Chapter 8

CARSON

I spent the flight back home on the phone with my mother. Most of the time it was pure silence, with me just needing to hear her presence and sighs. Quiet questions would follow, and comments of hope out of nowhere.

The moment I arrived at the hospital, I rushed to my father’s room and walked in to see the man I had spent most of my life with. He was almost unrecognizable from the scrapes on his face and all of the tubes and wires connecting him to the monitoring machines.

I pulled up a chair to sit by his side and took one of his hands in my own. My mom came over and put her arms around my shoulders.

I looked at her and she smiled brightly at me, her eyes swollen and red from crying. My brother Gregory sat in the corner, his eyelids lowered as he stared blankly at his unconscious father.

“He will be alright,” she said to me. “I think I overreacted by calling you. We’ve had a talk with the doctor and he says that he is no longer critical.”

“When will he wake up?”

“The doctor says that’s up to him,” my mother said with a forced smile. “That’s when we’ll know if he has spinal damage.”

I nodded and turned towards his legs. “Will he be able to walk?” I asked.

“As long as his spine is ok,” she said. “Both legs are broken, but his hip was just bruised. He will heal, but it will take a while before he is able to walk again.”

I stared at his bandaged hand. “He lost a finger?”

“Two,” my brother said from his seat. “They were able to find the middle finger. The doctor has reattached it, but we’ll have to wait to see how it heals.”

Waiting. I had always been conscious of time, detesting how fleeting it could be but now I wanted it to speed away. To speed past this ball of pain that was threatening to choke me. To see him walk again. I turned to my mom with a smile on my face and my eyes dry. “He’ll be fine,” I said. “It could have been worse.”

“It could have been much, much worse,” she said. “What of if he had lost his whole hand or even his legs? All he lost was a finger and his legs have a chance of recovering. We are the lucky ones.”

“We are,” I smiled back at her and then turned to my father. “He is alive that is all that matters.

“Gregory, take Carson home,” she said to my brother, “so she can have something to eat and rest properly. How did you get here so quickly by the way?”

There was a knock on the door then and Ida and Brittany came in. My mom instantly brightened as she saw Brittany, and pulled her into her arms. “You came along with her too? I am so sorry for the trouble.”

“It was nothing,” Brittany replied and quickly introduced Ida to her.

“Gregory, take them all home so that they can rest,” my mother said.

“We have to head back to New York now,” Bethany said. “It was quite sudden and we both have obligations at work tomorrow.”

My mom my brother seemed confused at how they would be returning so quickly. Ida quickly explained, “My friend has a private plane that he let us borrow for the emergency. We will take that back home.”

“Wow that sounds fancy, I’d like to meet him,” my mother teased, and I found a smile coming to my face. “I’m still pretty aren't I?” she asked and my friends sang her praises. My brother was amused also and as I looked around the room I felt strength and true hope for the first time. Perhaps we would all be alright, and perhaps we would all get through this.

Gregory and I left my mom with my father and, after dropping Bethany and Ida back at the airport, headed for his home.

His wife and two-year-old daughter Grace welcomed me with kind smiles and laughter. I settled in and was eventually left alone in the guest room to lay my head to rest.

The past few hours had felt like a nightmare, and now that it was over, I was exhausted. I shut my eyes and began to run through my memories of my dad starting with the time I had last seen him just a few weeks ago. A sigh as heavy as the world escaped my lips at the contrast of how agile and upset with me he had been then, to the quiet and fragile man I had seen today. “It could have been worse,” I repeated to myself, and shut my eyes, wondering if those were truly consoling words.

Why had it even happened at all… why him?

What had he done wrong?

What had he done that was so wrong?

I refused to cry because it would be alright. Because as heartbroken as I felt, the truth was still that he could have been gone. How would I have been able to survive that? His absence from my heart?

I turned around to close my eyes, and for the first time in my life found myself four hours later still unable to go to sleep. The sun was just beginning to rise as I turned for the hundredth time in the bed and just then the beep that announced the receipt of a phone message came to me. I took the phone and read the simple message from an unsaved number.

Are you alright?

