“I’m sure your brother would appreciate the visit. We’ll tell him you’re on the way.” She hangs up.
And crap.
Crap crap crapper crappy crappola.
It’s two minutes past midnight. Buses stopped running two hours ago. No cash to call a cab.
No cash to do anything.
No cash.
Rent.
Electricity.
Water.
Food.
Gas and maintenance for the truck.
Spinal tap.
Antibiotics.
Extended hospital stay.
Down, down, down. Sinking down, down, down.
It’s too much. I can’t do it. I can’t do anything about any of this. It’s hopeless. I’m trapped. There’s no getting out—
Phone rings again.
“Hello?”
“Rico?”
Jax.
Can’t breathe.
“Rico, are you there?”
I force myself to stare at his empty bed. “Yeah, Jaxy, I’m here. Are you okay?”
“The nurses said you’re coming…are you really coming, Rico?”
Crying now. “Yes, I’m coming, Jaxy. It might be a little while before I get there, but I’m coming.”
“How are you gonna get here, Rico?”
God, this is so unfair.
Don’t sniffle.
“You don’t worry about that, baby boy. I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?”
“Umm…can you maybe bring my iPad? I’ve watched all the movies they have here.”
Smiling now. My sweet, sweet Jaxy-Boy. “Sure, bud. I’ll bring it.”
“Okay, I’ll see you soon?”
“You will. Very soon.”
“K, bye!”
“Bye, Jax.”
He hangs up.
I call Jess.
No answer.
I call again.
Nothing.
Again.
Nope.
I set the phone down.
Stare at it.
I can’t do it.
I can’t call him.
Zan-the-Man.
Yes, he got home this morning and politely asked if he could take me to lunch (which was huge…Zan of old would’ve just popped up at my job).
(I said no.)
Yes, I told him I’m excited to see him.
And I am.
But not under these circumstances.
He’ll feel betrayed; I know how much he digs Jax, and I kept this from him. Not to mention I’ll have to eventually admit I went looking for Ethel without him.
I don’t want him rescuing me. Not right now.
The thought of owing him something on top of everything else? Seriously can’t even stomach it.
I can’t call him.
I can’t.
I sigh and look at the phone.
“Are you really coming, Rico?”
Guess this isn’t really about me anymore, is it?
Zan picks up on the first ring. “Rico?” He groans. “Everything okay?”
I close my eyes. Take a deep breath. “Not really.”
“Why? What’s the matter?” He’s wide-awake now. “Anything I can do?”
The first tear burns my cheek going down. “Yeah,” I say. “I need you.”
* * *
—
We ride to the hospital without speaking. No music. No handholding. No contact whatsoever.
As a matter of fact, after the end of our brief phone call, neither of us says a word until we get to the door of Jax’s room.
“Wait,” Zan says, catching my wrist as I reach for the push lever.
I stop. Look at him over my shoulder.
“I should’ve…,” he goes on. Eyes to the floor, then back to me. “Is it okay if I come in?” He shakes his head. “I don’t wanna intrude.”
And now my heart is a bubbling puddle of muck on the floor.
I hug him. Just rise up to my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck.
“Uhh. Okay…,” he says.
(This makes me smile.)
Once I release him, I take his hand, then I push Jax’s door open and pull Zan into the room with me.
You’d think I brought in the actual Santa Claus.
“Oh my God!” Jax says, looking from me to Zan and Zan to me. “Oh my God! You brought Z-man?”
Zan smiles, and Jax puts his face in his hands. “This is better than I could’ve dreamed!”
Zan laughs and ruffles Jax’s hair. “I missed you too, little dude,” he says. “You cool with me dropping by every once in a while?”
“Am I ever!”
I smile and pull Jax’s iPad (from Zan) out of my bag and sit it on the rolly tray-table thing. Zan grabs a chair from across the room and sits it right beside Jax’s bed.
“They treatin’ you all right in here, my man?”
Jax’s face falls. “I guess. I’m ready to go home,” he says, “but it’s gonna be another week and a half at least. Trying not to get too depressed about it.”
Zan sneaks a glance at me—I’ve grabbed a blanket and retreated to the couch built into the windowed wall—then turns back to Jax. “Depressed, huh?”
“It’s a real thing, you know? Kid depression. There’s a mind doctor guy who comes in twice a week to make sure I’m not getting too sad.”
I sit up straight. “Does Mama know about this?”
“Mm-hmm,” he says. “She was here last time he came.”
Bothers me a little that I didn’t know. I’m not his mom obviously, but still.
Zan changes the subject. “So what other cool stuff have you learned in here?”
Jax launches into a series of animated explanations: spinal taps, how his IVs work, what strain of bacteria caused his meningitis, which nurse is the “hottest”—he gets some side-eye from me on this one. After a while I tune out and let them talk.