Page 63 of Out of the Blue

The woman’s eyebrows raise. She licks her finger and flips a page. Licks her finger and turns another page. Lick. Turn. Lick. Turn.

My body wants to hop over the desk and yank the book out of her hands.

Finally, she stops and her finger glides down the page. Slower than Juanita on a slide in the playground when she was a toddler. Because I can’t wait another second, I ask, “Did you find him?”

She raises her head toward me. “I have the department’s extension. Let me give them a call, honey.”

I want to yell at her not to honey me, but I manage to keep my mouth shut. After what feels like an interminable wait, she says, “Do you have any information about a Trent Washington? I have a young lady here who is concerned.”

Concerned? More like jumping out of my skin. I clench my teeth.

“Okay. I will. Thank you.” The receptionist hangs up the phone and pulls out a light blue piece of paper. She presents me the visitor pass, plus a map.

“Your Trent is in the Emergency Room. To get there—” She draws a route on the map.

Without waiting for her to finish, I raise the paperwork in the air and wave. “Thanks.”

My feet take me away from the reception area as fast as they can. Following the map, I arrive at the ER. Finally. Trent’s aunt beat me here, sitting in a chair off to the side. She brings a tissue up to her eyes.

Now that I’m here, so close I can almost feel her hand in mine, I stall. Maybe I don’t want to know how he’s doing. Maybe he’s already been discharged. Maybe he’s in the back somewhere singing for the nurses.

Auntie Gloria looks up and our gazes lock.

Or maybe he’s really messed up.

She stands and I cross the room. When I get within a pace of her, she opens her arms wide and for the second time tonight, I’m enveloped in her big hug.

When she lets me go, I step back. “Where’s your family? Uncle Casey? Your kids?”

She shakes her head. “Casey has an early morning, and I didn’t want to wake the kids if I didn’t have to.”

So she’s all alone, too. I give her another embrace and whisper, “You’re not alone any longer. Did you speak with any doctors yet?”

Auntie Gloria hauls me tighter, then releases me. “Let’s sit.”

I plunk my body down in the seat next to the one she was using. After she settles herself, she begins, “When I got here, his doctor was at the nurse’s station and told me Trent was in a motorcycle accident. They think it was the damned black ice. Anyway, he wiped out pretty badly and was thrown over a ravine. A truck driver saw the bike on the other side of the road and pulled over. He found Trent and called 911.”

As she talks, all air evaporates from my lungs. “Is he—” I can’t bring myself to complete my sentence.

She grabs my hand. “He’s out for testing somewhere.” She squints. “I don’t remember what they’re testing.”

At least he’s still alive. They don’t test unless the patient is alive, right? “Did you see him at all?”

“No.” She starts to cry again. I pat her back and snag a tissue for myself. We remain in our own misery for a while.

“I’m actually happy Lorinda isn’t here for this. It would’ve killed her.”

“We don’t know what’s going on with him yet. We need to keep the faith.” I’m not sure who needs to hear this more, her or me. But we both calm a little.

She blows her nose.

I can’t restrain myself any longer. With a voice losing its power with every word, I confess, “This is all my fault. Trent got mad at me after you left. I suggested he tell Braxton.”

Her eyes get bigger. “You know?”

“I do. He shared his mother’s diary with me.”

She nods. “I told him to do the same thing.”

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