How to Save a Life (6 page)

I give the nurse at the desk my name and number and ask her to call if there’s any word on Merel’s condition, then I head out the front door, feeling like I’ve failed.

I’
M LOST IN thought, my head down as I head to my car on the staff floor of the parking garage. I’ve just come out of the stairwell when I crash into a warm, solid chest.

“Oof! I’m so sorry!” I exclaim. Then I look up and realize that for the second time today, I’ve collided with Jamie.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he says with a smile as we both take a step back.

“My fault,” I mumble.

“No. It was mine. I was thinking about my daughter.”

“Caroline,” I fill in without thinking.

He stares at me. “I’m sorry, I know you said we’d met before, but I can’t remember.”

I dodge the question by sticking out my hand. “I’m Jill,” I say.

“Jamie,” he says. “And listen, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just, I feel like I’d remember meeting you.”

“I’m very forgettable sometimes.”

“Oh, I seriously doubt that.” He holds my gaze for a long second, and heat floods through me, forcing me to look away. “You work at Children’s?” he asks, gesturing to my name tag.

I nod. “Pediatric oncology.”

He smiles. “You help sick kids. That’s nice.”

“Yeah, well, the kids I work with mean a lot to me.” I feel silly for replying like that, but he looks into my eyes for a long time before smiling.

“They’re lucky to have you.”

“Thanks. Well,” I say after another loaded pause, “I should be heading home.”

“Sure. Right,” he says. “I’m sorry again about all the collisions. I’ll watch where I’m going next time.”

“No, I kind of like running into you,” I say softly, then I hurry away before he can say anything else. I look back once over my shoulder and see that he’s still standing there, staring after me. Our eyes lock for a beat, and then I turn around and force myself to get into my car without looking back.

I sneak another look after I’ve closed my car door and see that he’s gone. I squeeze my eyes closed for a second, and then I pound my palms into my steering wheel. “Damn it, Jill!” I say aloud. “You can’t flirt with him. He won’t remember you!”

There’s something there with him, I can feel it. But my time is up. You can’t create a relationship in a day, no matter how many times you repeat it.

6

I
NSTEAD OF HEADING
home, I drive to the small cemetery on the edge of town where my mother is buried and walk to her grave. It’s been five years since she died, but I still feel lost without her.

“Mom,” I say, reaching out to touch her headstone. I choose to believe that she can hear me; it’s why I come here at least twice a month to talk with her. “Guess what? It turns out I’ll be seeing you sooner than I thought. I’m dying. Apparently, I only have five days left.”

I take a deep breath, trying to digest the reality of the situation. “The thing is, Mom,” I continue, “there are so many things I want to do with my life, and there’s not nearly enough time. Did you feel that way too? Does everyone feel that way when they find out they’re dying?” I listen for an answer, but there’s nothing but the rustling of the wind through the leaves, so I go on. “One of the kids on my floor has shown me something, though. I know this is going to sound totally crazy, but there’s a tree in the lobby of the hospital that grants people the ability to live the same day over and over again. I didn’t believe him at first, but I think I’m reliving today already. Or maybe this is just a sign that I’ve already lost my mind.”

I pause and add, “And I’ve met this guy. I think you’d like him. But that’s a crazy thing to be thinking about now, right?”

Again, the only reply is the soft whisper of the wind. After a while, I say good-bye to my mother, stand up, and head back to my car.

On the drive home, I call my father, and I’m relieved when he picks up instead of Sharon.

“Hey, Dad,” I say when he answers.

“Jill?”

I resist the urge to tell him that of course it’s me; he doesn’t have any other children. “Yeah.”

“Hi, dear. Sharon and I were just headed out to dinner, so I can only talk for a few seconds. What can I do for you?”

I open my mouth to tell him my bad news, but then I realize something. Telling him will be useless if I wake up in the morning and find myself repeating the day again, and it will only hurt him in the short term. “I was just calling to say that I love you, Dad.”

He’s silent for a minute, then he laughs. “You dying or something?”

My heart aches, not just because of his uncannily correct joke, but because the sentiment behind it is right. We don’t have the kind of relationship where we call and say that to each other. Everything went so off track years ago, and we’ve never gotten it back. I laugh weakly instead of answering his question. “Have a good time at dinner, Dad.”

