I’d never been in a penthouse before. But it basically looked like what I expected it to look like. Large, open, clean and fancy. What it didn’t look like was Brody’s home. Some binders with the Steel’s logo rested on the end table in the living room. The dining room table held some mail and a folded jersey. But little else screamed that someone lived there for four months of the year.
I wandered into the master bedroom. The spacious walk-in closet was filled with clothes and shoes. One whole side was practice jerseys, football pants, sweatshirts and Under Armor. There had to be at least twenty pairs of sneakers and cleats lined up on that side of the closet. I opened a few of the built-in drawers—everything was folded neat and tidy. Brody had always been more of a shove it in a drawer and make it fit kind of guy. Someone else was definitely putting away his laundry. The absence of any women’s clothing in the closet made me think that someone was a maid, rather than his girlfriend.
Behind a dividing wall was a large master bath with a double sink and an enormous tiled shower. No fancy shampoos and conditioners, no perfumes or makeup. No sign of a woman spending frequent nights here. Although there were enough water jets and space in that shower to have a small party. It made me wonder if Brody entertained often.
As I headed out of the master suite, I couldn’t help myself. I was already overstepping boundaries by snooping, might as well jump in with both feet. I slid open the bedside table. Inside was a set of Beats headphones, an iPod, some business cards and a stack of folded papers. I moved some of the papers to the side, revealing a half-empty box of condoms and an almost empty bottle of lube. Well, that answered that question. I guess he did entertain often.
There was another, smaller bathroom in the hallway. That one had the clothes Brody mentioned purchasing from the gift shop. Feeling even dirtier than I’d felt when I first came in, I took a quick shower and mentally scolded myself for violating Brody’s trust when he had been so kind to me. Again.
It was a full hour after I returned to the hospital when the doctor finally walked in. His face broke my heart before he even spoke. Brody had been sitting on the other side of Grams’ bed and stood, so I did the same. I suddenly felt lightheaded, but I couldn’t move to sit back down. My hand reached for my necklace. I had a nervous habit of playing with it whenever I was scared. Only, it was missing. So I wrapped my hand around my throat and waited.
“The results from the repeat scan are back.” The doctor paused and took a deep breath. “And I wish I had better news.” He looked at Brody and then at me. “Your grandmother suffered a massive stroke that affected the blood flow through the main middle cerebral artery. The blood was basically pooling in one area, causing the other side of her brain to be completely deprived of blood.”
“Was? Does that mean it’s stopped?” I clung to the only potentially positive word that he spoke.
“It’s slowed. But the damage is extensive. The areas that were deprived of blood are swelling. The brain is encased by the walls of the bony skull, and the swelling is causing severe intracranial pressure. This pressure prevents blood from flowing, causing more damage, which in turn causes more swelling. It’s a vicious cycle.”
“What can be done?” Brody asked.
“Well, the most effective way to treat massive brain swelling is a surgical procedure called a hemicraniectomy. We would remove a portion of the skull to allow the swelling to expand beyond the confines of the skull. But in your grandmother’s case, it’s highly unlikely that she would survive the procedure. As you know, we intubated to help her breathe when she came in. Unfortunately, her body isn’t even trying to breathe on her own. And the reactiveness of her pupils has slowed. We’ll continue to monitor her brain functions closely, but you need to prepare yourself for the worst. I’m sorry.”
I think we were both numb. So many questions ran through my mind, yet when the doctor asked if I had any, I just stared at him like I didn’t speak the language. Eventually, he turned to Brody. The two of them talked quietly for a few minutes. I heard the sound of different voices, but the words didn’t register. It was a feeling I was all too familiar with, the consummate fog of a drug-induced haze. A craving that had finally begun to subside in the last few months came barreling back with a vengeance. My hands gripped the arms of the chair, so it didn’t knock me over.
The doctor closed the door as he left, giving us privacy. “You okay?” Brody walked to me and kneeled down next to where I was sitting.
“No.”
He covered one of my hands with his. “It’s a lot to take in. I know.”
A laugh came out, as bitter as it tasted. “You know what I’m sitting here thinking? After everything the doctor just said?” I looked Brody in the eye, and he held my stare until I continued. “That I want to get the hell out of here so I can go get high. My grandmother, who took me in and never gave up hope on me, is dying. And what do I want to do? Run away. As usual.”
Brody looked down for a long time. I figured he was trying to swallow the hatred he had for me. But when he spoke, he surprised me. “It’s normal. You’re scared, so you want to run.”