“And if it is completely severed? What will that mean?”
“He’ll be paralyzed.”
A violent shiver moves through me, and my tea nearly spills again on the couch.
“Hey. Hey, come here.” Ryan takes my mug and places it on the ottoman tray. He shimmies closer, tucks me under his arm and rests his head on mine. I fight the tears so hard my shaking intensifies, and Ryan rocks me, like he did when my mom died, and when Audrey was hospitalized with a terrifying case of pneumonia when she was only a year old. “He’s young, Meg. And strong. Even if we’re talking worst case and he’s paralyzed, he can make it through this.” Of course “worst case” isn’t actually paralysis—that would be Jack not surviving this—but I don’t say anything because I understand Ryan is trying to help me.
“Talk to me.” Ryan’s face, so familiar, is creased with worry—his age beginning to show in how easily the lines form on his forehead and around his eyes and don’t fully disappear when at rest. I want to tell him that seeing Jack Beckett fly off Sarah Dunn’s car has brought up what I went through at sixteen, and I wonder if he’s already figured that out.
But still, Ryan doesn’t know everything about the night that Paige died. Just that there was a horrific car accident after a reckless teenage party—the incident made all the papers and news channels, and though we weren’t named, being young adults, our story was used as a cautionary tale in practically every high school in Massachusetts. But though Ryan knows the details of how Paige died and that I witnessed the accident, he’s never understood why I hold myself responsible. The full truth is right there on the tip of my tongue, straining to be released as he holds me. “If you can’t trust the ones you love,” my mom used to say, “life will always feel harder than it needs to be.” But then he shifts position, and the moment is gone, and I tuck the secret and all it carries back inside again.
The next morning I see the gel clings on our bedroom windows and smile, thinking of Audrey and her big, bird-loving heart. Then I remember what happened the day before, and the smile melts from my face.
I’m alone in bed, Ryan already up. Squinting at the clock I see it’s nearly seven, and as I come more fully to consciousness I hear shuffling, movement underneath me. The sounds of my family getting ready for the day. I wait a few more minutes, working up the courage to face the day—it was late by the time Ryan went to pick Audrey up at the Becketts, and I was half asleep on the couch when she gave me a kiss good-night before heading to bed. I’m not sure how she’s doing today, though I can imagine.
When I finally walk into the kitchen in my robe and slippers, the vestiges of sleep still clinging to me, Ryan hands me a mug of coffee, and I grimace. “Can’t do it,” I croak, handing it back.
He pulls out his phone and taps the flashlight icon. “I called Prakesh to check in on how Jack’s doing this morning. They were able to stop the bleeding and stabilize his skull fracture, and repair the leg. He’s hanging in there.”
“Oh, thank god,” I say, momentarily refreshed by the sense of relief that washes over me. But then I remember the possible paralysis. “What about...the other thing?”
He shakes his head, a frown on his face, and I know Jack is paralyzed. The weight is back, painfully heavy on my shoulders, and it’s all I can do not to burst into tears. Ryan notices and places a gentle finger under my chin. “Let’s worry about you for now, okay?” he says softly. “Open up.”
I open my mouth and stick my tongue way out while he shines the light into my throat. I can smell my rose face cream on his skin—he claims to not need moisturizer whenever I offer to pick up some for him, but my own bottle seems to disappear at a mysterious rate.
“Yuck!” Audrey says, her head right beside Ryan’s as he shines the light down my throat. I resist the urge to close my mouth, my jaw beginning to complain.
“Strep,” Ryan announces, releasing my chin. “Classic.” Even though as a radiologist he probably hasn’t seen a case of strep since medical school, Ryan prides himself on being able to diagnose illnesses that send one to a family doctor. He also likes to guess how many stitches a cut will need, or how many degrees a fever is, or which strain of flu has felled us.
I sigh, rubbing my jaw. “At least I don’t have any showings today. But I can’t do strep right now. No time.”
“That’s what Sam has,” Audrey says, licking yogurt off her spoon before dipping it back into the container. “Apparently it’s going around school.” She looks a bit tired but otherwise seems fairly chipper, considering yesterday’s events. I wonder if she’s simply putting on a good performance.
“Well, I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but you’re doing it,” Ryan says to me as he tucks his phone into the side pocket of his bag and swigs the last of his coffee. “I’m going to drop Audrey at school on the way in, and you’re going to go get swabbed. Just to be sure.”
“You’re going to school?” I turn to her with surprise.
“Why wouldn’t I?” She jumps from her chair at the table and rinses her empty yogurt container out before tossing it into the recycling bin under the sink. I look over at Ryan. Surely she needs at least one day off, to process and talk about what we went through yesterday?
“She’s okay, Meg,” Ryan says, as I open and then close my mouth.
“I’m okay, Mom,” she reiterates, glancing between Ryan and me. “It’s not like we were the ones in the accident or anything.”
“That’s true, Aud, but it’s still a pretty scary thing to see a friend go through.” I wish I could explain how the trauma of being an observer to something so horrifying can be nearly as bad as physical bumps or bruises. Audrey is nearly the same age I was when Paige died, and I’ll never forget what it felt like to realize we weren’t invincible—that terrible things could happen at any moment. “How’s Sam doing?” She shrugs, says he’s okay. “Is there anything you want to talk about? About Jack, or the accident?” I ask, giving her arm a rub.
She slings her backpack over her shoulder, knocking my hand off her arm in the process. I tell myself she didn’t mean to do it. “Nope,” she says, then turns to Ryan. “Can we go? I don’t want to be late.”
I look at Ryan as if to say, “Can you give it a try?” but he’s busy packing up his bag and doesn’t notice.
“We can talk later,” I say to Audrey, tugging on her backpack shoulder strap so she looks at me. “Audrey?”
“Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes. I pull her to me for a tight hug despite the resistance I feel in her lithe body. I breathe in the scent of her hair, something fruity with a hint of lavender, feeling grateful for the hundredth time since yesterday afternoon that she wasn’t the one in front of that car.
“Mom, we’ve got to go.” She pats my back a couple of times to placate me. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Ryan grabs the handles of his leather duffel bag that he takes to the gym on his lunch break and gives me a kiss. I turn at the last minute so his lips graze my cheek, and he smiles. “Meg, you know I never get sick.” It’s true. After so many years in med school and working in
