Page 83 of Look on the Bright Side

“Is he…conscious?”

“They sedated him for the ventilator, but his sats are still low. Seventy-nine right now.”

Do not cry. You’re driving. Stay calm or you’ll kill someone. Or yourself. “Love you, Heather. All of you.”

“Be careful, Lark. Just…just get here as soon as you can.”

She heard Heather sob before the call ended, and that scared her more than anything. Not once—until now—had the Deans wavered in their granite optimism that Justin would beat this.

There was construction at the bridge, and along the canal, and onto Route 3. Ten miles north, though, and the highway opened up. It was hotter on the mainland, and she put the AC on high, pushing the car to eighty-six miles per hour. Thank God she’d filled up her tank yesterday. Then, just as soon as she started to make good time, there was a sea of taillights. A traffic sign informed drivers that there was a disabled vehicle in Kingston. She called Heather again.

“His fever’s up to one hundred and four,” Heather said without saying hello. “Lark…they told us it’s grave. The x-ray…his lungs are inflamed, and they said…something about lesions and nodules.”

Oh, Jesus. Please, God. Please help him. Lark took a slow, shaky breath in. “He’s young. He’s healthy.” Of course he wasn’t healthy. He had leukemia. “Is he…scared?”

There was nothing but silence, and Lark knew Heather was crying. “He knows it’s bad,” she whispered.

“Tell him I’m on my way, and I love him so, so much.”

“I will, honey. Drive safely.”

She was not driving safely. She was driving like the Masshole she was, weaving in and out, speeding up, then slamming on the brakes. She was driving as if the man she loved was dying…because he was.

If he could pull out of this, she’d give anything. Anything. Forget med school. She’d be a stay-at-home wife and worship him and make him so happy every single day, he’d be the happiest man in the history of the world. She’d have their kids and they’d look just like him, please, God, and Heather and Theo would be the best grandparents, and if he wanted to stay in Boston, that was fine, she loved Boston, they could live wherever he wanted, Sweden, Ethiopia, Antarctica, anywhere, as long as he pulled through. She would give him foot rubs every night and never argue with him, because really, they never argued now, and every day would be so wonderful and filled with gratitude and all that shit.

“You can do this, Justin. You’ve got this. You’re not going anywhere. You promised you wouldn’t leave me.” Her stomach clenched with terror.

When Route 3 turned into 93, there was more traffic. She was probably twenty-five miles away, and yet she was in stop-and-go traffic in fucking Hingham. She gripped the wheel so hard her hands went numb. When the traffic breathed again, she floored it.

Her phone rang. Heather. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Is he better?” she asked, hope like a flash fire.

“No. Here.”

“Lark.” His voice was so thin, she could barely hear him. She shut off the air conditioner.

“I’m here. I’m here. I love you. I love you so much. Fight this, honey. You’ve done it before.”

“I’m sorry.” His words were just breath now.

“No, you’re not! You’re not because you’ve got this, Justin! You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You have nothing to be sorry for!”

“Love…you.”

“I love you, too. I’m coming, honey. Please, Justin, hang on. Fight, baby. You have to fight.”

There was silence. “Justin?” she whispered.

“It’s Theo,” came his father’s voice. “Are you almost here?”

“Quincy,” she said, her voice breaking.

“Anything you can do to get here, Lark, do it. He needs you here.”

“I’m trying.” She pushed “end” and called 911.

“Nine one one, what’s your emergency?” said the dispatcher.

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