The Year We Fell Apart (21 page)

“I don’t know, I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I mean, she has breast cancer. But today, I don’t know, she’s just, she keeps getting sick and she cut herself on glass and I don’t know how bad it is and I just think she should go to the hospital, only she can’t walk.”

“Okay,” the too-calm woman on the other end of the line says. “I’ve sent an ambulance over; just stay with your mom and I’ll remain on the line with you until they get there.”

It takes them one hundred years to get here. Two medics and a fireman come into my house, and the medics strap Mom onto a gurney and wheel her out the door.

I jump into the ambulance and do my best to answer the series of questions they ask on the way to the hospital.

“What medications is she on?”

This is asked by the first medic, a petite woman who is taking Mom’s vitals while I sit on my hands and stare at her. She’s practically passed out. She can’t keep her eyes open, anyway.

She was fine twenty-five minutes ago. How does this happen in twenty-five minutes?

“I don’t know the names of any of them,” I answer. “She’s on treatment—chemo—and she takes some anti-nausea pills. She had one or two this morning.”

So much noise inside the ambulance; I don’t know how they can work with all this noise. The siren blares, echoing louder as we pass under a bridge, and everything around me rattles, as if all the gauze and equipment is as jumpy as I am, ready to be of service. Some chatter comes over the radio up front, and I barely hear the next question.

“What has she had to eat today?”

It comes from the second medic. He hooks her up to oxygen and speaks in a soothing voice, like this is the kind of thing he deals with every day. Which I guess it probably is.

“Half a yogurt and some tea.”

Once we get to the hospital, they sweep her away to get her hand stitched and I’m left all alone. I sit in an empty, fluorescent-lit waiting area for ten minutes before a nurse approaches me and asks if I need to call someone. I reach for my phone, but my back pocket is still empty. I left my cell on the kitchen counter.

I follow the nurse to a pay phone and dial Dad’s number first. This time he answers after the first ring. He cuts me off, tells me he’s on his way, and that he’ll call Graham and let him know. I hang up and stare at the phone. I’m overwhelmed with a need to see Declan. To hear his voice tell me this will be okay, because he’s the only person I know who has earned the right to say that. I need him to tell me how he kept breathing when his mother didn’t.

I pick up the phone and dial his number.

I do a decent job of holding it together up until then. But the moment he answers the phone, a curious tone in his voice because it’s a number he doesn’t recognize, I just lose it. Lose everything—my sanity, anything resembling control, and certainly the tiny sum of strength I had left.

“It’s Harper.” I sniff and try not to sob into the receiver.

“Harper? What’s wrong?”

“I’m at the hospital. Something’s wrong with my mom.”

“I’m on my way. Okay? I’ll be right there.”

I nod, as if he can see me. “Okay.”

He makes it to me before Dad or Graham arrive. He rushes over, pulling me tight against his chest and not caring that I get tears mixed with a good amount of snot all over the front of his shirt.

He strokes my hair and I work on slowing down my hiccup-breaths. We sit on aqua-colored vinyl seats, and Declan takes my hand. He doesn’t let go for hours.

  *  *  *  

Dehydration was the biggest culprit. The cuts were mostly contained to her hands from when she fell onto broken glass on her way to the toilet. But they are keeping Mom overnight to run tests, so Dad sends Graham and me home.

Declan walks with us out to the parking lot.

“I know it’s getting late,” I say to him. “But would you maybe want to come over for a little while?”

He glances at Graham, who is a few car lengths ahead. “Sure.”

“Okay. Um . . . I’m going to ride with my brother. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

When we get in the house, Graham pulls me into a hug. “Thanks for handling this today. You did good.”

“Thanks, Graham.”

He nods. “I’ll get out of your hair. Try to get some sleep, okay?”

“Sure.”

He walks up to his room and I open the front door for Declan. He follows me to the kitchen and fixes a pot of coffee, knowing I won’t want to sleep until Mom gets back. Then he grabs some bread and butter, and gets to work making me a grilled cheese.

“You don’t have to do all this for me.”

“It’s no problem. Anyway, you need to eat.”

He puts the plate down in front of me a couple minutes later and casts me a worried glance.

