Presently Perfect (Perfect #3) (25 page)

Before heading back upstairs, I pulled my phone out of the front pocket of my scrubs to check for any messages. I always kept it on silent while at work, but checked it during the day. I scrolled through my texts. The first two were from Travis, one asking me to hang out tonight and the other his usual
sex position of the day
picture.

Delete.

I felt a slight tremble in my stomach when I saw the next name listed. There were at least five missed calls and texts. I’d stopped scrolling to open the first one that had been sent a little over fifteen minutes ago.

Mrs. Kelly:
Come to the ER.

I had to read it twice before the words registered.

Why would Tweet’s mom be texting me?

My legs moved on their own in the direction of the emergency room. My hands shook as I called Mrs. Kelly back.

Straight to voicemail.

I pulled up my mom’s number and pressed Call.

Straight to voicemail.

My dad’s number was next.

Straight to voicemail.

Mr. Kelly’s number—called.

Straight to voicemail.

Why the fuck wasn’t anyone answering their phones?!

I tried to stay calm, but the thought of Tweet being hurt was too overwhelming. It became harder and harder to take in a deep breath. I was lightheaded and overheated. I rushed across the hospital, cutting each corner sharp as I navigated the maze of hallways.

I finally made it to the ER. Judy, the admit clerk, saw me coming and directed me to Room 10. Without stopping, I sprinted the rest of the way down the hall and around the corner. Doctors and nurses hovered just outside the room. When they saw me coming they parted like the Red Sea. I got to the door and froze.

My dad was on a stretcher lying flat on his back, his arms straight by his side, with a white sheet covering him to mid-chest. My mom stood on the other side of the stretcher. Tears poured down her face as her chest heaved uncontrollably. She brought a trembling hand up and gently stroked the side of Dad’s face. Leaning down, she placed a soft kiss on his forehead, then over each eyelid, then each cheek, finally placing a lingering one on his lips.

My gaze swung up, landing on Mrs. Kelly standing in the far corner of the room. Her face drenched in tears, her hand covering her mouth in an attempt to quiet her sobs. It was like watching a silent horror movie. When my mom straightened, the bright fluorescent light beamed down on my dad’s face. It was relaxed and lifeless.

Memories of when my grandmother died flooded my mind. She was the only grandparent I ever knew. Both my mom’s parents and my grandfather had passed away when I was still a baby. When Grandma died I was eight years old and scared beyond belief to go to her funeral.

“Dad, I don’t wanna go today.”

“Noah, there’s nothing to be scared of. You’re a strong boy and I’ll be right by your side, buddy,” Dad said as he straightened my tie.

It was the first time I wore a complete suit with a jacket and tie. The collar of my shirt made my neck itch and the tie felt like it was choking me, so I kept tugging on it.

I twisted my head back and forth, trying to loosen the chokehold the collar had on my throat. “What’s she going to look like?”

Dad finished fixing my tie, brushed the hair off of my forehead, and looked at me with reassuring eyes. “She’s going to look peaceful, like she’s sleeping.”

I stayed glued to Dad’s side that entire day. Whenever I felt scared all I had to do was look up and he was there protecting me.

Mom’s gaze connected with mine. No words were needed. She saw the question in my eyes and I read the answer on her face. Someone’s hand touched my shoulder, moving me through the doorway and into the room. With each step I felt my body get weaker. Mom rounded the foot of the stretcher, walking toward me.

Dad would want me to stay strong for her.

Mom flung her arms around my neck and collapsed against me. I caught her and held on to her tight. I pressed my hip against the side of the stretcher in order to brace myself. I looked over at my father’s face. Biting on my bottom lip, my body jerked as I tried to contain my sobs.

“Noah, there’s nothing to be scared of. You’re a strong boy and I’ll be right by your side, buddy.”

There was a light knock on my bedroom door. “Noah, it’s me.”

I don’t know how long Mom and I spent at the hospital. Everything about this day was covered in a fog. The only thing that was clear was that I had to stay strong for her. Once we got home, I waited for as long as I could before coming back to my room. The second the bedroom door clicked shut I broke down. Never in my life had I experienced the deep gut-wrenching sobs that took over my body.

“Come in.” The words scratched my throat, causing my voice to sound raw.

I lay in bed on my back with the heels of my palms covering my eyes. I heard the door open and close. Lowering my hands, I sat up and looked at her through red swollen eyes. For the first time since I read Mrs. Kelly’s text I could breathe. My oxygen had just walked into the room.

We held each other’s gaze. In that moment, nothing she could have said would have comforted me more than the way she looked at me. It was in the moments between the words that said the most. That’s when your heart does the talking.

“He had a massive heart attack at work. He was gone before the paramedics had a chance to get there.” I gasped, trying to hold myself together. “I just saw him this morning and he looked fine. We were going to Fenway next month, Tweet.”

Suddenly, my body convulsed and the sobs tumbled out. The bed dipped behind me, then her arms and legs wrapped tightly around my body as I leaned back against her chest. She buried her head in the crook of my neck, her tears dripping down my skin.

I felt the brush of her lips when she whispered, “Your dad was a great man and he was so proud of you.”