I suspected who it was, so I put the phone back on the nightstand and turned away. There were other messages of goodwill and concern from Bethany and Ida, but I found myself not wanting to share any of what I was feeling with them. I wanted to speak to the stranger that was Xander. The others were too connected to me.

So I picked the phone back up and typed.

I never thought that the day would come where I would want to sleep but still find my eyes wide open.

I wanted to explain the statement more but couldn't find the zeal to. I didn’t want him to understand, I just needed someone to hear me.

I’ve had many days like that, he responded.

A few minutes later, I sent another message.

I haven't cried.

His response came a few minutes later. You will, when you least expect it.

♡

CARSON

He was right.

Later that day, Gregory’s wife’s parents came to the hospital to visit my father. They were both about five years older than my father, strong and perfectly hearty. They had both lived as hard and difficult a life as my father had, but they had made it through. They were thriving in their later years. I turned from them unto my poor father lying on the bed and wondered what he had done wrong?”

Why was he lying there broken and forever incomplete? All because he had decided to take a walk. I knew that many from his little town in Brazil did not make it to their age, therefore I should at least be grateful that he had come this far. That, however, was not a consolation. I felt a ball swelling in my chest and instantly lowered my head to pick up my phone. Xander’s name was still saved as unknown so I sent a text.

Perhaps it would have been better if he had died.

I was furious, at life at people and at the world. How cruel… how merciless. My father was in such pain, disheveled and battered. My very own, my very heart. I wished that it was me lying there instead of them.

Brian’s wife’s father came over to me, his fingers complete and his legs perfectly fine and tapped me gently on the shoulder. “Be strong,’ he said, and I gave the most painful smile that I ever had in my life as I stared into his eyes, the skin around them as wrinkled as my father's. I didn't want strength, I wanted fairness.

I rose then and excused myself and the moment I closed the door behind me, the tears fell from my eyes, and they didn't stop. I walked into the waiting room and sat down amidst other families, there to visit their injured ones. I wiped my eyes dry of tears and looked straight ahead. My phone beeped a response from Xander.

Perhaps, he responded. It’s going to be a bit harder with him alive and so injured. But one day, you all will realize that all the trouble and hard work and pain you will go through is better than his absence from your heart.

Tears began rolling down my cheeks again at his words and I picked up the phone, typing angrily at the keys.

How is he going to handle all of this when he wakes up? He already has diabetes. What has he done to deserve any of this?

Nothing. Came the response. Absolutely nothing.

I flung the phone away and brought my knees to my forehead. I remained there for an hour as the tears fell down my face. I had never cried so much in my entire life or known that it was possible to shed that many tears.

Every time there was a pause, I willed myself to lift my head higher and not to shed another tear, but then I would turn my head for a moment, see a little girl kissing her mother on the cheek and the dam of heartbreak would split open once more, sending quiet rivulets down my cheeks.

I picked up my phone and sent him a text.

You were right, not bothering to explain any further.

Have you been able to sleep? came the response. I ignored it.

I thought I was okay. Why can't I stop?

You won’t be able to for a while. Walk out of the hospital, and find something heavy to eat Walk all the way home if you can, and you will drop from exhaustion the moment you arrive.

It would be nice if I were run down by a car also for just taking a walk, I typed. Maybe this time the world will decide to be fair and make it a clean exit.

That would make things much harder for your mom, was all he wrote, and in an instant, my anger faded. The tears rolled down my eyes as I thought of the woman who was probably the most affected by it all still trying her best to smile and not shed a tear before any of us.

After washing my face in the bathroom, I returned back to the room to see my mother alone with my father. She was sitting by his side and tracing the lines on his face, her finger barely an inch from his skin.

She smiled brightly when she saw me come in. “Have you had lunch?” she asked.

I just stared at her. “How are you able to still smile?” I asked her, the tears filling my eyes again. “Where is your strength coming from? All of this too painful.”

She turned away from me to hide the tears that she didn't want me to see. “He taught me how to be strong,” she said. “All I want is to hear him call me Franny again, so ‘till he does, I will keep smiling.”