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Jackson lies in his hospital bed, his eyes closed. His gorgeous skin is pale, and he looks so weak.
“Are you family?”
“I’m his friend. Mandy.”
“Mandy Thomas?”
“Yes.”
“He’s been asking for you.”
“Have you contacted his parents?”
“We haven’t. We don’t have any information. He didn’t have any ID or phone on him when he was brought in.”
Poor Jackson has a black eye, a swollen jaw, and probably more bruising under his gown that I can’t see.
“Can you tell me anything?”
“We can only give that information to family.”
“I’ll call his parents.” I pull my phone out to give them a call. I don’t want to alarm them, but these people won’t give me any information. “Can you at least tell me if he’s all right? Before I scare his mother half to death?”
“His prognosis is good.” The nurse smiles. “I’ll get his doctor for you. She’s right next door with another patient. I know she’ll want to talk to Mr. Doe’s parents.”
“He’s not Mr. Doe. He’s Jackson. Jackson William Paris. He’s—” I choke out a sob.
“Ma’am, it’s okay. He’s going to be okay.”
I nod, shaking, as I call Jackson’s mom.
“Hello, Mandy,” she says.
“Mrs. Paris—Noreen— I…”
“Mandy, what is it? You don’t sound good.”
“I’m fine. And Jackson… He’s going to be okay.”
“Going to be okay?” Her voice goes shrill. “What are you talking about? What happened?”
“I…”
A doctor comes scurrying into the room. “Are you Ms. Thomas?”
“I am. Are you Jackson’s doctor?”
“Yes. I’m Dr. Hodges.”
“I have the doctor,” I say to Jackson’s mom into the phone. “I’m going to let her explain.”
I hand Dr. Hodges the phone, and then I collapse in a chair next to Jackson’s bedside. Here and there, words make their way into my brain.
Attacked, probably from behind. Clubbed on the head, robbed. No internal bleeding, no bleeding in the brain. A fairly serious concussion, but he’s coming out of it. He knows his name now. And he knows Ms. Thomas.
Pause.
I will myself to focus. I need to hear about Jackson.
