Out of the Ordinary

Chapter 42

Three hours into my flight.

The flight I wasn't on.

I turned my phone over and over in my hands, the thought of calling him occurring to me every so often.

Every so often being every five seconds. Because nothing was here to distract me other than thoughts of what was happening to my father, what was taking so long, why they hadn't let us in to see him yet, and my mother stiffening beside me every so often, her body going rigid with whatever was going on in her mind.

She'd barely said a word. Only sat there, tears streaming down her face, completely inconsolable. We'd tried to get her talking—all we got was that Dad had collapsed in his office, that she'd heard a thump and gone running in to find him sprawled out on the floor—but she didn't say anything more. I don't think she could if she wanted to. And I could see the fear in her eyes, reflecting my own, reflecting Mark's, and Will's, and Jenny's, and even Emily's.

And I couldn't bear the thought that...

I should call him. I knew I should. He thought I was on my way to him, he didn't know any of what was happening. But something stopped me every time I resolved to do it. Something stopped my fingers from moving to find his name. Something that made the lump in my throat burn and tears blur my vision.

I couldn't say the words. Because saying the words would mean that this was really happening, that we were really here, that I was really awake, and my father was somewhere in this hospital being poked and prodded by doctors who were not only trying to figure out what was wrong, but trying to keep him alive.

If he was still breathing.

But no. My mind still fought against it, still tried not to picture him lying on some gurney with doctors and nurses surrounding him, tubes running in and out of his body.

He was fine. Just a few days ago, we were with him. And he was smiling and laughing at us while we jumped on my bed. It seemed impossible that we could all be here now, waiting for word from the doctor, waiting to hear what the tests revealed about why he'd collapsed this morning.

And each passing moment made me more and more anxious, more and more scared that my father wouldn't...

Even my thoughts wouldn't accept it. Wouldn't entertain the idea.

"Mom?" Will called. He was sitting across from the two of us, and his voice sounded strained. When I looked up, his brow was creased with worry, his hand was in Jenny's, and I had to look away. "Mom," he said again when she didn't look up.

Her eyes were red and teary, and her face was as open as I'd ever seen it. But there was nothing I wanted to see there. Nothing but fear.

"Do you want something?" he asked, his voice soft but determined. "Coffee? Water? Something to eat?"

But she was already shaking her head, the tears spilling over as her lips quivered. I put my arm around her again and squeezed, trying to keep my own tears at bay for her sake.

"Please, let me do something," Will said, standing up. He looked wrecked. Exhausted and worried. Jenny watched him sympathetic eyes. "I-I just... I'll get you some coffee."

He left, walked away without looking back. I could see Emily's hand close over Mark's out of the corner of my eye, and I wanted to walk away, too. I wished I could just get up and leave—as if getting up and leaving might not make any of this real.

But seconds became minutes, and Will still hadn't returned. That's when Jenny left to find him.

And minutes became an hour before the two of them finally came back. My mother's coffee was cold in Will's hand.