“It’s very possible,” the chaplain says. “And I bet he heard you, too.”
I like this guy.
“It’s not uncommon for the first scan to show some activity and the second to come out flat,” the neurologist adds. “Unfortunately, there’s no blood flow going to his brain anymore.”
I’m numb, slowly processing everything. I can’t. I can’t keep him on those machines. I know he wouldn’t want it. We’ve talked about this before … Oh my God, he’s gone. My dad is gone. Closing my eyes, the chaplain steps in, attempting to bring me words of comfort.
“Reese, do you know if your father was a believer?”
My eyes snap open to meet his compassionate gaze, and the floodgates swing open. I can no longer hold back. “Yes,” I say, choking on a sob. “Yes, he was.”
“That’s good news. Understand that he is no longer in pain,” he says sincerely. “Your father is in a better place now.”
Covering my face as best I can, he squeezes my shoulder. “Are you here by yourself? We want to make sure you’ll be okay.”
“I … I am …” I hesitate. “It’s just … this is a lot to take in, and they won’t let anybody other than family in here. M-my m-mom is-n’t call-ing m-me ba-ack.” I can’t even talk right now. It’s all too much. I want Luke here with me, and I don’t even have a way to get ahold of him. And now on top of everything else, I’m pissed at him for being gone when I need him.
“Do you have someone who can come get you?” the chaplain asks gently.
“Yeah I do,” I say, licking my lips. “I just need to wrap my head around this for a second. I don’t … I don’t think I can talk to anybody now.” I’m not even looking at them anymore; I’m sort of in a daze. “Can you give me a little time?” I ask, wishing I could get ahold of my mom.
“We’ll call for you if you’d like,” he replies.
“Please.” Digging through my purse, I forget what I’m looking for. Oh yeah, my phone. Once I find it, I scroll through the contacts and hand it over. “Her name is Gia.”
He nods, before walking out of the room with my phone.
My father’s gone. My father’s gone. My father’s gone. The phrase runs repeatedly through my head. His pale, lifeless body only confirms it.
“Your friend Gia’s on her way up,” the chaplain says, handing me my phone. When he asks if I’d let him pray with me, I agree, because I know my father would have wanted it.
Walking down the hall, in what seems like slow motion, I glance in every open room I pass—searching for a clue. Someone on this floor knows what happened to my father. I still haven’t received a call back from that Thomas guy, but I plan to bug him until he talks to me. My father gave me his card, so it obviously means he trusts him.
Heels clanking against the tiled hospital floor captures my attention, and I wonder if my eyes are playing tricks on me. No way. I blink. Why is she here? Pausing, I stay back, watching as her blonde tresses bounce with each and every step. Of all the people, Lauren Ryann scurries down the hall, her expression frazzled, as she messes with an arrangement of flowers. Thankfully, they hinder her view of me. If this weren’t the worst day of my life, I’d check on her … make sure she’s okay. I’m just glad she isn’t crying. It’ll lessen some of the guilt I’ll feel for avoiding her.
Before her brother left, she’d moved up to Flagstaff with a close friend of hers. There’s so much to catch up on, I wouldn’t know what to say. She’ll ask why I’m here, and then I’ll have to explain. And I don’t have the strength for that right now. I want to go home, lie in my bed, and listen to music.
Her eyes fall to the numbers on the doors. I think she’s ready to turn the corner, but instead she stays on the same path. I panic, spotting the empty room to my right, then step inside and hide behind the doorway. It’s childish, I know, but I don’t care.
I peek around the wall and catch her walking into a room, shutting the door behind her. Blowing out a breath, I make my way toward the exit, trying to get as far away from this place as I possibly can. Thank God I don’t have to drive today.
Michelle stops me at the nurses’ station, meeting my eyes. Forcing a smile, I make a weak attempt at thanking her for all the encouragement. I wouldn’t have opened up like I did, if it weren’t for her advice. “Thank you,” I cry. “For everything.”
Her eyes tear up, then she pulls me into a hug. I wrap my arms around her, resting my head on her shoulder. We barely know each other, but it feels like we bonded last night. I can tell she’s a good person, and I’m glad she was there.