Page 94 of A Bookish Story

An ache slices through my heart with what feels like a sharp sword. Ryan was a child himself. I can’t begin to imagine the pressing guilt he must have felt all those years. He would have been angry with himself, angry with his parents, then angry at the world.

“That couldn’t have been your fault. How old were you?”

“Eleven.” He sighs. “I was the oldest and should have known better. She wanted to go swimming and I told her she had to wait. Well, like most little kids, she didn’t listen.”

It’s no wonder Ryan isn’t close to his family. The odds are that at least some of them blame him even if it’s unfair and illogical. Grief can be irrational and I know. I blamed my mother for years because my father was speeding, driving alone in the rain. In my child’s mind, I thought she could have stopped him. If she loved him enough, she could have saved him.

And Ryan’s parents would have wrestled with their own grief, knowing they shouldn’t have put a child in charge of a child. Grief wants logic it can never have. A reason why a world suddenly splinters into pieces and changes every moment from that point forward. Because the heart wants someone to blame for its breaking.

For me, it was my mother. It had to have been her fault that my father died, even when it made no sense. Someone besides him had to take responsibility, and she did, for many years. She shouldn’t have let him drive on that rainy day. Leaving me with my father’s family hadn’t helped, but now I wonder: Did I reject her before she rejected me? It’s impossible to know at this point.

I have no words.

Maybe we only have few words when there’s far too much to say.

“Listen. You’re the best Elizabeth Brogan I could have ever chosen. When we met that first day,” he says, his words beginning to slur with the heaviness of sleep, “I didn’t plan on asking you to be Elizabeth but then Henry saw you had this gentle quality about you. A joy and a kindness and a solid strength, which reminded me of her.”

With that last word, he falls asleep. I can do nothing more for him but I’m rooted to this spot on the couch.

I quietly watch him sleep and breathe and maybe dream.

A few hours later, a shaft of moonlight spills through open blinds and wakes me. It occurs to me that my family has no idea where I am and I probably should let someone know I’m staying here with Ryan. Maybe he doesn’t need me, but after the accident, I can’t leave him. Life is short. Stuff happens sometimes when you look away and are distracted by something bright and shiny. I won’t leave Ryan’s side because maybe if I just sit here and keep watch nothing worse can happen. It could be the hospital missed something. Once I watched a show where a kid who’d been in a car accident was sitting up talking, just fine, then later died from internal bleeding. Maybe Ryan has internal bleeding and doesn’t know it.

It’s after midnight when I text Sofia that Ryan has been in a car accident. She knows what this means to me. For years, I wouldn’t get behind the wheel of a car. I was seventeen when I got my license. I drive slower and more cautiously than most people do and I avoid driving in the rain, which is probably the reason I can never leave California.

Sofia:

Mierda! Is he okay? At you at the hospital? WHAT HAPPENED?

I respond:

A car accident. He’s got bruised ribs but they gave him too many meds at the hospital. Overmedicated Ryan is hilarious but once the meds wear off I don’t expect he’s going to be a lot of fun to be around.

Sofia, who is a nurse, after all, responds:

No, he is not. Have him sleep in a chair and try not to cough. Or laugh. Don’t make him laugh! He’ll be healed up in a few weeks if they’re only bruised. If they’re cracked it might be longer.

If I can’t express my fears to Sofia, there’s no one.

What about internal bleeding? Is that a thing that could happen? You should see all the bruises on his rib cage. Poor baby.

Sofia texts back:

I’m sure they checked all that out before they released him. They would have done X-rays and scans.

I’m not sure I believe her. We all know the state of our health care system is a running joke. If Ryan doesn’t have good insurance, maybe they cut corners. I’ll have to stay here and keep watch.

I find a blanket, curl up on the couch, and try to sleep.

When I wake hours later, I’m blinking, nearly blinded by the sunlight streaming through the windows. Ryan is still dozing. He looks so peaceful, those long dark lashes contrasting against his olive skin. Way too peaceful. It scares me and I check to make sure he’s still breathing.

When he is, I decide I’ll go get the prescription and ice packs I should have picked up for him last night. Grabbing my purse, I nearly bump into Millie on my way out.

“Oh, sorry.” I close the door and lock it. “He’s still sleeping.”

She holds out his glasses. “You better give these to him. I waited around at the hospital for them after you two left.”

I take them, then can’t stop myself from being kind. It’s in my nature, damn it. “Are you okay? Did you have any injuries?”