Chapter 32

We don’t solve anything in the next couple of hours. The wind wails and rattles the windows, but everything inside is quiet—as quiet as two people making out on the sofa can be.

I know we haven’t fixed our issues. I’m worried that we want different things, possibly because I have no idea what I want yet, and possibly because Liam’s “train” isn’t going to stop while I figure it out. But at this moment, we can both agree that kissing each other is what we want to do.

My father and brother are in the next room, so we keep things PG. No activities that can’t be reversed quickly if someone interrupts us. I end up tiring first; my hair is wild, and my lips are raw and puffy—and he looks more battered than sexy. We settle into each other’s arms, and after a few minutes, I feel Liam’s chest rise and fall.

I can’t sleep, though. The things we talked about are still bothering me. As I shift to find a more comfortable position, a sharp pain shoots up my left side and makes me catch my breath. The ache seems to be getting worse, even though it’s been hours since our run. I struggle to my feet and dig out a bottle of Motrin from my book bag. My mother is firmly opposed to any kind of pain medicine because she thinks pain strengthens the body. So I keep a secret stash for times when my period becomes unbearable or a migraine strikes before a test.

This is the first time I’ve needed pain medicine in a long time. Maybe it’s this weird period that won’t go away. Probably the reason my side hurts too. There’s a whole chapter in my psych textbook about emotional distress that can cause physical symptoms. The book doesn’t say that psychosomatic pain could cause one to double over, though, or that it could make you dizzy and light-headed.

Maybe I just need to get some rest.

My mother’s comfortable king-sized bed seems to do the trick. Stretched out, with my feet propped up on half a dozen pillows, I’m able to doze off for a little while. The pain doesn’t wake me right away; I think I dream through it. Mom is standing over my bed and poking me with a sharp stick. “Why did you take the medicine?” she hisses. Poke. “Why is your father sleeping in my house?” Two pokes. “Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving us?” Stab. “What is Ethan going to do?” Deep stab.

I gasp and open my eyes. My mother vanishes, but she’s ripped a crater in my belly while I slept.

It hurts even if I lie still, and as I push my body off the bed, I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. I’d intended to walk into the hallway and call for help, but when I try to rise, the room pitches and sways and I sink back onto the bed. I yell for Liam, then my father, then Ethan. No answer. The clock beside the bed says 3:00 a.m. No wonder it’s so quiet.

I grab my phone from the nightstand and dial Ethan’s number. It rings five times before he answers, his voice muffled and rough. “Hello?”

“I think I’m sick,” I tell him urgently. “It hurts to move.”

“Hello, Rain.” He still sounds like he’s asleep. “What?”

“My left side. It hurts worse than before.”

“You sprained it,” he explains patiently. “When we ran, remember?”

“I know. I can’t stand up. And I can’t lie down either. It hurts too much.”

There’s a brief silence. “You can’t lie down?” He’s echoing me, as he sometimes does.

“I guess I can if I try. But then my entire side hurts. All the way up to my shoulder. I’ve never sprained a muscle this bad before. Can you bring me more pillows so I can sit up? I can’t get them myself.”

“I’ll be right there.” He’s wide awake now. I can hear worry in his voice. A moment later, the lights flick on and he’s sitting next to me on the bed. “Where does it hurt?”

I point to the spot, right above my hip. He places his finger over the area and pushes lightly. My shriek makes him jump.

“I’m sorry,” I gasp. “I didn’t mean to yell. Please don’t do that again.”

His hand closes over my wrist and he counts to himself, his eyes fixed on the clock beside the bed. “You’re tachycardic and possibly anemic,” he observes after a moment. “And diaphoretic.”

“I’m what?”

“You’re covered in sweat.”

“Oh. I’ll shower later.” My words feel muddled and disconnected. “I’m trying to sleep. Can you get me more pillows, please? It hurts my shoulder to lie flat.”

“You’re going to the hospital,” he says.

“Not now,” I protest sleepily. “When I feel better.”

“I’m waking up Dad.” There’s an urgent tremor to his voice. “We need to call an ambulance.”

“For who?” I don’t understand the expression on his face. Strange, I think. Usually Ethan doesn’t understand what I’m thinking. Now it’s the other way around. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

But he’s already gone. There are voices in the hall and then my father is sitting next to me and placing his hand on my forehead. “Hi, Dad. Did Ethan wake you up?”

“She seems fine,” he murmurs groggily, looking up at my brother. “She doesn’t have a fever or anything.”

“We need to get her to a hospital,” Ethan insists. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Have you looked outside?” Dad exclaims, waving his hand at the window. “A bulldozer couldn’t get through. There’s like two feet of snow out there, and the roads haven’t been cleared yet.”

