Maybe Someday (Maybe 1)

He grabs the phone and puts it to his ear. “She has CFRD,” he yells hastily into the phone. “Stage two CF.”

CFRD?

I follow him to the bathroom and watch as he signs to Ridge while holding the phone in the palm of his hand, away from his ear. Ridge signs something back, and Warren runs into the kitchen. He opens the refrigerator, reaches toward the back of the second shelf, and pulls out a bag. He runs with it to the bathroom and drops to his knees next to Ridge. He lets the phone fall to the floor and shoves it aside with his knee.

“Warren, she has questions!” I yell, confused about why he tossed the phone aside.

“We know what to do until they get here, Syd,” he says. He pulls a syringe from the bag and hands it to Ridge. Ridge pulls the lid off of it and injects Maggie in the stomach.

“Is she diabetic?” I ask, watching helplessly as Warren and Ridge silently converse. I’m ignored, but I don’t expect anything different. They’re in what looks like familiar territory for both of them, and I’m too confused to keep watching. I turn around and lean against the wall, then squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to calm myself. A few silent moments pass, and then there’s banging at the door.

Warren is running toward the door before I can even react. He lets the paramedics inside, and I step out of the way, watching as everyone in the room around me seems to know what the hell is going on.

I continue to back out of everyone’s way until my calves meet the couch, and I fall down onto it.

They lift Maggie onto the gurney and begin pushing her toward the front door. Ridge walks swiftly behind them. Warren comes from Ridge’s bedroom and tosses him a pair of shoes. Ridge puts them on, then signs something else to Warren and slips out the door behind the gurney.

I watch as Warren rushes to his room. He reemerges with a shirt and shoes on and his baseball cap in hand. He grabs his keys off the bar and heads back into Ridge’s bedroom. He comes back out with a bag of Ridge’s things and heads for the front door.

“Wait!” I yell. Warren turns to look at me. “His phone. He’ll need his phone.” I rush to the bathroom, grab Ridge’s phone from the floor, and take it back to Warren.

“I’m coming with you,” I say, slipping my foot into a shoe by the front door.

“No, you’re not.”

I look up at him, somewhat in shock at the harshness of his voice as I slip my other shoe on. He begins to pull the door shut on me, and I slap a palm against it.

“I’m coming with you!” I say again, more determined this time.

He turns and looks at me with hardened eyes. “He doesn’t need you there, Sydney.”

I have no idea what he means by that, but his tone pisses me off. I push against his chest and step outside with him. “I’m coming,” I say with finality.

I walk down the stairs just as the ambulance begins to pull away. Ridge is standing with his hands clasped behind his head, watching as it leaves. Warren makes it to the bottom of the stairs, and as soon as Ridge sees him, they both rush toward Ridge’s car. I follow them.

Warren climbs into the driver’s seat, Ridge into the passenger seat. I open the door to the backseat and pull it shut behind me.

Warren pulls out of the parking lot and speeds until we’re caught up to the ambulance.

Ridge is terrified. I can see it in the way his arms are wrapped around himself and he’s shaking his knee, fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt, chewing on the corner of his bottom lip.

I still have no idea what’s wrong with Maggie, and I’m scared that she might not be okay. It still doesn’t feel like my business, and I’m definitely not about to ask Warren what’s going on.

The nervousness seeping from Ridge is making my heart ache for him. I move to the edge of the backseat and reach forward, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. He lifts his hand to mine and grabs it, then squeezes it tightly.

I want to help him, but I can’t. I don’t know how. All I can think about is how completely helpless I feel, how much he’s hurting, and how scared I am that he might lose Maggie, because it’s so painfully obvious how that would kill him.

He brings his other hand up to mine, which is still gripping his shoulder. He squeezes both of his hands around mine desperately, then tilts his face toward his shoulder. He kisses the top of my hand, and I feel a tear fall against my skin.

I close my eyes and press my forehead against the back of his seat, and I cry.

• • •

We’re in the waiting room.

Well, Warren and I are in the waiting room. Ridge has been with Maggie since we arrived an hour ago, and Warren hasn’t spoken a single word to me.

Which is why I’m not speaking to him. He obviously has an issue, and I’m not really in the mood to defend myself, because I’ve done absolutely nothing to Warren that should even require defending.

I slouch back in my chair and pull up the search browser on my phone, curious to know about what Warren said to the 911 operator.

I type CFRD into the search box and hit enter. My eyes are pulled to the very first result: Managing cystic fibrosis–related diabetes.

I click on the link, and it explains the different types of diabetes but doesn’t explain much more. I’ve heard of cystic fibrosis but don’t know enough about it to know how it affects Maggie. I click a link on the left of the page that says, What is cystic fibrosis? My heart begins to pound and my tears are flowing as I take in the same words that stick out on every single page, no matter how many pages I click.

Genetic disorder of the lungs.

Life-threatening.

Shortened life expectancy.

No known cure.

Survival rates into mid- and upper thirties.

I can’t read any more through all the tears I’m crying for Maggie. For Ridge.

I close the browser on my phone, and my eyes are pulled to my hand. I take in the unread words in Ridge’s handwriting across my palm.

I need you to move out.

Ridge

Both Warren and Sydney spring to their feet when I round the corner to the waiting room.

“How is she?” Warren signs.

“Better. She’s awake now.”

Warren nods, and Sydney is looking back and forth between us.

“The doctor says the alcohol and dehydration probably caused her . . .” I stop signing, because Warren’s lips are pressed into a firm line as he watches my explanation.

“Verbalize for her,” I sign, nodding my head toward Sydney.

Warren turns and looks at Sydney, then refocuses his attention on me. “This doesn’t concern her,” he signs silently.

What the hell is his problem?

“She’s worried about Maggie, Warren. It does concern her. Now, verbalize what I’m saying for her.”

Warren shakes his head. “She’s not here for Maggie, Ridge. She doesn’t care how Maggie’s doing. She’s only worried about you.”

I bury my anger, then slowly step forward and stand directly in front of him. “Verbalize for her. Now.”

Warren sighs but doesn’t turn toward Sydney. He stares straight at me as he both signs and verbalizes for us. “Ridge says Maggie’s okay. She’s awake.”

Sydney’s entire body relaxes as her hands go to the back of her head and relief washes over her. She says something to him, and he closes his eyes, takes a quick breath, then opens them.

“Sydney wants to know if either of you need anything. From the apartment.”