Page 61 of Somewhere Only We Know
“Thank you.” I hang up and stand out in the breezeway. Waiting for a sign. Waiting for my mom. Waiting for someone or something to wake me up from this godforsaken nightmare I’ve found myself in. How?
“Nate!” I hear called out to my left. Her short hair is styled in a tinkerbell cut and her body is covered head to toein layers to brace for the winter cold. Even in the winter, my mom’s umber skin is warm like she spent hours in the sun despite being at the office when I called. She rushes up to me and it’s clear the strain from this secret dad and her have kept from me has eaten away at her.
“Mom.” I say and stand up to my full height. I level her with a stare that tells her I’m angry and scared shitless. “What is happening?”
“We don’t know,” she tells me and I quirk an eyebrow at her. “Nate, I promise I am not lying to you.”
“But it’s something?” I ask, grasping for some information.
My mom nods. “Yes.”
I look over her head and to the parking lot. Rows of cars litter the asphalt, the sound of jets taking off from the nearby Naval Station, and the sound of semi-trucks brakes squeaking as they come to a stop at a stoplight is one of familiarity in Virginia Beach. Only, I’ve never heard them from the hospital. And it’s now, as I’m standing outside of a hospital, that I hate the sight and sound of all those things that feel like home.
Letting out a breath, I angle my head to the side. “Okay. I’ll take you to his room.”
After my mom checks in and gets a name tag, I take her back up to his room. I go to the chair by the window and watch as they have a moment. Dad finally woke up and is hooked up to machines with an IV drip administering something that’s above my knowledge. They talk in low voices and I see my dad’s eyes flicker to me a few times. That look does very little to ease my concerns over him.
A knock sounds and in comes the doctor with a nurse following close behind. Every muscle in my body coils as I wait for what he’s about to say.
“Christopher, we compared your tests from your last visit and everything still looks the same.”
My spine straightens as I level a glare at my parents and then swing it to the doctor and then back to my parents.
“I’m sorry,” I interrupt while not sorry in the slightest, “did you say ‘last visit’? When was this?”
The doctor has the nerve to look taken aback and he looks to my parents who finally give him a nod. “Nathan, your Dad is sick.”
“Yeah, I can see that. But from what? Because this is the first time I’m hearing about any of this.”
“Nate,” my mom tries to calm me down.
“No! I asked you both last summer if everything was okay. And you lied to my face.” I tuck my hands in fists and feel the bite of pain from my nails. I will not cry. Crying makes me look weak. But not knowing what’s wrong with my dad, the man I’ve looked up to my entire life, makes me feel helpless.
“That’s because we don’t know what’s wrong,” the doctor chimes in.
I turn my attention to him. “What do you mean?”
The doctor leans against the wall and directs his attention on me. “While your dad is sick, we’ve run so many tests and have come up with nothing. But my guess would be IPF.”
“What’s–what is that, exactly?”
“It’s more common in older men, but idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis mainly attacks the lungs. Which explains the coughing.”
I slide my eyes to my parents and they’re looking at me with sympathy. “Is there a cure?”
“I’m afraid not.”
My mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for breath. “Does he have a timeline?”
The doctor looks at my parents and I see them nod again from the corner of my eyes, giving him the okay to tell me. “Right now, with you finding your dad unconscious and him being down for an unknown amount of time, he has a few months. Give or take.”
I gnash my teeth together so hard I fear they may crack in two. A few months? No. He’s supposed to meet Jax and watch me become a father. There is no way my dad is dying. I’m not ready to jointhatclub.
The doctor speaks to my parents, but I don’t hear a word he says so I stare at the floor trying to make sense of this nightmare I find myself living. And when the door closes, I let the silence linger. I know my parents are worried about me. But they don’t need to be.
“I’m staying here,” I say as I keep my eyes on the tile floor.
“What do you mean, you’re staying here?” My mom asks.
