“I’ve had to develop a thick skin over the years: first with growing up the way I did—my dad, moving all the time, never belonging anywhere. And then with everything that’s happened since, I’ve had to be strong. I’ve had to face things head-on. So don’t worry that a little bit of real talk is going to shatter me. I’m nowhere near that fragile. In fact I’m not fragile at all.” I squeezed the hand that rested on my knee.
“Oh babe, you, fragile? No. I would never think that of you. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. But as much as what I said is the truth, there’s a time and a place for everything, and right now is neither the time nor the place. I should have thought, should have been more considerate of you. Yeah, we need to have some difficult conversations, of course we do, but I also need to pick my fucking moments better.” He glanced at me briefly taking his eyes off the road before quickly sending them back again.
“You okay? Do you wanna talk about it? You know, the emergency?”
I shook my head resolutely. That was definitely a conversation for another day if ever there was one. We made good time, approaching the city sooner than I had expected we would. The Dodge drove like a beast, and Beck made use of the fact that there was a lower police presence on the country roads to make up time. As we entered the city limits he reduced his speed accordingly, but I was thankful he had put the pedal to the metal when he could. Sitting at traffic lights, he glanced at me again.
“Where to?” Oh, yes that’s right, I hadn’t told him the specifics of where we were going.
“City Central ER please.”
“Okay, won’t be long now.”
As we drove, the light of the day changed, both with the rising sun, and with the increasing amount of street lighting, advertising, traffic lights, and billboards. It was almost seven a.m. and the awakening city already had its hustle on. As was always the case in Manhattan, the energy of the place was tangible. People had places to go, people to see, money to make. Me? I had an emergency to deal with.
When we pulled into the parking lot of City Central Hospital, and Beck slowed the car to look for an available parking space, I leaped out and sprinted toward the door of the ER not bothering to look—or even close the car door—behind me. It was rude, but I had more pressing priorities to consider—I’d deal with the social niceties later. I burst through the sliding doors and ran to the reception desk.
“Hi. I am here about my son. He was admitted last night with an asthma attack.” The nurse on duty had the bored look of somebody who had spent too many years at the front line, and seen too much tragedy.
“Name?” she snapped briskly, looking at me with disinterest over the top of her glasses.
“Samuel James Reid.”
“Date of birth?”
“February twenty-first 2007.”
Beck
As we’d pulled into the parking lot, something had told me I needed to enter the building with her. She had been suspiciously tight-lipped since the crisis broke out, and I couldn’t help but wonder what she was keeping from me. Again.
We’d driven together for three hours, and yet in all that time she declined to elaborate on the nature of the emergency, despite frantically sending texts back and forth to someone for almost the entire journey. Something was wrong—I’d known it in my guts—and I needed to know what.
When she’d jumped out of the car, I’d spun it into the first available space, aware that it was probably restricted or reserved. I didn’t care. I’d deal with the repercussions later. I just had to go in there with her. I swung through the ER doors and there she was.
As though I had developed superpowers, all of my senses had focused on Mel. Timing had been on my side, and I walked in just in time to witness her delivering the crucial pieces of the puzzle. Pieces that experience had shown me Mel was unlikely to have told me herself.
My hearing seemed to sharpen to supersonic levels, and from the door, I clearly heard her speaking. “My son,” she’d said.
She had a son. Something she had neglected to tell me in all of our previous meetings. Of course, I hadn’t asked, hadn’t known to ask. Even still, her not having mentioned it seemed at the very least to be a lie by omission. Her son who was born in February 2007. Eight months after I had last seen her. It didn’t take a genius to do the fucking math.
Motherfucker! I couldn’t believe she had been keeping something as big as this from me, which was dumb, really. In actual fact, withholding was totally part of her MO, so why be surprised? She had ghosted me, and despite drip feeding me tidbits of information, had never fully explained the circumstances as to why.
This new development made a lot more sense than any of the half-truths she had previously given me. But what I couldn’t work out was why. Why the fuck would she so desperately want to keep something so important from me?
I approached the desk and grabbed Mel by the elbow, clearly startling her. The nurse had been explaining where her—no—our son was, and Mel had been listening intently. She was obviously expecting that either I was still parking the car, or that I had simply dropped her at the door and left.
Judging by the surprised yelp she let out when I accosted her, and the aghast look on her face, the last thing she’d been expecting was for me to hear what I just had.
She thanked the receptionist for her help and looked up at me as though she had been caught with her hands in the cookie jar. I suppose in a way she had. Not wanting to cause a scene in front of the reception desk, I gripped her elbow tightly and lead her slightly to the side of the reception area.
“What the fuck Mel? Why didn’t you tell me you have a son? More to the point why didn’t you tell me I have a son?” I was trying my best to keep the fury from my voice and the volume down, but I wasn’t particularly successful.
Mel looked utterly stricken. “I… It’s not… He’s not…”
“Don’t. Fucking. Lie. To. Me. Again. Mel. Despite evidence to the contrary, in previously believing all your bullshit, I’m not stupid. Except when it comes to you. Don’t stand there and try and lie your way out of this. I heard everything you just said to the receptionist. His date of birth fits, and you called him Sam. Jesus. I didn’t have to be Sherlock Homes to figure it out.”
Samuel, was a family name: my grandfather’s name, my uncle’s name, and my middle name. Back in the day, I had explained to her that if I ever had a boy, I would love to continue the tradition, and call him Sam also. Clearly, she had remembered. Shame she had conveniently “forgotten” to tell me I was a father.
I turned and hit the wall with all my might, startling Mel, again, and causing the receptionist to quickly look my way, raising her eyebrows in warning. I was sure she was deciding whether she needed to call security.
I didn’t want to get thrown out of the place, so I raised my hands in the universal symbol for surrender, mouthing “sorry” at the receptionist, and wincing in pain. That had fucking hurt. She shrugged as though to say, “Don’t apologize. Just behave yourself.” She had a point, and my aching fist would certainly agree. I turned angrily to Mel.
“Let’s go to him. Come on, you can walk and talk.”