Page 5 of Walk on the Wilde Side
The earlier, short-tempered chat is over, and the two of us climb into Jameson's truck. I text Jorge that we're done for the day. We drive past our boss, DH, as he calls himself. He holds out his arms in question. "What the hell, guys? Two lunch hours?"
I roll down the window. "Done for the day. Family emergency."
"Well, fuck," he says sharply, but I'm already rolling up the window.
"What else did Nate say?" I ask. Nate is our youngest brother. The twins, Ronan and Colin, are between Nate and Jameson in age, and I'm at the top of the food chain. With the exception of the twins, we've all got different moms, women who, for one reason or another, and there were many to choose from, decided to leave infamous Finnegan Wilde and his band of out-of-control boys. Nate's mom, Stevie, stuck around longer than most, but even she couldn't take us or my dad in the end. I hadn't seen or spoken to my mom since my fifth birthday when she called to let me know she wasn't coming home … ever.
"All Nate said was that Dad was in intensive care. They brought him in by ambulance to Basset General."
"Is it bad?" I ask.
"Don't know, Z. It's all he said before he hung up."
I sit back and stare out at the passing buildings as we ride through town. It's the end of summer, and most kids are back at school, so the sidewalks are empty. The town has improved a lot since our childhood. For a long time, there were no sidewalks, and the only decent store in town was a comic book shop run by a guy who probably had no business hanging out with young boys. We rode our bikes through town like a band of wild horses paying no attention to rules or safety. Ronan got hit by a car once, and Dad smacked the shit out of me for letting it happen. I was only three years older than the twins, but somehow, I'd fallen into the category of substitute parent because we lacked moms and, mostly, we lacked a dad. He cared more about his money and getting laid than his kids. As he got older, Finn started caring less about his pleasures and more about staying alive. Oddly enough, that sense of mortality made him just a bit more caring as a father. Rio loves her Pops, and he's so different around her, we hardly recognize him. We each have a unique relationship with the old man. Mine has always been one of guarded respect mixed with major tension. We were close and, at the same time, there were times when I wanted nothing to do with him. He felt the same way. But losing him forever out of my life—that feels too final. Finnegan Wilde is one of those larger-than-life characters, and when he leaves this earth, it'll create a ripple of emotion through our town. Some will grieve and some will quietly celebrate. That's the kind of legacy he'll leave behind.
An ambulance is parked in the bay at the emergency room. It's hard to know if it's the one that brought Dad. He's been beaten and shot and nearly strangled to death twice, but Finn has never gone to the hospital by ambulance. Even after getting shot in the leg, he had Jameson and me wrap up the wound with a T-shirt. I only had my learner's permit, but he threw the keys at me and told me to race him down to the hospital, so he didn't bleed to death. I still remember the faces of the sick and injured people sitting in the waiting area as Finnegan Wilde limped through the door, covered in blood. He smiled and waved at everyone. Thinking about my tough as fucking leather old man being taking to the hospital in an ambulance makes my gut tighten in a knot.
Jameson parks the truck, and we hurry toward the entrance. We give the receptionist the name, and an orderly comes through the automatic doors. "Here for Finn Wilde?" he asks. His expression is unreadable at first.
"Yeah, we're his sons."
A smile breaks out. "What a character your dad is." He nods for us to follow him. "He must have been a hoot to grow up with," he continues.
"Yeah, a real fucking hoot," I mumble as we follow him down the line of drawn curtains.
"Right in there," the orderly says. "Doctor Patel will be in shortly to give you the rundown on his condition."
We walk around the drawn curtain. Seeing our dad, a man who could hush and part a crowd just by walking through a party, a man who once held off three armed men when they circled him outside a bar, a man who married four beautiful, amazing women, only to eventually break their hearts, sitting in a hospital bed in a papery hospital gown with tubes stretching out between him and beeping monitors makes us both pause to catch our breaths. Nate's sitting on a chair, looking worried but at the same time smiling about something Dad said.
"Bout time you boys got here. You almost missed my deathbed confessions, and I've got a few." He's talking and laughing and looking far less heart attack-y than I expected. Some of the tension drains from my body. I sense the same reaction from Jameson.
"Dad, none of us have long enough left to hear all your deathbed confessions," Nate says. "Glad you're here. I've got to take a piss. Ronan and Colin are on their way. They were out racing dirt bikes in the desert. The nurse says he's far too ornery to be dying, so I think he's going to be all right." Nate walks out.
"How's that job coming? And where the fuck is that nurse? She's supposed to bring me coffee." Dad looks at me and winks. "She's got a helluva nice ass," he adds. "Told her so, too."
"Dad, you can't talk like that to medical staff or anyone for that matter," Jamesons says. "Remember, 21st century and all that."
"Fuck the 21st century. I liked the last one better." He looks past both of us. "Where's my guardian angel? She's saved my life twice." Jameson and I exchange confused looks.
"Maybe they gave him something," Jameson suggests.
"I'm not drugged," Dad says angrily enough that it causes the monitor to beep louder and faster. "At least not drugged enough. I hear they've got all kinds of good stuff in that hospital pharmacy. Maybe you boys can figure out a way to grab a few bottles of oxycontin for your dying old man."
"Sure, Dad, I feel like spending the next twenty years behind bars just so you can get high," I say. "And from the looks of it, you're not dying."
The curtains move and Dad's face lights up. "There she is, my guardian angel. That's twice, my angel. I owe you."
Jameson and I turn around. A breath catches in my lungs as Nevada steps fully around the curtain. She looks so completely out of place in a dreary hospital, like a rainbow in a gray sky. She smiles at Jameson first, but she saves a long, soft gaze for me. No smile though.
"Is that my coffee, angel?"
"It's apple juice." Nev steps past us, and the smell of her shampoo circles me.
"Apple juice?" Dad's monitor beeps louder. "I asked for coffee."
Nev shoves the cup toward him. "The doctor said no coffee. She suggested apple juice."
"What am I, a toddler?"
