What if his heart gave out like Zach’s had?
Again, I’m plagued with the same set of questions I don’t have an answer to. What if he needs insulin? Has he been properly monitoring his blood sugars? What if the alcohol affected his system? Is he past the point of caring about any of that?
I shoot upright. How have we gone this long without him telling me something about his condition, or any of the danger signs?
Then I find a note propped on his pillow: Out
Curling up into a ball, the note clutched in my hands, I cry until the tears won’t come anymore.
By loving Adam unconditionally, I haven’t fully considered the perils I’ve agreed to.
Here’s the thing about falling for someone who’s already given up; there’s no promise of tomorrow. There aren’t any words of comfort that can be said, no glimpse of a positive change. Every moment, every thought could be their last. It’s like you’re helplessly walking into quicksand, waiting for the muck to cover your mouth and eyes until you can no longer find a way to breathe. No, it’s more like jumping from a high bridge without the promise of water underneath.
And I fucking hate heights.
Finding a home phone number for Adam’s parents is even harder than I guessed.
There must be a hundred Murphys living in Milwaukee, and I don’t even have an idea of their first names. I lock myself in the attached bathroom and run the water while searching through his limited list of friends on Facebook, hoping for enough privacy to get the job done.
Then I come across a name that stands out above the rest. Cora Stone. I’ve heard Adam mention Zach’s last name a time or two, and know the two must somehow be related. She’s young and beautiful with long, dark hair and large, brown eyes, possibly still in high school or recently graduated.
It takes four tries before I come up with the right message to send her.
FIFTEEN
“You look incredibly hot this morning,” Adam greets me as I emerge freshly showered twenty-some minutes later. He swings me into his arms and plants an extra long kiss on my lips. Like the other day, he tastes strangely fruity, and his lips feel uncharacteristically dry.
I stiffen under his touch, wondering if there’s something he’s neglecting to taste so strange and act so exuberant. His arms aren’t as strong, and I swear I can feel more of his ribs with my touch.
“Maybe you should take my internal temperature,” I say with a wiggle of my brow.
I’ll play his game as long as I can. I just pray that Adam’s parents will be in touch with me soon. Before it’s too late.
He hoists me up into his arms, setting me on top of Theo’s spotless counter.
“Sounds like a formal invitation.” He kisses me hard, his breath already rapid, although I don’t feel his arousal against my wandering hands.
I want to push him away, make him stop. It’s beginning to feel too much like I’m taking advantage of a sick person. Thankfully, my phone vibrates behind us. I reach for it with my mouth still attached to Adam’s.
“Let it ring,” he whispers, catching my lower lip between his teeth. He reaches underneath my shirt to cradle my breasts. “I have bigger plans for you.”
I brace myself against him. “My mom’s mad that she hasn’t been able to reach me the past two days. I have to answer it.” The screen shows an unknown 414 area code.
Bingo. I hop off the counter and head for the stairway leading outside. “I’m so not talking to her with you standing there fondling me. I’ll be back in a sec.”
I slide my thumb across to answer the call before it’s too late, and pause until I’m safely outside. “Hello?”
“Is this Jewels?” a girl asks, her high voice pensive.
“Yeah. It’s me. Is this Cora?”
“Yeah.” She pauses. “Adam’s mom isn’t...I gave her the message like you asked.
She told me to call you.”
“I know they’re upset that he won’t go through with the transplant. He won’t listen to me either, but he’s really weak. I don’t know anything about diabetes. I want to take him to a doctor, but he refuses to go. He says he’s done with doctors and surgeries. I’m afraid...” I stop to choke on a small sob. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t just stand back and watch him die.”
“Look, I don’t know you, and it’s not my business anymore what he’s doing in New York with you. But you have to find a way to bring him back. He’s going to die without a new kidney. You have to convince him he has no other choice.” She stops, sucking in a deep breath. “They have a donor waiting. You have to bring him home. Please.”