Breathe with Me
Page 75
“Come on, Addie,” Mr. Pritchett says, pulling us toward his office. “Let’s sit down for a minute.”
“The police officer is waiting outside to take us back,” she sobs.
Police officer?
“Am I going to jail?” I cry.
“No, baby, no. Of course not.” Mom sniffs and wipes her cheeks dry, then pushes my hair back over my shoulders. Her lips are trembling. “Sweetie, there was a car accident today. Daddy’s at the hospital now, but we have to get back as soon as possible because they don’t think…” She can’t finish the sentence.
“They don’t think what?”
“You need to go see your dad, Meredith,” Mr. Pritchett says quietly.
“Where is Tiff? Is she at the hospital too?”
Another sob escapes Mom’s lips, but she firms her chin and swallows hard. “No, honey. Tiff isn’t at the h-h-hospital.”
“Where is she?” I whisper.
Mom shakes her head, takes my hand in hers and kisses it. “She didn’t make it, baby.”
I wrinkle my forehead in confusion. “Didn’t make what?”
“Tiffany was killed in the accident, Meredith,” Mr. Pritchett says. His eyes are full of tears too.
“What?” I pull away from Mom, yank my hand out of hers and bump into a chair. “What?”
“Come on,” Mom says. “We have to get back now.”
“I don’t understand.” I can’t stop crying now. My whole body feels hot, like it does when you stand in the bathroom with the shower running hot on a summer day. I can’t breathe. “I want Tiff! I want Daddy!”
“We’re going to see Daddy right now,” Mom says and pulls me out of the office, through the front doors of the school to the police car out front.
I want to ask why the police are here, but I can’t talk. This can’t be happening. What in the hell is happening?
Mom hugs me hard on the drive to the hospital. The tears have dried up, but I feel numb. This can’t be true. Dad had to take Tiff to her dentist appointment this morning. They’re fine. Maybe he took her out to lunch after the appointment and there’s been a mistake.
The policeman’s radio is loud with a deep, monotone man’s voice listing numbers and ten-fours. When he pulls up at the hospital, he helps Mom and me out of the car. He has nice eyes. Sad eyes. He pats my shoulder and walks next to us into the hospital, up an elevator and down a hallway. It smells like medicine and cleaner and feet. I hate the smell of feet.
Why does the hospital smell like feet?
Mom leads us to a room where a curtain is pulled, blocking the view of the bed. She keeps my hand in hers as we walk inside and as we walk around the curtain, I see my daddy lying in a bed with tubes coming out of his mouth. He has a white and green hospital gown on. His face is all bruised. His hand is scratched up badly and his right arm is wrapped in gauze from his elbow to his fingertips.
“Daddy,” I whisper.
“Go talk to him, baby.” Mom guides me next to him. “You can touch him.”
“He’s hurt.”
She nods quickly, tears spilling from her eyes again. “He is, honey. They’re just keeping him with us until we have a chance…”
My eyes fly to hers. “He’s going to die?”
“He is.”
A doctor joins us. She has crazy red hair and freckles, but she has kind eyes too, like the policeman.
“Your dad was in a very bad car accident, Meredith.”
“He’s breathing,” I point out desperately.
“With the help of this machine, yes he is. But sweetie, when we turn the machine off, he will pass away.”
“How do you know?” I ask angrily. “You don’t know! My daddy is strong! He’s just scratched up!”
“Your daddy is strong, Meredith,” the doctor replies when my mom can’t. “He tried all he could to save your sister. He is a brave man. But you have to say goodbye to him now, honey. You can both take your time. Spend some time with him.” She squeezes both mine and mom’s shoulders and leaves. The policeman leaves after her, and we are alone with my dad.
“Mom?” I don’t want to touch him. If I touch him, this might all be real, and it can’t be real. “Mom, he just looks scratched.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to say goodbye.” I shake my head slowly. I can’t look away from him.
“Okay.” She clears her throat and smiles bravely at me, then pulls two chairs by his bedside and motions for me to sit closest to his head. “Let’s just sit for a while and talk. Let’s tell stories. I bet he can hear us.”
“What k-k-kind of stories?”
“Any kind. Happy ones.” Mom takes Dad’s hand in hers and bites her lip. She puts it up to her face, nuzzles her cheek into his palm the way she always does when we all sit and watch movies together. Tiff always steals all of the Sour Patch Kids.
“Remember when we took the road trip down to the beach in Oregon last year and Dad kept warning Tiff that she might get bit by sharks?” I smile at the memory as Mom snickers.
“He likes to torment you girls,” Mom says. “You and Tiff collected about a hundred sand dollars on that trip.”
“Ninety-six,” I say proudly. “We were so close to a hundred, but then we had to come home.”
