Love Me Broken (33 page)

“Is there vomit?”

“No.”

More clacking.

“Does Adam have any history of asthma, laryngitis, breathing or respiratory problems?”

“No. I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think so. He had a sore throat earlier.”

“You mentioned driving. Was there an accident? Had he been injured beforehand?”

“No.” I think of Adam getting punched at the party. But that was in his face. That wouldn’t do this.

“Is he on any medications?”

Again, “No.” Then, “Not that I’m aware of.”

The operator, who introduces herself as Diane, stays on the phone with me while we wait for the ambulance. Adam is still breathing, but his forehead and hands feel colder than they should. Meanwhile, Diane asks me what seem like random questions. I’m not sure if these are procedural, or if she’s trying to keep me occupied so I don’t descend into panic.

When I hear the sirens, I stand up and start waving my hands in the air like a person stranded on a desert island, flagging down a plane. “Over here!” I scream. The ambulance races toward me and turns abruptly into the parking lot. The doors fly open and two EMTs race out. They ask a flurry of questions and I do my best to answer them. It’s hard to concentrate as they tend to Adam, feeling for a heartbeat, listening to his breathing, feeling his body and limbs for injuries.

They’re both men in their thirties. One has a mustache. He is trying to talk to Adam, shouting at him. “Can you hear me, Adam?” He takes his hand. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

I look to the hand and see no movement. The EMT looks to his partner, and the partner nods. Then he goes to the ambulance to pull out a stretcher.

It’s so fast, after the span of time waiting for them to arrive. The EMT with the moustache notices the car and turns off the engine. He hands me the keys, and I barely see them as I put them into my pocket along with the cell phone. I don’t even remember the conclusion of the 9-1-1 call.

They load Adam into the back of the ambulance, and I climb inside with them. I’m directed to a small fold-down seat and instructed to buckle up. I do, watching in horror as they press an oxygen mask to Adam’s face, and then cut away his shirt to strap monitoring devices to his chest. This doesn’t feel real. This feels like a nightmare. Then they run a tube down Adam’s throat to feed him oxygen more directly.

The only comfort I have as we ride to the hospital is the sound of his heartbeat through the machines. I know as long as I can hear that constant beeping, Adam is still alive.

I am terrified the entire way, half expecting his heart to stop. For the line to go flat.

It’s only when we’re at the hospital, and the two EMTs are rushing Adam out that I realize I should be asking questions. I should ask what is going on. Will Adam be okay? Is he dying?

But I’m too afraid to ask. I’m not ready to hear the answers.

I am racing behind the stretcher as we go through the automatic doors to the hospital. A nurse is running along beside me, asking me another stream of quick questions. I answer what I can, but I’m little help. These people must think I don’t know Adam at all.

Do
I know him at all?

There’s a long fluorescent hallway, and as they turn the stretcher through a set of double doors, I am stopped by a firm grip on my upper arm. I turn angrily and see a heavyset nurse giving me a stern look.

“Come this way,” she says.

“No!” I yell back, and tug at her grasp. She must be prepared for this, because she holds on tight.

“Only staff allowed beyond this point. There’s nothing you can—”

I scream out obscenities at the nurse. She takes them in with a blank face and puts an arm on my shoulder. She starts to pull me back the way we came.

“What’s wrong with him?” I ask her, my anger chilling into fear. I try to look back behind us, to somehow see through the double doors. “Will he be okay?”

“He is in good hands,” she says. “Now, the best thing you can do is let the doctors work. They don’t need you distracting them when they’re trying to help your friend.”

I stare back longingly at the doors, and then allow myself to be led back to a waiting area. This is not the main lobby. There’s a small desk here, a nurse’s station, and ugly gray chairs set out for visitors and family members. There’s a fake plant in the corner and greeting cards taped up along the front of the nurses’ desk. The nurse presses my shoulder down, sitting me into a chair. She looks up at the desk and signals to someone that I’m to be watched.

My mind is spinning, unable to comprehend what is going on. One hour ago we were together. Everything was fine. Better than fine—it was great. I was driving, and we were laughing. We were going to be together no matter what. And now... it just doesn’t make any sense.

I sit a moment, then grow impatient. I stand up and walk to the nurses’ desk. An older woman turns to me. She has curly brown hair and painted-on eyebrows. She looks vaguely familiar.

“Erica?” she asks. “Erica Harper?”

She comes around to the front of the counter and takes in my state with pitying eyes. Without warning, she wraps her arms around me. I hear her voice muffled, asking me if I’m all right.

“My friend,” I say, pulling back. “He’s—is he all right? They won’t let me see him.”

I see her give a little sigh of relief that it is my friend that has the issue, and not someone closer. It’s then that I place her. She is a friend of my mother’s. Was. My mother hasn’t been keeping up with any of her friends. I glance at the nametag, and see her name is Mona. That sounds right.

“What’s his name?” she asks, going back behind the counter to a computer.

“Adam. Adam Lawson.”

She types it in, and then stares at the screen for a moment, her eyes darting. It takes all my resistance not to turn the screen around to read it for myself.

“He’s being x-rayed,” she tells me.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s stabilized.”

“Is that good?”

“It means he’s stabilized.”

I start to cry I’m so relieved. He’s not dead. Adam is not dead.

