Chapter Nine

Seth followed Dane up the front steps of Summitville City Hospital. His thoughts were, he supposed, totally inappropriate for a caring teacher on a mission of mercy to a traumatized teenaged boy.

Dane Bernard is gay. I had no idea. Seth had been crushing on the man since he had seen him, only yesterday in the parking lot. The moment had been one of those insta-love situations he read about in romance novels, the kind of thing he scoffed at, preferring more angst for characters as they struggled down the road to finding true love.

While he couldn’t deny the immediate physical attraction toward the big man, he’d also sensed his caring and compassion. Dane Bernard was not only a very sexy specimen of the male species; he’d also proved himself to have a kind and caring heart.

What more could I ask for? Seth wondered. Hot and sweet all rolled up into one delectable package. And gay too! Who knew? Clarissa Bernard was in one of Seth’s classes, and he’d just assumed her dad was straight, completely.

Seth’s gaydar had failed him.

Dane turned to look down at Seth, who was frozen on the sidewalk at the foot of the stairs. He smiled. “Are you coming?” He held one of the heavy glass doors open for Seth. There was no indication on Dane’s ruddy face that he had any idea of what was going through Seth’s head.

“Sorry. Just got carried away with my thoughts.” Seth hurried up the steps to join Dane.

“Understandable.”

Seth looked back at Dane, coming in the door. “What?”

“It’s understandable, I said. After the morning we’ve had…”

Seth felt heat rise to his face and laughed. “Oh! Right, of course.”

Dane moved ahead toward the information desk in front of them. Seth stayed quiet, moored to his own internal dialogue. He must think I’m a complete buffoon. Now come on, don’t chastise yourself that way. You did a good thing this morning. Maybe even helped save a boy’s life. That’s what you need to concentrate on. The kid. The kid you just might be able to help even more if he’ll let you.

Seth moved quickly up behind Dane, listening as the bespectacled woman at the front desk told them Truman Reid was in room 402.

*

Patsy brushed some hair away from Truman’s forehead and gazed down at her son. He was sleepy now, his eyelids fluttering. The doctor who’d been in to see him had given him something to calm him and told Patsy that Truman would most likely fall asleep.

Her son’s gaze met her own, and she liked to believe she could see gratitude there, that maybe Truman was comforted by the presence of his mom. Patsy hoped so, anyway. She prayed she wasn’t part of the reason he had almost taken his life that morning.

She wanted to ask him so much, the foremost being: Why? She knew things were hard for Truman. Honestly, he was the biggest sissy she’d ever seen in her life, but he was her big sissy. And he couldn’t help it, anyway. Truman had always been Truman, and she loved him for it. She wouldn’t want him to be any different—more masculine—because then he’d no longer be himself. What kind of parent, Patsy wondered, would wish for their child to stop being himself?

That was crazy.

But she knew being as different as he was made things rough, made him the object of teasing and bullying. And she wished that could change. Patsy’s heart clenched the way only a parent’s can when they realize they can’t be with their child every moment of life, protecting him from the cruelty it so generously and casually doled out.

Patsy was also angry. Didn’t Truman think at all about how his suicide would affect her? How it would tear her apart?

Patsy didn’t know if she could have gone on…

But she didn’t want to think about a world without Truman in it. She didn’t know if she was able to even imagine such a dark and lonely place.

She gazed down and watched as Truman drifted off. She was glad. Sleep offered oblivion, an escape from the pain even she hadn’t known he was feeling. Oh sure, she realized he’d been teased and bullied, that he had no friends. Those things hurt her heart as much, if not more, she thought, than Truman’s own. But Patsy had no idea how bad the pain had gotten. To want to end it all? That was nuts. Why? she asked herself once more. Even if he has nothing else, he always has me. She smiled. And Odd. We’re a little family unit. We don’t have much in terms of material stuff, but we have each other. Isn’t that enough? And besides, Truman’s a smart kid. He’ll leave this shit-hole town one day, go to one of those big cities like New York or Chicago, and be something. Then he can thumb his nose at those mean kids who tormented him. Why doesn’t he see that? His whole life is still in front of him. She placed a hand gently on his cheek. Truman smacked his lips and shifted a bit but did not wake.

Patsy wasn’t sure what else she could do for him, other than continue to demonstrate her love and to make damn sure the kid knew that who he was and what he was were nothing to be ashamed of. And God help the person who tried to tell her different.

