Terrified (11 page)
“Hang in there, mister,” Josh told him, rubbing the guy’s shoulder. “Help’s on the way… .” Hovering over him, he kept on talking to the unconscious man. He wasn’t sure it did any good. Any minute now, he expected him to stop breathing.
A few people stopped to stare at them. Josh heard one of the bystanders ask him: “Is your father epileptic?”
In the distance, he listened to a siren wailing. He shook his head. “This isn’t my father,” he said. “I don’t know who this is… .”
His name was Parnell Hewitt, and he was a fifty-nine-year-old professor of economics at the University of Washington with a string of doctor-letters after his name. He’d had a stroke on his way to the car after leaving his attorney’s office. Josh found out when Mrs. Hewitt called him at home the following Monday night while his mom was working late. Mrs. Hewitt said her husband’s recovery was amazing. He’d already started to walk and get his speech back again.
Josh had thought when the cops and the paramedics had finally arrived on the scene the unconscious man would be dead before they ever got him to the hospital.
“If you hadn’t stopped to help and called the police,” Mrs. Hewitt told Josh in a teary voice, “he would have died—or at least he’d be a lot worse off than he is now. The police said you stayed with him the whole time. My husband and I don’t know how to thank you, young man… .”
“So I told her,” Josh later explained to his mother, “an iPad 2 would be a nice start.”
He’d stepped out of the house as soon as he’d heard her pull in. He couldn’t wait to tell her what had happened.
Dressed in her black slacks and her green blazer from
Desperation
Rent-a-Car (his nickname for it this week), his mom stood in their driveway by her car. She stared at him in disbelief. She held her purse and a carryout bag of Thai food from Siam on Eastlake. His mother always picked up carryout whenever she worked late. “Please, tell me you really didn’t say that to her,” she implored him, “not even jokingly. Not everyone gets your sense of humor, Josh.”
Desperation
Rent-a-Car (his nickname for it this week), his mom stood in their driveway by her car. She stared at him in disbelief. She held her purse and a carryout bag of Thai food from Siam on Eastlake. His mother always picked up carryout whenever she worked late. “Please, tell me you really didn’t say that to her,” she implored him, “not even jokingly. Not everyone gets your sense of humor, Josh.”
He rolled his eyes and laughed. “God, Mom, what do you take me for?” He grabbed the carryout bag and started up the stairs toward their front door, which he’d left open. Their tall, two-story, white stucco townhouse unit was attached to another one just like it. The driveway led to a garage in front and a flight of cement steps curved up to the front door, where his mom had several blooming potted plants on the landing.
With the device on her key chain, she locked her car and it went
bleep.
The car was a used blue Neon she’d bought from the rental place.
bleep.
The car was a used blue Neon she’d bought from the rental place.
Leading the way, Josh carried the bag inside—past the second-floor stairs on his right and the living room on his left. The living room had a fireplace and floor-to-ceiling windows along the front wall. His mom usually closed the curtains at night for privacy. She spent a lot of time in there at her computer desk in the corner, and watching their forty-inch TV—or more accurately, nodding off in front of it. Her idea of a wild, crazy Saturday night was making popcorn and watching one of the DVDs from her ever-growing collection. They lined the bookcases on the other side of the fireplace—along with books she’d read and a slew of photos of him from the time he was a baby until a few months ago. It always struck him as weird that she had a zillion photos of him—and just a few pictures of his dad.
In the kitchen, Josh set the carryout bag on the island counter. Earlier, he hadn’t noticed how warm it was inside. He switched on the kitchen ceiling fan, and then went to the small hallway beyond the kitchen. On one side was the powder room; on the other side was the laundry room with the fuse box on the wall and two recycling bins. At the end of the short hall was the back door. Josh opened it. An outside screen door kept the bugs out and let the breeze in. He returned to the kitchen and opened up the carryout bag. “I told the lady I was glad her husband was doing better and stuff like that,” he said, unloading the first container. “She was really nice. I could tell she was trying not to cry or anything. She said he might get out of the hospital at the end of the week.”
Setting down her purse, his mother took off her blazer, and then mussed his hair affectionately. “You’re a hero, you really are,” she said, her voice cracking a little. “I’m just so proud of you, Josh.”
For a minute, he thought
she
might start crying. She’d told him several times over the weekend how pleased she was he’d stopped to help someone in trouble—and each time, she got emotional about it. Josh always made some wiseass comment or joke to cut the tension and keep things from getting too gushy. But secretly he liked making her feel so proud that she wanted to cry.
she
might start crying. She’d told him several times over the weekend how pleased she was he’d stopped to help someone in trouble—and each time, she got emotional about it. Josh always made some wiseass comment or joke to cut the tension and keep things from getting too gushy. But secretly he liked making her feel so proud that she wanted to cry.
