Chapter Two

I dropped Evie off at Carrie’s. Carrie was petite with reddish-blond hair and childlike freckles. She was going to be eternally cute. You know those people who just have that simple look to them and even though they age, they continue to look like a woman or man-child. That was Carrie. Also, she had one green eye and one brown eye, which I’d always thought was the coolest thing. She was only a year younger than me, and she was my oldest and dearest friend. She had been my closest friend since we were teenagers when we met under unusual circumstances. A long story for later.

Now, she had two kids of her own who were close to Evie’s age. Evie was so overjoyed as we pulled into the drive that she unbuckled her seat belt before the car came to a halt. I cut my eyes at her and thought to reprimand, but my mind was too preoccupied with everything that had just happened in a matter of minutes. The scene at the house, the call. I couldn’t process it all. I shook my head as if the action would clear my mind of it. 

I got out of the car and spoke briefly with Carrie whose own kids were bursting out of the front door, equally as thrilled to see Evie as she had been to see them. I promised Carrie I’d call as soon as I knew anything, gave Evie a quick peck and an “I love you,” and before I even had the chance to say anything more, she was off. I rolled my eyes at Carrie and mustered a chuckle before hopping in the van and taking that dreaded ride alone.

I tried fifteen times to get Peter on his cell. Each time it went straight to voicemail, indicating that his phone was off. I would have texted him, but I am one of those people who is vehemently against texting and driving, and I had no time to pull off and do it. I totally didn’t think about it while I was at Carrie’s. Futilely, I called a sixteenth time and of course, again it went to his voicemail. I cursed under my breath without thinking and was immediately grateful Evie wasn’t in the car. This time I left a message, and it was simply, “Call me. It is important.”

I flipped through the radio stations, refusing to give the demons in my head time to play. I didn’t want to think about what I was driving to. I didn’t want to think about what I’d experienced when I walked into my house earlier. I didn’t want to think about why Peter’s phone was off. I knew the answers to all of these questions that were swirling around in my head, but I was not going to think about it. How was it that less than an hour ago I was breathing in my world as though it was my last day in it? Oh, the insurmountable joy that I had felt. What was the point? Did life think this was funny? To let me feel that good, only to knock my feet out from under me.

I slid the Jeep into the closest parking space I could find and ran straight toward the Emergency Room. As I ran, I attempted to call Peter one last time. Again, voicemail. It was all I could do to keep from smashing my phone to bits on the ground. I reached the automatic door and jogged to the front desk, breathless.

“I’m Sadie Damon. Someone called about my parents.” I panted. I saw the solemn expression slowly creep across the receptionist’s face, and I knew she knew who I was. Her expression also betrayed any guesses as to why I had been called.

In the gentlest voice, she responded, “Wait one second while I get the doctor.”

I’d been to this emergency room before. I knew these people who worked here were never this nice…unless someone had died. I prayed I was wrong.

The doctor walked out. He was a tall, dark man who had long, rippling hair pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of his thick neck. His skin looked darker than it actually was in contrast to the white coat he was wearing.

“My name is Dr. Parker.” I barely heard his deep voice resonating through my ears despite their sensitivity as he reached with his inhumanly large hand to shake mine. 

I couldn’t feel my body. Indolently, I lifted my limp hand in a feeble attempt to shake his. I didn’t bother asking any of the typical questions you would think someone would ask who’d just been called to the hospital. None of the: “Are they ok?” “What happened?” “When can I see them?” I honestly didn’t want to see them. Not now.

“We called because your parents…” I raised my hand to stop him. I didn’t want to hear it. I just couldn’t hear it.

“Please, just take me to them.” I managed to whisper.

He nodded.

He placed his hand delicately on the lower part of my back as he spoke, “This way, Mrs. Damon.” 

He pushed open the left side of two doors that read “Hospital Personnel Only” on them. I did not want to be escorted through those double doors. I would not like what I would see there. As the doors burst open, the distinct scent of death assaulted my nostrils. I wanted to squirm away from his hand that was still gently but firmly planted just above my hip and turn and run back out of the hospital.

But numbly, I just kept walking, his warm hand on my cold body. I had no feeling except the warmth of his hand. It was the one thing that reminded me that I was here, and this was real. It felt as though all the blood had simply drained from my body. And here I was to face this alone. Suddenly, a new emotion coursed through my veins. Remorse…yes, that was present, but then I felt an overwhelming feeling of anger intensify inside me. I wanted to hit something. I was furious. Furious at everything. Life, death, Peter. 

