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Noah was grateful that Marcusdidn’t force small talk while driving. Unfortunately, that left Noah’s mind free to play the worst-case-scenario game. Were Matt’s injuries life-threatening? Was their mom holding up? Would Noah make it to the airport in time to catch his flight? Would the plane crash and put Noah out of his misery?
Guilt rushed in behind that thought. What wouldthatdo to his mother? He gritted his teeth, realizing he was catastrophizing every bit as much as she did.
In rare moments when he was able to sweep worry and guilt about Matt into a back corner of his mind, thoughts of his multiple failures with Grace took right over. How many times had he misjudged and mistreated her? He’d lost track of her in the craziness of leaving, and now he’d probably never see her again.
He blew out some frustration, drawing a look of concern from Marcus. “Want to talk about it?” he asked.
“I doubt it would help.” One more reason Noah was an idiot. He should have contained that better. The last thing he wanted was a psych eval, but Marcus just nodded.
Though the drab scenery flew by, time crawled, his thoughts as churning and muddy as a midsummer flash flood. He successfully repressed another sigh of frustration but noticed Marcus glance at the rather insistent drumming Noah was doing on his knees.
“How are we doing on time?” Noah asked, pressing his hands into his legs to stop the motion.
Marcus looked at the clock on the dash. “We should hit the airport right around eleven, and your flight’s at... ?”
“Noon.”
“Maybe check my phone and see what our ETA is. The connection wasn’t very fast back at the orphanage.”
Noah picked up the phone and pulled up the map, showing they had only a few miles to go. Navigating gave Noah something to occupy his thoughts with. His pulse ratcheted up as they arrived at the airport curb. He retrieved his duffel from the back seat and turned to thank his driver.
Marcus held out his hand. “Good luck. We’ll be pulling for you.”
A handshake and forty minutes later, Noah was on the plane, envying all the calm passengers.
Maybe that was why his dad drank—to try to calm his anxieties.
The brief flight to Phoenix was uneventful. Noah had his phone in hand long before they landed, powering it up as they approached the gate. He stared at the screen, watching for notifications while he waited for everyone in front of him to deplane, but nothing came up.
Knowing he had a couple hours of layover, he found a quiet corner and sat down on the floor to call his mom.
“Noah?” She sounded terrible.
“Hi. I just landed in Phoenix.”
“Landed? How—”
“Jane’s uncle,” Noah said, cutting her off. “I’ll explain later. How’s Matt? How are you?” He leaned against the wall as she talked.
“He’s torn up pretty bad, and his left leg is broken, but they’re mostly worried about his head.”
“His head?”
“He hit hard enough to destroy his helmet.”
“Skull fracture?”
“Yes, and they had to do surgery because there was”—she gulped—“bleeding on his brain. He hasn’t been conscious since I got here.”
“When do they expect him to wake up?”
A pregnant pause drew sweat from Noah’s palms.
“Mom?”
She sniffed into the phone. “They don’t know.”