Mom and I sit and talk for a long time. Daddy never moves, but I think he can hear. I finally get brave enough to reach out and lay my hand on his arm.
“The police officer is waiting outside to take us back,” she sobs.
Police officer?
“Am I going to jail?” I cry.
“No, baby, no. Of course not.” Mom sniffs and wipes her cheeks dry, then pushes my hair back over my shoulders. Her lips are trembling. “Sweetie, there was a car accident today. Daddy’s at the hospital now, but we have to get back as soon as possible because they don’t think…” She can’t finish the sentence.
“They don’t think what?”
“You need to go see your dad, Meredith,” Mr. Pritchett says quietly.
“Where is Tiff? Is she at the hospital too?”
Another sob escapes Mom’s lips, but she firms her chin and swallows hard. “No, honey. Tiff isn’t at the h-h-hospital.”
“Where is she?” I whisper.
Mom shakes her head, takes my hand in hers and kisses it. “She didn’t make it, baby.”
I wrinkle my forehead in confusion. “Didn’t make what?”
“Tiffany was killed in the accident, Meredith,” Mr. Pritchett says. His eyes are full of tears too.
“What?” I pull away from Mom, yank my hand out of hers and bump into a chair. “What?”
“Come on,” Mom says. “We have to get back now.”
“I don’t understand.” I can’t stop crying now. My whole body feels hot, like it does when you stand in the bathroom with the shower running hot on a summer day. I can’t breathe. “I want Tiff! I want Daddy!”
“We’re going to see Daddy right now,” Mom says and pulls me out of the office, through the front doors of the school to the police car out front.
I want to ask why the police are here, but I can’t talk. This can’t be happening. What in the hell is happening?
Mom hugs me hard on the drive to the hospital. The tears have dried up, but I feel numb. This can’t be true. Dad had to take Tiff to her dentist appointment this morning. They’re fine. Maybe he took her out to lunch after the appointment and there’s been a mistake.
The policeman’s radio is loud with a deep, monotone man’s voice listing numbers and ten-fours. When he pulls up at the hospital, he helps Mom and me out of the car. He has nice eyes. Sad eyes. He pats my shoulder and walks next to us into the hospital, up an elevator and down a hallway. It smells like medicine and cleaner and feet. I hate the smell of feet.
Why does the hospital smell like feet?
Mom leads us to a room where a curtain is pulled, blocking the view of the bed. She keeps my hand in hers as we walk inside and as we walk around the curtain, I see my daddy lying in a bed with tubes coming out of his mouth. He has a white and green hospital gown on. His face is all bruised. His hand is scratched up badly and his right arm is wrapped in gauze from his elbow to his fingertips.
“Daddy,” I whisper.
“Go talk to him, baby.” Mom guides me next to him. “You can touch him.”
“He’s hurt.”
She nods quickly, tears spilling from her eyes again. “He is, honey. They’re just keeping him with us until we have a chance…”
My eyes fly to hers. “He’s going to die?”
“He is.”
A doctor joins us. She has crazy red hair and freckles, but she has kind eyes too, like the policeman.
“Your dad was in a very bad car accident, Meredith.”
“He’s breathing,” I point out desperately.
“With the help of this machine, yes he is. But sweetie, when we turn the machine off, he will pass away.”
“How do you know?” I ask angrily. “You don’t know! My daddy is strong! He’s just scratched up!”
“Your daddy is strong, Meredith,” the doctor replies when my mom can’t. “He tried all he could to save your sister. He is a brave man. But you have to say goodbye to him now, honey. You can both take your time. Spend some time with him.” She squeezes both mine and mom’s shoulders and leaves. The policeman leaves after her, and we are alone with my dad.
“Mom?” I don’t want to touch him. If I touch him, this might all be real, and it can’t be real. “Mom, he just looks scratched.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to say goodbye.” I shake my head slowly. I can’t look away from him.
“Okay.” She clears her throat and smiles bravely at me, then pulls two chairs by his bedside and motions for me to sit closest to his head. “Let’s just sit for a while and talk. Let’s tell stories. I bet he can hear us.”
“What k-k-kind of stories?”
“Any kind. Happy ones.” Mom takes Dad’s hand in hers and bites her lip. She puts it up to her face, nuzzles her cheek into his palm the way she always does when we all sit and watch movies together. Tiff always steals all of the Sour Patch Kids.
“Remember when we took the road trip down to the beach in Oregon last year and Dad kept warning Tiff that she might get bit by sharks?” I smile at the memory as Mom snickers.
“He likes to torment you girls,” Mom says. “You and Tiff collected about a hundred sand dollars on that trip.”
“Ninety-six,” I say proudly. “We were so close to a hundred, but then we had to come home.”
Mom and I sit and talk for a long time. Daddy never moves, but I think he can hear. I finally get brave enough to reach out and lay my hand on his arm.
