That night Noah missed the bedding he’d internally complained about in Mexico. Mom insisted on staying at the hospital in case Matt woke up, and the waiting room chairs he’d created a makeshift bed out of left much to be desired. Once he pushed a few of them together with his duffel as a makeshift pillow, he was slightly more comfortable, but sleep wouldn’t come.
His mind wandered to the Mexico crew. What had they done today? Were they able to get the roof on the new bathroom building? He knew Jane wanted it done before the crew left, and he’d been looking forward to the work. Of course, they had Oscar there, and the others would have picked up the slack with Noah being gone.
Had Grace been on the crew?
He’d probably never see her again. At least he’d been able to get his apology out before he left, and her reaction hadn’t been terrible. He couldn’t be sure, but he was fairly confident the tension between them would have eased.
Not that it mattered. His only means of contacting her before had been through her now-obsolete school email address.
Ryan has her number.
Noah’s heart thumped in response. Was he willing to open that door? He hadn’t even talked to Ryan in months—hadn’t talked to him about Grace since their disastrous date.
No.
He wasn’t that desperate for closure. Climbing into his collection of chairs, Noah brought out his phone and played the only game he had—a lame Tetris copycat—until he dozed off.
He woke up disoriented, embarrassed to find a solemn middle-aged woman in scrubs watching him from the doorway with a clipboard in hand. Noah pushed one of the chairs away so he could stand, running his fingers through his hair and wishing for a shower. The clock on the wall read 6:05.
“Excuse me,” the woman said. A stethoscope and ID tags hung around her neck. “Are you Matt Jennings’s family?”
Mom stood, and Noah came to her side. “I’m his mom, Cynthia Jennings. Noah is his brother.”
“I’m Ana Hoffman,” the woman in scrubs said, reaching out a hand. “Neurosurgeon on call today. I just checked in on Matt and read through his charts.”
“How is he?” Mom asked.
“We aren’t seeing any changes yet,” the doctor said, consulting her clipboard. “As you know, he suffered a skull fracture and epidural hematoma in the accident. We were able to remove the pressure on his brain in surgery yesterday, and now we’re watching and waiting for him to wake up.”
“How can you tell there’s been no progress, if he’s still out?” Noah asked.
“Good question,” Dr. Hoffman said. “We assess his responsiveness to light and voices and mild pain—like pinching his hand—and his vitals are about the same today as they were yesterday.”
Mom was wringing her hands. “How soon will he wake up?”
“We don’t know. But we’ll continue to monitor him closely.”
“Will he be all right when he does?” Mom asked.
Dr. Hoffman offered her a weak smile. “There’s no way to tell. The sooner we see some progress, the better his outlook will be.”
“What are his odds?” Noah asked.
The doctor assessed him, as if determining how much he could handle hearing. “Recovery from a traumatic brain injury is difficult to predict, but he is young and healthy, and they got him here in a hurry. Those things work in his favor.”
Noah noticed the growing worry lines on his mom’s face and regretted asking his questions in front of her.
“Would you like to come see him now?” Dr. Hoffman asked, motioning with one hand.
“Yes,” Mom said, jumping at the opportunity. “Can we both come?”
“Of course.”
Mom and Noah followed the doctor into Matt’s room. The beeping grew louder, more penetrating. Deep breathing only drew the antiseptic smell farther into Noah’s lungs, tightening the knot in his throat. He’d handled all sorts of bleeding wounds as a lifeguard with no problem, but the confines and smells of the hospital unnerved him.
Mom went immediately to Matt’s side, taking his hand in one of hers and stroking his arm with the other. “Matthew, honey, it’s Mama. Noah is here too, and we want you to know we love you. You’re going to get better, and we’re going to stay right here by your side until you do.”
She continued to talk to him, coercing Noah into a brief greeting of his own, after which he settled into the corner chair.
Eventually, his stomach growled loudly enough—along with the nurse’s assurance that Matt would be well looked after—to convince his mom to take a food break. The cafeteria had a breakfast burrito that wasn’t terrible, but it made him miss the fresh salsa he’d enjoyed only yesterday in Mexico. He finished quickly, then felt guilty for eating as his mom pushed her food around her plate.
“Mom? You have to eat something.”
“Hmm? Oh. I’m not really hungry. How was your trip?” she asked, still staring at her plate.
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Noah said, running his hands through his nasty hair.
His mom flinched and looked up, hurt.
“But I will”—he softened his words with a smile—“if you’ll eat.”
His very selective trip report distracted her enough to get a few bites in, but eventually she put her fork down and refused to eat any more.
“I need to get back up there,” she said.
Noah nodded, dreading more hours in the tiny, beeping room.
“Why don’t you go to his place and get cleaned up.”
Noah huffed. “Do I smell that bad?”
Her mouth curved, though her eyes remained tired and sad. “I think you could use a break.”
“I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, patting his arm. “Once you’re cleaned up, you can sit with Matt and I’ll take a break. It’s more important that we don’t leave him alone.”
As much as Noah hated to leave his mom, he was thankful to escape for a while. She promised to call if there were any changes, giving him the keys to her car and Matt’s apartment. He pocketed the keys and threw his duffel over his shoulder, then gave her another hug on his way out.