“Thanks,” I say, even though I really don’t want it.

He watches as I run my finger around the ridge of white glass. He shifts his weight and the wooden chair creaks.

“You have to eat something, Harper.” His voice is quiet, almost nervous.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Just a few bites.” His hand floats an inch above my shoulder. Hesitantly, he traces a line of freckles. “Please?”

His eyes search mine and I crack. I take a bite, letting the melted cheese burn my tongue.

“Can you get me the ketchup?”

He smirks down at me before getting it out of the fridge.

Something close to a smile tugs at my lips. “I’ll have you know, ketchup and grilled cheese is a completely normal and delicious combination.” I shake the bottle and squirt some onto my plate.

“Just like bacon-wrapped pineapple?”

“Yup.”

“And peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches?”

“Exactly.” I take another bite and chew slowly, suddenly worried that he’ll leave as soon as I’ve finished. “Declan?”

“Hmm?”

“Is your dad home tonight?”

He shakes his head.

I pick at my crust. “So, you don’t have to be home right away?”

“I’ll stay as long as you’d like.”

When I’m finished with my sandwich, we move to the living room. Declan sits on the couch and I grab the remote, flipping through channels until I find a comedy from a few years back. It’s already almost an hour into the movie, but we’ve both seen it before.

“This okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, great.”

I set the remote down on the coffee table and grab a blanket before sitting next to him.

“Mind if I turn the light off?” he asks. “There’s a glare.”

“That’s fine.”

The room goes dark, and I pull the blanket over my lap, shifting until I’m comfortable. But not relaxed. Because aside from the stress about Mom, I’m also fixating on the six inches of sofa separating Declan’s leg from mine.

And I know it’s completely inappropriate to be having these kinds of thoughts right now, but I can’t help it. When was the last time we were alone in the dark?

I make it through ten more minutes of the movie before sneaking a glance at him. He’s slouched against the corner of the sofa, his eyes glued to the TV screen. I run my hand through my hair and turn away again.

“Harp?”

Crap
. I’m caught. I keep my head turned toward the TV. “Yeah?”

“Did you mean what you said the other day? About wishing I could stay?”

“Of course.”

His voice is husky. “And what happens after I leave?”

I stretch out the elastic on my wrist, then ease it back down. “What do you mean?”

His jaw shifts to the side. Then back again. “Do you think we’ll still talk?”

I close my eyes for one slow breath. Then face him. “Declan . . . I know I messed up. I made a lot of really stupid choices this year. And shutting you out like I did, that was the worst one.”

He watches me, his expression serious. Then he rubs his thumb over his mouth and pushes himself a couple inches up the couch. He cracks a smile. “So that’s a yes, then?”

“That’s a yes. Until you get sick of me calling, anyway.”

The scenery on TV changes, casting a new, brighter light on him. His eyes flicker over my face. “You’re tired. Sure you don’t want me to go?”

I shake my head. “I won’t be able to sleep.”

“Okay.” He rests his arm on the back of the couch and slouches until he’s comfortable.

We both start watching the movie again, but if I hadn’t seen it before, I would have no idea what was going on. This resolution between us is bittersweet. His friendship means everything to me, and I can’t stand the thought of destroying it a second time. But the secrets I’ve kept are eroding my own happiness. Declan should have all the facts before deciding to have a relationship—any relationship—with me.

Another fifteen minutes go by, and I reach my limit. My pulse picks up. I open my mouth—nothing. I don’t know how to start this conversation.

Declan’s eyes are nearly shut, and his breathing is heavy. “Can’t get comfortable?”

“No, I’m fine.” I turn back to the screen.

“Here.” He gestures for me to lean against him.

I scan the space left between us and hug the blanket to my chest. Pulling my hair over one shoulder, I scoot closer and settle against his side. My hands are in fists around the blanket.

“Um, can you . . .” Declan adjusts, gently moving my elbow so that it isn’t digging into his rib cage.

“Oh, sorry.” I turn a bit more so that I’m curved around him. Now one arm is tucked close to my side, but I don’t know where to put my other hand. I settle on his chest and lean down so that my cheek is resting beside it. My head rises and falls with his breath. “Better?”

