Steering the Stars (37 page)

       It took me a minute to find my voice. “Miles?”

       “Yeah?”

       I didn’t turn around. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

       “I can wait if you want me to stick around.”

       “No.” I shook my head. “You should go back to school.”

       I heard the hesitation in his voice. “Okay, if you’re sure…”

       I squeezed my arms around my body and looked at him. “I’m sure. But seriously, thanks for everything.”

       He gave a small smile. “No problem. Maybe we can have a raincheck soon?”

       “Yeah, sure,” I said blankly. Thinking about another date with him was really the least of my concerns right now.

       Miles kissed me briefly on the cheek and walked toward the elevators. He waved and smiled one last time before the elevator took him from my view.

       When I was all alone, I fell into one the chairs in the waiting room. For the first time, I noticed that there were other people in here. A woman wearing a pink tracksuit was sitting in the corner reading a magazine. And an older man with a greying beard and a craggy face was staring vacantly out the window.

       I pulled out my phone and looked at it for a long time. It had been weeks since I’d talked to Hannah, and now I was calling her with terrible news.

       My stomach twisted as I found her number and pressed send.

       I wondered if because of our fight, she’d let the call go to voicemail. It didn’t. She picked up on the second ring. “Caroline?” I was unprepared for how happy she sounded. “I’m so glad you called!” she went on, “I’ve been—”

       “Hannah,” I interrupted her forcefully. “Just listen. Something has happened.”

 

I didn’t cry.

       I wrote.

       I wrote in snatches.

       I wrote in long stretches.

       I wrote strapped in a seatbelt in the backseat of the car as Michael weaved through traffic, trying to get Felicity and me to Heathrow Airport in time for our flight.

       I wrote at the ticket counter.

       I wrote in a stiff plastic chair in front of the gate.

       I wrote on the runway as we waited for the air traffic controllers to give the all clear and then as we shot into the purple-blue sky.

       I wrote thousands of feet above the Atlantic with my feet jammed beneath the too-small seat as my sister slept fitfully beside me.

       I wrote hunched over at a wobbly table in New York between flights.

       I wrote until my fingers ached and my pen had gone dry and the pages of my notebook were overflowing with my messy handwriting.

       It was like there was another heart beating inside of me. A heart that pumped words—fast and hot—through my veins.

       For the first time in a long time, the sentences spilled out without me thinking about them. I scrambled to keep up, to mold the raw emotions swimming through my body into a story with a beginning, a middle, and an end.

       The need to write overshadowed everything. I needed to get down the words more than I needed oxygen to breathe. I was almost feverish with it.

       Just before we boarded our final plane, Felicity grabbed hold of my arm and pulled me into one of those tacky sundry shops and told me to pick out some snacks for the flight.

       “I don’t want anything,” I told her.

       “Hannah, you need to eat something,” she insisted and she dragged me over to a wall that was covered in different types of trail mix. “Do you like raisins?” she asked, reaching for a bag. “Or macadamia nuts? This one has shelled pistachio nuts.”

       “Just stop,” I told her, yanking my arm away.

       “Hannah, you aren’t going to do anyone any good if you pass out from low blood sugar before we even get to the hospital.”

       The hospital! My father was in the HOSPITAL after collapsing on a job site from a heart attack.

       “I don’t want raisins or pistachios or sunflower seeds or MACADAMIA NUTS!” I bellowed. “My dad had a heart attack and I wasn’t there! He could’ve died and I wasn’t even there!”

       “He’s going to be okay,” she said and she sounded like she believed it.

       “How can you know that?” I hissed. “We haven’t heard anything new.”

       “I just do,” she said, putting her arm over my shoulders and trying to hug me.

       I shook her off. “Just leave me alone, okay? This is my father we’re talking about! You don’t know what that’s like.”

       But she did know, didn’t she? Felicity knew exactly what it was like to have her father maybe dying in a hospital bed. She knew exactly what it was like to think of the strongest man in the world helpless on thin white sheets, struggling to get enough air to breathe, because she was in exactly the same place as I was.

       God, I was so out of line.

       “I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

       Felicity nodded but she didn’t speak. Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

       I leaned into her, noticing for the first time that we were exactly the same height. And our hair… our hair was exactly the same shade of blond—the same color of our father’s hair.

       I touched the back of her hand. She looked down and gently folded our fingers together.

       “It’s okay, Hannah.”

       This time when I spoke, it was just above a whisper. “It’s not okay. Sometimes I forget that he’s your dad too.”
             

****

We landed in Tulsa on Saturday evening.

       As we taxied down the icy runway, I realized that I had completely filled up every single one of my available pages. How crazy was that?

       “Are you going to tell me what it’s about?” Felicity asked. She’d been watching me write like a madwoman since London. Of course she was curious.