She allowed herself to finally sit in the blue vinyl-covered chair at the side of Truman’s bed. He looked so tiny, the glare of the fluorescents making him look even paler than usual. All Patsy wanted to do was protect him. But the sad thing, and she knew this, too, was that the older your kid got, the harder it was to shield him from life’s cruelties.

The arrival of two men interrupted Patsy’s thoughts. They were the teachers from Truman’s school who had saved him. The first guy was Mr. Bernard, of course. And the second guy? He was a kind of geeky-looking fellow, with glasses, dark hair, and pale eyes. He wore a pair of jeans, button-down shirt, knitted tie, and a vest. She made him think of that Mr. Schuester on that show Truman used to love, Glee.

Patsy remembered being at PTA last fall and overhearing someone talking about how Mr. Bernard’s wife had just been killed in a car accident. It was so sad! And him with two kids to raise alone!

The other guy had been with Truman when he came out of the school. Why, he must have been the one that pulled him back from the edge of that roof!

Patsy stood up, and her eyes welled with tears. “You guys!” she cried. “You guys are heroes!” She propelled herself first into Mr. Bernard’s arms, squeezing him tightly, and then moved on to the other guy. She couldn’t help herself—the tension and the possibility of loss were too real. She sobbed into both of the men’s chests, wetting their shirts.

Finally, she pulled away, embarrassed. She dabbed with her fingertips at their damp shirts. “I’m so sorry. It’s just that it’s been so upsetting today! And if you guys weren’t there to help, I might be at the damn morgue instead of here!” Patsy realized how awful she must sound, how stupid, with her hiccupping sobs and curse words. “I’m sorry,” she said again weakly, trying to rein in her tears.

“No need to be sorry, Mrs. Reid,” Mr. Bernard said.

Patsy smiled. “It’s Ms. But you can call me Patsy. Everybody does. Down at the Elite Diner, I wear it on a little pin.” She tried to laugh.

Dane said, “I’m Truman’s English teacher. He’s a bright kid, has great sensitivity, which I suspect works against him a lot.”

“Oh yeah, you got that right.” Patsy smiled. She wanted to make a good impression. She held out her hand to the younger guy. “Patsy,” she said, looking into his eyes and noticing how they seemed to shift in color in the light, from green to brown.

“Seth Wolcott. I haven’t had the chance to work with Truman in the classroom yet, but Dane told me in the car on the way over that he really has something. He writes beautiful short stories.”

“And poems too! You should see the one he made up for me for Mother’s Day.” Patsy bit her lip and had to stop speaking for a moment. “It didn’t rhyme, but it touched me here.” She placed a hand over her heart.

“How’s he doing?” Dane asked, looking over Patsy’s head toward Truman.

“They gave him something—Valium, I think—to calm him down. Knocked him right out.”

“Probably for the best,” Dane said.

At his voice, Truman stirred a little.

Dane said, “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking around him. Let him sleep. Can Seth and I treat you to a cup of coffee? We passed a Starbucks on the ground floor.”

“Oh, I don’t want to leave him.” Patsy looked anxiously back at the bed. “But I also don’t want to wake him up. You guys go get coffee if you want. I’ll be here.”

Seth smiled. “Tell you what. We’ll go get us all something, and we’ll bring it back. Then maybe we can talk a little just outside the room. Would that be okay?”

Patsy nodded.

Dane asked, “Do you want anything special? Cappuccino? Latte? Something to eat, maybe?”

“Aw, that’s nice of you, but I’m just a plain old drip coffee girl. That’s why I never go in a Starbucks. They make me scared I’ll order wrong. Just coffee, black, for me.”

“Coming right up.”

Patsy watched the two men walk away.

When they got back a few minutes later, she stood from her chair and thanked them for the coffee. She followed them into the hallway.

She sipped. The coffee was too hot, so she just held it. It also tasted too strong, kind of burned. It wasn’t like what they served at the diner.

The three of them stood in silence for a while. Patsy wasn’t sure what to say. Finally, she blurted out, “I’m worried.”

“Of course you are,” Seth said. “But Truman will get the help he needs.”

“I talked to one of the doctors in the ER,” Patsy said. “And he told me they’re gonna transfer Truman up to Pittsburgh, to a hospital that has a psych ward, so he can be evaluated.”

Dane nodded. “I think that’s pretty common in cases like this. That way they can figure out what the boy needs, come up with a treatment plan.”

Dane smiled at her, and she knew he meant to be reassuring, but all she felt was scared.

“What he did this morning, that’s a serious cry for help.”

