The phone rang again. It was Bradley to say he’d just arrived at the hospital and not to worry, he’d be with Delores until Anton arrived. Uncle Connor was already at the hospital, Brad informed him. “Thanks, man,” Anton said, thinking there hadn’t been an occasion in his life, sad or celebratory, that he hadn’t shared with Brad. Though what he’d give not to have to share this.
He turned toward Katherine, and she shifted in her seat and snuggled against him. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she whispered, and he was glad that she was with him. He couldn’t imagine being alone in this dreadful taxi, with the incense burning on the dashboard and the slowest driver in the world at the wheel. He kissed the top of Katherine’s head absently as he looked past her into the now-deserted Washington streets and thought, May eighteenth, 2014. I will remember this night for as long as I live. This is the most awful thing that has happened to me in my life so far. Because the person I love most in this world is sick and I am not by his side.
It was a small private plane but it came stocked with a mini-fridge, and the pilot, who was apparently aware of the situation, told Anton to help himself to something strong. He smiled and declined. He and Katherine had shared a bottle of wine during dinner, and that, along with the two martinis, was enough drink. He knew it was going to be a long night at the hospital, and he wanted to keep his wits about him.
The shaking started as soon as they were buckled in and the plane began to taxi. It was as though now that there was nothing to do but sit and wait, the iron control with which he had commanded his body thus far began to slip. Please don’t let Dad die, he prayed. Please. Please don’t let him. I need him. Katherine took his hand and held it in her lap, held it until his trembling subsided, and he felt a profound gratitude. He wanted to tell her this but found that he couldn’t, couldn’t talk without totally losing it, so he merely squeezed her hand and turned his head to look out the window. Washington looked beautiful at night, lit up like a carnival, but he knew that he would never again visit it without remembering this terrifying night. Pappy had been dead for almost two years, and he still missed him so much. But Pappy had lived away all of his life, an influential but ultimately distant figure. His father had loomed larger in his life than any other person. Every happy memory he had of his boyhood and teenage years featured him. As if in a fairy tale, his dad had taken him out of the projects and turned him into a prince. It was he who had opened up his home, his alma mater, his entire way of life, to Anton; who had given him his last name, which came along with two hundred years of family history; it was he who frowned if anyone ever referred to Anton as his adopted son. He’s my son, period, he’d correct them. And if he ever asked for anything back, it was that Anton marry a woman who would make him happy, that he find a fulfilling career, that he attend a college that was challenging and worthy of his intellect. In fact, in all their years together, his father had made only one personal request: On the way home from the courthouse after signing the adoption papers, David had asked to be called Dad.
It had been a simple enough request, and once they’d adopted him, Anton had been so grateful to be able to jump-start his life that it was easy to acquiesce. He’d started calling Delores Mom around the same time. And he saw the pleasure it brought them as a couple, this simple thing on his part, and that alone made him realize the magnitude of their love for him. He was theirs. Permanently. No red-faced cop, no kindly social worker, was ever going to take him away from them. He knew, of course, about James; someone (although he couldn’t remember who) had told him about the car wreck on prom night, and it made Anton feel good, so good, to take the sadness out of their lives. He couldn’t tell which felt better, needing them or being needed by them, but by then he knew the phrase “win-win situation,” and by God, that’s what it was.
He picked up the cell phone and dialed Brad’s number. “Hey,” he said when Brad answered. “We should be landing soon, I think. How is he?”
“He seems stable at the moment, Anton. Try not to worry too much. The State Patrol guys will meet you at the airport. They have orders to bring you straight to the hospital.”
“Thanks.” Anton’s hand was beginning to cramp, and he retrieved it from Katherine’s lap. “So what happened?”
“Nobody seems to know. He’d just gotten out of a meeting with a state delegation. He escorted them out of his office and told Ashley to go home. Said he planned on working for another hour or so and then packing it up for the night. Thank God Ashley hadn’t left yet, because five minutes later, she heard this loud crash and found him on the floor.”
“So he fell? Is he hurt elsewhere?”
“His right hand’s pretty bruised. He must’ve hit his desk on his way down. But they don’t seem to think there’s a brain bleed or anything like that, thank God.”
“Thank God,” Anton repeated. The pilot’s voice came on. “We’re about to land,” Anton said. “I’ll call you from the car.”
“Right-o.”
“Take care of Mom until I get there.”
Bradley gave a low chuckle. “Your mom is already taking care of the relatives of the other ICU patients here. She’s unstoppable, that woman.”
Anton smiled. “That sounds like her.”
“Oh, Anton? Before you hang up. Word’s gotten out to the media. There are already a few reporters in the lobby and more on their way, probably. I’ve told the Patrol guys to escort you right up to the hospital entrance, but you may want to just make a dash for it once you’re in the building.”
“Okay. Thanks for the heads-up. See you soon.”
“Not if I see you first.”
Brad said it automatically, their old childhood sign-off. It cheered Anton, this familiar, ritualized response, on this night when everything else felt uncertain and uncharted.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ICU.
But what do you see, really? The shell of a man, unshaven, suddenly old, uncharacteristically gaunt and dull-eyed. And the fear in those eyes, a fear masquerading as sleepiness, so that one moment the eyes flicker on and the next they shut. The indecipherable, drug-induced mutterings, at once desultory and insistent.