ventured, thinking of my conversation with Adam.
Rick scoffed. “I’m not holding my breath,” he said. “Besides, this is a much better job than Fairfax. I’d be a lunatic to turn it down.”
*
“COULD WE PLEASE WATCH anything but Jane Vampire?” I begged Larry. “Otherwise, I might have to stab myself in the face.”
“Sheesh—you’re in a bad mood,” Larry said, tossing me the remote control and settling back with his tub of popcorn.
“I am. Rick’s being courted by NYU.”
“He is?” Larry said. His popcorn missed his mouth and tumbled down his shirt. “Wow—I want a job at NYU.”
“Yeah, well, if he takes it—”
“How could he not take it?”
“Exactly. How could he not take it? He leaves, I stay, and our relationship’s toast.” I clicked angrily through the channels, trying to find Law & Order: SVU.
“You could always do long-distance . . . There’s FaceTime, and e-mail, and . . .” Larry suggested.
“Like what you’re doing with Jack?” I said without thinking. Larry’s face fell. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know how hard it is for you. I just don’t know how you do it—I don’t think I could.”
“It is hard,” Larry conceded. “You both have to be on board to make it work.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “And I don’t know if Rick’s on board.”
I found NBC finally and we waited for the last few minutes of Extra to wrap up. Mario Lopez, dressed in a shiny black suit with his hair slicked back, was introducing a final segment when a Jane Vampire movie poster swooped onto the screen behind him.
“Don’t you dare change the channel!” Larry said, leaning forward in anticipation.
“Jane Vampire smashed box office records this holiday season,” Mario was saying, “taking the top spot for an impressive six weeks in a row. It broke even more records when it opened worldwide, racking up nearly seven hundred million dollars in ticket sales.”
The camera cut to a clip of Jack Lindsey and his costars at the London Jane Vampire premiere, posing for photographers under a barrage of exploding flashbulbs.
“The movie has turned its stars, Rachel Lynn Evans and Jack Lindsey, into household names, catapulting them onto the A-list.” The camera pulled in on Rachel and Jack, posing together on the red carpet. Jack leaned over to whisper something into Rachel’s ear, and she smirked in response.
“There were rumors that Rachel and Jack were getting a little too close to one another on set,” Mario continued. “Rachel had recently split from her boyfriend, Nigel Marks, a member of the boy band All for One, and Jack was said to be undergoing a trial separation from his wife, the lovely heiress Elizabeth Beckington, eldest daughter of one of the wealthiest families in the country.”
The camera panned to the right, showing Bex trailing behind Jack. Next to her, Rachel looked like she needed some sleep and a shower.
“But Extra has discovered there’s more to the story,” Mario said, his voice turning ominous. “We recently obtained some never-before-seen footage of Jack Lindsey in Paris on a secret rendezvous with his lover . . . and it’s not who you think it is.”
Some grainy, badly lit footage appeared, taken from a cell phone camera outside a restaurant window. Cheesy French accordion music played in the background. The camera zoomed in shakily, revealing Jack’s handsome profile, laughing and drinking from a glass of wine.
“We have proof that Jack’s been stepping out on his wife—and it’s not with Rachel Lynn Evans. On the contrary, Jack’s taste seems to be of, shall we say, a different persuasion.”
The cell phone video pulled back slightly, revealing the fuzzy outline of Jack’s dinner date, his back to the camera. Jack leaned over and gave the man a kiss. The man moved slightly into the light, and it became clear that he was balding.
“We were just as surprised as you are,” Mario said, “when we discovered Jack’s lover was follicularly challenged. Who would have thought that Mr. Movie Star would fall for someone—ahem!—lacking in the hair department?”
I turned to Larry. He was holding his head in his hands and rocking back and forth.
“Larry,” I gasped. “Is that . . . is that you?”
Larry was quiet for a second. Then he raised his head up and howled, “That little shit. Calling me ‘follicularly challenged’? How’d you like it if I called you a circus midget, Mr. Saved by the Bell?”
“Have you been seeing Jack this whole time? And you didn’t tell me?”
“I knew you wouldn’t understand, Anne. We just couldn’t stay away from each other.”
“Oh my God. You met up with him in Paris, didn’t you?”