They stood there in the kitchen for an awkward, quiet moment. His mother described it as a
nineties kitchen.
Maybe it was because of the white appliances, the dark wood cabinets, the green Formica countertops and a built-in wine-rack she never used. Josh had stashed rolled-up magazines and catalogues in it. There were two bar stools at the edge of the island counter. It was where he ate his breakfast and did his homework. They almost never ate in the connected dining room. Dinner was usually in front of the TV in the living room. They were heading in there soon. Monday nights, he usually got his way with
Monday Night Football
, but until the season started again they usually watched
House Hunters
and
House Hunters International
.
nineties kitchen.
Maybe it was because of the white appliances, the dark wood cabinets, the green Formica countertops and a built-in wine-rack she never used. Josh had stashed rolled-up magazines and catalogues in it. There were two bar stools at the edge of the island counter. It was where he ate his breakfast and did his homework. They almost never ate in the connected dining room. Dinner was usually in front of the TV in the living room. They were heading in there soon. Monday nights, he usually got his way with
Monday Night Football
, but until the season started again they usually watched
House Hunters
and
House Hunters International
.
“Anyway,” Josh finally said, opening up the container of orange chicken. “Once the professor gets sprung from the hospital, I’ll hit him up for the iPad 2—and maybe a pony.”
“Well, see if you can’t get your dear old mother a day trip to one of those luxury spas while you’re at it,” his mom said, going along with the joke. She reached for the plates in the cupboard.
“Y’know, corny as it sounds, I really felt like I did something that mattered,” Josh admitted. “I wasn’t really all that scared, and the blood didn’t bother me much. I’m thinking maybe that’s what I should study in college. Was there anyone in yours or Dad’s family who was a doctor?”
He heard the plates clatter against the counter, and he swiveled around. His mother was shaking her head. “It’s okay,” she said. “I just put them down too fast. Nothing broke.” Without looking at him, she moved to the drawer and took out the knives and forks. “Um, no, I—I don’t think we had any doctors—or nurses—on either side of the family, no one in the medical profession. I’ll finish that. Why don’t you get yourself something to drink and go set up the TV tables?”
Josh stared at her with his eyes narrowed. Here he was telling her that he might want to be a doctor, which was a pretty big deal to him. And she acted like it was nothing. In fact, she even seemed a bit perturbed—as if it was the last thing she wanted to talk about.
She pulled a serving spoon from the utensil drawer. Frowning, Josh slid a container of brown rice toward her on the counter. She still wouldn’t look at him. He wanted to ask her what was wrong with studying to be a doctor. Hell, most moms in movies and on TV considered that a dream come true.
But Josh let it roll. Saying nothing, he took a Coke from the refrigerator and headed toward the living room.
Sometimes, the way his mom acted didn’t make any sense at all.
It certainly was true the following Friday after he got a call from the mayor’s office. He didn’t waste any time phoning his mother at work. “Can you get next Tuesday afternoon off?” he asked as soon as she got on the line.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you when you get home,” he said. “You won’t believe it, Mom. This is so cool. Just promise you’ll get someone to sub for you Tuesday afternoon.”
“Well, okay, I’ll see what I can do,” she replied, sounding baffled.
After hanging up with her, he called Darren and told him the news. His friend was totally blown away, and they agreed to get together and celebrate—maybe dinner at Northlake Pizza or someplace on Capitol Hill. He thought about phoning some of his friends on the basketball team, but he wasn’t that close to any of them, not the way he was to Darren. He went to parties and hung out with some of them, but it was always in packs. Darren thought most of his basketball pals were assholes—and they could definitely be that way when a bunch of those guys got together to blow off steam. Josh decided not to phone any of them.
He couldn’t wait for his mom to come home from work. So at 5:15, Josh trekked to the SLUT stop and caught the trolley to Destination Rent-a-Car on Westlake Avenue. An illuminated green sign towered above the tall one-story building with big picture windows. Reflected in the glass was a row of diagonally parked shiny, new rental cars of various makes, models, and colors. Having them lined up in front of the building was good advertising. But most of the rental fleet came from a covered parking garage in back.
Josh stepped inside the shop, where there were two green, Naugahyde-cushioned benches, a Coke machine, and a snack machine. The long counter had Destination Rent-a-Car brochures in clear plastic holders strategically placed every few feet. Three stations with computer monitors and printers occupied that counter—along with the ever-smiling, ever-friendly, ever-courteous employees in their green blazers. One of them was Teresa Johnson, a sexy, down-to-earth divorcée in her late thirties, with a pale brown complexion, exotic eyes, and a buxom figure packed inside the company blazer. She was the assistant manager, and the closest thing to a best friend his mom had.
