However Long the Night

Chapter Eight

The rain was back.

Will stared past the wet windowpane into the dark sky. His dad was in surgery; his mom was in a fitful sleep on the waiting room couch, and he sat, tortured by the image of his father falling on his knees. His mind played the scene on a loop as he dug his nails into the armrests of the chair and tried his best to hold back a scream.

Was this some kind of sick joke? He couldn't escape the numbers. They tipped him off to tragedy but didn't give him the power to save anyone he loved. Knowing too much but never enough to make a difference, he was helpless as a deer caught in an eternal set of cosmic headlights. What was the point of having a morbid warning sign without hope that anything could ever change?

Good one, universe. Ha, ha. You're an asshole.

Watching the rain, a hazy montage of images played on the movie screen in his mind. His dad. Alex. Skye. Don Frances at Fletcher's, scooping blue bubble gum ice cream into a sugared waffle cone. A legion of numbers bloomed behind Will's eyes, appearing and fading away until a lone 3 remained, flickering into a 2, into a 1. It was always the same. The numbers infected everything he perceived, everything he saw, and in the end, everyone he loved.

A surgeon in scrubs appeared and Will jumped. Nerves nipped at his chest, making him catch his breath. Shaking his head, he stood up from the chair and gently shook his mother's shoulder.

"Mom. Mom, wake up. The doctor's here."

Please let everything be okay. Please let him be fine. Please don't let me cry.

"Oh my god. I fell asleep?" Rubbing at her eyes, she rose to her feet gingerly and grabbed at his arm for support. "How...how is my husband?"

It felt like forever before the doctor opened his mouth.

"The bypass was a success," he said. "Ben's in recovery now, and we'll move him to the ICU when he's ready. Prognosis is good, but he'll need help adjusting his lifestyle. Recovery will take between six and twelve weeks."

So, there it was.

His mother started crying, and she leaned heavily against Will's side. He couldn't feel his feet. His ears were ringing. Everything was numb.

"Thank you. Thank you for letting us know. Thank you for saving him. When ... when can I see my husband?"

He could hear his mother's words, but he couldn't quite grasp them. It had to be a dream. He tried closing his eyes, hoping maybe he'd wake up the next morning like nothing had happened.

As if.

The doctor's lips were still moving when Will opened his eyes again. Squinting, he focused hard to process what the doctor was saying.

"It could take up to four hours for him to gain consciousness. You may want to go home for a bit. Eat, gather some things, and call in for an update tomorrow morning." The surgeon looked tired, but his eyes were kind, and his 3 shined like buffed silver in his pupil.

It didn't feel right, leaving his father behind, but waiting longer in that sterile room for the sake of it, with nothing to do or contribute, was worse. So, Will took his mother's hand, and together they walked toward the elevator to start the journey home.

They barely spoke on their way back to the house. Everything was too fresh; it was like speaking would make things real, and Will wasn't ready for that. Leaning his head against the car window, he closed his eyes as his mother drove.

The hospital was in Reese, so there was no point traveling all the way out to the cottage again. Josh had taken Shelby and Skye home when Will and his mom followed the ambulance's flashing lights to Reese Memorial. Josh had checked in at least once an hour via text since then.