In the Middle of Nowhere (30 page)

I had done such a convincing acting job the
night before when I forced myself to relax, that when I rested my
eyes for a split second, I had fallen asleep for the rest of the
night. I awoke early the next morning feeling refreshed and
energetic. Snow and frost covered my bedroom window, yet the soft
glow of the winter’s sun streamed ambitiously through it.

I didn’t remember any of my dreams or even if
I had had any. I just knew that I felt good and was hopeful that
we’d be able to go to school the next day so I could finally be
reintroduced to civilization.

I checked my cell phone. No word from
Michael. I’d text him in a little while. I slowly opened my bedroom
door and found the rest of the house quiet. Thank God my brother
and mother were still sleeping. I was really hungry at this point,
so I snuck downstairs, made myself a waffle and turned on the
television.

Every local news station was reporting about
the snowstorm, even calling it the blizzard of the century. They
showed footage of the northeast and the record-breaking amounts of
snow left behind. Like the rest of Maine, Pike’s Island was
paralyzed by the sheer volume of the fluffy white stuff.

I could hear the plow outside on the road in
front of our house. At least the snow had stopped falling and the
town could start cleaning up. We should be able to go to school the
next day, I figured.

My cell phone beeped and I quickly took it
out of my pocket to read the text. I hoped it was from Michael, but
it wasn’t. It was from Tessa.

“You alive?” she texted.

“Barely.”

“Snow sucks!”

“I know.”

“School tomorrow?” she asked.

“Probably.”

“Cool. Get’s me out of being in this insane
asylum with my family.”

I chuckled at her text. I guessed no one
enjoyed being stuck inside their house with their family. I heard
my mother stirring upstairs. I panicked. “Gotta go. Text you
later.”

I ran into the kitchen, put my empty plate in
the sink and headed for my sanctuary so that I could avoid any and
all contact with my mom for as long as possible.

• • •

Thankfully, I heard my mother go downstairs.
She must have thought I was still sleeping. I had gotten under my
covers just in case she decided to come and check on me.

I scanned Michael’s MyWeb and saw that
nothing had changed. I called and texted him again and got no
answer. I was really starting to worry. Michael would have gotten
back to me by now, unless something was really wrong with him. He
hadn’t sounded good the last time we spoke, which had been over
twenty-four hours earlier.

I tried to look up his home phone number on
the Internet, but it didn’t show any listing for Anthony Cooper,
Michael’s father, in Portland or on the island. For whatever
reason, their number was unlisted. I didn’t know what to do. What
if he was really sick at home, or even worse, ended up in the
hospital again? I didn’t know why I was imagining the worst. It was
probably because he hadn’t gotten back to me and had wound up in
the hospital so many times before.

Then I remembered that I had an old text that
Michael had sent me a few weeks back when he was in the hospital,
from his mom’s cell phone.

I quickly found the text and his mom’s
number. I finally had a way to find out what was going on with
Michael, but I was hesitant to text his mother. What would I say to
her? Did she even know about me? I had to calm down and try to
think of something to write because I was sick with worry.

I decided to keep it short and simple. I
wrote: “Hi, I’m a friend of your son, Michael. I was just wondering
how he is doing because I haven’t heard from him in a while.
Thanks, Willow.”

I pressed the send button and felt better
immediately. At least I now had some sort of connection to Michael.
I just hoped that whatever I heard back was good news. Maybe
Michael flushed his cell phone down the toilet and he completely
forgot my number or he misplaced his laptop in a huge snow bank
and, therefore, wasn’t able to send me an e-mail. I sat on my bed
and waited, knowing this was just wishful thinking. But, either
way, I had to think positively.

As the positive thoughts entered my brain, I
got a text message. I looked at the number and saw it was from
Michael’s mom. My heart dropped immediately. I was scared to read
it, but didn’t have a choice. I opened it. It said: “Hi, Willow.
Michael is in Maine Medical Center, not doing well. He wanted me to
tell you this and that he is sorry he hasn’t called you. He will
contact you if and when he can. Mrs. Cooper.”

Oh my God. What did she mean Michael wasn’t
doing well? Was he so terribly sick that he wasn’t able to call or
text me himself? He must be and I started to panic and freak out,
especially because she wrote that he’d contact me “if he can.”

Should I write the mother back and ask her
what she meant by that or ask for more specifics on how badly he
was doing? No. I couldn’t do that. I didn’t even know her. I was
sure Mrs. Cooper wouldn’t appreciate some little friend of her
son’s bombarding her with text messages, as he lay ill in the
hospital. Answering my questions was not her priority.

I got off my bed and paced. What should I do?
I looked outside and saw that snow was everywhere. Even though the
plow had come by, the road still looked covered by it. Maybe I
could pay a taxi to drive me to the dock and I could take a ferry
over to the hospital. At this point the taxi would have to be a
monster truck with four-wheel drive. So much for that idea.

Another plan popped into my head, but I knew
it would never happen. Never. I had avoided her like she was worse
than the plague, so I couldn’t imagine that she would give me a
lift to the dock, especially since I was grounded from everything
in life but school. I figured even the desire to visit a seriously
ill friend would not help grant me an early acquittal.

But I also realized that I had no other
choice. I would break down and ask my mom for a ride, even though I
was certain that hell had a better chance of experiencing our
latest snowstorm than of her ever saying, “Yes.”

• • •

“Are you joking?” she asked as she sat on the
sofa and stared up at me.

I shook my head and looked down. My mom’s
response wasn’t as bad as I had thought. I expected at least a
couple of expletives.

“You’re punished. And even if you weren’t,
the roads are not drivable.”

“Yes they are, Mom. Look outside. The big
plow just went by again. And you have four-wheel drive on the
Jeep.”