“Better,” he says in a quiet voice.

Within minutes, his breathing slows down again. I glance up, and his eyes are completely closed. His lips are softly parted.

I listen to his heartbeat. It gets harder and harder to open my eyes each time I close them.

His fingers trace the back of my hand, pulling me awake.

“Harp?”

On an inhale, I lift my head. The movie is over. It’s four in the morning.

“Sorry.” Our legs are tangled together and his other hand is resting lightly over my hip bone. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

He swallows. “That’s okay. But I think your dad is home.”

I hear it now too. The garage door. But my body isn’t cooperating, and I’m still lying on top of Declan when Dad comes through the kitchen door.

He freezes when he sees us. Then straightens and clears his throat.

I push myself up, rubbing my eyes. “How’s Mom? Is she okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” he says. “She’s sleeping at the hospital tonight, but she’ll be home after they run a few tests in the morning.” His eyes shift to Declan. His mustache turns down. “Declan, I think it’s time you went home too.”

“Yes, sir.” Declan’s eyes flicker to mine, and he stands. I walk him to the front door. “Night, Harp.”

“Good night.”

He steps outside, and I catch his arm, pulling him into one last hug.

It’s different from the frenzied embrace at the hospital. My arms wrap around his neck and his whole body is post-sleep warm against mine. One of his hands curves around the back of my head, the other is firm on the small of my back, pulling me closer.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He leans back, looking down at me. “Any time.”

I let go and step back inside. He hops off the porch, and I start to close the door. But I can’t take my eyes off him. He turns, walking backward down my driveway. Holding my gaze.

And even after everything that’s happened today, I’m smiling.

Because it seems like maybe Declan can’t take his eyes off me, either.

DAD IS STILL STANDING IN
the Kitchen. The microwave dings and he takes a plate of leftovers out but sets it on the counter and faces me.

“It’s awfully late for Declan to be over, don’t you think?”

I stretch and crack my spine. “His dad is out of town again. And I wanted some company.”

“Graham is home.”

“Exactly.” I will him to pick up a fork and drop the subject. “So it’s not a big deal.”

His mustache twitches, but he nods and opens the silverware drawer. His wiry hair is unkempt and greasy, like he’s been running his hand over it all night. His dress shirt is wrinkled, and the knot of his tie hangs six inches below his collar.

He takes a bite and wipes his mouth on a napkin. “I’m going to take a quick nap and go back over there. Maybe you can run to the store later today.”

“I’m coming with you.”

He spears a potato wedge. “I don’t think that’s necessary. You should get some rest, your mother—”

“Why won’t you let me help?”

He pauses midchew. Swallows. “That is helpful. All this stuff needs to get done.”

“No, but . . . look, I don’t mind going to the store. But I’m the one who was here this afternoon, I’m the one who called the ambulance and got her to the hospital and sat there for hours, waiting. I know I’ve let you guys down this past year, and that I haven’t been around as much as I should have been lately, but I’m here now, and I’m coming with you.”

Dad leans against the counter and crosses his arms. With his eyes closed, he takes a slow breath in and out. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do? It could be a while before she’s released.”

“Yes, I’m sure. I want to be there for her.”

“Okay.” He gives me a tired smile and pulls his tie off. Then he rests one hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve thanked you yet, for the way you handled things this afternoon. You kept your head, acted responsibly. I’m very proud of you.”

“Thanks,” I mumble.

An hour later we head back to the hospital for another long day of waiting.

  *  *  *  

Sadie paces around her room, gripping her phone against her ear.

“. . . but you promised!” She twirls a pen with her free hand. “But . . . whatever.
I don’t care.
Fine. Mmkay, bye.” She hangs up and throws her phone onto her vanity. She looks over at me and smiles. “You’re awake!”

“No, I’m not.” I roll over and pull her pillow over my head.

She jumps onto the bed and snuggles up to my side, nudging her head under my arm like a puppy.

“Did you drink a Boomerang already?” I mumble from under the pillow. By some miracle, I managed to convince Sadie to stay in last night, which explains why she’s already completely stir-crazy this morning. She bounces next to me on the mattress and yanks the pillow off my face. “Was that your mom?”