We went through another set of doors and down the hallway of the blindingly lit hospital with its white walls and pasty tiles refracting the light so that it almost burned the eyes. We turned a corner where we stopped in front of a gray door with a small window made with Georgian wire glass. I was too entrenched in emotion to note what the sign above the door said. Had I noticed, I would’ve refused to enter.

Dr. Parker pushed open the door. It opened to a dimly lit room, and it pained my eyes to make the necessary adjustments in order to see. To my left was a gray cabinet and directly in front of me was a table. Since my eyes were still adapting to the drastic change in light, it took a minute to realize there was a person whose body was draped with a white sheet, lying on the metal surface of the table. It took me even longer to make out my father’s face which was contorted by a plastic apparatus that jutted from his mouth. I covered my mouth and turned my face away from my father’s lifeless form to bury my scream in the doctor’s chest. 

“Oh my God.” The tears came. I didn’t fight them. They just flowed from my eyes as though it was as natural as breathing. I made a pathetic attempt to compose myself as I turned and walked over to my dad, but the closer I got, the more I felt myself losing any and all composure. 

“Oh my God.” I said again. It came out in a whisper. My hand was still clamped to my mouth. 

I looked down at him. His eyes were closed, but his color was still there. He did not look dead. He looked like he was sleeping. I reached down and started shaking him as if he would wake. He wasn’t stiff like I thought he’d be. His body was limp. I kept thinking, maybe he’s not dead. Maybe they brought me in here before they carted him off to his room. Maybe he was still under anesthesia. I continued to shake him. 

“Mrs. Damon?” I had quickly forgotten about the doctor. He reached down and lightly grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face him. I just looked at him. 

“They tried for half an hour to resuscitate him.” That was the device in his mouth. 

With that said, I twisted back around to look again at my dad. Sleeping. Forever. I swept my fingers through his gray hair and traced the lines of his face. His skin was ice. 

“Daddy.” I bawled. I heaved, feeling like the relentless tears would never stop. I couldn’t catch my breath. 

“Oh, Daddy,” I breathed again between sobs and tenderly kissed his cheek. I leaned up, kissed his forehead, and laid my head on his chest. The doctor stood quietly behind me but once again placed his large, warm hand on my back. I appreciated his kindness. No one should have to face this alone. I think he knew this, and that was why he was still there. 

I shot up so abruptly that I think it frightened the doctor.

“Mom. Where’s my mom? Can I see her?”

He shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Damon. I don’t believe that would be a good idea.”

I winced. I could only imagine why he would suggest this. I immediately pushed the thought from my mind. 

“Why? Is she in surgery?” I had to hang onto some hope, but I knew the answer before I even breathed the words. 

Again, he shook his head then swallowed before he spoke softly and carefully. “The damage was…” He paused, thoughtfully weighing his words.

I shook my head violently and held up my hand to stop his words. “No,” was all I said.

I closed my eyes against the images that pervaded my mind, and I simply cried. Cried so hard that I thought my face and chest would explode from the pressure of it, and I threw myself against the doctor again. In this room, he was all I had. I clung to him like I had known him forever. I poured all the contents of my face onto his white jacket. He didn’t stiffen at the stranger who clung to him or push me away, as one would expect. I continued hanging on to him as if trying to escape drowning, and in a sense, I was. He just put one arm around me and allowed me to grieve. Nothing inappropriate. Just a sympathetic gesture.

I backed away slowly as I felt the first wave dissipating.

“What…” my breathing was labored, so it was difficult to speak, “what happened?”

“A drunk driver swerved into their lane.” His voice was kind and compassionate. His words were softly spoken and carefully considered before he uttered them. He probably did this all the time -  stood in place for those who needed someone to hold onto and, like me, had no one here.

“Would you like for me to call someone for you? To pick you up?” I shook my head and from nowhere he produced a handkerchief.

“Thank you,” I said, “and I have a cell phone. I’ll call my husband.”

I couldn’t look at my dad again.

I didn’t remember walking from the dark room that held my father’s body, but somehow, I was back in my car. I pulled my cell phone from my pants pocket. No missed calls. No texts. Nothing.

Fucking asshole. 

Hopelessly, I dialed Peter’s number one last time. Voicemail. Fucking prick! I slammed the phone down in the seat next to me and buried my face in the steering wheel.