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“Katie!”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” She sounds thrilled at this new development and I smile, feeling a great weight lifting off my chest. “Hey, speaking of work, I have some good news to share with you.” I'm grateful that she shifts the focus of our conversation and I eagerly dig in.
“I like good news. What is it?”
“I got promoted, Emma! I’m the head of my department.”
I’m proud of my friend and gush over her accomplishment. “That’s amazing, Katie! Congratulations. I mean, you totally deserve this, but it’s about time they see your worth!” I’m happy for my friend and she continues, excitement coloring her voice and speeding up her words.
“Thanks, Emma. I'm so excited. This is a new chapter for me, a new opportunity, a new challenge, and I can't wait to get started.”
“You're amazing at what you do, and you've worked so hard for this. I'm so proud of you!” I finish my coffee and glance at the pot, wondering if I should have more. I’d made an entire pot, and it’s a Saturday morning, so why not? “This promotion comes with a pay bump, right? Otherwise, I have some choice words for your boss.” I’m teasing, of course - I’d never jeopardize her job, but she deserves a raise.
“Yes! I also get a new office that’s bigger and nicer and closer to home. And I get to hire my own team.” I can hear the possibilities seeping into her words and know she’s already made grand plans. Plans she can pull off because she’s amazing. “And if things go completely south between you and Clifton, maybe I can hire you to work with me.” Despite the words very clearly being a joke, there's something serious in her tone.
“Well, thanks for the backup plan. Here’s hoping I don’t need one.” With that, I stand up and take my mug to the coffee maker.
“I don’t think you will.” She’s still lit up and happy. “I think I need to go clean something.” With a snort of pure energy, she brings laughter to my lips. She’s always used cleaning as a way to get out nervous energy - it’s amazing that she knows herself well enough to both know she needs to expend energy and has found a healthy outlet like cleaning to do so.
“Okay, Katie. Thanks for everything. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
With a smile, I end the call.
Katie always makes me feel better and always has my back.
I can only hope that she's right and that everything is going to work out.
Chapter Seventeen
Clifton
It's been ten minutes since I received the important phone call that I know will change my life forever. A cold numbness has settled into my gut as I park my car and get out, making my way up to the glass double doors of the hospital. The metal and glass panels slide open and I rush inside.
A woman behind the desk tries to stop me, but I just say my father’s name and continue past her to the room number that's been playing on repeat in my mind since the phone call.
I know I have to be strong, but inside I feel very small.
It's hard to think of my father as needing anyone, but he needs me more than ever now. The scent of antiseptic clings to my nose and the overwhelming cold of the hospital chills me to the bone. I try not to think about how over the space of a few moments - and someone else's bad decision - my entire life has changed forever.
Outside room two hundred and six, two doctors and long lab coats talk in hushed voices. Their quiet whispers go silent as I approach.
“I'm his son. Clifton Royal.” I know they’re talking about my father, and I want to know what happened.
The doctors turn to face me, one gripping a clipboard like a shield to his chest, the other clasping his hands behind his back and rocking up onto his toes in an uncomfortable gesture that only thickens the icy terror lining my gut.
“He was in a head-on collision with a drunk driver.” The one on his toes relays the information with deep concern coloring his voice. “He suffered multiple injuries and he’s lucky to be alive.”
“What injuries?” I can tell by the way they blink and glance sideways at one another that they didn’t expect my chilly response, but I need the facts to prepare myself for whatever might come next.
This time, the doctor with the clipboard tilts the paperwork in front of him, a line deepening between his dark brows as his brown eyes race along the words that tell the story of my father’s fate.
“Broken ribs, a punctured lung, traumatic brain injury, a fractured skull, a broken leg and a shattered arm.”
I can tell that they sandwiched the more important injuries in the middle, likely in an effort to keep me calm.
The other doctor has fewer qualms, and he reaches out to put a hand on my shoulder. “He’s lucky to be alive, but he might not make it through the night. You need to prepare for the worst.”