Larry nodded.
“I’m such an idiot,” I groaned. “I actually bought your BS about finding a crazy last-minute deal on Groupon.”
“Well, I did find a crazy amazing fare, but no, the trip was planned. It was divine. We stayed on Île Saint-Louis, at this adorable little pied-à-terre. You should stay there sometime—we found it on Airbnb!” Larry sighed happily at the memory.
“Are you crazy? You’re gonna ruin Jack’s marriage! And what about his career? What about your career?”
“Eeesh, Anne. See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you! You’re being so Judgy McJudgerson!”
“What do you want to happen?” I asked. “Do you want him to run off with you? Do you really think that’s going to happen?”
“Why not?” Larry asked pitifully. “It’s better than sneaking around like this. I still don’t know how they got that video of us at that restaurant. We were being so careful.”
“Apparently not careful enough.”
“Someone must have tipped them off. There was no one else in there!”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t believe you’re not freaking out more. Let’s hope people don’t put two and two together and figure out you’re the guy in that video.”
“Maybe it’s for the best,” Larry said stubbornly. “Jack needs to stop living a lie. He needs to step up and declare the truth—declare the love that dare not speak its name!”
Larry was getting worked up, beating his chest with his fist.
“I am not ashamed!” he roared. “I might be a hairless nobody, but I’ve got nothing to hide! I’ve got nothing to lose! I publicly declare my love for Jack Lindsey!”
I sat back and gave Larry a polite golf clap. “Nice speech,” I said as he graciously accepted my applause. “Now please promise me there isn’t a sex tape. Please.”
“Ewwww!” Larry yelled, pelting me with popcorn. “Anne! Who do you think I am? Sex tapes are so 2007.”
*
OVER THE NEXT FEW days, the tabloids were flooded with pictures of Jack and Bex having a romantic dinner at Katsuya, Jack and Bex taking their daughter out for ice cream, Jack and Bex bringing their daughter to Disneyland. In all the pictures, the two of them were wearing their wedding rings and acting lovey-dovey for the cameras. “Jack Lindsey calls his wife his soul mate,” read one headline. “ ‘Our marriage is stronger than ever,’ ” read another. “Lovebirds,” read a third.
A PR rep for Jack and Bex issued a statement to People magazine, claiming that the cell phone video was “obviously doctored” and that the man in the video was not Jack. “Jack Lindsey is a devoted husband and father,” the statement read, “and it is shameful that unscrupulous sources would try to defame his character and attack his family. This report is utter garbage and riddled with lies. We are in the process of investigating legal options against Extra.”
“Lies!” Larry told me that night. “It’s all lies! Jack told me they’re doing a family media blitz until all of this dies down. I can’t believe people are actually buying it!”
“Did you know he’s a Virgo?” I asked, flipping through the pages of a magazine.
“Where are you reading this?”
“Us Weekly. They’re doing a feature called ‘Twenty Things You Didn’t Know About Jack Lindsey.’ ”
“Gimme that!” Larry yelled, snatching the magazine from my hand. He read through the article and then tossed it aside. “He didn’t answer these questions,” Larry said dismissively. “Someone else did.”
“Wait, what do you mean?” I asked. “Jack doesn’t answer his own questions now?”
“The studio hired a crisis management firm,” Larry told me. “He’s got a PR minder who vets all media inquiries. He’s also got a bodyguard shadowing him 24/7.”
“Why?” I asked. “To protect him from the paparazzi?”
“No—to protect him from himself. They don’t want him going rogue again.” Larry sighed. “I.e., no more secret rendezvous with moi.”
“Is he still calling you?” I asked, grabbing the magazine back.
“He’s been texting. He’s got back-to-back events this week, visiting sick kids at a hospital, running a 10K for charity, MC-ing an auction. They’re trying to keep him busy. He’s worried they’re going to confiscate his phone next.”
“Do you really think they’d do that?”
“I don’t know,” Larry said, looking worried. “I’d die if that happened.” He looked at me plaintively. “Anne, I know you think I’m pathetic, but I can’t help it. I really miss him. Tell me things are going to work out. Please?”
“Things are going to work out,” I said, trying to sound more convincing than I felt.