She burst into tears again. She couldn’t help it. How could she pay for all this? She had crappy insurance down at the diner.

Dane put his arm around her.

“I don’t mean to sound like a bad mom or anything, but I don’t know if my insurance will cover this stuff.”

She watched as Dane and Seth exchanged glances. Seth said, “Why don’t you let me go down to the offices and see what I can find out for you? You might be worrying for nothing. Lots of health plans cover psych—” He stopped himself. “Help for people like Truman.”

“You don’t think they’d try to change him, do you?”

“No. No, of course not,” Seth said. “Do you have an insurance card with you?”

“Yeah.” Patsy turned and went back into the room. She’d left her purse on the floor by Truman’s bed. She fished out the card and handed it to Seth. “This is awful sweet of you. I hope you find out something good!”

He took the card. “I’ll be right back.”

Silently, Patsy watched as he walked away. “A nice man,” she said. “You guys are going above and beyond. Hey, don’t you need to be at school?”

“After what happened today, I doubt they’ll get much done. The principal gave us permission to come down here, make sure Truman was okay.”

“Oh, he’s far from okay. We both know that.” Patsy could feel another wave of tears coming on, but she stifled them. She needed to be strong for her boy. Besides, she didn’t want these guys thinking she was a basket case. She shook her head and lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “As bad as this morning was, I’m still not completely shocked, you know? My heart aches for Truman. He’s so lonely. He never has friends over. No one ever calls or comes around. Always by himself with his head in the clouds.” She smiled. “Or his nose in a book. I swear that boy lives in his imagination.” She went quiet as she remembered a little boy in his bedroom, way before all the teasing and bullying started at school, putting on shows. He’d stand on his bed and sing, and then jump to the floor and dance. He was pretty good, too, for a little guy. His favorite was “Somewhere over the Rainbow” from The Wizard of Oz. It broke her heart to think of it. Even back then, he was alone. But at least Patsy was enough company for him.

“I know,” Dane said. “I’ve tried to talk to him some over the school year. He gets picked on almost every day.” Dane shook his head. “It’s terrible. I wish I could do more to help.”

“Oh my! I heard some of what you said today. You do a lot, Dane, a lot. But my boy… I don’t know.” Her voice went even lower, and she knew it was barely a raspy whisper as she admitted, “I think he hates himself.”

Dane squeezed her shoulder. “That might be true. And we need to change that.”

“Oh, honey, I’ve tried. I don’t have nothin’ against gay people. And I’ve never made Truman feel he was nothing less than fabulous. Isn’t that the right word?” She grinned.

Dane grinned back. “Yeah, that’s the right word.”

“But nothin’ I say or do seems to make a difference. He just gets quieter and quieter, like he’s in his own little world.”

Dane nodded.

Seth came back.

Patsy breathed a sigh of relief. This talk with Dane was getting too hard for her right now. She appreciated his kindness, but she was so tired, all of a sudden. She smiled at Seth. “What did you find out?”

“Well, I got good news and bad news.” He didn’t ask her which one she wanted first, just plowed onward. “The good news is that Truman’s stay here and at the hospital in Pittsburgh for evaluation will be covered by your insurance, after the deductible and co-pay.”

“And the bad?”

Seth frowned. “I’m afraid your carrier doesn’t cover ongoing therapy.” He shrugged. “It sucks, but I thought you should know.”

Patsy crumpled a little and leaned against the wall. “Figures. I don’t know what I’ll do. How can I help him? I can’t afford to send him to a therapist.”

Dane offered, “There are clinics with sliding scales, I believe.”

“I doubt if there’s anything like that here in Summitville.”

Again, she watched the two men exchange glances. She didn’t want to hear any more from them. They would offer her all kinds of help that wouldn’t be practical. In the end, though, she knew it would all rest on her shoulders to try to make things right.

It always had. She sighed. “Listen, guys, did you hear that?”

Dane shook his head, and Seth looked blank.

Patsy lied, “I think I hear him waking up.” She smiled. “Thanks a lot for coming down here, but I need to go be with my boy.”

“Are you sure?” Seth asked. “We can discuss some options. There have to be some options.”

Patsy smiled, but her heart was filled with sadness and dread. When you were as poor as she was, options, like most everything else, were always just out of reach. “Maybe later.” She gave each of them a hug. “We can talk later.”

And she hurried into Truman’s room, not waiting for a response. She both hoped and dreaded the men would follow her into the room.

But they didn’t.