My mom shook her head before I even finished.
“No, Willow. Not happening.”

I got on the floor next to her and folded my
hands. “Please, Mom. I’ll shovel the driveway myself so you can
pull out. Please. I promise I won’t ask to go anywhere but the
hospital today. Just today, Mom. Please?”

I looked at my mother pleadingly. I didn’t
know what else to do. How could she deny me visiting my friend who
was so sick? How could I convince her to let me see him especially
since I wasn’t sure whether or not Michael was going to be okay?
What if he was really bad off and sicker than I could imagine?

My mom didn’t answer me, only stared straight
ahead at the television. I started to cry. I was overcome with
sadness for a very sick boy whom I wasn’t able to talk to, for a
very sick boy who wrote me a lovely poem and when he asked my
opinion, I only told him it was “nice.”

“Stop crying, Willow, and stand up,” my mom
demanded.

I couldn’t do either. I was frozen in place
and sobbing, overcome with feelings of helplessness.

“Willow Ann Flynn! Stop crying this moment!”
she yelled.

Slowly I got up from the floor, wiped my eyes
with the back of my hand and turned to my mother. I was more sad
than mad when I asked her, “How can you deny me seeing Michael when
he might very well die today?” I couldn’t believe I said it out
loud. I guess deep down that is what I feared. What if Michael did
die today?

“You don’t know for a fact that he is that
sick, Willow.”

“Yeah, and I’ll never be able to find out
unless I go,” I quietly answered as I wiped my nose.

My mother thought about it, actually
contemplated it for a second and I could tell she was about to say,
“No.”

I stopped her in her tracks when I managed,
“I was never able to say good-bye to Daddy.” I lowered my head and
began to cry again, slow desperate sobs this time. I couldn’t
compose myself or catch my breath. My body heaved with sorrow. I
hung onto a chair for support. I felt powerless with no other
options. I didn’t want to miss the chance to tell Michael how much
I cared about him, especially before it was too late.

I tried to control myself, but couldn’t until
I heard my mother start to speak. All those poor sinners in hell
must have been completely stunned as snow began to fall upon them
when my mother looked at me and said, “Go and grab two
shovels.”

CHAPTER
FORTY

James insisted he was old enough to stay home
while my mom braved the storm in an attempt to drive me to the
dock. I knew he just wanted to stay home and have the TV all to
himself.

It took my mom and me almost an hour to
shovel the snow from around her Jeep, just so she could back out
into the road. The snowplow had pushed a ton of snow onto our
driveway, blocking the end of it. When we finally finished, we
hopped inside the warm, defrosted car and headed out.

Our road wasn’t too snowy or slippery, but
the further out we drove, the snowier and slicker it became. Even
though my mom was driving slowly and cautiously, all of a sudden,
we spun around and the front end of the Jeep ended slightly perched
on top of a snow bank. My mom was visibly shaken by it. My heart
was beating a little faster, too.

“I can’t do this anymore, Willow. I’m a
nervous wreck,” she said as her white knuckles clung tightly to the
steering wheel. My mother always hated driving in this kind of
weather.

My mom put the car in reverse and tried to
back out. Her rear tires spun and we didn’t move an inch. She tried
two more times, but we got nowhere.

She threw it into park. “That’s it. We’re
stuck. We’re gonna have to try to push it out.”

No other cars were anywhere in sight. We’d
have no choice but to try ourselves. We both climbed out and tried
to push, but nothing.

My mom had a thought. “Willow, you push while
I get inside and give it some gas.”

We tried this a couple of times, but the
tires just spun on top of the icy pavement.

I turned to her. “What are we gonna do?”

She shook her head. “Let me call Brian.”

“Why?” I snapped. “What’s he gonna do?”

“He can try to get us out of here. We have no
other choice, Willow. We can’t stay here all day.”

I turned away toward the window and rolled my
eyes as my mom called her fiancé. While my mother was grateful that
her hero was coming to help his damsel in distress, all I could
think about was Michael and the fact that I might not be able to
reach him at all and fearful of what might happen if I didn’t.

• • •

Brian finally found us. He pulled up in an
unfamiliar, huge pickup truck. He walked over to my mom’s side of
the Jeep as she lowered her window.

“What were you two thinking? It’s treacherous
out here. No one should be out on the roads, especially you, Laura.
I told you. You need four new tires on this thing,” Brian scolded
us like we were two of his misbehaving students.

“I know, you’re right, but,” my mom looked
over at me, “can you please get Willow over to the dock? I’ll wait
here with the Jeep until you get back.”

Brian looked annoyed, but relented. “Fine,
get in,” he said to me.

My mother grabbed my hand. “Call me when you
get there. Are you sure the ferry is running today?”

“I’m sure,” I said. “I already called.”

She squeezed my hand and held onto it for a
moment. “Be careful, Willow.”

I smiled. “I will. I promise.”

I climbed out of the car and said, “Thanks,
Mom,” before shutting the door. I walked over toward Brian and the
big truck and as much as I didn’t want to be alone with him,
quickly realized that desperate times called for desperate
measures. I just hoped ours would be the brief and the silent
kind.

• • •

Brian drove as carefully as he could. “My
neighbor was nice enough to let me borrow the truck to get you and
your mom.”

I didn’t respond, just stared out the window
in awe of the whiteness that surrounded us. Snow covered everything
from the tops of trees to rooftops, even fully burying some small
cars while on its journey from the clouds above.

I still didn’t like Brian nor trust him and
he, obviously, couldn’t take a hint. He continued. “You know,
Willow, I thought about what you said the other night, at your
house. I realize that I’m not your father and would never try to
be, but hopefully someday, I’ll be more than just your mother’s
husband to you. I’ve told you this before, I love your mother
dearly and care a great deal for you and your brother.”