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I swallow, hating the mental image that comes to mind. Crunching metal. Screeching tires. Broken bones.
Tripp got a bike because I did.
It should be me, lying in a hospital bed. I’ve done so much reckless shit in my life. But somehow, I’ve never even broken a bone.
“Is the driver here too?”
“He was. He…didn’t make it.”
“He’s dead?” I ask, like that could possibly mean something else. Suddenly, I’m certain my mom wasn’t exaggerating or overreacting.
“Mrs. Aster?”
My mom immediately stands to face the approaching woman. She’s wearing scrubs and a white coat. And an exhausted expression.
“How is he?” There’s a note of panic in my mom’s voice that’s new from when she was just speaking to me. She’s scared, more scared than she was showing me.
Again, I think, It should be me. Tripp would be much better at this role. He’d know what to say, how to comfort her.
“No change,” the doctor says. Her voice is low and melodic. Soothing. So, it takes a moment for it to sink in that she’s delivering bad news. “But your son is stable. His body just went through an incredibly traumatic ordeal. Both the accident and major surgery. His body is in shock. He’ll be monitored closely throughout the night. I’d suggest you go home, get some sleep, and come back in the morning. If anything changes, we’ll call you immediately. I promise.”
My mom nods. “Thank you, Dr. Johnson.”
Dr. Johnson gives my mom’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, smiles at me, and then heads back toward the double doors.
Impulsively, I follow her, ignoring my mom’s exhausted, “Will.”
“What are the odds?” I ask her. “The odds that my brother wakes up?”
Dr. Johnson pauses. Turns around. She’s a little younger than my mom, probably in her early forties. “I’m a surgeon, sir. Not a gambler. Tripp is young and otherwise healthy. We’re doing everything for him that we can. Medicine is science, but it’s not an exact one.”
“But…you must have some sense. An idea, at least, of what his chances are.”
“I can tell you that most people with your brother’s injuries wouldn’t have made it this far. The fact that he survived surgery and is stable now is a major win. Let’s focus on that for now.”
She offers me another smile; one my facial muscles can’t seem to react to.
I let Dr. Johnson walk away this time, her sobering words leaving me in a state of shock. I spent the whole trip here worried. That fear has only gained roots and spread since I arrived at the hospital. Paired with the growing panic that I could have come all this way for a funeral, not an emergency. My father chose to leave. I’ve never lost someone who wanted to stay, and it’s a far more devastating notion.
“Come on.”
Numbly, I follow my mom into the elevator and through the lobby.
“Did you bring any luggage?” she asks as we exit the hospital and walk into the sticky evening air. Boston’s humidity feels like it’s at about one hundred percent.
“No.”
She nods like that’s the answer she was expecting. “I still have some of your old clothes in a box somewhere.”
“You didn’t get rid of them when you turned my room into your drawing space?” My mom’s expression is startled, so I explain, “Tripp mentioned it.”
She still looks surprised. I guess the possibility that my conversations with my brother involved her isn’t one that occurred to her.
“I’ll drive,” I say when we reach her old green sedan.
Getting into a car is the last thing I feel like doing right now. But I’m guessing my mom wants to drive even less. Sure enough, she hands the keys right over, smiling gratefully before she rounds the bumper to climb into the passenger side. I open the driver’s door, sliding the seat back as far as it’ll go before getting in as well. Turn on the car, grateful when the air-conditioning begins blasting right away.
“I, uh…”