*
IN THE WEEKS LEADING up to my book deadline, I’d skipped a few of my regular visits with my father, begging off via phone call or e-mail. Now that he’d settled into the home comfortably, I often felt like an unwanted chaperone when I did come to visit, interrupting his lunch date with Helene or his daily poker game. When I asked how he was doing, he’d roll his eyes like a teenager and then ask for more Q-tips or batteries or undershirts before shooing me away. I figured my absence would hardly be noticed.
Still, as penance, I brought my father a jumbo jar of mixed nuts and a new digital clock for his bedroom at my next visit. I found him sitting alone in an alcove that the staff had decorated to look like a 1940s drawing room, with an old-fashioned radio playing big band music, some ladies’ hats displayed on shelves, and some war memorabilia. Usually the oldest residents of the home clustered here, napping or listening to music, but it was now deserted. Sitting on a couch beside my father, I felt like I’d accidentally wandered onto a stage set.
“Where’ve you been?” my dad asked querulously, inspecting the new clock.
“I’m sorry—I had a deadline,” I said. “It was rough toward the end—I was pulling a bunch of all-nighters.”
“Are these spicy?” my dad asked, opening the jar of nuts and sniffing. “I can’t do spicy. It bothers my prostate.”
“I got the unsalted kind,” I said.
My father carefully tried one of the cashews. “I’m almost out of Q-tips again,” he added, chewing. “I really think someone’s stealing them. There’s no possible way I’m going through them so fast.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, trying not to sound impatient. “I’ll bring some more next time.”
“Not the cheap ones, OK? The brand-name ones. I can tell the difference.”
I sighed. “I promise I’ll bring you the right ones,” I said. I looked around the alcove. “So where is everyone?”
“Getting their hair done,” my dad said. “Hairdresser’s here today.”
“Are you having lunch with Helene later?”
“She’s mad at me,” my dad grumbled. “I forgot her birthday last week, and she’s giving me the silent treatment.”
“What about Georgia?”
“Who?”
“Georgia—silver hair? I met her at the Christmas party?”
“Oh, her? She moved to a different facility. I haven’t seen her in a while.”
I glanced at the TV mounted to one of the walls, the one anachronistic touch in the room. There was a Law & Order rerun on, and I saw that Jack Lindsey was guest-starring as a congressman accused of having an affair with an intern and then murdering her. I started watching in spite of myself.
“I knew him in college,” I said to my dad, pointing to Jack appearing on the witness stand. “His name is Jack Lindsey. We were in the same English class.”
My dad squinted at the screen. “What is he now, a lawyer?” he asked.
“No, he’s an actor.”
“Never heard of him.”
“He’s friends with Lauren,” I said. “Or actually, it’s more like his wife is.”
“Where’s Lauren anyway? I haven’t seen her in months.” He reached over and began scratching his leg through his trousers.
“She’s in the Bahamas for her wedding anniversary.” Lauren and Brett were spending a week at the same resort where they’d been married.
“She never told me that.”
“Yes, she did—she sent you an e-mail.”
“I never got it,” my dad said. “What’s her husband’s name again?”
“Dad—she’s married to Brett! You remember Brett!”
“Sure,” my dad said vaguely. He hitched his trouser leg up. “My damn leg feels funny,” he complained, scratching his bare skin.
“Dad—stop,” I said, cringing at his skinny, blotchy leg. “Did you fall again?” Since his last accident, he’d been given a walking cane, a gray piece of metal with a four-fingered claw at the bottom. Seeing him so bent and frail scared me. He was still his usual irascible self, but his body no longer reflected the fierceness of his personality.
“No. It just feels weak.”
“Then use your cane,” I said, trying to keep the worry out of my voice. “That’s what it’s there for.”
“The cane’s no good. It just gets in the way.”
“If you fall again, you might break your hip and then you’ll be in a wheelchair. Do you want that?”
“Of course not.”
“Then use your cane,” I said, throwing up my hands in exasperation. I glanced at my phone and got up from the couch. “Hey, Dad—I gotta run to a department meeting. I’ll call you later.”
“I got my poker game at three. Don’t call me then. And don’t forget the Q-tips next time, OK? I only have a handful left. I think someone’s been stealing them from me.”