Teresa was on the telephone, while John, the new guy, helped a customer. As Josh approached the counter, Teresa hung up the phone and grinned at him. “Well, hello, handsome,” she said, leaning on the counter. “Have you saved anybody’s life today?”
“Not yet, but the night’s still young,” Josh replied, thinking he was pretty damn clever.
“Oh, your mom’s been bragging about you, Josh. And I don’t blame her. That’s really incredible what you did.”
He felt himself blushing. “Well, thanks.”
“So what’s going on Tuesday that I have to cover for your mom?” she asked.
“Tell you later,” he said with a secretive smile. He nodded toward an office behind the counter. It had a window looking out toward the front of the store, but the blinds had been lowered and closed. “Is she back there?”
Teresa nodded. “Getting ready to call it a day. Do me a favor. Maybe she’ll listen to you. Talk to her about going out with me tomorrow night. I invited her to go dancing at this fantastic Greek bar. It’s a total blast.
Opah!
The girl needs to get out and have fun, maybe even meet a guy.”
Opah!
The girl needs to get out and have fun, maybe even meet a guy.”
“Yeah, that’s really gonna happen,” Josh replied, rolling his eyes. “She doesn’t listen to me, either. But I’ll give it a try, Teresa.”
He walked around the counter to the back of the shop—and a hallway leading to the break room, the bathroom, and his mother’s tiny office. Her door was open. Josh poked his head in.
His mom stood on a small stepladder, watering the philodendron plant on top of her bookcase, which was full of binders and brochures—and two framed photographs of him. The plant’s leafy vines extended out on hooks along the top of two walls, and always reminded Josh of that man-eater plant in
Little Shop of Horrors
. There was just one small window—looking out to an alley. Her desk had a computer monitor and keyboard, and in front of it, the green fake-leather cushioned chair for visitors left little space to walk around. Today, it was even more cluttered, because she had a revolving tower fan by her desk.
Little Shop of Horrors
. There was just one small window—looking out to an alley. Her desk had a computer monitor and keyboard, and in front of it, the green fake-leather cushioned chair for visitors left little space to walk around. Today, it was even more cluttered, because she had a revolving tower fan by her desk.
“I’m not going Greek dancing tomorrow,” his mother announced, her back to him.
Josh figured she must have overheard Teresa and him. “Why not?” he asked. “Teresa’s right. You ought to get out and have some fun for a change.”
She stepped down from the small, folding ladder and set the water glass on her desk. Collapsing the ladder, she pushed it against the side of the bookcase. “I just don’t feel like going someplace that’s crowded, crazy, and noisy, that’s all.”
Josh leaned against the doorway frame. “So what are you going to do tomorrow night? Make popcorn and watch
Roman Holiday
or some other Katharine Hepburn movie for the fiftieth time?”
Roman Holiday
or some other Katharine Hepburn movie for the fiftieth time?”
“
Audrey
Hepburn,” his mother said, switching off the tower fan. She grabbed her purse. “And actually, I was thinking of
The Long Hot Summer
with Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward. I’ve only seen that one
twenty
times.” She switched off the overhead light, and then kissed him on the cheek. “This is a nice surprise, you coming to the office to meet me. Does it have anything to do with this mysterious big deal on Tuesday afternoon?”
Audrey
Hepburn,” his mother said, switching off the tower fan. She grabbed her purse. “And actually, I was thinking of
The Long Hot Summer
with Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward. I’ve only seen that one
twenty
times.” She switched off the overhead light, and then kissed him on the cheek. “This is a nice surprise, you coming to the office to meet me. Does it have anything to do with this mysterious big deal on Tuesday afternoon?”
“Sort of,” he smiled.
She patted his shoulder. “Well, you’re awfully tight-lipped about it. What’s going on?”
“He wouldn’t tell me a damn thing,” Teresa said, wandering into the corridor from the front of the store. “And he likes me a lot more than he likes you. I’ll bet Josh would go Greek dancing with me, wouldn’t you, hon?”
“All night long.” He nodded.
His mom slung her purse strap over her shoulder. “So what’s happening on Tuesday?”
Looking at Teresa and then at his mother, Josh broke into a grin. “I’m going to be on TV! Correction,
we’re
going to be on TV! The
mayor’s office
called an hour ago, and they want to give me a plaque or some kind of award for helping that guy—the professor, Dr. Hewitt. They’re giving awards to the two cops who came to the scene, too. It’ll be this big fancy ceremony downtown with reporters and TV news cameras, and everything… .”
we’re
going to be on TV! The
mayor’s office
called an hour ago, and they want to give me a plaque or some kind of award for helping that guy—the professor, Dr. Hewitt. They’re giving awards to the two cops who came to the scene, too. It’ll be this big fancy ceremony downtown with reporters and TV news cameras, and everything… .”
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