Love and the Sea and Everything in Between

chapter thirty-six

The next morning, I wake to find that I'd slept in the waiting room chair all through the night. With a yawn, I shift in my seat. My mind is assaulted, suddenly, by the memory of why I'm here.

Adam's not dead.

He's in a coma.

The Wests are nowhere to be seen. I imagine they're with Adam.

Burying my face in my hands, I try to control my breathing. I don't understand any of this. I don't understand why Adam is here.

After the maid called the police, Adam was transported by helicopter to the nearest hospital where they stabilized him. At least, that's what the nurse said.

I still don't know what happened. The nurses won't tell me anything since I'm not family. In a world of pills and needles, I guess blood ties are all that matter. But the, what right do I have to even be here after what I did to Adam?

Finally Mrs. West returns to the waiting room and sits down next to me. She takes my hand in hers as Mr. West rounds the corner and sits down beside her. "He tried to..." she takes a short, sharp breath, trying to calm herself, but she can't and she chokes out the rest, "kill himself. My son tried to kill himself." Mrs. West starts to sob and she falls onto her husband's shoulder and cries for a while.

Sitting, utterly silent, I'm stunned, completely without words to describe what I'm feeling.

It's my fault, I think. I walked away and he tried to kill himself. I drove him to it.

I should've seen it. I should've known. But I didn't because I was caught up in my own mess. And he almost died because of me.

The man I love almost died because I couldn't bear to look him in the eye and be reminded of my mess.

And then I realize, I do love him. I don't think those words have ever meant as much to me as they do right now.

But I'm angry and I'm confused and I'm to blame.

It's all my fault.

When Mrs. West composes herself, she looks over at me. "I convinced the nurse to let you in to see him." She blinks away the tears.

I almost cry as I stand. "Thank you," I say, squeezing her hand. The nurse is there when I turn around and she leads me to Adam's room.

Walking slowly, I wrap my arms around my stomach. The cold of the hospital interior, with its gray walls and white tile floors and clean, white sheets, seeps to my bones and I shiver. How can a place so bland and dismal ever be a place of refuge for the ailing? It seems so backwards.

The nurse leaves me at the door to his room and I stand there awhile, staring through the glass panel, reluctant to open it, scared of what more I might find once I step inside.

He lies there, completely still, covered by a blanket. Tubes and wires run from machines into his body and I think I might be sick, seeing him brought so low, his entire life dependent, now, on a bunch of machines.

A memory of the boy I knew flashes across my mind. He was happier, adventurous, wild, crazy, romantic, independent. And now those machines are living his life for him. It isn't fair.

I turn the door knob, slowly, and open it just wide enough for me to slip inside. I see him clearer now as I walk closer. I step lightly, as though one wrong move could kill him. His skin is so pale and he seems so light and fragile, like porcelain, and I'm afraid to touch him. I sit in the chair beside his bed and study his face. His hair is ruffled, scattered and I reach up and gently brush it to the side so that I can see the rest of his face.