When I dial, Mom’s phone rings in the next room. Pitstop finds it on the arm of the couch. That tracks, she hates that thing,but if Dad’s driving, she’s usually the easier of the two to get hold of.
Dad’s phone rings and rings and rings.
There’s nothing to do but wait, and call, and call, listening to the endless ringing as the sense that something is wrong takes hold of my whole being.
Penelope offers to make food, but my stomach lurches at the thought.
“Please, Tate? You need to eat something.”
Oliver’s already pulling bread out of the bread box and flipping open cupboards. “I’ll make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”
I don’t want to snap at them, and Penelope will keep hen-pecking until I relent, so I nod to let them stay busy while Mike grips my shoulder. “We’ll find them, son. Try not to worry too much. I’m sure they’re fine.”
He sits with me in silence while I keep trying to redial. When Penelope comes back, the phone is still ringing and ringing. Oli has made sandwiches, and Penelope’s brought potato chips and drinks for the four of us.
We eat in tense and awkward silence, Pitstop, her brother, and her dad trying to keep a conversation, me trying to remember to breathe while also swallowing past the lump clogging up my throat as I force down one PB&J and one cold meat and two cheese sandwiches.
Have to give it to my girlfriend’s twin, they’re epic sandwiches.
Thanksgiving dinner it is not, but it’s delicious in its own right.
It’s been over an hour, and more than twenty failed calls to Dad’s number. I pace back and forth at the bay window in their living room which points out onto the street so when they come back I’ll get the first glimpse of them out the window.
I rub at the tightness in my chest, but it doesn’t go anywhere, and my newly healed jaw is getting a workout as I grind my teeth.
When someone finally answers Dad’s phone, my heart soars. “Dad?”
“Hello?”
My body threatens to collapse under its own weight. It’s not Dad who answered his phone. “Who is this?” My voice is sharp, harsh, and I barely recognize it as my own as it’s buckling under the terror I’m struggling to bear. “Where are my parents?”
“Is this Tate Myers?”
“Yes.” My voice is as taut as my muscles.
“You’ve come up on this phone as Mr. Myers’ emergency contact. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Tate, my name’s Dave, and I’m one of the nurses here at Mercy Hospital. There’s been an accident.”
CHAPTER 34
Penelope
As soon as Nurse Dave confirms Tate’s worst fears that something’s wrong, my strong, athlete boyfriend crumples like a Kleenex. The trembling that was just in his hands now spreads to his arms and legs as he falls to his knees.
Dad takes the phone to get the pertinent details from Dave while I sink to my knees in front of Tate. He’s shutting down. His pale face somehow goes whiter, and his eyes glaze over as he retreats into himself.
We don’t know the extent of the damage, but Tate’s already decided the worst has happened.
“Tate.” My voice is harsh, but I need him to focus. “We’re going to the hospital, what do you need to bring?”
Nurse Dave didn’t give us details, but from the tone of his voice, he doesn’t want to give bad news over the phone but I don’t say that out loud. Tate’s already a wreck.
Tate stares at me wordlessly, so I guide him up off the floor and sit him on the couch. I make Oli sit with him so I can put a quick bag together before we head to the hospital. Snacks, bottles of water, and a charger that fits his phone are the only things he really needs. If it turns out he needs to stay overnightwith his folks, Dad or Oli or one of the team can come back and get it.
Dad drives, Oli rides shotgun, I sit in the back holding Tate’s hand as he stares blankly out the window. I don’t think he sees anything we’re passing, he’s lost in his mind.