“Thanks.” He pauses. “And Jill? I love you too.”

Just before I go to bed that night, I call Atlanta General and ask to speak with the nurse on duty in the ICU. I explain that I’m the nurse who brought an older man named Merel Friedl in earlier that day, and I ask if he survived his heart attack. She shuffles through some papers and says yes, he’s in critical but stable condition. I thank her, and as I hang up and turn out the light, I wonder whether I’ve thrown off the balance of the universe somehow by saving a man who would have otherwise died.

W
HEN
I
WAKE up the next morning, I realize that it’s once again Friday the seventh. The sun is shining, and my Cat in the Hat scrubs are laid out exactly where I put them on Thursday night.

I reach for the scrubs, but then I change my mind and head into my closet instead. Today, I’m going to tell Sheila that I’m skipping work because of the doctor’s appointment. She won’t mind, and since I’m there anyhow, I’ll have a chance to check on my kids.

I grab a sundress, a cardigan, and ankle boots and quickly brush my hair and apply makeup. I’m ashamed to admit to myself that I’m dressing with Jamie in mind.

The bench across the street where I’ve met Merel is empty as I hurry into Atlanta Children’s. I pass by the beautiful tree, get into the elevator alone, and push the button for the eighth floor. The doors are just sliding closed when I hear a male voice call, “Hold the elevator!” as a hand appears in the narrowing gap.

I quickly push the button to open the doors, and a second later, Jamie appears, surrounded by a huge cluster of Mylar balloons.

“Hey!” I say too brightly, and I’m suddenly flustered. I remind myself that he doesn’t know me yet.

“Thanks so much for holding the doors,” he says, shooting me a smile as he navigates the balloons onto the elevator and punches the button for floor nine, the cardiology floor. “I’m running late, and you just saved me from getting yelled at by a dozen kids.”

“A dozen kids?” I ask in confusion, glancing at the balloons. I’d thought he only came to the hospital to water the tree.

“I volunteer on the cardiology floor,” he says. “It’s the birthday of one of the kids today, and I’m throwing a little party on the non-ICU side of the floor.”

“Wow,” I say. And then something occurs to me. “Shoot! I was supposed to bring balloons today for one of my kids!”

He looks at me inquisitively.

“I’m a nurse on the pediatric oncology floor. One of my patients is having her last round of chemo today. I meant to bring balloons.”

“It’s your lucky day, then!” He separates three of the balloons he’s holding and hands them to me.

“I couldn’t possibly take your balloons!”

He smiles. “Like the kids will notice that there are three missing. Did you not notice that I’ve brought approximately half a million balloons with me today? I nearly floated away outside.”

I laugh. “Are you sure?”

“Are you kidding me? You just told me it’s for a kid’s last day of chemo.”

“Well, thank you,” I say as the elevator dings and the doors slide open on my floor.

“Hey,” Jamie says as I begin to step off. “Any chance you’d want to come up and help me hand out cake in a few minutes?”

I open my mouth to reply, but he holds up a hand.

“Sorry, that was dumb. You’re on your way to work. What am I thinking? Like you have time for a party.”

I smile. “I would love to. Honestly. But I have several kids I need to see before taking off today.”

“I totally understand,” Jamie says quickly. He holds my gaze for a second until some of the balloons float between us, obstructing our view. “Hey, I hope I see you around sometime, though.”

“Me too,” I say as the doors begin to slide closed.

“Wait!” Jamie sticks a hand into the gap between the doors again to open them.

We stand there for a second staring at each other as the elevator opens again with a ding.

“I’m Jamie, by the way,” he says, reaching a hand out.

I shake it. “Jill.”

“That’s a really pretty name,” he says. He continues to smile at me as I withdraw my hand and the doors slide closed. I turn around in a daze to find Sheila staring at me with a knowing expression from behind the nursing station.

“I have just two questions for you,” she says. “One, why aren’t you dressed for work? Two, when are you going to get a piece of that?”

The gray-haired, grandmotherly woman in the waiting area harrumphs, and I give Sheila a look and hurry over to the nursing station.

