Finding Jack, page 25
I went to deposit them in the playroom for any of the other kids on the floor who wanted to play. Usually the ones in there were the siblings of patients, but they could surely use some novelty too. I passed the nursing station on the way and smiled at the charge nurse, Shelley.
“I see that Tate got to go home. When was he discharged?”
She hesitated and shook her head. “He was released to hospice.”
“Oh.”
The words didn’t register at first.
I checked the respite request list and stopped at the first room, a little five-year-old with an oxygen canula and a woolen beanie over her bald scalp. Her father thanked me and stepped out for some food. The little girl didn’t want to talk, so I sat beside her and watched an animated dinosaur movie.
Hospice.
Hospice meant…
I didn’t want to think about it.
But when my patient’s dad came back, I stopped by Shelley’s desk again. “Hospice means they decided to stop treatment?”
“It means there was nothing else to do. And now the family can focus on making him comfortable in the time he has left.” Her eyes softened. “This is the first one you’ve lost?”
I nodded, my throat too tight to push words through.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It doesn’t get easier. But we appreciate you being willing to come in here and do this. It’s a godsend for these parents.”
I could only nod again, afraid that if the knot in my throat loosened it would flood out in tears, and I moved on to the next patient.
When I got home that night, I searched Facebook for Tate’s name and found a group his mom had set up to share his journey. I requested to join it, and the next morning before I went to work, I got a notification I’d been approved.
I scrolled through the group whenever I had a free moment at work, going all the way back to the first post where his mom had explained that they’d received a tough diagnosis for Tate, but he was a fighter and they were optimistic that with the love and prayers of the people who loved him and the elite team t Benioff, he was going to beat his illness. I could feel the sincerity and determination in every sentence and in the grinning photos she posted of him from his baseball team and with his little sister.
I checked it every single morning over breakfast before I left for work. Six days later, she posted a picture of Tate asleep in a hospital bed in what looked like a living room, a little girl, maybe three, napping beside him. It said, “Lucy won’t leave his side.”
I set my phone face down and stared at it.
Sean had arrived two days before, and now he sat down across from me with a toasted bagel in front of him.
“Want to go for a run later?”
His words barely registered as I stared at my phone.
“Whoa,” he said, concern creeping into his voice. “You okay?”
I opened the picture and handed it to him. He knew I was volunteering at the hospital because I’d put him down as a reference. “He went on hospice care.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, handing it back. “Did you work with him much?”
“Not really. Just a couple of times.” I made the screen go dark. “I can’t believe how bad this feels.”
He didn’t say anything.
“How did you do this?” I asked.
“That’s the thing. I couldn’t after a while. It never got easier.”
“I committed to a six-month volunteer term,” I said. “I don’t know how I’m going to do this for six months.”
“Ask for a transfer to a different department,” he said. “I’m not going to try to tell you to stick this out, and they’re used to it. They know oncology isn’t for everyone. They’ll understand.”
“I didn’t,” I said. “I didn’t understand.” All I could see was the exhaustion on Tate’s mom’s face when she would slip out to grab a quick dinner, then the memory of the exhaustion on Jack’s during our last conversation. And his words. I hate that you can’t see it for what it is. I’d blithely told him that I did, proud of myself for coming up with such a good argument-ending comeback before I’d walked away from him.
His words played over and over in my head. He was right. I hadn’t seen his retreat for what it was: survival.
It hadn’t even been my job to save Tate, and now his name was carved into my heart. How would I feel if it had been my job to cure him? How would it feel if I carried dozens of names the way I would always carry his?
I didn’t sleep well, and the next night, when it was my shift at the hospital, I stopped and asked Shelley the question that I should have been asking Jack. “Shelley? How do you do this job when you keep losing kids?” How had Jack been able to do it for as long as he did?
She set down the tablet she’d been working on and gave me a resigned look. “Because sometimes we win. Not enough. But sometimes.”
I nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” I started down the hall to find the restroom and splash some cold water on my face before I found my next patient.
“Emily?” Shelley called.
I turned to see what she needed.
“You don’t have to do this. Most people can’t. Talk to the volunteer coordinator and let her know that you want to finish your volunteer term in a different department. It happens a lot. No one will think less of you for it.”
“I would,” I said quietly.
And I went to find my next patient.
I’d find Sharon later, not to request reassignment, but to thank her for her work in coordinating. But that wasn’t the only thing I needed to take care of.
I owed Jack another apology, a true apology now that I understood what I was apologizing for, even though there weren’t any words that could make it right.
Chapter 41
“Sean?” It was Saturday morning, and I had stumbled out of bed to find him at the stove. “When are you getting your own place?”
“Why? You getting sick of me?”
“No.” I sniffed the air. French toast. “I don’t want you to leave. I get tired of making my own breakfast.”
