Page 22 of A Me and You Thing
I hate The Voice. Faceless and impersonal. It’s the bearer of bad news.
It feels as though ice is running through my veins. “My wife, is she okay? Was she hurt badly?”
Thewe regret to inform youspeech begins again. Blah, blah, blah. “. . . Mr. Denali... there were no survivors. I’m very sorry.”
No survivors.No survivors? I’m paralyzed in place, stuck in this spot as though I’ve sprouted roots and they’ve grounded me here forever. The words ring in my ears, over and over as if they’re echoing in my brain, searching for a place to burrow and settle.
No survivors. No survivors.
My brain chooses to reject the words and gives them the boot. Return to sender. “That’s not possible. Absolutely not.” If I close my eyes, I can see Quinn. My blond-haired, brown-eyed beauty. She’s perfect, healthy, and vibrant. Very much alive. My beautiful, petite Quinn. She only comes up to my shoulders, but her small stature holds an oversized heart. She doesn’t even look like she had twin babies because she regained her figure so quickly after having them. The best part about Quinn is she has no idea how beautiful she is. She thinks of herself as average. She’s anything but. She’s amazing and gorgeous—and this can’t be happening. “You’re mistaken.”
“A full investigation has already taken place. The cause of the crash has been ruled accidental due to heavy rains on a slick mountain road. They’ve already searched the mountainside for possible survivors who may have been thrown from the bus. They found no one.”
“Wait... wait. Slow down.” My brain can’t keep up. I run my hand over my face, feeling overcome with fatigue. “Are you saying my wife was in a bus accident?” I can’t process the news. My mind is in denial.
“Yes, sir. We express our deepest condolences. It was an unfortunate accident.”
I feel fired up for a moment. “Hold up. This just happened. How much time did they spend investigating the crash? Two seconds?” I holler. I immediately feel contrite. Don’t shoot the messenger, I remind myself. “I’m sorry... I’m sorry.”
“It was clearly an accident. The roads are often slick during heavy rain.”
“Where is my wife right now? Which hospital?”
“I’m sorry, sir, all passengers have been declared deceased.”
I grit my teeth and close my eyes.No survivors. Deceased.
No. No, no, no. My fingers have a hard time gripping the phone and my legs shake beneath me.
“What?” I say, pacing the office. I’m about to lose it. Wild emotions are coursing through me in a way I’ve never felt before. Then I proceed to say, “What?” at least ten more times. I just can’t grasp what he’s saying. My mind refuses to comprehend The Voice’s news.
I fall to my knees, because my legs won’t hold me up any longer. I wish I’d heeded his advice and taken a seat. My breath comes in short, strangled spurts. I wonder if I’m going to stop breathing altogether.
“Wait. What are you saying?”
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Denali. On behalf of the Teach the World Foundation, I’d like to express my deepest condolences. Your wife was killed in a bus crash, along with the other teachers.”
For a moment, I can’t find my voice. I mean, it literally won’t work. I’m overheated, sweat beading on my forehead. “O-okay, okay, I get that. But where is she?”
“My apologies, sir. After the crash, the bus caught fire and everything and everyone burned. There’s nothing left. We’ve been trying to contact all of the family members before the media breaks the story.”
“So, where is my wife?” Did he already answer that question? Because I don’t think he did. My breathing is so ragged, so fast and hard. My hands are shaking and my head is dizzy.
“I apologize, but there are no remains. The bus caught on fire and burned.”
Yeah, he said that already. The bus caught on fire and burned. In the rain? Then I repeat it like a parrot. “The bus caught on fire and burned. In the rain? The heavy rain that caused the crash? How’s that possible?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Denali. That’s all the information I’ve been given. If you call the American Embassy, they should be able to give you more details. I can give you the number.”
The Voice, Greg, was it? Yes, he has a name. He’s human, mortal. Surely, he must have more feelings inside of him than he’s letting on. He’s speaking to me as though I’m a first grader who doesn’t understand a very simple concept.
And I don’t. I don’t understand at all. I never will.
“I’m deeply sorry for your loss. This is a horrific tragedy for the Teach the World Foundation.”
My head spins. “For your foundation?”
He quickly amends his statement. “Yes sir, and for all the families involved.”
