“Then get her to come in here.” I lean back and close my eyes as a wave of nausea rolls through my gut.
“Just give me a minute to get a nurse.”
“I don’t want a nurse. I want my mom,” I plead. And that’s when I see the pain on his face. We’ve been friends since we were kids. He doesn’t even have to say it, I already know. “Where is she?”
“Ivy,” Everett whispers my name, nothing but pity and pain in his voice.
“Don’t say it,” I franticly beg him. “Tell her I’m sorry for what I said. I was just mad at my dad. Is he here? Does he even know what happened?”
Everett shakes his head. “No one has been able to reach him yet.”
“Figures,” I yell. “I need to see my mom.”
He keeps a firm hand on my shoulder and presses the button on side of the bed with his other. “Just wait a few minutes before you try to get out of the bed.”
“Please let me see her,” I beg, already crying. Because I know why he won’t let me get up. And it has nothing to do with my injuries or medication. “I want my mom!” My throat burns as I shriek over and over. And when the nurse comes in, I notice her expression before anything else. She has the same remorseful look on her face pointed at me before she glances to Everett. He just shakes his head.
“Sweetie, just take a deep breath,” the nurse says in a calm, soothing voice that makes me want to scream even more.
“No, I need my mom. Where is she?” She ignores my question, keeping her mouth in a tight line. “We’re trying to get your father here, but it’s better for you to stay in bed.”
When I look to Everett, he still has the same horrible expression as he watches the nurse inject something into the IV that is connected to my arm. Everett’s gaze returns to mine as I slowly feel a wave of calmness while he repeats over and over, “I’m sorry, Ivy. I’m so sorry.”
“No,” I say, my eyelids too heavy to keep open. Everett shouldn’t be telling me he’s sorry. It’s my mom who needs to hear an apology. And if she’s gone, I’ll never have the chance. I try to will my eyes open, but it’s no use. Everything goes black as I mutter, “She’s not dead.”
3
IVY
It’s the same slow steady beep that I wake up to that tells me it wasn’t a nightmare. What I wouldn’t give to hear my blaring alarm clock. This time when I open my eyes, I’m in a different room but still at the hospital. My surroundings look more like a regular room and less like the curtained, ER type I was in earlier. Dad is sitting in the chair beside my bed, and Everett is propped up against the window, staring out until he notices me.
“Hey.” He swiftly makes his way to the opposite side of the bed Dad is sitting on. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.” My entire body feels achy, like it did when I had the flu two years ago. But there’s a steadier ache in my right arm and right side. My head is fuzzy. But there’s one thing I remember for sure. And when he goes to reach for the call button, I block his hand with my left arm since the other is in a sling. “Please no. I don’t want to be drugged again.”
He hesitates but slowly moves his hand away. “Just don’t overdo it. Please. The doctor told your dad that you have a broken rib and a torn bicep tendon. They’re going to have to do surgery soon.”
I stare at my right arm that is in a sling. Surgery. I don’t know how I feel about it. Because all I can think about is my mom.
When I don’t speak, Everett hesitantly asks, “What do you need, Ivy? What can I get for you?”
The truth.“She’s gone. Isn’t she?”
There’s a painful tightness on his face as his eyes drop to the floor. But he nods, confirming what I feared most. “I’m so sorry, Ivy. She didn’t make it.”
I knew it. But hearing it makes it real. My stomach twists as our last conversation replays in my head. I’ll never get to apologize. I’ll never get to tell her I was angry with my father but taking it out on her. “What happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Kind of.” I lightly shake my head, still unsteady. “There were headlights. Someone crashed into us.” I try to remember but as soon as I recall my mom’s arm moving across my chest to protect me, I push the memory away.
“It was a hit and run. From what they gathered, a truck ran a red light and T-boned your mom’s car.” I look at him, hoping he’ll say something that’ll make it make sense. “There weren’t many people on the road at that time, so there was only one witness. She gave a statement and left the scene too. Did you notice anything about the vehicle?”
“I don’t remember.” I try to recall, but nothing but headlights come to mind. And the impact. “All I can remember is her screaming.”
Everett looks like he’s the one about to vomit. “It wasn’t her screaming, Ivy. It was you. The impact was on the driver’s side. She was already gone. I know it doesn’t help much, but she didn’t suffer.”
I consider his words. Not wanting to believe it even though I know it’s true, I’m glad she wasn’t in pain. But she was suffering before the impact of the crash.
