Sitting with my head in my hands in the hospital waiting room, I try to gather enough courage to call Helen’s father. What will I say to him? How can I tell him what has happened to his daughter? As I mull over these thoughts, it occurs to me that it’s partly his fault. It’s his fault just as much as it is mine.
I know that the old man is probably going to blame himself, but I am having trouble caring. Part of me despises him a little for the way he has manipulated me over the past few months.
At the same time, he is still Helen's father. I know that he did everything he did out of love for her. I know that the poor man lost his wife, and that he is only trying to do everything in his power to avoid losing his daughters as well. I suppose I understand his situation, because it was ironically the very actions that he took to keep Helen close that ended up pushing her away in the end. It is those very actions that could have potentially ended her life, in a very similar manner to the way her mother's life ended.
The poor old fool. I don't know what I'm going to tell him. In some ways, he reminds me of my own father. Prickly and cruel on the surface, but with a good heart at his very core. I know that my father only pushed me so hard because he wanted what was best for me. I know that he didn't really understand the damage that he caused me over the years.
I only hope that Mr. Winters can handle this news, considering his failing health. But I suppose it's better coming directly from me than from the hospital's administrative staff. Swallowing a lump of emotion, I bite the bullet and call the old man. Even though it's early in the morning, he answers the phone quite quickly.
"Hello, Liam?" he says in a surprised voice.
"Mr. Winters, sir. I'm calling about Helen..."
"Liam, son, please let me apologize first. I'm so sorry about everything I said yesterday. I don't know what came over me. I know this won't make up for the cruel things I said, but I have written you a glowing recommendation and already emailed it to the supervisor."
"Thank you, sir," I say softly, "but this isn't about—"
"No, hear me out,” Mr. Winters says quietly. “I was completely out of line. I guess I just really wanted to see my baby girl again." He seems choked up, and he clears his throat. "Anyway, Liam, you are a very skilled and dedicated doctor. If anyone deserves that grant, it's you. I meant every word of that recommendation, and I wish you only the best."
These are nice words, but I can't bring myself to care about my career at the moment. "I appreciate that, sir, but I'm calling because..."
"Why do you insist on calling me sir, Liam? You can call me Richard, son."
Taking a very deep, shuddering breath, I clench my eyes together tightly. My own father insisted that I only call him 'sir' because the word 'dad' was too intimate for him. He thought that 'sir' commanded more respect and obedience. "Richard," I say awkwardly. "Your daughter came to visit me at work yesterday and she overheard our phone conversation. She got upset and decided to visit your house before driving off to Pennsylvania. Unfortunately, she ran into Grayson, and—well, he did something very upsetting. She left and tried to run away from the city, but there happened to be a serious thunderstorm--"
"What are you saying?" Mr. Winters asks, and his voice is incredulous.
"Helen's vision faltered and she drove her car off a cliff," I explain hesitantly. "She is in critical condition right now, and I think you should come to visit her as soon as you can. They won't let me in to see her because I'm not family. But from what little they've told me, they're not sure if she's going to survive more than a couple hours."
There is a long silence on the other end of the line as Mr. Winters absorbs this information.
"Liam," he says finally, and it sounds like he has aged ten years. "Do you know that Grayson killed himself last night?"
"Yes, sir."
"My eldest daughter has just lost her husband, and the father of her unborn child. And now you tell me that my youngest daughter is injured? If this is some kind of game to get back at me for the ultimatums I gave you, I need you to understand that I really can't handle this additional stress right now. I deserve your hatred, Liam, but I can’t take it."
"Sir—I mean Richard—please know that I do not hate you. I wish that I didn't have to make this phone call. I'm so sorry. I am responsible for hurting your daughter so much that she wanted to get away from me, and I'll never forgive myself."
"Nonsense, boy," Mr. Winters says softly. "I asked you to hurt her, so that she'd come running home to me. I never considered that she would want to run away from all of us, but I should have known. That's my Helen—my brave little bird. No one could ever keep her caged up for very long."
"I'll text you the address, sir. I hope you'll be able to get here in time...I'll do everything I can to make sure that she lives. Which isn't much at the moment, since they won't even let me see her."
"Just pray for her, son. Maybe God will listen to the prayers of a man in love." The old man sighs deeply. "I'll get Carmen, and we'll be there as soon as we can. Text me the address."
When he hangs up the phone, I find myself staring blankly into space. It takes me a moment before I am able to send him the hospital's address, for I am so caught up in thinking about what he said about love. And praying. And God.
It's times like these, I suppose, when we all remember our religion.
I remember what Grayson told Helen, over and over—the words that grated on her nerves more than anything else.
He called her an angel.
Well, I certainly hope not. I like my girlfriend being a human woman, made from flesh and blood. I am not ready to surrender her to heaven just yet.
At least not for a few decades. Hopefully, not during my lifetime.
When I hear the squeak of running shoes on linoleum, I look up expectantly. My body is filled with a rush of relief when I see Owen strolling in with a leather jacket and pink scarf. The smile on his face is filled with kindness and strength, and I am suddenly overwhelmed by the certainty that things are going to be okay. Tears prick the back of my eyes as I stand up to grab Owen in a big manly hug.
“It’s just a bad day, buddy,” Owen assures me as he claps his hand against my back. “It’ll be over soon, and things will be hunky-dory again. I’ll soon be teasing Winter about that time she got mad at you and drove off a mountain to make a statement. It’ll be hilarious.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, fighting back my tears. “How the hell did you get here so fast?”
“I just ignored all those signs with numbers at the side of the road. I had to flirt my way out of a speeding ticket, but it was worth it.”
“Owen,” I say quietly. “You don’t have to tell stories to cheer me up. I’m just glad you’re here.”
“I swear that I’m not shitting you! It was this chubby lady-cop who pulled me over, and she definitely appreciated my flirting. She let me off with only a warning, and also gave me her phone number. If Winter is still determined to dump you, maybe I could try to set you up with the chubby cop?”
“No, thanks. I’m going to win her back.”
“Sure, sure,” Owen says, lifting his eyebrows. “I guarantee that will only work if she’s hit her head really hard.”
“She has,” I tell him quietly.
“Aw, shucks. Well, then maybe she’ll have lost enough brain cells to find you attractive!”
“That’s not funny,” I tell him softly, but he manages to make me smile anyway. I am so fucking glad he’s here. I didn’t have a single family member I could call: the only person in the world who truly feels like family is lying comatose in a hospital bed they won’t let me near. I could have called my father, but he would have been a prick and made it worse. My mother is so withdrawn and distant that she doesn’t give a shit about anything that’s going on around her. Everyone else is too distant or dead to care.
But Owen dropped everything to drive here and support me.
This man is the closest thing I have to a brother. I am so glad he’s here.