“Thanks, but Shep and I are kind of over living on your couch. I’m trying to work out a roommate situation that’s maybe going to be perfect, then I’m out of here.” He pulled down a plate and slid two pieces of French toast onto it. “These are yours. I’ll make myself more.”
“Roommate situation? I know I probably don’t need to remind you of this, but don’t go with a Craigslist rando. And whoever you move in with, check all their references. If you don’t, you might end up living with someone like Ranée. I should have asked more questions.”
“Ha,” he said dryly. “Thanks, but this is someone I know. Should be fine.”
“Oh good.” I buttered my French toast and decided to skip syrup. I’d had Sean’s French toast before. It needed no drowning. “Have you talked to Jack lately?”
He paused in dredging another piece of bread in batter and looked at me in surprise. I hadn’t asked since he’d gotten here. “Yeah.”
“He’s okay?”
“Yeah. I think he’s doing well, actually.”
Because I was a terrible person, that made me sad. I wasn’t doing well. I missed him every day, and it hurt that moving on wasn’t as hard for him. Then again, maybe it was easier when the person who walked out on you had been thoughtlessly cruel the way I had. But all I said was, “I’m glad to hear it.”
I opened Facebook to Tate’s page again, hungry for crumbs of information about him but also terrified to see what the newest update might be.
Instead, I found a new picture of Tate in a hospital room I didn’t recognize. His dad stood on one side of him and a smiling doctor giving the camera two thumbs up stood on the other. It was timestamped from the night before and captioned, “New doctor, new treatment, new hope.”
“Holy…” I muttered, scrolling through the comments for an explanation.
“What’s up?” Sean asked.
“Remember that picture I showed you of that kid Tate?”
“Yeah?”
“I think things might be turning around.” I found a comment from his mom, explaining the unexpected picture.
“We applied for a clinical trial for Tate that we knew was a long shot. We didn’t tell him or anyone else because we didn’t want to get his hopes up, but yesterday morning we got the call. Dr. Bhandari accepted Tate into a clinical trial at Cincinnati Children’s Hospital. This is a highly targeted stem cell and chemo protocol that has shown incredible results in pediatric cases. Lucy needs me home, so Derek’s amazing boss is allowing him to work remotely from Cincinnati while Tate undergoes treatment. They already checked in, and Derek sent this picture this morning. We’ll miss them, but knowing we’re finally going to deliver the knockout punch to this illness makes it much easier for Lucy and I cheering at home!”
“I can’t believe this,” I said, looking up at Sean. “Look at this.”
He read through her comment and smiled up at me. “That’s a good sign. This doctor wouldn’t have taken him on if the little guy didn’t have a decent shot.”
I accepted my phone from him and read through the two newest posts where Tate’s mom described the details of the new treatment plan and a picture of Tate playing Minecraft.
The photo made my eyes sting. I googled the name of the hospital. The whole first page of results showed that it was the top-ranked hospital for pediatric cancer treatment according to several prestigious surveys.
Tate was okay.
For right now, he was okay, and it sounded like he had a chance to get better.
I finished my French toast, cleaned my plate, and laced up my running shoes.
“Want company?” Sean asked as I tightened my laces.
“Maybe tomorrow?” I had something I needed to do today, and I needed to be alone for it.
“Sure.” He went back to his French toast, Shep panting at him for a bite of his own.
I caught the streetcar over to Golden Gate Park but instead of heading for the running trail I liked, I found a quiet spot in the Shakespeare Garden.
I chose an empty bench and pulled my phone from my armband, studying the blank screen like it could tell me what to say instead of vice versa. I’d run over the words a thousand times in my mind, changing the inflection, the order, the verbs. But I couldn’t ever get it exactly right.
That was the thing about perfection. It didn’t exist. No way I could say this in a way that would fix everything. Or even anything. But that didn’t mean I didn’t have to say at least something.
I took a deep breath and opened the messaging app. I pulled up Jack’s name and pressed “Record.”
“Hi. Long time, no talk. I’m in a place called the Shakespeare Garden.” I flipped the camera so he could see it. “It reminded me of our date walking through Hyde Park.” I switched the view again and sighed. “I needed a peaceful place. It shouldn’t surprise me that I chose one connected to you.” I tried to say the next part I planned, but a lump formed in my throat, and I knew I wouldn’t get the words out, so I ended the recording. I sat and took more deep breaths and looked for the courage to try again.
It took several minutes before the pressure of unshed tears eased behind my eyes, and I felt like I could try again. I started the next video message with a smile that was shakier than I wanted it to be, but I was proud I’d managed one, however small.
