Every Little Piece (23 page)

I reach across the desk and grab her arm. “What’s wrong?” I mean to ask nicely but my voice is loud and echoes through the lobby.

She tilts her head and smiles weakly with pity she can’t hide. “I don’t know, dear. Her name hasn’t even popped into the computer yet.”

Fear spirals inside and black spots dance in my periphery. Then it hits me. The emergency room. That’s where she would be.

“If you’ll take a seat—”

But I’m gone. I sprint across the room to the big double doors and crash through them. I bump into a nurse and her tray of food falls to the ground. People yell at me to stop but I can’t. I have to find her.

“Haley!” I scream through the hallways. A red sign blinks, indicating the emergency room. It’s a beacon calling me home like the lighthouse on a dark stormy night.

My eyes focus on the red light. I’m running again. She’ll be there. Someone can tell me she’s okay. I’m almost to the door when someone wraps their arms around my waist and drops me to the ground.

I fight and throw my arms and kick my legs. “Let me up,” I yell. Several men surround me.

Strong hands grip my wrists and ankles and I can’t move. A face appears above mine. It’s a man. His grayish blond hair is cut short and sticks up in the front. He’s a big guy. Probably played football but now he wears scrubs.

“Let me up,” I whisper. I beg.

His voice is calming. “I can’t do that while you’re struggling. You need to calm down. Whoever you’re here to see, you can’t help them like this. I get it. Someone you love might be hurt. How about when I let go, you stand up on your own. I’ll walk with you to the desk through the doors.”

I breathe deep. My chest shudders.

“That’s the only way I can help you.”

I nod. One by one, the grips on my limbs loosen and let go. I tense, wondering if I should just push past them, but he’s willing to help, so I tentatively stand. My whole body hurts.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

He nods to the other staff, who leave us alone. Then with a firm hand on my arm, he leads me through the doors of the emergency room and triage. We approach the desk, and I’m about to open my mouth and ask but my words are cut short. Doors swing open from triage and nurses rush through, pushing a bed on wheels. They’re shouting words that mean nothing to me.

I see the oxygen mask and I see the tubes and the beeping machines. I see the dark brown hair. My chest heaves and I sob.

Haley is wheeled past and I don’t know if she’s about to die or not.

The same nurse holds my arms and forces me to look into his eyes. “Son, I’m going to see you through this. The best way you can help is to stay here and wait. As soon as I know anything, I’ll come tell you myself.”

I nod and he rushes off. I stumble across the small room and fall into a chair. My body shakes. This is partly my fault again. The air from outside rushes past, sending goosebumps down my arm.

I sit and stare. At the tiled floor and the black scuff marks. At the nurse standing behind the desk. Every few minutes the right corner of her lip twitches, and then she tucks her hair behind her ears. At the clock on the wall and the second hand slowly ticking, bit by bit. When the panic rises in my chest, I count the seconds as they pass by. I’m not sure how long I can do this.

Where’s Haley’s family? In the most unselfish thing I’ve done in days, I call their house. No one answers, and I leave a message for them to come to the hospital because Haley was in a car accident. When I press End and slip the phone back into my pocket, I hang my head to hide the shame. This feels exactly like one year ago, when Haley ran from her room. The memory of her heart-rending cry when she realized Brin and Kama didn’t survive pierces my heart. When I failed her and ran like a coward.

I dig my heels into the floor. I’m not leaving this time. Her family can hate me. They should. Noah can beat the crap out of me. I deserve it. But I have to know she’s okay.

The second hand goes on ticking.

I stare at the door where she was wheeled. The nurse promised. He promised he’d come talk to me. I remember his nametag. Todd. That’s his name. He seemed like a trustworthy guy. He’ll come out. Any second the door will open and Todd will step out with a smile on his face. He’ll walk across the room and hold out his hand and help me stand. Then he’ll give me a quick guy hug and tell me she’ll be fine.

Machines beep on high alert and a doctor rushes down the hall and into Haley’s room.

I stop breathing.

Todd will come out of the room any second. He’ll explain exactly what happened so I can breathe again. I stare harder at the door, paralyzed, unable to think about anything else. A part of me wishes for Carter and Jamie and that I hadn’t cut them out of my life. I turned away from anything that reminded me of her and of that night. But I could use a friend. I could use Haley.

The second hand rounds the twelve. How many minutes have passed since the doctor rushed into her room? I don’t know.

The door opens and I suck in a breath.

The nurses and doctors leave in a slow stream, their faces downcast. A pit of terror forms in my stomach and strangles my throat. I don’t see Todd. He promised. Where’s Todd?

And then he walks out the door and heads right toward me, but there’s no smile. Only the uncomfortable grimace of a man who has bad news to share. How many times has he had to do this? Does he practice this in the mirror at home? A look that doesn’t have too much pity? Sadness rolls off him, and the lines around his eyes tell me he’s had to do this too many times.

He stops in front of me but instead of helping me up, he sits on the floor beside me. We sit in silence. I want to ask, but the words choke in my throat.

