Freedom of Sketch

Fault

I hear the click-clack of high heels on linoleum and look up from my mess of crumbs and wrappers to see Meredith approaching me. She hugs a clipboard to her chest. Her lacy skirt swishes around her ankles. She wears her long brown hair in a fishtail braid draped over one shoulder. "Hi, honey," she says to me. "Mind if I talk to you real quick?"

"Sure," I say. "I mean - no, I don't mind."

Meredith: "Great - sorry to interrupt, Tori, but I need to borrow Shiloh for a minute."

Tori smiles brightly. "No problem. Shiloh and I can catch up later."

"Thanks again for the snack," I say.

Tori: "Anytime. If you need anything, just come and find me."

I follow Meredith into the hallway, where she has me sit in a chair by one of the phones. She narrows her eyes and stares at me for a moment, her lips pursed in pity. Then, she takes a deep breath. "Your mom wanted you to give her a call. I think she has an update on Daniel."

My heart skips a beat. "What kind of update?"

"You'll have to call her and find out."

I lift the phone off the hook and hastily punch in the numbers, wanting to talk to my mother right away. "Like group therapy; like ripping off a Band-Aid," I quietly remind myself, fear plucking at my insides like guitar strings. I draw my knees to my chest and listen to the crackling wires.

The phone rings twice.

"Hello?" Her voice is distorted. She's been crying.

"Mom?"

Meredith sinks into the chair next to mine, then reaches out and places a warm hand on my back, on that little space between my shoulder blades. She probably isn't supposed to touch me at all, but Meredith has an elegant way of bending the unit rules.

"Oh sweetheart," my mom says with a sigh, "I'm so glad you decided to call."

I don't want to hate my mother for leaving me here. I don't want to waste any more of my time resenting people for their actions, because life is too short for that. She could have been in the car crash, instead of Daniel. And if I lost my own mother, I know it would destroy me forever.

"You still there?" my mom asks.

"I am."

"Do you want me to tell you everything?"

"Anything you think is relevant," I say. Meredith gently strokes my hair, untangling the mass of knots at the end.

There is a pause. "He's on life support," my mom says.

I picture the wires, the tubes, the machines working together to keep Daniel's body alive. "But he made it several days," I protest. "The longer he lives, the more likely he is to come out of it... right?"

Meredith gives my arm an affectionate squeeze.

"Darling," my mom says carefully, "the longer he's in a coma, the less likely his chances are of coming out of it. The scans they took of his brain don't look good. So if I were you, I wouldn't get my hopes up."

I bite my lip and refrain from saying anything. My head weighs a million pounds, and my muscles are sore from fighting the restraints. I wish I were the one in the coma, because I really just want to check out of life for a while. Sleep, Violet says, is like being dead without the commitment. I'm not in any shape to commit to anything right now.

"You still there, baby?" Mom says.

"Yeah." I sniff and wipe my nose on my sleeve. Meredith continues to stroke my back.

"Do you still want me to tell you everything?"

I clear my throat. "Yes, please."

Daniel was on his way to his temporary home with Brady. While driving through the storm on I-95, he hydroplaned across two lanes and overcorrected, which caused him to completely lose control of his vehicle. He bounced off of a guardrail and spun into the path of a semi truck.

I think of Dr. Fox on the day he was late: "Listen, the traffic is a nightmare out here. Three-car pileup, complete standstill. They've got both sides of I-95 closed off so they can medevac one of the drivers."

It sinks in now: Dr. Fox was caught at the scene of the accident. The car he saw was Daniel's.

Mom: "You still there?"

"Yeah."

When they pulled Daniel from the wreck, he was unresponsive, not breathing. At the hospital, his blood alcohol level was .09: just over the legal limit....

I remember smelling the beer on his breath, in his hair, on his clothes, but I let him go. I should have made him stay, asked the staff to get him some coffee. This is all my fault.

....lost a lot of blood....

He took peppermints from the nurse's station. He was talking and I touched him. He was solid and real.

....broken bones....

What were his last words to me? What were mine to him?

....emergency surgery for bleeding and swelling in his brain....

I never had the chance to say, 'I love you'.

....less than five percent chance of survival....

I shove the receiver into the wall with a crack, stand up, and walk away.