I nodded, hugged him briefly, then dashed out. On the way to the meeting, I tried calling Larry. He didn’t answer, so I tried a second time and then a third. As I was just about to hang up, Larry finally answered. He sounded hoarse, as if he was coming down with a cold.
“Hey!” I said. “Where are you? Are you coming to the department meeting?”
Larry sniffled.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Are you sick?”
“It’s over,” Larry said.
“What’s over? Are you talking about Jack?”
“They took away his phone. I’m sure of it. He hasn’t texted me in thirty-six hours.”
“Maybe he’s out of the country?”
“No, he warned me this was coming. His last message to me was ‘im sorry, please wait for me.’ ”
“Did you write back?”
“Of course I did! I wrote, ‘i’m here for you, my lovely boy,’ and then there was that little text bubble where you know the other person is typing something . . . and then poof! It disappeared. I’ve never been so distraught over an ellipsis! To be continued . . . NEVER!”
“Maybe he got interrupted in the middle of his text?”
“Yeah right. Dot dot dot . . . I’ll be waiting forever.”
“You’re overanalyzing a text. Or a nontext, in this case.”
“Dot dot dot . . . our love is dead.”
“What? OK, stop being melodramatic.”
“Dot dot dot . . . the end.”
“Larry—our department meeting is in fifteen minutes. Come on. Rally!”
“Tell Steve I’m indisposed. You can be elliptical.”
“Larry! This isn’t funny. You can’t wallow!”
“I’m hanging up on you now, dot dot dot . . .”
“Don’t you dare!”
“. . .”
I stared at my phone. Larry had hung up on me.
“Where’s Larry?” Rick asked, waving me over when I arrived at the meeting. Steve was at the front of the room, passing out copies of the agenda with Pam.
“He’s having another case of the vapors,” I grumbled, sliding into the seat beside him. I switched my phone to silent and shoved it into my bag. “This thing with Jack is really messing him up.”
“He still has a crush on that movie star guy?”
“It’s more than a crush—they had a real relationship.”
Rick raised an eyebrow. “Well, this might be a sign he needs to move on,” he said.
“It’s not that easy,” I said. “He’s pretty devastated.”
“It was never going to work out, anyway,” Rick said, reaching his arm around my shoulder and resting it on the back of my chair. “Better he figure that out now rather than later.”
Steve cleared his throat and began going through general housekeeping while I quickly scanned the agenda:
ENGLISH DEPARTMENT MEETING AGENDA
February 11
1. CHAIR’S REMARKS – STEVE
2. APPROVAL OF MINUTES FOR JANUARY 14 DEPARTMENT MEETING – PAM
3. COMMITTEE REPORTS – COMMITTEE CHAIRS
4. UNDERGRADUATE CURRICULUM REVIEW – STEVE
5. HIRING INITIATIVES – PRESIDENT MARTINEZ
6. ANNOUNCEMENTS
I pointed to item no. 5. “What’s this?” I whispered to Rick.
Rick shrugged. “No clue,” he said, looking mystified.
I doodled on my agenda as Steve meandered through his opening remarks (a textbook rep was giving a presentation Tuesday, campus recycling week was coming up, volunteers were needed to grade comp exams) and Pam went over last month’s minutes. I was the chair and sole member of the tech committee, so I stood up to give my report: the department Facebook page had 314 members and the department Twitter account had 163 followers, a student volunteer was helping me revamp the official department home page, and next month the department was hosting its second annual “Middlemarch Madness” challenge, so everyone was encouraged to fill out their brackets online. Last year, The Sound and the Fury had upset The Portrait of a Lady, much to Larry’s chagrin.
Adam turned up just as Steve was beginning his long-winded overview of our curriculum overhaul. Seeing Adam from the corner of his eye, Steve mercifully cut his presentation short and handed over the floor. I continued to doodle on my agenda, drawing curlicues around the edges of the paper as Adam stepped up to the front of the room.
“Before I begin,” Adam said, “I wanted to congratulate one of the members of your department on a truly remarkable set of accomplishments. Some of you might already know that Dr. Anne Corey has a book forthcoming with a major press”—here Adam paused to acknowledge a smattering of applause as I looked up in surprise—“but I’m also delighted to announce that we have renewed her contract and she has agreed to stay with us here at Fairfax!”
