hard and forcing the image from my mind, I nudge the passenger side door with my hip and hand Andrew the tray of lattes as I get in. “Do you want one?” I ask, pointing to the tray, hoping my voice sounds steady, because inside I’m a wobbly mess. “It’s for Audrey, but honestly, I’m still not fully onboard with her drinking coffee.”
“No, thanks,” he says. “It was a pretty rough night, and I don’t think my body can take any more caffeine, to be honest.”
I nod, rest the tray on my lap, unsure what to say next as we sit quietly side by side. “So Sam’s at school today?”
“Yeah. No fever and he seems better, physically at least, so it was hard to say no when he wanted to be at school with his friends.” Now I better understand Audrey’s insistence this morning—Sam was here. “I wanted to keep him home, not just because he’s been sick...obviously.” He tries, but this time he can’t control his face, which is cracking with his new reality. I put my hand on his arm and give it a squeeze, turning slightly away from him, so I don’t start crying. “It’s hard to believe, but life just carries on, you know?”
“I know,” I say. I’m about to ask how Jack’s doing even though I’m afraid of the answer, when a tickle in my throat makes me cough. Which turns in to a full-blown coughing fit I try desperately to quell with my hot latte, unsuccessfully.
Andrew pulls a wrapped throat lozenge out of his coat pocket. “Sam says they taste like poison.” He smiles, though I notice it doesn’t reach his eyes. Still coughing I take the lozenge from his hand before quickly unwrapping it and popping it in my mouth. The eucalyptus is strong and wafts out with my breath, cool air rushing into the back of my throat.
“Thanks,” I say, the tickle subsiding. I clear my throat, steel myself to ask the question I know must be asked. “How’s Jack doing?”
His mouth drops into a frown. “Surgery went as well as expected, but he’s still critical. And he might need more surgery for his leg.” He doesn’t say anything about the paralysis, and I don’t ask. But my stomach aches, thinking about how Jack is never going to be the same now—he’s lost a part of his identity, and I can’t imagine what that does to a young person at the prime of his physicality. Meg, look what you’ve done...
“We’re heading back to the hospital as soon as I get Sam,” he adds. “I need to give Aly a break, too. She hasn’t left his room, and she’s...” His frown deepens, and I imagine what it must be like to be Alysse. To be Jack’s mother. “She just needs a break. If she’ll take it.”
Alysse Beckett is one of those woman you want to hate—successful, beautiful, somehow finds time for triathlons and charity benefits—but can’t, because she has this intoxicating way of making you feel important when you’re talking with her. We recently had a lovely chat about Sam and Audrey at a mutual friend’s barbecue, and shared a joke about how we might get to co-plan a future wedding. But even with her flawless exterior, I know there must be cracks under the surface. No one can be that perfect all the time.
“I’m sure you all need a break,” I say softly. Guilt twists in my gut. I have an overwhelming need to help them, to do something. Anything. “How can I help? Maybe bring you some meals, so you don’t have to worry about that?”
Andrew stares straight ahead, and for a moment I’m not sure my words have reached him. “That would be great,” he finally says, when he comes back to himself. “I have a feeling we’re going to be spending too much time in the hospital’s cafeteria.”
“Consider it done.” I’m pleased he’s accepted the offer. Usually people retreat in these situations—I saw it happen with my dad, when he kept saying he was fine, didn’t need help from anyone but thank you for the thought.
“We’re going to be at the hospital 24/7, at least for now, but I want life to stay as sane and normal for Sam as possible.” He looks to the school entrance, still empty, and I notice a slight shake to his voice. “I’m trying to hold it together for him, you know?” I nod as tears come to my eyes. “This is a lot for us to handle, but Sam. Well, I’m worried about him.”
I’m about to ask more about Sam, say a kind word about how hard this must be for him and Alysse, juggling the needs of their sick son with those of their healthy one, when my phone rings. I jump, look at the screen, see it’s Tom.
“Do you need to get that?” Andrew asks as I frown at the phone, wondering which of the issues in the dozen emails I sent back to Tom he’s calling about.
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