“It may be a while,” Mona tells me when I don’t sit back down. “Do you need me to call someone? Get you some coffee or water?”

I blink, unable to think. I’m just so exhausted.

“What about for Adam? Does he have any family to contact?”

I look at her, not able to say for the millionth time that I know absolutely nothing about Adam. I stumble back to the chair, my mind blank.

Adam. All I can think of is Adam. Picturing his body unconscious. Thinking of the blood on his mouth. I gasp. He didn’t just pass out. He had blood on him. Blood.

I rest my head in my hands, and then lean down between my legs, trying to breathe. I am only interrupted when I feel something in my pocket, and I remember his phone. Family? Should I call his family? I don’t know.

I take out the phone and stare at it for a moment before flipping it open. I toggle down in the menu to the address book. My stomach drops when I see that there are only three names. The list doesn’t even fill the whole screen.

ERICA

LEVI

MOM

I stare at the list, taken aback by the lack of contacts, and the significance of the three he’s chosen to keep. I feel like I’m reading his diary or spying on his web history. This feels so personal, to know this about him. And at the same time, it feels so sad. Adam doesn’t have anybody.

I choose to try Levi first. He’s in town, and—as embarrassing as it is—he may actually know more about Adam’s history than I do. He might know what is going on. I press the button to dial him, and put the phone to my ear.

It rings. It rings again. After the third ring, I hear Levi’s voice.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Levi!” I say quickly. “Adam is in the hos—”

“Levi isn’t here right now, so leave a message after the beep and I’ll call you back.”

There’s a beep.

I’m silent a moment, unsure of what to say. I can’t say the words now, knowing Levi will get the news through a message. I flip the phone shut. Then I reconsider and open it back up. I dial again, wait through the rings and his answering message. At the beep, I say, “Levi. This is Erica. Call me back on this line as soon as you get this.” I think about adding something else, but I can’t, so I just hang up.

Then I sit for a moment with the phone in my lap, my foot tapping nervously.

I wish I had my phone. I could call Nicole. She could come here, help me figure out what’s going on. Or I could use the Internet to try to figure out what was happening to Adam. Sitting here, without my own phone or money or anything—just some keys to a car that’s still parked by the beach—I feel like a lost child. I don’t know where to go. Who to call.

I look back down at the phone. My heart starts beating faster.

MOM

I only resist because I don’t think Adam would like it if I called her. What little he’s said about his family made it sound like they didn’t get along.

But what if she could help? She’s his mother. She must know what’s happening. His life may depend on it.

I flip open the phone, find her number, and then stare at the phone, my finger lingering over the call button.

“I’d rather have him alive and upset with me,” I tell myself, “than...”

I can’t finish. I shake my head and press the call button.

It rings twice and I start to think that it’ll go to voicemail when the third ring is cut off and a woman’s voice answers: “This is Rachel.” She must be in public. I hear voices in the background, the bustle of a coffee shop or a restaurant.

I don’t know how to begin. My mouth feels dry.

“Hello?” she asks. When I try to speak and can’t, I hear her give an annoyed sigh and I can tell she’s about to hang up.

“Hello,” I say, my voice unsure of itself. “Is this—are you Adam’s mother?”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end, nothing but the background noise. Then, “Hold on.” I hear a shuffling, and then the sounds change. She is no longer in the restaurant. I hear light traffic in the background. She must have walked outside.

When she speaks again, I can hear fear in her voice. “This is Rachel Lawson. I’m—” her voice cracks, and I hear a sob “—I’m Adam Lawson’s mother. Is he, is my son...?”

Her silence is filled with dread. I can practically picture her holding her breath.

“He’s in a hospital,” I tell her. “I’m his... girlfriend. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

“He has a girlfriend?” Then, “Where? Where are you?”

I give her the name of the hospital.

“Where is that?”

“Astoria,” I say.

“
Astoria
?” She says the word as if I’ve just told her Adam is in Timbuktu. “Where on earth is Astoria?”

“Oregon,” I say, and I’m starting to wonder if I’ve made a mistake. “Mrs. Lawson, Adam started coughing up blood. He was fine, and then—”

“Is there a doctor?” she interrupts. “Put me on the phone with his doctor.”

I don’t like it, but I do as she asks. I go up to the nurses’ station holding the phone at my side.

“Um,” I tell the nurse there. It’s not Mona, my mom’s friend. “I’m on the phone with Adam’s mother. Adam Lawson. She wants to speak to his doctor.”

I hear Adam’s mother say something, her voice small and tinny. I put the phone to my ear. “Let me talk to them.”

I hand over the phone, and the nurse’s back straightens a little as I hear Adam’s mom talk a mile a minute. I can’t make out the words, but the nurse starts nodding and typing onto her computer. Then she stands up to leave.

“Wait,” I say, wanting to follow, but she shakes her head and disappears through a doorway behind the desk.

I’m left standing alone, the fluorescent bulb flickering above me.

His mother. That was Adam’s mother.

She had no idea where he was.

I make my way back to my seat, my mind cloudy, my muscles tired with strain, and I start to replay the last two hours in my head, wondering what I should have done, what I could have done to prevent this. To make it right. It feels like everything I did is wrong. What if I’ve—

My thoughts are interrupted by a tortured scream.

There’s only one reason for a scream like that: it’s because someone has died. And when I look up I can’t believe my eyes.