But Ethan’s already dialing. There’s a brief delay and then a confusing one-sided stream of words. “We need transport to the hospital,” he says, “—abdominal pain, severe tenderness, confusion, diaphoresis, pallor, concern for shock—” He pauses. “No, I’m not a doctor. High school student. Yes, my father’s here. No, you can talk to me. I have more medical knowledge than he does.”

“Give me the phone, Ethan.” Dad says, reaching out his hand. “Now.”

“Please don’t fight, guys,” I protest over their arguing. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“Maybe we should let her rest,” Dad suggests. “It’ll be hours before we can dig ourselves out of here. She’ll feel better in the morning.”

“She’ll be dead in the morning,” Ethan snaps.

“Hello? Is someone there?” The operator’s voice screeches from the cell. “Who am I speaking with?”

“Can everyone please leave my room?” I gasp, wincing. “You’re making it worse!”

“Ethan, don’t exaggerate,” Dad replies. “What could it possibly be? A stomach virus?”

“She’s not vomiting. No diarrhea.”

“What then? Appendicitis?”

“Can someone answer me, please?” the operator demands.

“Her pain is on the left,” Ethan says into the phone. “Not appendicitis. When will the ambulance getting here?”

There’s a long silence; my father paces and Ethan bites his lip. I try to lean back against the headboard, but every movement feels like a kick to the gut. I end up balanced on the edge of the bed, my arms supporting me on either side.

“That’s almost a mile away,” Ethan tells the operator. “We can’t get there.”

“What’s going on?”

“I know about the snow!” Ethan continues, his voice rising. “My sister can’t walk a mile. She can barely get up off the bed.”

“I can get up! Just give me a second.”

“Is this really necessary?” my father chimes in.

“What about a helicopter?” He shakes his head. “A snow plow? Firetruck?” I’ve never heard him sound so desperate. “What do you do during snow emergencies? What’s wrong with you? This can’t be the first time!”

“Ethan! Give me the phone!”

Ethan swings around to face my father. He’d been standing with his back to us, his hair shielding his face. As he turns I see that his cheeks are streaked with tears. I’ve never seen my brother cry. Ever. His frequent tantrums as a child had been of the howling and shrieking variety. But the earth would have to be shaking beneath us for Ethan to produce an actual tear. What could possibly be wrong with me? Why is he so worried?

“Ethan, really, it doesn’t hurt that bad,” I begin, but my head begins to swim and I pitch forward into my father’s arms. Dad steadies me and carefully props me up against the headboard. He’s fully awake now, and his scared expression mirrors Ethan’s. But at least we’re all on the same page. Something’s obviously not okay. My stomach pain waxes and wanes, and I can dismiss it when it eases. But the simple effort of standing up had almost made me pass out. Maybe my brother was right.

“How am I getting to the hospital?” I whisper.

“We need to go now,” Ethan informs us, clicking his phone off. “We don’t have a choice.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dad exclaims. “Where are the emergency snow vehicles? This is Montana! They don’t have snowplows?”

“They have a whole fleet of snowmobiles. There was a roof collapse an hour ago and they’ve been called to dig people out and take them to the hospital. Ten minutes ago, she dispatched the last vehicle to rescue people stranded on the highway. The operator said they would come to us next, but it might take time. We don’t have time.”

“So what are we supposed to do? Walk to the hospital?”

“She said that if we can make it to the fire station, she can get someone to us much faster.”

“How far is that?”

“Three-quarters of a mile.”

“That’s insane! In this weather, with her limping along it will take us more than an hour! We’ll just wait here until they come. How long could it possibly take them?”

“Gather up all the blankets. I’m going to get the sled out.”

“What?”

“We can pull Rain on the sled.”

“Ethan, really, I can wait,” I insist weakly. “I can handle the pain.”

“The pain doesn’t matter,” he says sharply. “It’s the bleeding that’s dangerous.”

“What bleeding?” my father demands.

“I’m not bleeding,” I protest.

“What’s going on?” Liam appears in the doorway; sleep creases zigzag across his cheek. “Is everything okay?”

“We’re taking Rain to the hospital,” my father tells him. “On foot.” He sounds like he can’t believe what he is saying.

“Why?”

“Because my son thinks that he’s a professional doctor, apparently,” Dad mutters under his breath.

“Are you okay?” Liam leans over me, his fingers close over my wrist. “Your hands are cold.”

My eyes focus briefly on Liam’s crooked glasses, the concerned look in his eyes. I reach up sleepily and straighten his frames. “Good night,” I whisper. And the room goes dark.