Chapter 19
Morgan
I wake up Saturday in my childhood bed. I check my phone and see that it’s almost 11:00 a.m. Wow. I never sleep this late.
I feel refreshed so I must have needed it. That’s probably more of an emotional issue than physical, but I’m not going to analyze it. I have shit to do.
I’ve debated all week about the best time to bite the bullet. If I do it early in the week, I might still have to deal with the fallout because I’ll be in town until the weekend.
On the drive home yesterday, I decided it would be best to visit with Alex, make sure he’s okay, and get a feel for the progress he’s made over the past month.
We had a brief but normal conversation on Thursday and it gave me hope. I’ll do it later in the week and then exit stage left as fast as I possibly can.
Though optimistic, I do have a kernel of dread in my stomach. Alex is still recuperating and making him feel worse, even in the short term, isn’t high on my list of fun things to do.
But he can’t possibly feel blindsided. We haven’t been solid in two years, especially with the little “breaks” he insisted on us taking.
I quickly text Alex to see if I can swing by for a visit. Before I put my phone down, he’s texted back.
Alex: Welcome home! Can’t wait to see you. In town with Dad right now. Can you come around 3:00?
I reply that I can and go about getting up and ready for the day. My parents are at a charity golf outing this morning and won’t be home until later. I decide to get some school work done and take a long run.
My legs carry me faster than normal. I think it’s all the nervous energy I have going on inside me. I pass by the local filling station and hear someone call my name.
I stop to see who it is. When my brain and eyes make the connection that it’s Darryl, I automatically tense. I’m not interested in dealing with this fudgeboat today.
“Hey, Morgan. What are you doing in town?” he asks.
Alex has known for weeks that I’d be here. Does he not speak to his friends about such things?
All my friends know exactly what’s going down with me this week. They requested front row tickets.
“Fall break,” I reply.
“Cool.”
It’s awkward, standing here, sweating, and forcing conversation with someone I can’t stand.
“How’s Alex look?” I ask, hoping to get some unbiased read on his condition.
“I, uh, I haven’t seen him.”
“Since the operation?” My voice might be a tad bit on the accusatory side.
He grimaces. “No. I don’t reckon I’ve seen him since the day at the lake.”
Jaw. Drop.
“Are you joking, Darryl?”
His eyes flick to the side, like he can’t stand to hold my stare. Good. He deserves someone’s ire.
“His parents don’t really like me, so I thought, you know …”
I roll my eyes. “No, I don’t know. You’re one of his only friends so I assumed you’d be a friend and check on Alex.”
“I texted him a couple of times.”
I snort, angrily, upset on Alex’s behalf. He must feel truly abandoned right now. He broke his arm two months ago.
Darryl’s mouth purses and I know I’ve pissed him off.
“Hey, I’m not a bad person, Morgan. Alex just has a lot of shit goin’ on. I figured he’d work it out. He’s smart.”
“Un. Fucking. Believable.”
I turn and jog away from the King of Douche Bagastan. I want to stay and beat the shit out of him, but I decide I’d rather not go to prison for attempted murder.
Luckily, Darryl doesn’t shout anything behind my back. I’d hate to have to go back and shove a boulder up his shithole. I don’t have time for that today. Tomorrow? Perhaps.
By the time I get home, I’ve worked off some of my anger. I shower, eat a snack, and head over to Alex’s place.
As I make my way up the long drive, I notice that the property looks especially good right now. They must have just painted the fences and barns. It all looks shiny and new. I hope it’s what has been helping Alex’s mood.
When I exit my car, Alex is already at the door. His arm, or what’s left of it, is bandaged and in a contraption holding it against his body.
They only took from the elbow down, so he’ll at least be able to put on a prosthetic, if he chooses.
Alex smiles and pulls me in for a hug. I’m careful to not touch anything that might still hurt.
“Good to see you, Morgan.”
“You, too.” And for the first time in a long time, I mean it. He looks like he feels better. Not quite looking like the old Alex yet, but he’s not quite as puny-looking.
“Come on in. Mom has sun tea on the back porch.”
“Ooh, my fave.”
Alex eyes me. “I know.”
Uh-oh. I hope the tea wasn’t made with me in mind. Everyone in the South makes sun tea. Stop it, Morgan, you’re reading into things.
When we get to the porch, I pour both of us a glass. I’m sure life with one arm is challenging for Alex.
We sit at the outdoor table and Alex asks me lots of questions about school, as if he’s truly interested. He’s never taken an interest in Persimmon before, consequently this feels a little odd. I don’t want to be rude, so I answer every question.
When I ask about him, he’s vague or deflects. I don’t bring up my run-in with Darryl. I don’t want to rub salt in a wound.
“Do you want to stay for dinner?” he asks.
“Oh, um, my parents will be back and I haven’t spent any time with them yet. So, raincheck?”
“Sure. Sure.”
Our somewhat fluid conversation from seconds earlier dies a slow, uncomfortable death as we stare at one another. Alex’s skin is starting to look a little pale. His forehead is sweating.
“Are you feeling okay?”
He wipes at his face, as if he’s just now realizing the sweat is there. He also appears to be a little out of breath.
“Yeah, I guess I’m just nervous.”
“About what?” I ask.
Does he know I’m planning on breaking up with him? Poor guy. The guilt inside me is starting to grow again. I’ll blame Darryl for showing me that Alex has shitty friends.
To my horror, Alex does something that about has me falling out of my chair. He reaches into his pocket and, with a shaky hand, pulls out a small velvet box.
No. No-no-no-no-no! Surely, he’s not doing what I think he’s doing. Shit. He is doing this. Why is he doing this?
“Alex—”
“Morgan—” he starts, interrupting me before I can stop this train wreck.
He brings his fist up to his mouth and coughs a couple of times. I push his drink towards him. When he reaches for it, I see blood on his hand.
“Alex, you’re bleeding.”
I look up and see more blood on his mouth. Alex grabs at his chest, like it hurts. His breathing is labored now.
I look around for his parents then remember he said they weren’t in the house. They could be anywhere on the property and I don’t have time to search.
I stand and reach for Alex just as he collapses. I scream and try to grab his head so he doesn’t hit it on the table.
Being the klutz I am, I barely catch his fall. Well, I catch his head. The rest of his big body smacks on the concrete patio floor. I tumble to the ground with him.
I try to situate him so his airway is open and I reach for my phone. It takes two tries for me to unlock the screen and dial 911 because my hands are trembling.
The operator keeps me on the line and speaks to me calmly. I do everything she says, trying to hold it together.
I don’t cry until I see two paramedics running towards us with his parents close behind. They must have seen the ambulance coming up the long driveway.
A big man in a blue uniform gently moves me to the side. The Sanfords are clutching one another, disbelief on their faces. I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience.
Agnes and I make eye contact. She looks to the table. Her focus is on the small black box. She looks down at my hand. I fight the instinct to hide it, despite having nothing to hide.
Rationally, I know this. Irrationally? I worry Mrs. Sanford thinks I turned down her son’s marriage proposal and it may have killed him.