Page 11 of Dear Adam
I click on one of the voicemails, hold it up to my ear, and immediately wish I hadn’t.
A woman’s shrill voice filters out. She’s very factual, to the point, and I only catch bits and pieces of what she’s saying before the world around me shifts, the sand beneath my feet feeling like quicksand. It sounds like she’s speaking another language. I must be dreaming. No, this is a nightmare. Myworstnightmare. I look around for anything to help wake me up, but come up with nothing. This is real life. My head spins uncontrollably. I can’t gather my thoughts, can’t swallow properly, can’t move, can’t do anything.
My mouth dries and my heart threatens to beat out my chest as I fall to my knees. I hear a wail and realize it’s coming from my own lips. It sounds strange to my own ears, like it’s coming from miles away. Unable to bear anymore, to know the outcome of this phone call that seems to be never ending, I drop the phone before I finish the rest of the message. Bits and pieces of what I did manage to hear swirl in my head.
San Diego Hospital…Adam Bloomington…bad wreck…coma.
Emma and Pretzel come into view, and when she realizes something’s wrong, runs toward me.
“Aly!” She screams. “What happened? Are you okay?”
My head feels like it’s stuffed with gauze and I can’t think straight. I drop my face into my hands and choke back a sob. “It’s Adam,” I manage.
Her face drains of color and she spots my phone in the sand, picking it up and hitting play. As the nurse relays her message again, I let out another strangled sob. Eventually, she tucks my phone safely into her pocket and wraps her arms around me.
“He’s okay,” she says reassuringly, although the concern and worry etched into every detail of her face tell me otherwise. Her brow is furrowed, her eyes wide with fear. She takes my hand in her own and gives it a gentle squeeze, but the tremor she’s trying to suppress works its way through anyway. “Did you listen to the entire message?”
I shake my head, tears streaming down my face. “I don’t want to know,” I whisper.
“He’s alive and he’s at the hospital getting the best care possible right now,” she tells me anyway. Pretzel sticks her cold, wet nose against my hand and lets out a whine, as if she can sense something is wrong. Emma picks me up and brushes the sand from my shins and knees. “Let’s get you home.”
When I wake, the sun has settled lower in the horizon, deepening the sky to a burnt orange. I reach for my phone to check the time. It’s not there, but Emma is. For a split second, I’m confused, until the events of the day come rushing back, forceful enough to make my head start pounding again. Immediately, my chest heaves, and I throw my arm over my eyes in a weak attempt to block out the world around me. Gently, Emma pries it off and tucks a salty, tear-matted piece of hair behind my ear.
“How did you get me home?” I ask faintly. Every moment from listening to that voicemail to now is a blur.
“I drove you home.”
“You can’t drive a stick shift.”
“It wasn’t the smoothest ride, and I did get flipped off more than once when I stalled out at an intersection,” she confesses. “But I did it. You were needing a new transmission anyway.”
A small laugh escapes me, but it feels wrong. I shouldn’t be laughing with Adam, my best friend, my twin, my other half, a million miles away from me…in a coma.
“Have you heard any updates?” I ask tentatively, afraid of the answer.
“He’s pretty banged up, Aly, but he’s still stable.” I can tell she’s trying to protect me from the entire truth of exactly how bad it is. She takes a raggedy breath, mustering the courage to continue. “Your parents called from the airport. They were getting ready to board a flight to San Diego to go be with him.”
“They went without me?” I cry, sitting up so fast that Pretzel, who was curled up next to me, lets out a yelp of protest and moves to the other side of the bed. A mixture of rage and guilt instantly courses through my veins.
Ishould be the one sitting beside Adam right now, not mom and dad.Iunderstand everything about Adam, not them. Selfishness over falling asleep when my twin needs me crashes into me. I throw back my covers, ready to stand, to leave, to dosomething, but Emma gently forces me to sit back down.
“Aly, wait,” she says, placing a hand on each of my shoulders. “They called you a little while ago and I answered it. They made it to the hospital in California and talked to his doctors. They’re saying he’s stable enough to transfer to South Carolina. I think your mom demanded to meet the CEO of the hospital or something and got the job done.” She attempts a halfhearted smile. That sounds like Mom. She’s a royal pain ninety-nine percent of the time, but occasionally it’s useful. She hands me my phone, and I place it on the side table.
“Did they say when he’ll be here?”
“In the morning,” she says. I sit on the edge of the mattress and Emma joins me.
Suddenly, I remember Levi was probably in the car too. “How’s Levi?” I ask, panic seizing my chest again.
“Levi is actually doing okay from what I understand. Most of the impact was on your brother’s side. Levi was driving when a teenager ran a stoplight and t-boned them,” Emma gently explains. She’s trying her best to stay strong for me, but I can still see the worry and fear in her eyes.
Panic begins to loosen its grip on my chest and my heartbeat slows, returning to its normal rhythm. I close my eyes and whisper a silent prayer of thanks.
“I’m going to turn on a Meg Ryan movie marathon and let Pretzel out. Don’t move, okay?” I settle back into the mattress and she tucks the covers around me before hitting play on the TV. Under Emma’s tough exterior is a heart of gold for the people she loves, and I know how lucky I am to have her.
“Okay,” I whisper, too exhausted to manage much else.
Emma quietly shuffles into the kitchen and returns a few moments later with two cups of steaming lavender and honey tea. She slides in beside me and asks, “Did I miss anything?” even though she knows this movie by heart and could recite any line from it at any given time. Pretzel jumps up into the bed, too, and wedges herself between us. She does the same thing she did the night I first brought here and digs her nose under the covers only to pop out again, fully covered, completely cozy. I take a sip of my tea and my shoulders loosen, if only a little bit.