Adam began clapping loudly and gesturing to me to stand up. I was startled and instinctively hung back, but Rick hoisted me up and began cheering loudly beside me. “Stop!” I hissed at Rick, embarrassed but also touched by his enthusiasm. After a few seconds, I sat down again, feeling flushed and warm from the unexpected attention.
“This is a great way to transition into my topic for today,” Adam was now saying. “Namely the launch of a new college-wide hiring initiative to hire and retain exceptional faculty members. In the past, this was done on an ad hoc basis, but we’ve come to recognize the need for a more transparent and systematic way of supporting faculty retention.”
Rick and I exchanged glances.
“I’m putting together a work group to hash out the details, and I’m soliciting suggestions from individual departments on hiring priorities and wish lists. So far, the response has been very positive, and I’ve already begun collecting nominations of current exceptional members of our contingent faculty who wish to stay on permanently. I’m here to enlist all of your help in identifying and recruiting promising candidates.”
“!!!!!” I wrote on my agenda, nudging the paper toward Rick.
“First I’ve heard of this,” Rick whispered.
“But it sounds promising!”
“He could be talking about someone else—”
“Who? It’s got to be you! There’s no one else!”
“What should I do?”
“You need to talk to him. ASAP!”
Steve was glaring at us, so I quickly shut up and hunched over my agenda, pretending to take notes as my colleagues raised their hands to ask questions, offer suggestions, or volunteer to serve on the working group. The discussion spilled over the allotted time, and Steve suspended the discussion, moving that we continue to talk through the issues at our meeting the following month. The department voted “Aye,” Pam recorded the passing of the motion, and everyone immediately scrambled for the doors. As Adam got up to leave, I rushed over to catch him before he slipped out.
“This hiring initiative sounds amazing!” I blurted out. “I’m so glad Fairfax is doing this.”
“Yes—it’s a great idea,” Rick added, appearing at my side and reaching out to shake Adam’s hand. “I’m glad you’ve thrown your support behind this.”
“Everyone’s been very enthusiastic,” Adam said, shaking Rick’s hand firmly. “We’re trying very hard to get it off the ground this year since we don’t want to lose talented faculty to other institutions. In fact, I’m scheduled to meet with some donors later today to figure out immediate funding issues. I’ll hopefully have more to report sometime next week.”
“Let me know what I can do to help,” Rick said. “As you can probably tell, I’m quite eager to stay at Fairfax. It’s my top choice—for many reasons.” He touched my back lightly, and I smiled.
“Anne’s been very persuasive in helping me think through this,” Adam said, glancing at me. “I’m confident it’s the right thing to do.”
“I’m very lucky,” Rick said, looking at me fondly. “She’s a keeper.”
As Rick and Adam continued to talk, I pulled out my phone to text Larry. With a start, I saw that I’d missed seven calls from Lauren. For a moment, I thought it must be a mistake. Lauren was in the Bahamas, and she’d already warned everyone that she’d be off the grid for at least a week. Maybe she’d butt-dialed me? But seven times?
Seeing my face, Adam asked, “Is everything OK?”
“I don’t know,” I said uncertainly, dialing Lauren’s number. “I guess Lauren’s trying to reach me.”
Lauren picked up on the first ring. “Where have you been?” she screamed. “I’ve been trying to reach you for over an hour!”
“What’s the matter?” I said, feeling dread in my stomach. “Are you OK?”
“It’s Daddy,” Lauren said, sobbing.
“What happened?” I asked, suddenly chilled.
“He’s had a stroke.”
“What?” I gasped. “When? I just saw him! Where is he?”
“Fairfax Hospital. I’m trying to get a flight back now. They wouldn’t tell me anything over the phone—but it’s bad. I know it.”
“Oh my God,” I whimpered. “Is he awake? Is he breathing? Is he alive?”
“I told you! I don’t know!” Lauren wailed. “Don’t ask me! I’m just trying to get off this goddamn island!” She broke into tears. “I can’t do anything from over here. The reception sucks.”
“OK,” I said, forcing myself to stay calm. “I’m heading to the hospital now. I’ll call as soon as I find out anything.”