“I told you I started volunteering at the hospital a month ago. The patients and staff are amazing. Um, but this kid I was working with…I thought he had died.” My voice trembled, and I paused a second to pull myself together. “It was hard. I don’t even have words for how hard, and I barely knew him. I just found out that I was wrong. I have never, ever been so happy about being wrong. He’s gone to Cincinnati for a new clinical trial. But for those couple of days when I thought…”
I stopped the recording, fighting to reorder my thoughts in a way that would make sense to Jack. I pressed record one last time. “I wanted to say I’m sorry again. I’m so sorry. You weren’t running away. You weren’t hiding. You were so strong to work there for as long as you did. I don’t know how you did it. And I’m so sorry for what I said. If this is how it feels when it works out for a kid I barely know, I can’t imagine what it was like when it didn’t work out for a kid like Clara. I’d love to talk to you. Really talk. I get it if you don’t, but if you do, call me?”
I ended the recording and sent it before I could talk myself out of it. I couldn’t have said it any worse, but I also didn’t know how to say it any better.
It wasn’t hard to ignore my phone the rest of the day. I knew he wouldn’t call. I wouldn’t have.
I went out with Ranée and some girlfriends for dinner, and even though I laughed and joined the conversation, Ranée kept shooting me concerned looks, like she knew exactly how big of a show I was putting on. I tried to keep a cheerful face on. I even agreed to go with them to a nearby pub to listen to some live music, but she kept sending me those worried looks.
Sometime after midnight, she picked up her phone, wrinkled her forehead, and showed it to me.
This is Jack. Sorry to bug you but I can’t get hold of Emily. Could you ask her to check her phone?
I fumbled my cell from my handbag so fast that it shot out of my hands, and I had to retrieve it from between Ranée’s feet on the sticky pub floor. I unlocked, cursing when I realized I had no reception bars but six different notifications from text, voicemail, and FaceTime. All of them were from Jack. I checked the text first.
Call me.
“Ranée, it’s—” I started to shout over the music.
“Go.”
I excused myself from the table and stepped outside to the street to make the call, hesitating before I dialed. The text had come in two hours ago. Maybe it was too late tonight? But the city was full of quiet noise, the soft hum of passing cars and the chatter of people on the sidewalk. Maybe Jack would be awake too. I dialed his number.
It rang twice before he answered it simply, “Em?”
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
I savored the warm sound of his voice. It was better than the drink Ranée had forced on me when we got to the pub.
“You wanted to talk?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I looked around me at the bustle of my city corner, but I didn’t want to wait until I got home where it was quiet. “I’ve been thinking. I was so wrong about so much when I was up there.”
“Em—”
“I need to finish before I lose my nerve.”
There was a long pause before a quiet, “Okay.”
“I was wrong. And out of line to say the things I said. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“I do. I didn’t get it then, but I think I have the tiniest sliver of empathy now. And it’s painful. I can’t imagine how much harder it was for you, working with those kids and losing them.” I paused to pull myself together. Jack let the silence rest, and I was thankful for a minute to think. “So the thing is, I’m hoping you can forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to—”
“Yes, there is. I’m so sorry I keep interrupting you, but I’m scared I won’t say this if I don’t blurt it out.” I took a deep breath. “I get it now. And I can’t believe I was so judgmental. You’re strong. You’re not a quitter. I’m sorry for everything I said. And I don’t know if you still want to make us work. I do. I don’t know how, but I was thinking I could spread out my vacation days, so I could take several long weekends through the year to come up and visit you. I’ve never done long-distance before, but people do it all the time. We can make this work, if…” I realized he hadn’t tried to interject for a while. “If you want to?”
A sigh met that. “Emily…”
All that followed was a long silence. I gripped the phone harder. What did I expect? I’d hurt him with words the last time we were together, and once those things were said, it took so much more than simple words to fix the damage.
“Jack?” I knew he was still there, but I didn’t know what else to say.
“You have bad timing.”
“Oh.” His voice was soft, but it felt like a slap. “Okay. I get it. I’ll let you go.”
“No, it’s not—” He broke off with a growl. There was a pause, and he started again. “I don’t want to give up on us, but I also don’t think long-distance is the right answer. The thing is, it’s one in the morning, and conversations tend to go way off the rails when my head isn’t clear. Can I call you tomorrow when I’ve got myself together?”
Considering the way I’d run out on him, it was worse than I’d hoped, but better than I’d feared.
Why did it leave me with such a tight fist of disappointment in my chest? He’d said, I don’t want to give up on us. But a polite request to talk about it in the morning wasn’t exactly a sign that he’d been eaten up with missing me the way I had with him.
I swallowed the disappointment and tried to compose myself. “Of course. Sorry, I shouldn’t have called so late.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I just need…I need to make sure I’m in the right place when we talk about this.”
“I get it. Why don’t you call me tomorrow when you’ve had time to think about it?”
“As if I could think about anything else now.” He sighed again. “Man, Emily. Whatever I thought you were going to say when you asked me to call you, this wasn’t it. Call you tomorrow?”
“Yeah, sure. Good night.”
He hung up, and I turned to face the pub behind me and the uncertain future ahead of me.
I tapped a text to Ranée to tell her I was taking an Uber home. I spent the whole ride staring through the window without seeing anything, replaying my video message and our conversation in my head.
