“Nothing happened to her,” I assure Macy quickly, and I say it with confidence because I have to believe that. “What happened to her mom?”
Macy starts crying again, but it’s soft and she manages to talk through it as I sit down at my desk. “I don’t know the details of what happened, but the doctor said she was brain dead. Was on life support. ”
FUCK!
Fuck, f**k, f**k, f**k.
My heart explodes in sadness for Mac, and I immediately worry about her. “Does she have any other family down there?”
“No. Her dad died a few years ago and the rest of them are out in California. Matt… I tried to go with her, but she told me no… said she didn’t need me. She sounded like a robot… like she was on auto pilot or something. ”
Macy starts crying again, and it’s because she’s worried but also because her feelings are hurt that her best friend wouldn’t accept help and comfort when it was offered.
“What hospital is she at?”
“Vanderbilt University Medical Center. ”
“Keep trying to call her. I’m going to try and catch a flight there. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to get there not too much longer after her. ”
“Okay,” Macy says in a small voice.
“Hey,” I say softly. “It’ll be okay. I’ll text you my flight info so you know when I’ll get there. You call me if you hear from her, okay?”
“Sure,” she says, her voice a little stro
nger.
“And Macy?”
“Yes?”
“Mac didn’t mean anything by it when she refused your help. You understand she wasn’t thinking rationally, right? No matter how calm she appeared. ”
Sighing into the phone, Macy says, “I know, but thanks for making sure I remember that. ”
I disconnect the phone and hit the intercom on my desk, buzzing Karen’s office. When she answers, I tersely tell her to book me the fastest non-stop flight to Nashville because I don’t want to risk connection delays. Karen doesn’t sound surprised, but even if she were, she wouldn’t question me.
I then shoot a quick email off to my paralegal and have her clear my calendar for the next two days.
Just that quickly, I’m out the door and headed to my apartment to pack a suitcase. I dial Mac’s phone, hoping she’ll answer.
It goes straight to her voice mail and when the message starts, it’s Mac’s voice sounding dreamy and hypnotic. You’re getting very sleepy. So very sleepy. Your eyelids are closing, and you’re growing tired. You are losing your ability to stay awake, and you are susceptible to suggestion. When you hear the tone, you will be all but powerless to leave your name and number.
I roll my eyes because I’m not in the mood for Mac’s humor right now. “Mac… call me. I’m trying to find out what’s going on. ”
I start to hang up, but then I say, “I’m worried about you. So is Macy. Please call me. ”
***
The cab driver tells me it’s only a fifteen-minute ride to the hospital, so I lean my head back against the seat cushion and shoot a quick text to Macy.
Landed. Any word from Mac?
She responds back immediately. No! Please let me know when you see her.
I sigh with frustration. Mac hasn’t returned my numerous calls or answered my texts. She’s not communicating with Macy either, and it makes me worried sick.
I’m not worried she didn’t make it to the hospital because I know she did. I have no clue how Karen got the information, but she probably manipulated or weaseled it out of some gullible nurse. I had confirmation that Mac made it to the hospital and her mother was in Room 4310.
While I’m worried about Mac and sad for her, I’m also a little bit angry that she hasn’t returned my calls.
Hell, I’m angry she didn’t think to call me and tell me this happened. She just had Macy call Karen, and that burns me up for some reason.
I had just assumed, based on the intimacy that we’ve shared, that she would share something like that with me. I mean… I didn’t expect to be the first person she turned to. That would be Macy.
But I did sort of expect I would be the second person she would turn to.
And just that thought right there is like a cold wave of water hitting me, dousing me with the reality that I am letting myself develop actual feelings for her. Feelings that have nothing to do with how great she feels underneath of me.
I’m also hit with the stunning realization that I may be a little bit selfishly unrealistic in those expectations. I expect her to share something monumentally important with me, yet I’ve failed to share with her the most important thing in the world to me.
She has no clue about Gabe.
The singularly most important thing that will ever exist in my world.
Turning my head to the side, I look blankly at the Nashville scene passing by. My mind idly wonders why I’ve not told her. Why I haven’t even thought about telling her.
How can I be so worried about a woman that I’d drop everything to fly to be at her side, yet I won’t tell her a simple fact about me… that I have a son?
Maybe because that fact isn’t so simple.
Gabe is complicated. Not complicated as a child because he’s like the best kid ever.