I force the thought out of my head, force it out hard and fast like yanking a plug out of a socket, shutting it down, and stare back at the woman.
“The police escorted us in,” I say, hoping this will keep her from calling them back in to escort us out. I don’t know if we should go into this room, because maybe Aaron is right and the hospital is thinking that if we’re acting like this when we don’t even know what’s wrong with Marcus, then they sure as hell aren’t going to tell us he’s dead, because who knows what we would do … but maybe we should go into the room because I really would like to sit down and there aren’t any free seats out here.
“We’ll go,” I say, and the steel in my voice surprises me.
The room looks like a crappy boardroom. Pleather chairs, worn carpet. The worst part is the smell. Disinfectant crossed with illness. We don’t speak; we don’t even make eye contact. LaoLao and Granny Dee are holding hands. Monica has her arms wrapped around herself and is rocking back and forth in her chair and Aaron is sitting slumped forward with his head in his hands. My body is getting heavier and heavier with each breath I take.
The door creaks open and my mom steps in, her face set in stone. She doesn’t look at anyone but me, and when she gets to me, she wraps her arms around me and holds me tight, like I’m trying to get away from her even though I’m hugging her right back.
“I love you,” she says, but it is more like a command than an endearment. “Do you hear me? I love you.”
And then she goes to her mother and to Granny Dee and hugs them too.
“I’ve spoken to his doctor,” she says, and Monica whips her head up.
“They talked to you! They told you how he is? They wouldn’t tell us anything!”
“Monica,” says Aaron. “Be quiet.”
“Mom!” I say, losing my patience “Tell us!”
My mom takes a deep breath and sits down. She looks smaller than I remember her looking this morning. She shuts her eyes briefly, presses her palms to her forehead, and then looks up at us.
“He’s alive,” she says, and it should be cause for celebration, but there is something in the way she’s just said those amazing words that makes us all pause and wait. “But he’s bleeding internally, his ribs are broken, his leg is shattered, and” – she takes a deep breath and I know she hasn’t told us the worst part yet – “his brain is swelling and he’s in a coma. They have to operate on his brain.” Her voice wobbles, and she must hear it because she presses her lips together and shakes her head. “They say there’s a very good chance he’ll wake up. Hopefully with all his motor functions and memories. But they don’t know for sure.”
There is no jumping. There is no celebrating. My Granny Dee gets up from her seat and goes to my mother and rubs her shoulders.
“It’ll be all right,” she croons softly. “It’ll all be all right.”
My mom nods and looks at Monica and Aaron. “You two should get home,” she says. “It’s been a long night.”
Monica is shaking. Shaking all over. “I shoulda been in that car, Mrs. Jones. I shoulda been with him. I shouldn’t have let him drive. I’m so sorry.”
“Sweetie, this isn’t your fault,” says my mom, but Monica still looks stricken. “And I am so grateful you weren’t in that car.” She swallows. “One of the boys who was … he died. The other one is in surgery right now. And the car Marcus hit … that woman died too.”
I am filled with an overwhelming sense of relief that the boy who died wasn’t Marcus. It’s an awful thought. One I wish I could push away as soon as I think it, but it stays and gets cozy in my brain, making itself at home, until it is the only thing I can think about. I’ve already lost my daddy; it wouldn’t be fair for me to lose Marcus too. A person can only lose so much.
There’s a polite but sharp knock at the door. Aaron opens it.
There’s a policeman standing there. Not one I recognize. He nods curtly to us all and comes in. “This Marcus Jones’s family?”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
He glances at me and then my mother, his eyes pingponging back and forth a few times before flying over my head and landing on Granny Dee and LaoLao, and a slow understanding dawns on his face. Figuring out that I’m half Granny Dee and half LaoLao and that’s why I don’t look much like my mom.
“Did any of you see the accident?” he asks.
Monica clears her throat. “Yes, sir.” Her voice is the calmest it’s been since we arrived at the hospital. “I did.”
“And you?” The man gestures at Aaron.
Aaron shakes his head. “No, sir. I was still at the house party when the accident happened.”
“Then how did you know about it?”