Hold on to Hope

Dad: Evan, you need to get down to GL General.

Dad: I can come pick you up.

Dad: Are you there?

Dad: Goddamn it, Evan, answer your phone.

Jumping into my car, I turned over the ignition and gunned it, car skidding around the corner.

Sweat slicking my skin in dread.

My heart twisted up tight in the horror.

I made the six-minute drive in three.

I blinked frantically, trying to remain coherent.

Rejecting this idea.

The curse. He couldn’t have inherited it.

Grief grabbed me by the throat. Squeezed so tight I was pretty sure I was going to pass out by the time I flew into the hospital parking lot. I came to a jolting stop in the wrap-around drive. Didn’t even bother to turn off the engine. I jumped out and raced for the double doors. They skated open, the cold air inside blasting me in the face.

Chills spread.

Ice cold.

I started for the emergency room desk, only to come to a dead stop when I saw Dad coming through the double doors.

Torment on this face.

Agony clawing my insides.

I shifted directions, hands moving as I raced for him.

OH GOD. WHERE’S EVERETT? IS HE OKAY? WHAT HAPPENED?

Dad quickly signed, HE’S OKAY. HE’S OKAY.

I nearly crumbled to the ground right there.

Relief.

I slammed into a wall of it.

Stumbling forward.

Walls spinning, disoriented by the magnitude of it.

Dad grabbed me by the outside of the shoulders to steady me.

“He’s okay,” he reiterated.

“Oh God.” It raked up my throat, and I was blinking, trying to rearrange the picture of what I’d thought I was going to be walking in on. Chest heaving, I stared at my dad. “What happened?”

Dad put up a hand like it was a sign of caution. Like he needed me to slow down so he could talk to me through the storm clouding my mind. “They are running more tests to make sure he is clear, but it looks like he had a severe allergic reaction with anaphylaxis. The pediatric cardiologist came in to see him. They aren’t going to release him until they are completely certain, but right now, it doesn’t appear to have anything to do with his heart.”

That might not have been good news to some parents.

A severe allergy.

But for me? It was like telling me my kid had won the lottery.

I swallowed around the rocks in my throat. “Thank God,” I breathed out, still blinking, trying to slow the racing of my pulse. “I thought . . . I thought . . .”

Fuck. I couldn’t even say it.

He tightened his hold on the outside of my arms. “I know what you thought, Evan. All of us did. It was Frankie who was there with him, and she . . .”

His expression went dim.

I roughed a hand through my hair.

I knew exactly where her mind had gone. The terror she had to have felt. My poor, sweet girl. It was something I’d wanted to protect her from. The constant fear that you were riding the edge of losing something you loved most.

One slip, one second, and it was gone.

I NEED TO GET BACK THERE. I NEED TO GET TO THEM.

I started to round him, but Dad stopped me, and he angled his head down to make sure I was seeing him.

“Before you go in there, I need to warn you, Frankie is not okay.”

My brow pinched. “Everett is okay. That’s all that matters. We’ll be okay.” I was rambling it, my head nodding, all the adrenaline and fear I’d felt on the trip over draining out of my system.

I just wanted to get to my family.

Dad squeezed my shoulders harder. “Evan. Listen to me. The doctor needs to talk with you, and I know this is about Everett, but listen to me hard . . . talk to her. Today. It is the only way you two are going to make it in the future.”

Dread clamped down on my ribs. A frown pulled across my brow, misunderstanding seeping through. “What are you saying?”

Sorrow filled his expression. “Just talk to her, Evan.”

Then he turned his back and motioned for the door to the emergency room to be opened, expecting me to follow.

Legs still shaking, I did, not sure how the hell to handle the overwhelming relief that was dampened by the urgency of what Dad had said.

By what he’d implied.

I walked deeper into the depths of the emergency department.

Nurses were quick as they came and went in the small private rooms, most with the blinds drawn, and there was a large work station in the middle.

Dad led me through, and I caught the vibe of the stares. No doubt, most everyone knew him there, his reputation as one of the best physicians in Gingham Lakes preceding him.

He slowed in front of a closed door, glancing back at me once in some kind of warning before he opened it.

My heart bottomed out again when I walked through and Everett was in this odd crib. Super high railings on all sides, the front of it dropped open while a physician was checking one of the monitors he was attached to.