Back to You (17 page)

“Are you mad at me?”

“‘Course not!” Aaron said a little too loudly, waving his hand at him dismissively.

Michael looked down at the stick shift in between them. “You’re acting different.”

“Nah,” Aaron said. “Just don’t feel good. I need some sleep,” he added, leaning over to help Michael with his seatbelt.

Michael leaned back slightly, away from the strange smell that seemed to be coming off of his brother.

“Are you sick?”

Aaron laughed softly. “Yeah, I’m a little sick. It’s all good though.”

That should have made Michael feel better, that there was a reason for his brother’s strange behavior, but it didn’t. He hugged his pillow into his chest.

“Sorry I made you come get me when you were sick,” he murmured.

“No need for sorrys, Mike. You know you can always count on me.”

Michael looked down and chewed on his bottom lip. The more his brother spoke, the more unsettled he became. Something about his voice wasn’t right. Maybe he should call the doctor?

“Hey,” his brother said suddenly, leaning over to turn Michael’s face toward him. His expression was serious. “I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?”

Michael nodded slowly, and Aaron smiled, letting go of his face as he turned toward the road. His brother had uttered those words to him hundreds of times, but tonight, they sounded so wrong on his lips.

“Okay,” Aaron said to no one in particular, shaking his head quickly, and he shifted the car into drive and stepped on the gas. They lurched forward slightly, the right wheel going up on the curb before he righted the car. Michael flinched as a few branches slapped against the passenger window.

“Whoops,” Aaron said. “Sorry.” He blinked a few times and widened his eyes, gripping the wheel and leaning toward the windshield. “Just…be quiet, okay? I have to think.”

“Okay,” Michael said softly, squeezing his pillow against his chest and closing his eyes. He just wanted to be back in his house, where his brother could lie down and take some medicine and feel better.

Michael kept his eyes closed, aware that the ride seemed exceptionally bumpy, that they stopped more often than they should have.

Then suddenly, too suddenly, it felt like they picked up speed. “Shit.
Shit
!” he heard his brother shout, and Michael whipped his head up and opened his eyes just as Aaron cut the wheel sharply to the left.

Michael felt himself fly across the seat toward his brother, and instinctively his hands reached out for something to grab onto, something to steady himself. He clutched frantically, his hands finding no purchase. Things were flying by the windows, colors and lights, and then he heard a horrible sound, like metal crunching.

“Aaron!” he yelled, but a loud screech drowned out the word, followed by the sound of glass shattering. Michael barely registered the feeling of little pinpricks dancing across his cheeks and his hands before there was a thunderous bang and the car jerked violently to the other side, ripping him away from his brother and throwing him back toward the passenger door.

His right side slammed against something hard. It felt like someone had punched him, and he knew he must have cried out, although he didn’t hear it. The pain in his side was excruciating, the intensity of it doubling and tripling until he was sure he was being ripped in half. He opened his mouth to scream, and then miraculously, as suddenly as the pain began, it stopped. Just like that. Like someone had hit a switch and turned it off.

As soon as the pain ceased, so did the sounds around him. It was deathly quiet, although they were still moving. He could see that. He could see the world outside the window in blurs and flashes, and he was vaguely aware that it shouldn’t be as quiet as it was. He should have been thankful—the silence was such a relief from the horrible sounds that filled his ears before—but instead, it terrified him.

They were going one way, and then another, before there was another violent jerk. His head slammed against something hard, bringing little fuzzy stars into his vision.

And then the movement stopped.

Slowly the silence was replaced with an empty, buzzing sound. His eyes were wet, he didn’t know with what, and the more he blinked and swiped at them, the worse his vision got until finally he didn’t know if his eyes were opened or closed.

He knew his mouth was moving. He knew he was saying his brother’s name over and over, although he still couldn’t hear anything but a soft humming.

And then everything went black.

Eventually, the blackness was broken up here and there with random things, flashes of images and sounds. Everything seemed blurry and unfocused: a white room. A soft beeping sound. Unfamiliar faces. Some of them looked sad. Some of them were smiling softly, saying words he couldn’t hear. Sometimes there was agonizing pain, and other times there was a peaceful dizziness that felt like floating. He didn’t know what was a dream or what was real, and he was just too tired to try to figure it out.

The first time he consciously opened his eyes, the first time he recognized that he was awake and what he was seeing was real and tangible, it was four days later.

There was a woman in his room, dressed in Daffy Duck scrubs. She smiled warmly at him, told him her name was Renee, and that she would take good care of him.

She gave him some water, rubbed his hair, and answered the questions he was too weak to ask; she told him that he was hurt, but he was going to get better. She explained that he had two broken ribs and a bruised lung. He had broken his arm, but the doctors fixed it by putting pins in it. She told him he was just like a robot now, and Michael was pretty sure he smiled at that. The brace around his neck was because he had severely pulled muscles in his neck and back. The bandage on his head was protecting his stitches. She told him he had a concussion, and she assured him that was just a fancy word for banging your head really hard and that a little rest would make it all better.

And then another nurse came in and put a needle into the IV in his arm, and he went back to sleep.

Over the next few days, he started waking up more often, and staying awake for longer. It seemed like the world inside that room was the only one he knew at first, and so he didn’t ask any further questions. The women were so kind to him, bringing him coloring books even though he couldn’t color very well with his left hand, helping him find his favorite cartoons to watch on TV, and some of them even brought him flowers and toys.

But as the days passed, and the pain meds decreased, his mind became more aware, until finally he asked for his brother.

It was the kind nurse who told him, the one who had spoken to him when he woke up that first time. She held his hand, she stroked his face, and when Michael cried, she cried too, holding him softly against her chest.

