After school Monday, Patrick takes me back to visit Matt. We’ve heard nothing from Matt, or his dad, or the hospital, and I’m spinning myself in circles over not knowing. When we arrive, we’re surprised to learn that Matt’s dad has given permission for me to visit.
The nurse looks displeased. “It’s supposed to be only family, but under the circumstances we feel it’s appropriate that he have a visitor.” Her tone makes it sound anything but appropriate.
I’m embarrassed. If Patrick didn’t know something was going on between us already, after the kiss, he for sure knows now. “Sorry,” I tell him, uncertain what exactly I’m apologizing for.
“Go see him,” he says. “It’s cool.”
Matt’s in a different room now, adjacent to the ER, but the soft white cloth still binds him to the bed rails.
“When are you coming home?”
“I don’t know. They won’t let me leave but there are no psych beds or something. My dad is paying them to keep me anyway,” he says. “He’s on a business trip.”
Right then, I finally understand how bad it is. What parent doesn’t drop everything and rush home when they learn their kid got wasted and tried to jump off a cliff? It’s lucky for all of us there weren’t more pills left in that bottle.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
Matt looks at me accusingly. “I can’t believe you ratted me out.”
“That, I’m not sorry for.”
“No,” he says. “Some things are between you and me. You told everyone.”
“It was an emergency. How was I supposed to come get to you if I didn’t call Patrick? I don’t have my license.”
“You didn’t have to call the ambulance,” he says. “We could have gone home.” Does he mean home, to one of our houses? Or …
“They saved your life,” I whisper. “I did what I had to do.”