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I wait around for five minutes, giving her the benefit of the doubt that she simply forgot how she came to the hospital today. We’re both under significant stress, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she had an ‘oops’ moment like this. As the clock drags on, I wonder more and more where she might have disappeared to.
My one and only conclusion is that she headed back up to Brice’s room, perhaps to see him one last time before she had to head off. Maybe there was something she forgot to ask him. So I take the elevator up and navigate back through the halls and into the ICU where I see through the window that Maggie is leaning over Brice. I begin to walk in, to tell her the funny little anecdote of how she must have forgotten that she didn’t bring her car, when I catch the tail end of her one-sided conversation.
“…what I’m going to do. I know I should have told you earlier, but now I guess it’s too late. They said if I don’t pay rent this month, I’m going to lose the house. Now you’re here and I’m just lost.”
In the span of about five seconds, I cycle through a whole spectrum of emotions. First, there’s shock that her finances have gotten so bad. I knew that Maggie was no good at budgeting, but I didn’t know that she was on the verge of losing her house. Then there’s selfless anger on Brice’s behalf. How dare she unload this on him right now? He can’t do anything besides feel shitty about the situation. It’s just extra weight for him to bear during a time that he should be focused only on his recovery.
The final emotion, the one that sticks, is a mix of horror and resignation. After my disappointing job hunt today, I can’t just turn my nose up at Greg’s offer any longer.
Chapter 11
For the next three days, I convince myself that as long as I remain inside the hospital, I won’t have to face the real world and all its consequences. I eat in the cafeteria or from vending machines, clean myself the best I can in bathrooms late at night when no one else is likely to come in, and sleep on the sofa in the maternity ward’s waiting room, just as Dr. Heyman taught me.
Brice is all there mentally, which is a massive relief. The concussion he suffered was minor, and they’re confident that it will heal without major consequences for the future. The same can’t be said for the rest of his body.
Despite the painkillers he’s hooked up to, Brice is in constant agony, though he hides it well. So well I sometimes forget that under his hospital gown, sixteen of his bones are either cracked, broken, or shattered. But I do catch him staring out the window sometimes, a heartbreaking expression of misery painting his expressions. But that’s only ever when I first show up in the morning, for about half a second before he notices my presence.
But today’s sad moment was hours ago. It’s now lunchtime, so I’m spooning weak beef broth to his lips, saving the strawberry Jello for last. Brice has been quieter than normal, but it would be selfish to always expect him to be putting on a mask for my sake.
A bit of broth dribbles down his chin, and while I’m wiping it with a napkin, he asks, “You haven’t heard from my mom in the past few days, have you?”
I bite my lips and shake my head. “The last time I saw her was four days ago. Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing,” he says, unconvincingly. He’s back to stari
ng out the window. “I think she’s just busy.” He sighs. Turns to me. His eyes are trying and failing to hide heaps of worry. “I used to help her pay the bills, so I think she’s just looking for an extra job. I guess I’m just worried. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” I ask incredulously, as though I hadn’t overheard their earlier conversation. As though I didn’t have a plan in the works to remedy this exact situation.
He waves me off with his bandaged hand. “We’ve got some savings, so it’ll be fine.”
I’ve known Brice all my life. He’s never had more than five hundred dollars in the bank at one time. Not that it’s his fault. Whatever extra he managed to make went straight to his mom.
“Maybe I can help out,” I offer.
“Really?” he asks, unable to contain his burst of hope. But then he’s glaring at me, trying to see through me. “I know Greg has basically dropped us, but you’re not going to go back to camming are you? I’m really not into the idea of guys getting off to you, thinking they can have you if they just tip enough money.”
“No camming,” I say, agreeing with him. “I was planning to tell you the good news tonight after I snuck in some burgers, but I got a job. A real job.”
Brice actually tries to sit up at this news, but he’s stopped by the fact that he physically can’t. “That’s great! Where is it?”
“It’s actually funny,” I say. “You’re going to laugh. But that Brazilian barbecue place was looking for servers and—”
Brice does laugh. With such fervor that he’s soon holding his cracked ribs and smiling through his grimace. “There? Really? The place we ate before everything went to shit? That’s some pretty weird coincidence right there.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I thought so too, but if it’s going to pay the bills, I can’t exactly be choosy.”
Brice’s humor evaporates as quickly as it came on. In no time at all, he’s back to unfocused eyes gazing out the window at the cloudless sky. It hurts to watch him zone out like this, because I know what he’s thinking. Inside that battered skull of his, doped up on a haze of drugs, he’s wrestling with whether he should burden me with the state of his mother’s finances. He’s playing out the different ways he might ask to borrow money, just until he can get back on his feet and pay me back. Ultimately, he shakes his head and plasters a fake smile back on his face.
“As long as you can sneak me leftovers every now and then, I’m 100% behind you on this. Just one thing,” he says and takes my hand in his. “Don’t walk home.” Now the smile he cracks is genuine as he looks down at himself.
“I’m going to try to get a ride with a coworker. If not I’ll call a taxi or something.”
“That’s a good idea,” he says, but he hasn’t let go of his joke yet. “I mean, have a look at what can happen. This is your body,” he says in a deep baritone, impersonating those anti-drug commercials from when we were kids. He gestures at all of me, and then he points at his body. “And this is your body after a car decides to get up in your face.”
At this point a nurse comes in, saying that she needs to change the sheets and get Brice ready for his first physical therapy session. This is my cue.
After a kiss and a promise that I’ll see him after work, I’m nearly jogging down the halls of the hospital, desperate for a taste of fresh air. Lying straight to Brice’s face this whole morning has been suffocating. But he bought it, which means I bought myself enough time for my real plan.
