*
“Drake, will you call me back? You said you wanted to go to the movies. If you’ve changed your mind then say so! You’re over an hour late. You know what? Forget it. I’d rather stay home because I am that angry. Yes, so angry in fact, I could murder you right now. Bye.” I huff again and plop down on my couch.
It is already six-thirty when my stomach growls in protest. I get up and head to the kitchen to prepare a chicken sandwich. I’m halfway through my meal when I hear Mom knock and enter my home. “Lily?”
“I’m in the kitchen, Mom.” I gulp down half of my apple juice when she strides toward me. I’m instantly caught off guard when my mom doesn’t have a sunny smile to greet me. Instead, she looks worried and teary.
I still. My mind is going into panic mode and my heart pounds madly against my ribcage. “Mom? What’s going on?” I whisper when I watch her halt midway.
She starts crying. The sight of her crying makes me frightened and worried. Whatever this is, it’s serious. I rush to her side and try to calm her. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” Mom starts sobbing even harder.
Sorry for what? “What about, Mom? Please, you’re killing me here. Tell me.”
“Pat and Hugh just got a call thirty minutes ago telling them that Drake was in an eight-car accident. He’s in the hospital right now, but it doesn’t look too good.”
I let go of her as I stare at her in disbelief. “No. No. We were supposed to go watch movies tonight. I was waiting for him . . .” I trail off as the horror of what she told me hits me as I watch her cry some more.
Drake . . . in an accident . . . doesn’t look too good. Meaning he could die . . . his chances aren’t too good.
Tears gather in my eyes as I drop to the floor holding my stomach. What do I do if he dies? What about our baby? Our baby will grow up without a father. A life without Drake . . . I won’t accept it. Drake has to fight to get better. He can’t leave me here alone and pregnant.
Shaking, I speak. “Mom, do you mind taking me to him? I need to see him.”
My mom nods and guides me out the door. Everything is a blur until we get outside the hospital. Then, it becomes all too clear to me. Drake is inside, possibly dying. I’m a wreck when Mom and I reach Patricia and Hugh in the waiting room right outside the OR. Both of them come to me and hug me tightly. Patricia is sobbing uncontrollably. Hugh is tearing up.
“He’s in the operating room right now. He hit his head pretty badly during impact. There was some bleeding on his brain and a broken knee. The doctor said he’ll let us know if there is any update,” Hugh says through tears.
Mom helps me to the nearest chair and all four of us sit there vigilantly while we listen to Patricia cry.
“Please don’t take my baby from me,” Patricia keeps muttering and praying.
I get up then and decide to seek out the hospital Chapel. When Mom offers to come, I decline. I want to be alone.
As I sit on one of the wooden benches, I feel the eerie peace greet me. The Crucifix situated before me has two tiny lights focused on it. As I look at it, I feel sadness wash over me.
I remember the last time I prayed desperately. That was when Dad was in the operating room. Dad had stage-four liver cancer. At that point, the doctor was telling us that he might not survive it and that we should prepare ourselves for the operation possibly not being successful. However, I was hopeful. My father was a robust man and a stubborn one. He skipped his doctor’s appointment and purposely missed his colonoscopy. Since he was a busy man, he thought that his daily intake of vitamins was his magic pill and nothing could ever touch him. Let alone a cancer. He was wrong, though. The cancer got to him all because he wanted to be oblivious to what was going on with his body.
If he had just addressed what he was feeling, then instead of shrugging and brushing it off, he might have had a chance to survive. I suppose, in some ways, we are our own worst enemy.
If I pray, will God grant me my prayer?
On my knees on the cushioned pedestal, I place my arms on the back of the wooded panel before me and clasp my hands. Closing my eyes, I pray.
“If you can grant me a wish, will you hear me this time? All my life, I pray only when it’s needed, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in you. Since Dad died, I’ve been bitter and I don’t want to be that person anymore. This baby is a miracle. I feel alive again, but it seems that it will come with a high price in exchange for Drake’s life. I beg you don’t make me have this baby alone. My baby needs its father. Give Drake and me a chance to be parents together. Give me a chance to tell him that I love him. I have never stopped and I don’t think I ever will. Drake took my heart and left with it. He never gave it back. Give me an even shot at happiness because without him, I don’t know what I’ll do. Help me. Please, help me. I need you to help me . . . Hear me, at least.”
Wiping my tears away, I sit back down again and hold my belly. “Your daddy’s fighting for his life right now. Let’s be strong for him,” I murmur to my belly.
I don’t know how long I sit there, staring blindly. I don’t even hear Mom come in.
“Lil, maybe it’s time to go home? You need to rest for the baby. You’ve been in here for two hours.”
Two hours? I’ve been staring for two hours?
I nod to my mom. “Let me just say goodbye to Patricia and Hugh. Maybe they have news about Drake.”
Mom holds me with one arm as we walk the white halls of the hospital. The intercoms are paging doctors, the beeping sounds of machines surround us, the hushed whispers and the crying relatives are the ambient background noise to the symphony about sickness and death.
My feet feel heavy, but I make it to the elevator. When we get out, I notice a doctor speaking to a family in a hushed solemn manner. I halt when I hear the woman scream.
“Noooooooooo! No! No! There’s got to be a way. You have to save my son! He’s only seventeen.”
I stand frozen as her screams and pleas are all being hushed down by her surrounding family. The daunting voices inside my head start again.
God, that voicemail I left him . . . I feel sick just thinking about it. Tears fall freely on my face. Drake . . . I’m so sorry. I feel like I’ve let him down because of my own selfishness and holding on to the past, I have let us down and our baby.
What if it’s too late now? What if he doesn’t survive and dies on that operating table? My breathing becomes ragged as my thoughts move to picturing him on that table being cut open. His body pale and lifeless and there is nothing I can do to help him live.
Sobs rock through me as I sense my entire body start to feel weird and heavy. The last thing I remember is the airy light feel of my body falling before I black out.