Our sobs came in waves. We clung to each other as we rode the peaks. When they subsided I took the opportunity to check on my mom. The doctor had given her a mild sedative and Mrs. Kelly stayed by her side while she rested. Most of our extended family lived out of town and were on their way here. Each time I returned to my room, Tweet and I would resume our position—my back resting on her chest, her arms and legs holding me close. With my eyes shut, I mindlessly ran my hand up and down her forearm that was draped over my shoulder and hung down across my chest.

After a while there was a knock on the door.

A female voice said, “Noah, it’s Brooke. Can I come in?”

Before I could answer, I heard the door creak open and the sound of Brooke’s shoes click on the floor as she stepped inside. My right hand continued to stroke Tweet’s arm while my left arm pulled her leg closer to my side. I was surrounding myself with her because that’s where I felt safe.

“What’s going on?” There was a sharp edge to Brooke’s tone.

Never looking toward her, I rubbed my forehead and replied, “Brooke, I really don’t want to be around anyone right now. I’m sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

The next sounds I heard were a huff of breath, footsteps, and the door closing.

“Maybe I should go and let her stay,” Tweet said.

Turning over onto my stomach, I wrapped my arms around Tweet’s waist and nuzzled her chest. Slowly, her fingers combed through my hair, the tips of her nails skimming lightly over my scalp.

I mumbled, “Don’t leave me. I need you. I don’t want to be around anyone but you, Tweet.” I clung to her, my body trembling as another wave of sobs crashed over me.

She tightened her hold and whispered, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The clock on my nightstand read 2:18 am. I was stuck between the worst day of my life and the day I dreaded the most—planning my father’s funeral.

I drifted in and out of sleep the entire night. Each time I opened my eyes Tweet was there letting me be whatever I needed to be at that moment—hurt, angry, confused.

Our position shifted, landing us in the middle of the bed. I was on my back, my right arm behind my head. Tweet lay on her side, facing me. With fingers laced together, our thumbs mindlessly circled each other’s like a slow thumb-wrestling match. Moonlight from the window washed over our faces.

My gaze was glued to the ceiling. I didn’t need to look at Tweet to know whether or not she was awake. I knew she would be.

“You wanna hear something ridiculous?” I said, my voice low.

“Always.” She squeezed my hand.

“I was eight years old when Grandma passed away.”

“I remember that. You kept tugging on your tie the entire day.”

“Yeah.” I paused, intensely aware of how prominent Tweet has been in my life.

I didn’t have to connect the dots to who a particular family member was or explain any history about an event in my life to her. She was an extension of me.

“So I realized at an early age that people in your life die. But I’ve never thought about my parents not being here.” I glanced toward her. “Isn’t that weird?”

She snuggled closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder. “I don’t think it’s weird. I’ve never thought about my parents…” Her voice quivered.

My gaze turned back to the ceiling. “I saw the ambulance.
I was helping a discharged patient to their car. There were no screeching tires or sirens blaring. I had no idea it was him inside.”

Tweet let go of my hand and hugged my arm, molding herself closer to my side.

“People love to talk about the miracle of birth. No one ever mentions the miracle of death. They’re both extraordinary events, considered acts of God. The difference is that one leaves you completely devastated.”

“Your dad bought me an orange push-up at every single one of your games. When you first started playing T-ball, I’d get so antsy waiting for the game to be over.”

“You used to twirl around until you got so dizzy and fell flat on your ass in the dirt.”

We shared a chuckle.

“Then once I was older I’d walk up and down the bleachers and around the field, over and over, waiting for that game to end. He always knew just the right time to show up with that ice cream.”

“You know why he did it, right?” I glanced at her. A smile crossed her lips a she thought of the sweet memory.

“Cause he was an awesome man who knew I liked orange push-ups.”

“There was that, but that wasn’t the only reason. It was also for the good of the game.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“When I played T-ball, Dad caught me sneaking off the field. I saw you twirling around and I wanted to go play with you. He figured you’d sit down and be still for an ice cream.”

“I was had. I mistook his bribery for gentlemanly Southern charm.”

“Pretty much.” I smirked.

“He continued it even up until your last season.”

“Well, your bleacher walking was extremely distracting, especially as you got older and curvier.”

“Noah.” She pretended to be offended. “He was an incredible dad.” She hugged my arm.

“Yeah, he was.” I paused for a few second. “When I was wheeling that new mom across the lobby yesterday, I looked down at those little guys in her arms… for a brief second it flashed through my mind how awesome it was going to be to go to Fenway with our son and my dad.”

Raising her head, Tweet propped herself up on one elbow and said, “What?”

I turned my head toward her. “Hmm?”

“You said
our
son.”

I sat up, raking my hands down my face. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight and…”

“Noah, stop.” Her fingers curled around my forearm, tugging my hand away from my face. Our gaze connected. “It’s okay.”

We stared at each other. Tweet raised her hand. Her fingertips timidly moved across my jawline to my chin, grazing the outline of my bottom lip.

“Noah.” She sighed, looking at me like she’d take all my pain away if possible.

“Tweet.”

I placed my hand on her wrist and guided it down to my chest, pressing it to my heart. Having Tweet close gave me peace and hope that I would make it through this pain. She was my strength. I needed a break from the pain.