       I shook my head as I shoved the spiral-bound notebook into the carry-on stored beneath the seat in front of me. It was the first time in months that I had been able to finish something and I couldn’t even revel in the accomplishment because all I wanted to do was get off this plane as fast as possible and get to the hospital. “Sorry. Not yet.”

       “Okay,” she said, and I caught an edge of disappointment in her voice.

       “Not yet,” I backtracked. “But you will. I promise.”

       She smiled at me. “I can’t wait.”

       The pilot started speaking, letting us know the local time and temperature. I didn’t care. I just wanted him to roll us closer to the terminal.

       It seemed to take forever. First, another plane was at our gate. Then there was an issue with some kind of off-loading gear. I was so antsy that Felicity had to tell me to calm down three times.

       FINALLY, the seatbelt light went off, the cabin door opened, and we started to deboard.

       Felicity and I sped through the terminal toward the exit of the airport. She had replaced the SIM card in her phone back in New York, but she was having trouble getting a signal.

       “Let me see it,” I demanded, taking the phone from her.

       “It’s not like I don’t know how to use a phone, Hannah.”

       I hit the phone with the side of my hand.

       “I don’t think that’s going to help,” she said.

       I rolled my eyes. “Well, at least I’m doing something. We have to get to the hospital!”

       A man who worked in baggage claim overheard this and stepped in to help us get a taxi. Within two minutes, our bags were loaded into the trunk of a yellow sedan and we were on the road to the hospital.

       It was strange looking out the cab window. It was snowing and the landscape was familiar, but it still didn’t feel like I was coming home.
That
, I told myself with an inward shake,
is because I’m too focused on getting to my dad.

       The car waded through the night time traffic and pulled up to one of the side entrances of the hospital. Tugging our wheeled suitcases behind us, Felicity and I breezed through the automatic doors and found the nearest reception desk.

       “Hello,” Felicity said and her accent immediately got the attention of the guy working behind the counter. “I’m here to see my father,” she continued. “Alan Vaughn.”

       Before he could get his computer going, I heard a commotion behind me and turned around.

       My mother was rushing toward us. She had a styrofoam cup in one hand and a magazine in the other. Her eyes were bloodshot and there were bluish circles beneath them, but she was smiling.

       As soon as her arms were around me, I was crying. Bawling actually.

       “Oh, Mom,” I squawked, digging my fingertips into her back and hugging her tighter. It felt like my legs would buckle beneath me with the force of my emotion. “Where is he?”

       “Shhhh...” she intoned into my hair, rubbing my arms and brushing the tears from my face. “Don’t cry, sweetie. Your dad’s okay.”

       I struggled to get myself under control. “He is? But I thought...”

       “He gave us all a big scare and we’re going to have to face that, but we’ll get through this.”

       I couldn’t believe it. Relief washed over me. “Really?”

       She was nodding. “Really. He’s going to be just fine. They’re running some more tests this morning but you should be able to see him soon.”

       I pulled Felicity into our group hug, and we all started to laugh and cry right there in the main lobby of the hospital.

       Eventually, Mom pulled back from the hug and led us up the elevator and down a white-washed hall to the room where our father had spent the night.

       The bed was empty but the room was not. Henry was in a straight-back grey plastic chair looking at something on his phone and, to my total surprise, Caroline was here. She was holding a cup of coffee between both of her hands and staring out the window at the falling snow.

       I didn’t know what to say. Luckily, Mom made enough noise for both of us and Henry and Caroline looked up.

       I caught a flash of something move across her face, but I wasn’t sure what it was.

       “Hey,” I said, meekly waving my fingers.

       Henry being Henry wasn’t going to let me suffer for too long. “Welcome home,” he said, rubbing his fist against the top of my head. Then he moved on to Felicity, using his big arms to embrace her.

       Caroline stayed by the window but I could tell by the way she was holding her body that she wasn’t sure what to do.

       I walked across the room, which was so small it only took me about four steps.

       “Hey.” Her voice was soft, unsure. “I’m glad you’re here.”

       “Me too. Thanks,” I said, “for staying with my dad and mom and Henry through all of this.”

       Her face pinched. “Of course. That’s what—well, that’s what we do.”

       I knew what she’d been about to say—
that’s what friends are for—
and I cringed. Obviously, I was not yet forgiven.

       Acutely aware that everyone else in the hospital room was watching, I swallowed hard and gestured to the door. “Can we…? Can we go out there to talk? Just for a minute.”

       Caroline shook her head. “I have to go,” she said as she started to walk away. “Your dad is going to be back any minute and you need to be here with him. But, we’ll talk later, okay?”

       “Will we?” I asked in desperation.

       She stopped in the doorway and turned to me. Our eyes met, and something real and solid passed between us. “We will.”