The first time he saw his mother was a week later, when he was finally cleared to go home. She had not come to see him once, at least not while he was conscious. As she stood there, signing the discharge papers, she looked old. Her face was drawn, her eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles, and her hair was a matted mess.

She didn’t speak to him the entire drive home, but Michael was used to her silence. He didn’t want to speak either. He was afraid if he opened his mouth, he would start screaming, and he didn’t think he’d be able to stop.

They pulled into the driveway of his house, and both of them sat there, staring out of the front window, until finally his mother turned toward him.

For a second, for one stupid second, Michael turned toward her, almost hopeful. But then she spoke the words that he himself had already known on some level all along.

“It’s your fault your father is gone,” she said, her voice shaking. “And now you took your brother too.”

With that she turned and exited the car, slamming the door forcefully behind her.

And Michael sat there in the car for hours, drowning in the silence and the awful truth that his mother had just bestowed on him.

L
auren sat in the vestibule of Learn and Grow, a wastebasket at her feet and Erin’s head on her lap. She stroked her hair softly.

“Is he here yet?” Erin mumbled weakly.

Lauren turned slightly over her shoulder to look out the front window. “Not yet, sweetheart. Soon. Do you need the basket again?”

Erin shook her head imperceptibly against Lauren’s thigh, and Lauren continued to stroke her hair, looking up as Deb poked her head out of the office.

“How’s she doing?” she asked quietly.

Lauren lifted her hand, tilting it from side to side. “Her dad’s on his way.”

Deb nodded, giving Erin a sympathetic look before she turned back into her office.

Lauren looked down at Erin; her face was pale and her eyes were closed. She was breathing softly through her open mouth, and Lauren gently stroked her cheek with the backs of her fingers. She watched as Erin’s brow smoothed slightly at the gesture.

A few minutes later, some movement outside caught Lauren’s attention and she turned again to look over her shoulder; Michael was walking quickly toward the entrance, his phone to his ear and his brow pulled together. He stopped just outside the door, pacing for a minute. She heard his muffled, “
Shit
!” before he took the phone down and ended the call, running a hand through his hair before he opened the door.

When he saw them waiting in the vestibule, the look in his eyes went from irritated to heartbroken.

Lauren held her finger up to her lips. “I think she’s sleeping,” she whispered.

He nodded, walking over to them and kneeling down in front of Lauren. She moved her hand away from Erin’s hair, and Michael immediately replaced it with his own. His eyes were gentle as he looked down at her, and then he glanced down at the cell phone in his other hand.

“Is everything okay?” Lauren whispered, and Michael looked up to see her gesture toward the phone with her head.

“Yeah,” he said, looking down as he hit a button on the phone and put it away. “I’m just trying to get a hold of my professor.” He looked back up at her. “I have a test tonight, and this guy’s notorious for being an asshole about makeups. Something about modern technology and cheating,” he said, shaking his head with annoyance. “I was hoping if he understood my situation, he might cut me a break, but I can’t get a hold of him…” His voice trailed off, the annoyance leaving his expression as he looked back down at Erin, stroking her hair as gently as Lauren had.

“Is it a big test?”

“Half our grade,” he said softly, sweeping the hair away from Erin’s forehead.

Lauren bit her bottom lip before she said, “Well, if he won’t let you make it up, what then?”

Michael shrugged. “I take the course again next semester.” He looked up at Lauren. “Thank you for taking care of her.” He reached forward, about to scoop Erin out of Lauren’s arms, but Lauren laid a hand on his bicep.

He froze, looking up at her.

“Go. I can bring her home and stay with her until you get back.”

Michael shook his head. “No. I can’t let you do that, that’s ridic—”

She cut him off. “No, what’s ridiculous is you having to repeat a class over one stupid test.” He looked at Lauren, and she said again, “I’ll stay with her.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t. I offered.”

He smiled slightly, but Lauren could see he was about to argue again. “She’s sleeping now,” she added. “There’s a good chance she might not even wake up again tonight.”

He bit his lip and looked down, his brow furrowed, and Lauren knew she had made headway.

“I wouldn’t want you to have to leave work because of us,” he said.

“My shift ends in less than an hour. Deb won’t care if I head out a bit early today. Really, Michael. It’s fine.”

He was quiet for a minute before he said, “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Go. Take your test.”

He exhaled heavily before lifting his eyes back up to her face; the look in them caused a tightening in her chest, and she felt her breath stop. He stared at her that way for what seemed like forever before he spoke. “Thank you.”

Lauren swallowed. “You’re welcome,” she said, finally finding her voice.

For a moment, he just looked at her, and then he blinked quickly, snapping out of it as he started rummaging in his pocket. “Here,” he said, pulling what looked like a crumpled receipt out of it. “Take my cell phone number.” He reached over and grabbed a pen off the front desk and scribbled quickly on the scrap of paper before he pulled a key off his key ring, handing them both to her. “Call me if anything changes, if you need anything.”

“I will,” she said, taking them from him and closing her hand around them.

“Okay,” he said, standing and taking a reluctant step backward. “Okay…so…”

Lauren smiled. “So…good luck,” she said, motioning with her head toward the door.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-hearted smile. “Thank you. I’ll be home right after. Around seven-ish.”

“We’ll be there.”

He took another step backward, looking down at Erin one more time before he lifted his eyes to Lauren.

She smiled reassuringly. “Go,” she said again, nodding toward the door, and he nodded once and turned, walking back out of the door and toward his car.

Lauren watched him leave through the window before she turned to look back down at Erin, sound asleep on her lap.

“Hey Deb?” she called softly, and a second later Deb poked her head back out of the office. “Could you grab the spare car seat from the back room? I’m gonna take her home.”