Harry jolted forward, nose almost touching the windshield. “Hospital Drive! Turn right—the next right. Please?” He cleared his throat multiple times. “For once, Dad, can you just trust me?”
But Harry didn’t understand. This wasn’t about trust; this was about making the best decision. Decisions flew out of Harry’s mouth the second they entered his brain. He didn’t agonize, didn’t edit, didn’t weigh pros and cons to reach a responsible, informed course of action. He did whatever his mother suggested he do, which was the real reason Felix had to take control of the college applications.
If he could just read the damn street signs . . . Traffic shot past, cars driven by people who knew where they were going. Felix slowed to thirty miles per hour, and the person behind blared a horn. They should be on their way to Raleigh Regional, and instead they were stuck on some never-ending dual carriageway. Felix glanced in the rearview mirror. The huge pickup truck behind moved up almost to the Mini’s bumper, flashed its lights, and tore past.
Felix felt nothing, not even a flicker of his usual road rage.
“There’s nowhere for a U-turn.” Felix dug around in his pocket and located the Pepto-Bismol. Wait. He’d already taken two, hadn’t he? Focus, he must focus. His stomach gurgled.
“We don’t need to retrace our steps, Dad.” Harry’s voice was quiet and flat. “Take the next right. I can get us there.”
What the hell? It wasn’t as if they had many options right now. Besides, there was a BP gas station up ahead. He could turn around in there. BP, British Petroleum. If he believed in omens, which he most definitely did not, that would mean something.
Felix flicked on the indicator and maneuvered.
“There it is, Dad. On the left—Raleigh Regional!”
Dammit, Harry’d been right.
“Should I spot signs for the ER? Is that where we go? You think Mom’s in the ER?”
“I don’t know, Harry. I swear, I don’t know.”
“I think we need the ER, Dad.”
This time, Felix listened to his son.
A gust of January wind roared in their faces as they trekked across the hospital car park.
“I’m calling Max,” Harry said.
Felix nodded. The rain had turned into hard nuggets of frozen precipitation that battered the tips of his ears. Should he call someone? If Tom were still alive, he would have called Tom. Even when they were children, his brother knew what to say, knew how to comfort.
He could call Saint John, his friend from Eton days. God, I hate having to explain his name is pronounced Sinjun. Will I ever stop feeling like an alien in this country? Should he call Saint John? No, no, it was nine English time. Far too late to disturb on a Sunday evening. There was no one else.
“’S me.” Harry sniffed into his phone. Felix glanced round to see if anyone was listening. “Mom’s in the hospital. She got sick on the plane.” Harry paused to tic. “They think it’s her heart. Yeah, I’m really scared. Shitting myself. Doesn’t sound good.” Another sniff, this one louder. “Would you? Okay. I’ll call when I know what’s going on. Love you, man.”
Harry pocketed his phone. “Max is coming over when we get home.” He continued snuffling as they walked toward the brightly lit “EMERGENCY” sign.
“Would you like a tissue, Harry?”
Harry shook his head, then wiped his nose on the back of his hand. He stopped as the door whooshed open. “I-I don’t know if I can do this.”
I don’t know if I can, either. Felix hadn’t been inside a hospital since Tom’s last months.