I hung up the phone, then dropped it because my hands were shaking so hard.
“What happened?” Adam asked, looking at my stricken face. “Do you need to sit down?”
“I have to go,” I cried, scrambling on all fours to pick up my phone. “My dad’s in the hospital.” I stood up and headed for the door, then stopped uncertainly.
“I don’t have my car,” I said in a dazed voice. “I walked here.”
“Where’s your car?” Rick asked.
“At home.” I looked around, frantic. “Can I borrow someone’s car?”
“You can’t drive like this,” Adam said, putting his hand on my arm. “You’re shaking.”
“He’s right. I’ll get my motorcycle,” Rick said.
“No, I’ll drive you,” Adam said firmly. “My car’s right outside.”
“Hold up, mate,” Rick said, turning to Adam. “I’ve got this.”
“She’s in no condition to ride a motorcycle. She can barely stand.”
“I’m fine,” I said, but I wasn’t fine. I felt my legs buckle beneath me. Adam caught me before I could fall.
“She clearly can’t hold onto you while you’re driving,” Adam was saying to Rick. “Listen—just meet us there. We just need to hurry.”
“Jellyby,” I blurted. “Someone needs to feed Jellyby. Rick—you have my keys. Could you check on her?”
Rick looked at me, then at Adam.
“Better bring her a change of clothes, too,” Adam said to Rick. “In case she needs to spend the night at the hospital.”
“OK,” Rick said, backing off. “I’ll see you at the hospital.” He gave me a quick kiss and dashed off.
I followed Adam blindly to the parking lot, feeling like the world had gone topsy-turvy. A group of students were lazily kicking a soccer ball around the quad, and someone was practicing the tuba in the music building. I stared at them. How could they keep going on with their daily lives when my life had just been upended? In a haze, I got into Adam’s car. The college radio station was on, but Adam quickly turned it off. “It’ll be OK,” Adam was saying as we sped through campus and onto the freeway. “Fairfax has a great hospital.”
“He was complaining about his leg this morning,” I said, struggling to hold back tears. “He said it felt strange. I should’ve listened.”
“Shhhhhh,” Adam said. “There’s no way you could have known.”
“I should’ve called a nurse. What the hell was I thinking? What if he was having a stroke right then and there? And I just left?”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’m the worst daughter ever,” I said, dissolving into tears. “All I was supposed to do was keep an eye on him and I can’t even do that. I live down the street and I’ve barely seen him the last month, I’ve been so busy working on my damn book!”
Adam reached over and took my hand. “Stop,” he said. “You have to stop blaming yourself.” I held onto his hand like an anchor, trying to steady myself and swallow my racking sobs.
We pulled up to the emergency room, and Adam escorted me into the building, flagging down an orderly to help me locate my father. I was passed from one person to another, told to wait in the waiting room, then brusquely informed that my father was getting a CT scan and that I could wait for him in his hospital room.
“So he’s alive?” I asked, breathless with relief.
The hospital staffer looked at me blankly. “I’m just telling you what our system says. The imaging department should know more.” She handed me an ID badge, which I pinned to my shirt. “Is your partner coming, too?” she asked, looking at Adam. “If so, he also needs a badge.”
“Um, no—he’s just a friend,” I said. “Or actually, more like my boss.”
“I’m happy to stay,” Adam said to me. “At least until Rick gets here. I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone.”
“Are you a family member?” the woman asked Adam. “If not, I’ll have to ask you to wait in the lobby. Hospital policy.”
“It’s OK,” I told Adam. “You have your donor meeting. You can’t stand them up.”
“That can wait. This is an emergency. I can stay in the waiting room if you want.”
“No, you have to go. It’s important. Please. Rick will be here soon.”
“Have we made a decision?” the woman asked, looking at us impatiently.
“I’ll let you know if I need anything,” I said to Adam. “And thank you—for everything.”
“Promise to call me, just so I know you’re doing OK?”
“I promise.”
Adam gathered me to him, and I pressed myself against his chest, feeling his arms holding me close.
“You’ll be fine,” he murmured. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you.” With a final squeeze, he let me go.
I turned to follow the employee to my father’s room and was halfway down the hall before I realized I couldn’t call Adam even if I wanted. I didn’t have his phone number.