“What’s your name?”

“Seth,” I whisper, on the verge of losing it.

“Seth, I’m sorry. We tried everything but the injuries were too extensive. All her internal organs were affected. She experienced too much trauma.” He pauses and I can sense his dread and despair at this part of his job. “She passed away. Her organs shut down. There was nothing we could do.”

I stare at the clock. The second hand is at the nine and heading back up to the twelve. It keeps going and going and going. Time passes. I can’t stop it and I can’t rewind it.

“Seth?” Todd’s voice is calm and reassuring. He’s done this too many times. I can tell. “Is there someone I can call for you?”

Somehow I choke out the words. “No, I’ve got it.” Who would I call? Katie’s the only one.

“I’m really sorry. Jacqueline seemed like a wonderful girl.”

“What was her name?” I ask. My heart races and powerful shudders take over my body.

“Jacqueline Sanders. Her wallet was on her.”

His words explode inside of me. My chest heaves as the breath rushes through. I lean over, the sobs pouring out. I can’t control them. I get on my knees, trying to suck in ragged breaths.

Todd pats my back. His words slide over me and I can’t really listen. He tries to console me. Finally, I’m able to talk. “I’m looking for Haley. Haley Sparks.”

Understanding dawns on his face. He places a gentle grip on my arm and leads me to the desk. He talks to the nurse and is able to find the answers I’ve wanted since I walked through the door.

This time he turns and the lines from around his eyes are gone. Instead the lines around his mouth beam down at me. His eyes sparkle with life. This is the kind of news he likes to share. “Well, Seth. Haley Sparks was just brought up to the main hospital wing. Her family’s with her.” He claps his hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you go up to see her? I don’t know her condition, but if she’s out of the emergency room then she’s heading to recovery.”

I nod and stumble away. The shock is still reeling through my system. I shuffle back through the door and the lobby to the elevator. I veer toward the stairs because this is all too reminiscent of that night, when I came to visit Haley, and Carter and I heard the news in the elevator. I let the door to the stairwell slam behind me. The sterile white walls pass and I take the steps one at a time.

The relief and excitement pulse through me but with every step I slow. The doubts creep in. I’ve wanted to do this over again for the past year and now I have my chance. I’ll walk into her room and sit by her bed and say the words I should’ve a year ago. This time I’m not running, even though with every step, my nerves catapult through the roof and I’m shaking.

I keep moving forward. A step at a time.

The nurses leave. The doctors check my pain level and administer more drugs. I welcome it. I can float away and sleep. I can forget the real pain because everything hurts. My head, my arms, my legs, and deep inside, my heart.

Funny thing about death. It seems to come so unexpectedly to those who aren’t looking for it. They’re not thinking this could be their last day on earth. They drink their coffee, go to work, or hang with their friends. They laugh. They talk. They easily forget about the people they’ve hurt, even a little bit, because there’s always time to say sorry. Always tomorrow. They don’t seek out their family members and forgive them.

Forgiveness is powerful, and when we hurt, we wield this gift like a weapon, choosing to slice and dice as we please. Sometimes, all people want is that smile and the words of forgiveness that follow. Sometimes that’s the hardest gift to give or receive.

That’s all I want. To see Brin and Kama, their smiles, and hear that they forgive me, but this life hurts. The pain stabs to the very core of me and never lets me forget. It becomes part of who I am and who I will be tomorrow. It grips and squeezes until I can bear it no longer.

Death would’ve been a gift. I should’ve been with them last year. But just because I was the driver, the way the car spun, the speed of the other vehicle, the angle we hit—I survived. Somehow I was protected. And it happened again. How does fate step in twice to protect my life when I never asked for it?

The door opens but I lay still.

The person crosses the room and drags a chair to the side of my bed.

“Hey, sis.”

I’m mad at Noah. He betrayed me. He asked Tate to hang out with me, making this whole past year a lie. But for some reason while he talks and tries to explain why he did what he did, I don’t feel the anger. Maybe I released it all on my drive. Maybe the accident and my third chance at life took it all away.

He keeps talking. He’s explaining. The words float around me. I squeeze his hand and he stops talking.

“Noah,” I croak. “It’s okay.”

He falls silent. “I’m glad you’re okay and I’ll stop interfering.”

We sit for a long time, and I realize how foolish I’ve been to run from my family. Noah might’ve needed me this past year as much as I pretended I didn’t need him. But that will change. Starting today. He kisses my cheek. His tears wet my face. He leaves and my parents enter.

Mom cries and hugs me even though pain shoots through my head. I groan and Dad pulls her off. I reach out and grab her hand.

“I’m sorry.” The words scrape out my throat and I’m afraid she didn’t hear. I might not have the strength to say them again. The drugs are starting to take effect. “Sorry I ran away.”

Mom leans over and hugs me. Her tears wet my cheek, but I don’t care. Or maybe they’re mine. She whispers in my ear. “We’re just glad you’re okay. We love you and are here for you.”