“Seriously, Sheila? In front of the patients’ families?”

She bats her eyes innocently. “What? Are you telling me you don’t think she knows about the birds and the bees?” She nods toward the woman, who has returned to reading her
AARP
magazine.

“And besides, the guy in the elevator? I just met him.”

“Don’t tell me you’re above a little stranger sex.”

“Sheila,
everyone
should be above a little stranger sex.”

She shrugs. “Suit yourself. So why aren’t you dressed for work?”

“Oh.” I force a sunny smile at her. “I have that appointment with Dr. Frost today. Remember? I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I take the day off.”

Her forehead creases. “Oh, honey, you’re worried, aren’t you? But I’m sure everything’s going to be fine. He’s going to tell you your headaches are just due to stress. Or maybe sexual frustration. Yes, I can almost guarantee that his advice to you is going to be that you should go out and get laid.”

“Right. I’m sure that’s exactly what he’ll say.”

She steps out from behind the nursing station and gives me a hug. “Look, I joke around because I’m worried about you. But you really are going to be okay today. You know that, right?”

I nod into her shoulder. “Can you cover for me today?”

“You got it. But make sure you stop by Logan’s room. That kid sure loves you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” I say. “But first, I have a balloon delivery for Megan.”

“
B
ALLOONS
?”
T
HE RIGHT corner of Megan’s mouth twitches as she stares at me from her hospital bed. “I mean, really? Balloons? Like balloons are going to make chemo any better?”

I smile at her. It’s exactly what she said two todays ago.

“They’re just to celebrate your last treatment, Megan,” I tell her.

She glares at me and crosses her arms. “You know I’m not a little kid.”

“I know. You’re a full-fledged woman. Which makes me an elderly spinster.”

She giggles. “You’re only sort of elderly.”

I give her a look as I tie the balloons to her bed rail. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

I head out of her room and duck my head into Frankie’s room first—he’s not there—and then Katelyn’s. She’s sitting up in bed, scrolling through something on her iPad. When she sees me, she hurriedly puts the tablet down.

“Hey, Jill!” she says brightly. “How’s your third today going?”

I smile. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”

She shrugs. “I can’t say it’s normal. But you get used to it, you know?”

“What were you looking at?” I nod toward her iPad.

“Oh.” She turns red. “Nothing important.”

I raise an eyebrow and wait for her to go on. Finally, she mumbles, “Fine. I was reading something about original sin on People.com.”

I stare at her. “Original sin like Adam and Eve eating the forbidden apple?”

She laughs. “No, silly! The band! Original Scin. Scin like short for
scintillating
. S-C-I-N.”

I continue to look at her blankly.

She rolls her eyes. “They’re, like, a huge boy band? Like the new One Direction? They sing that song ‘Should’ve Loved You That Way.’ ”

“Oh.” I rack my brain. “I think I’ve heard that song. So you like them?”

“I
love
them. My Make-A-Wish wish was going to be to meet them. But according to the tree, I’ll be gone in twelve days. There won’t be time. And it’s not like I can call the Make-A-Wish people and say, ‘Hey, a tree told me I’d be dead in less than two weeks, so can you hurry it up?’ ”

“Twelve days?” I repeat softly.

She nods.

“Are you worried about your parents?” I’ve met them. Anne and Jay. They seem nice. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to lose a child the way they’re about to.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “It sucks, because they’re really busy with my little sister, Trish. They don’t come every day anymore. They think I’ll be getting out soon. So I call them every today, but I don’t get to see them, and it kind of makes me sad.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry, Katelyn.”

She shrugs. “It’s okay. It’s just life, you know? You take people for granted until they’re not here anymore. I think my mom and dad just assume I’m going to be fine, that I’m going to be around for a while. It’s easier to believe that, you know? But I think if they really thought about it, if they really stopped and looked at me, they’d see I’m fading. It’s just easier to be blind sometimes. And that’s okay. I don’t blame them for that.” She pauses. “I just think that after I’m gone, they’re really going to regret not coming to see me more often, you know? But there isn’t anything I can do about it. It just makes me feel bad for them.”