Page 89 of This Life and All the Rest
I drive as fast as I can. Luckily, the roads are clear. I don’t know what I would do if I got pulled over. I park in emergency parking and sprint into the hospital. I don’t stop running until I’m pushing through the door of the OR waiting room and screeching to a halt in front of my mom.
I fall to my knees and pull her into a hug, then my eyes scan the room. Claire is sitting next to Mom, her hand on her shoulder, and Lennon is standing alone in the corner. Her face is pale like a ghost, her eyes are red. Her lip is bruised and swollen, like she’s been biting it.
There is no Evie, and I wonder if she’s at the house with Masters.
“What happened?” I ask my mom, holding her tight as she cries into my shoulder.
“Ventricular aneurysm,” Claire answers. Her voice is a quiet scratch, and her face is splotchy and red from crying. She sniffles as tears start to fall again. “They took him for open heart surgery.”
She holds my gaze, then flicks her eyes to Lennon and back.
“She was in there with him when it happened,” Claire whispers. Her tears start to fall again. “I’ve never seen her like that, Macon. She was so...” She shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m really worried about her.”
I look at Lennon. She’s leaning on the wall and staring at the floor, her hands fisted together in front of her. God, she looks so small. Like a nine-year-old who just found her mom’s lifeless body.
Like a seventeen-year-old who just had to perform CPR to save her boyfriend from an overdose.
I kiss Mom’s cheek and push myself to standing. Lennon’s eyes drag slowly to mine. I take slow, measured steps toward her. She doesn’t look away. I don’t know what I’ll do when I reach her, but I need to be next to her.
The door to the waiting room flies open, and we break eye contact, looking toward the noise.
“Len,” Sam breathes out, then rushes to her side. They immediately embrace, a tight, clingy type of hug, and Lennon starts to cry.
“I know,” Sam whispers into Lennon’s hair. “I know. I’m here.”
Sam turns her head and acknowledges me with a small nod. I return it, then step away. I don’t know what happened when Sam went to England to be with Lennon, but I didn’t realize how close they’d become. This hug is practiced. Sam’s gesture of comfort, the way Lennon clings like she’s a lifeline, isn’t new.
They’ve been here before, and something tells me that it was my fault.
For six hours,we wait.
Sam bullies the nurse into letting us eat in the waiting room and then orders food to be delivered. She makes small talk with me and my mom, and she pointedly ignores Claire. Lennon barely speaks, but she and Sam don’t leave each other’s sides.
It makes me want to hug Sam. I want to thank her, despite my jealousy and guilt. If I can’t be the one to comfort Lennon, I’m glad she has Sam.
When the doctor comes out, we all shoot to our feet. It was a successful surgery, he tells us, but there will be a long road to recovery. Trent is still under anesthesia and probably won’t wake for another few hours. After that, he needs rest. We can see him in the morning.
The nurse tells Mom she can stay in the room, so I tell her I’ll take Evie for the night. Claire leaves to go back to the house. I’ll follow behind soon to pack Evelyn’s things.
I try to hang back to talk to Lennon. I need to check on her, but she’s attached to Sam’s hip, and Sam keeps giving me the side-eye.
Just before we head out to the parking lot, Lennon breaks from the group to use the bathroom, and I corner Sam.
“How is she?” I ask, and she gives me a warning glare.
“She’s definitely been better,” Sam says, then adds cryptically, “but she’s been worse.”
I know it’s a dig at me.
“What do you mean?” I push, and she shakes her head.
“Nope,” she says quickly. “Don’t even try to pump me for information.”
Irritation flares with my need to know more about Lennon, to make sure she’ll be alright. I know this is hard for her. Being in the room with her dad when this happened, monitors going off and Trent going unconscious, had to have terrified her.
All I can think of is the story about her mom, and my chest aches for Lennon.
“Come on, Sam,” I say. “Give me something, here. I just want to make sure she’s okay. We used to be friends, right?”