Dr. Hoffman was at the nurse’s station and spotted him as he was leaving. “Hey, it’s Noah, right?” she said, handing some orders to a nurse. She leaned back against the high countertop on one elbow, more relaxed than she had been earlier. “How are you doing?”
“Going to get cleaned up.”
She smiled knowingly. “It gets a little rough hanging out here. I’m glad you’re taking some time for yourself.” With that, she pushed off and started away, but Noah wasn’t ready for her to leave.
“Hey, uh,” he said, “you didn’t really answer my question about Matt’s recovery.”
Dr. Hoffman’s eyes strayed to the windows of Matt’s room, where his mom could be seen keeping vigil. “Let’s walk.” She gestured for him to lead the way, so he headed for the waiting room. “As I told you earlier, recovery from a brain injury is very difficult to predict. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I also don’t want to discourage you.”
Noah dug his hands into his pockets. “I understand, and for my mom, it’s probably best she doesn’t know more than she asks. But I’d appreciate it if you’d give it to me straight.”
Her brows furrowed, revealing not-yet-permanent lines of worry as she surveyed the empty waiting room. “I don’t know how things will go with Matt. He could make a full recovery, but right now, it doesn’t look great. His numbers haven’t changed much since he came out of surgery.”
“What does that mean? Mom said there was a chance he won’t wake up, but if the surgery went well . . .”
“It was successful, but yes, he might not wake up. Or he might recover fully or something in between.”
“In between?”
“He could have some impairment, physically or mentally. Some individuals experience personality changes after brain trauma, some may have limited use of one side of their body, others experience chronic neuropsychological issues.” She let out a tired sigh. “It’s impossible to know at this stage what will happen, but I can tell you that positive thinking and a good support system will help ensure the best possible outcome. It’s good that he’s young and healthy. It’s good that you and your mom are here to support him, and we will do everything we possibly can to help him.”
Physical impairment? Personality changes? Neuropsychological issues? Noah’s mind churned with horrific possibilities. Dr. Hoffman put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“It’s a lot to worry about, which is why I haven’t said as much to your mom. She seems . . . sensitive.”
“Yeah, that was the right call.”
“Don’t let the negative possibilities get you down. Remember, anything is possible at this point.”
“Yeah.”
The doctor stepped back and straightened her shoulders. “Let me know if you have any other questions.”
His thank-you stuck in his throat, and he made his way slowly outside.
Without remote keyless entry to guide him, Noah may never have located his mom’s tiny white car. Repeated pushing of the lock button on the key fob and the resultant tinny beeping led him to a corner of the enormous parking garage and the Hyundai’s flashing lights. Vanilla air freshener assaulted his nose as he opened the door and tossed his duffel into the passenger seat, followed by a sharp pain when the steering wheel assaulted his knee. Biting off a curse, he adjusted the driver’s seat and reminded himself to appreciate the moderate height he’d inherited from his dad instead of focusing on the pain in his knee.
The navigation app on his phone led him into the heart of the city, inspiring another wave of guilt. He hadn’t even seen the apartment Matt had been so proud to move into when he’d landed his first lawyering job after graduating last year. What a lousy brother I’ve been.
Buildings rose up around him, blocking the sky and hemming him in. The last turn brought him to a newer apartment building near Denver’s city center.
Noah drove into the tidy, well-lit underground parking lot and parked in the visitors’ section, then grabbed his duffel off the passenger seat and sought out the elevator. Matt’s apartment was on the top floor, at the end of a tastefully decorated hallway. Smiling at a passing neighbor lady and pretending he belonged, Noah dug out Matt’s keys and opened his door. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the sense of familiarity as the door swung open.
Tidiness wasn’t one of Matt’s virtues.
Closing the door behind him, Noah stepped over a bright-blue riding jacket on the floor and into his brother’s home. The place still smelled faintly of new paint and carpet in spite of the many takeout containers littering the kitchen on his left and the clothes and papers strewn around the living room straight ahead.
Huge, unadorned windows dominating two of the living room walls looked south and west over the city. Matt had invested in a couch, coffee table, and flat-screen TV, but those were the only furnishings besides the clutter. An open door in the hall displayed a washer-dryer stack, and a stray sock pointed the way to the single bedroom. Noah followed it, in search of the shower.
A framed southwest sunset picture hung above the unmade bed, and Matt’s mountain bike stood in the corner in a double bike stand. The empty slot in the stand had a narrower opening to accommodate Matt’s missing road bike.
What happened to the bike? Noah thought. Did it survive the wreck?
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
Turning his back on the remaining bike, Noah slid his duffel to the floor and collapsed onto the bed.
The pillow smelled like Matt.
A framed picture of their family on the nightstand caught his eye. It was grainy and off-center, having been taken with the cheap camera Matt had received for his fourteenth birthday. Mom had wanted a picture with all of them in it, and Dad—sober for the special occasion—had helped Matt figure out the timer. They’d piled up a few books to stabilize the camera, tilting the pile just right to get everyone in the frame. Matt had insisted on being the one to push the button, jumping in at the last second and throwing all of them out of line. Everyone was laughing.
It was the last picture of them all together. Dad had died two weeks later.
Noah had wasted so much time in self-imposed isolation. He hadn’t been there for his brother in years. What if Matt never woke up?
Emotionally exhausted, sleep-deprived, and surrounded by memories of his brother, Noah finally relaxed his defenses and gave in to his grief.