Page 60 of Sublimate
I had an odd need to go with him to his room and settle in his bed so I could hear him breathing like we’d done in his parents’ house. “No,” I answered, but then we both heard a faint buzzing from upstairs. Before, his old friends had sometimes bothered him about going out and partying, but he had blocked them. Who else would call at this time of night? Unless it was some kind of emergency…
He ran up the stairs and I followed right behind. I watched him grab his phone and answer a call that must have come from his mom.
“Allô?Il est tard,tu m'appelles pour quoi?” Then he just stood there with his mouth open for a moment and through his phone, I could hear his mom taking her turn to speak. “Quoi? Redis-moi ça.Les tapis?”
“What? Nolan, what?” I asked him.
“Qu’est-ce que tu viens de dire?Il…tu es sûr?” He listened and made a few more remarks before he hung up and looked at mein shock. “My dad had another heart attack and she thinks he’s going to die. We better go.” He walked to his closet door and stood there, looking at his clothes and not moving at all.
“Nolan.” I also walked to the closet and touched his arm.
“I had asked the doctor if he was in danger of having another infarction after the last one. They said yes, but the chances were slim if he followed their instructions and took care of himself. I’m sure he went home, lit a cigar, and poured a scotch.” He held on to my hand. “She thinks he’s going to die,” he repeated.
In not too long, we were both dressed, packed, and back on the same road that we’d traveled before, the one that led to the hospital outside of Detroit. He called his mom again on the way and found out that she was there, too, and his dad was in the emergency room. Maybe the first heart attack had been mild but it didn’t sound like this one was. He reported more details when he hung up.
“He collapsed at home and their housekeeper called for an ambulance. They had to revive him while he was on the floor. My mother is worried that the house she hates has been damaged. She kept talking about the custom rugs and how the tread on the EMTs’ boots holds a lot of dirt.”
“That’s probably true but it’s a funny thing to focus on right now.”
“I think she’s worried about him, but she doesn’t know how to say it. She told me that when this happened before, he said that he didn’t want her anywhere near the hospital and he had hisassistant bring his briefcase so that he could work. She also told me that she believes he’s having an affair with that assistant.”
“Holy bells. Are they fighting about it?”
“No, she didn’t sound surprised. Neither of them has always felt constrained by monogamy. And they don’t fight,” he explained. “She zings him, he ignores her. That’s all I remember from my childhood. It was always very, very clear that they didn’t like each other and I was fairly certain that they didn’t like me, either. It was a relief to go to my grandparents in the summer.”
“I thought that you didn’t do fun things with them, like crafts or fishing.”
“Did I tell you that? They liked to sit and have drinks before dinner and talk, mostly about people they’d known or places they’d been, and they seemed to enjoy having me as an audience. At least, they never acted like they were angry that I was around. They didn’t seem to mind my presence.”
“I bet they really liked it. I love going running together because we get to talk,” I said. It was a little breathless on my end, but it was still a conversation. “We have dinner and you want to hang out afterwards, which is so fun.”
“Is it?”
I nodded. “I love it.”
“I’m glad. So do I.” We drove for a few more miles and then he said, “I’ve never heard my mom like this. I had no idea that she was capable of becoming emotional. It must mean that it’s terrible.”
I was afraid that was true and pushed harder on the accelerator. We finally arrived at the same place we’d gone before, when everything had turned out fine. Maybe it would be the same now, and we’d show up to find everything settling down.
We didn’t.
His dad was still in the emergency department and we went to the waiting room. It was full of sick and sad people and their families but not Madeline Whitaker, because she had been allowed back to be with her husband. It was loud in the hospital and the doors kept opening and closing as new patients entered. So did freezing cold rushes of air, and Nolan put his arm around me. He rested his cheek against my hair and I listened to his heart pounding under his shirt.
We waited there for a while and eventually, his mom came out. I tried not to stare. Both times I had seen her before, including the morning a few weeks ago when her husband had been in this hospital, she had looked perfect—flawless, from head to toe. Her makeup was perfectly blended, her hair was short and perfectly controlled. Her clothes…well, she could have taught Beau about sartorial stuff.
But not right now. She had been crying, like Nolan had said. Her eye makeup streaked under her eyes and she didn’t have on lipstick anymore, just some liner that looked like someone had drawn with a marker on her face. Her shirt was pulled partially out of her pants and everything she wore was rumpled, as if she’d been doing hard work in those clothes. Basically, she looked like I did every day except she was still more styled and her shirt didn’t have any rude slogans.
“Hi,” I said and Nolan and I both stood. She immediately walked to us, but they didn’t hug or even do the cheek kissing thing. She spoke fast in French and then turned and walked off, briskly until her heel turned and she almost stumbled.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
He breathed out. “He’s stable. They’re going to move him up to the same unit as before.”
“Oh, I’m so glad,” I said, also releasing a sigh. “That’s great news.”
“She said that she wanted to go to the cafeteria or find a vending machine, that she’s hungry. She wants to eat,” he told me, shaking his head. “She wants to eat? From a vending machine?”
“It seems like maybe she’s really torn up about your dad. You should go with her,” I said. “I’m good here.”
