“Yes?” she asked.
“Britt, I need you,” a voice rasped on the other end. It was unrecognizable. If it was Jack, she never would have known by the sound of him, so altered, so hoarse.
“Is everything okay? Jack, is that you?”
“It’s me,” he managed and then a choking sound like a cough.
“Jack, is your dad—”
“He passed away!” His voice was high, broken, full of disbelief.
“No! He was fine last night. You said he was fine! I’ll—I’ll be right there. Are you at the hospital?”
She could hear Jack sobbing on the other end, a muffled, restrained burst of grief that tore at her heart. She pulled on jeans and a t-shirt and finger combed her hair up into a ponytail hastily. She called and left a voicemail at work that she wouldn’t be in that day, due to a sudden family emergency. She grabbed her purse and stepped in to her flip-flops, out of the apartment and on the way to her car within five minutes of hearing from her bereft, heartbroken boyfriend.
She made the drive to St. Teresa’s Hospital so quickly that it was all a blur. She put on her hazard lights and started switching lanes and passing people and running yellow lights. She figured anyone who stopped her would understand her urgency so she went with it. She parked at the emergency room and ran inside, ponytail flying behind her like a banner in her haste.
“I need to see Jack Fitzsimmons. His dad is—was—on D-wing.”
“Down the hall and to the right, then take the fourth corridor on your left. That leads to D-wing,” the security guard told her.
Britt took off running, her flip-flops slapping with an echo on the tiles of the stark hallways. She miscounted hallways and had to double back. She found D-wing and there was Jack, sitting dejected in a chair in the waiting room, head in his hands.
A fist seemed to clench around her heart as she paused just to look at him. She stopped short, her hand flying to her throat at the sheer grief just rolling off of him. She could feel his sadness, his shock. She dropped to her knees before him and gathered him into her arms.
“Oh, darling,” she said, her voice straining with an agony of compassion.
Jack’s arms went around her and she felt his shoulders shake. He clutched her tightly. The heat of his ragged breaths warmed her shoulder and she heard the choked sound of his sobs. She stroked his hair, gave him encouragement, and kissed the top of his head.
He had lost his father, his only parent. He was an orphan, alone except for his faraway brother who’d carved out a very independent and separate life in Australia and stranded Jack with the care and comfort of their father. She was only a girlfriend, a new girlfriend at that. She didn’t know his history, could not begin to fill the void left by his beloved parent. She stroked his hair, again and again. She felt completely helpless in the face of his obvious pain. Nothing she could ever say could mend this for him.
“What happened?” she asked at last.
“There was a blood clot in his leg. There was this thing...a machine that the hospital puts on your legs to keep the circulation while you’re bedridden. Well, he wouldn’t wear it. He said it was annoying and I didn’t try to make him do it. I didn’t think it was any big deal. But evidently, a clot formed and a few hours after surgery he just...the clot just...moved.”
“I’m so sorry, Jack.”
“I—thank you,” he said, choking up.
“What can I do to help you?”
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“I have to go downstairs and fill out a bunch of paperwork,” he said hopelessly. He sounded younger, forlorn.
“I could help. I’m a bookkeeper. I’m aces at paperwork.”
“Would you? Please?”
“Yeah. Sure. Just give me some basic info now, full name, address, social security number, date of birth, and I’ll fill in that stuff that’s always at the top of every form. Then I’ll go through the questions with you.”
“That would be great. Thanks.”
She produced a sticky note pad and an ink pen from her purse and Jack scrawled his dad’s information for her. Together they worked out the papers to release the body to the mortuary Jack settled on and completed organ donation forms and filled out what seemed like a million more papers in duplicate for no obvious purpose. Jack was finishing a cup of coffee and he turned to her.
“I have to call Charlie.”
Chapter 4