The Door

Chapter 3: We Have Arrived

"How bad is it?" I asked, feeling my voice tremble. My mother swallowed hard and laced her fingers together before answering. The strain on her face was evident, and she was trying hard to hold it all in. A large vein pushed through the middle of her forehead as she looked up at me.

"It's pretty bad, Josh. We don't know what condition he's in, but it's not looking good."

"How did it happen? I mean, you spoke to him a few days ago."

"Your uncle was walking not far from his home. He was struck by a car; it was a hit and run."

"What?" I couldn't digest what she'd said. Besides my friends here, Uncle Anthony was my only best friend. We might not physically see each other that much, but we were always in contact. We would talk about anything and everything that came our way. We would even talk about school and what I looked forward to when I finished. He'd promised me he'd be there to see me graduate. Who was I going to talk to now?

"Did they catch the person who did it? What's going to happen to the driver?" I wanted answers, and I wanted them now. Dad raised his hand up and motioned me to slow down so that Mom had time to answer. The look on Mom's face was heart-wrenching. I knew she was in pain because none of us knew whether her brother, my uncle, was going to make it.

Come on, Uncle Anthony, you can't leave us like this!

"He's fighting for his life," she continued. We sat in the living room, slumped into a dark leather sofa. We suddenly all looked defeated. In front of us was a sturdy wooden table that Uncle Anthony had made for us for Christmas. "The doctors don't think he'll make it. It's only a matter of time."

"This can't be happening," I blurted out. I was so angry!

"We need to be strong and deal with this as a family. We need to be strong for Uncle Anthony," Dad said, pressing his hand on Mom's small shoulder. She looked so tired, so worn out. How much more could she take? It was not fair. First the attack, now this.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of such bad news," she said. "It's been a terrible year." She paused, looked up at me, and started to cry. She looked like a broken little girl as she sobbed. I wanted to reach out to comfort her, but Dad hugged her tightly.

"It'll be fine, Jane. You'll see."

"Oh, I hope so," she said through her tears. "I really do."

I sat there in silence, suddenly unable to utter another word. I didn't know why the images and feelings of that dreadful attack had come back to haunt me. They had nothing to do with what was happening now. There was no connection to my uncle. I supposed nothing good had happened since, nothing that had made me smile in delight.

Now my uncle was on his deathbed because of someone's negligence. Someone was that selfish, to leave him behind. I wondered if he'd seen the car coming toward him or if he'd been struck from behind. The idea made my stomach sink, and I quickly forced myself to speak so that I could escape my own thoughts.

"What do we do now?" I asked.

"You don't do anything," Dad replied.

"What do you mean?"

"Your father and I are flying to Los Angeles first thing tomorrow morning," she answered.

"I want to come," I protested. I couldn't believe they wanted to leave me behind.

"No," Dad said, with a stern voice. "You're staying here. You have school and exams."

"But—"

"No, Josh. You're staying here, and that's final."