Three weeks ago
“Is your mom parking?” Ms. Becker asked.
Oscar’s eyes bulged. I had to grasp the side of the bed to steady myself. “She’s dead. She died in a car accident,” I said.
“She was in the car?” she said.
Oscar said without turning around to look at her, “Our mom died three years ago, ma’am. She’s not parking the car.”
“Oh, boys. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She slipped behind the curtain and apologized again before walking away.
Hearing Oscar say it out loud, that Mom died in a car accident, was like one of those cartoon anvils landing on my head: Both parents had horrible car accidents? Was the Universe jabbing at me with its pointy stick? What are you going to do about it, Vance, huh? Huh?
A young female doctor in a white lab coat pulled back the curtain. Her red hair was back in a ponytail, her very serious face covered in freckles. “Are you his sons?”
We nodded.
“Your father is in critical condition. The paramedics on the scene actually brought him back to life. He had stopped breathing.”
“Is he going to be okay?” I asked.
She pressed her lips together. “We’re doing everything we can to save his life.”
Just then, Ms. Becker was at her side. She said something to the doctor and then waved us out to the hall. “My office is right over there.” She pointed straight ahead. “We need to talk, and I’d like to do that in private. I promise it won’t take long.”
“I’m not leaving Dad,” I said.
“I understand. Then we can talk in there.” She held up the curtain, and the three of us were back at Dad’s side.
I honestly had no idea what she said. I zoned out as terrifying thought after terrifying thought bounced around inside my skull. My dad had to live. He didn’t have a choice. We needed him; it was that simple. I didn’t get to say good-bye. He was too young to die. We would be orphans.
And on and on and on.
Oscar tapped my arm. “Does Dad have a will?”
I whipped around. “A will? Why?” I screeched.
Ms. Becker tucked her hair behind her ear. “I understand this is an extremely difficult situation, but it’s an important bit of information for me to know.”
Her voice was so calm, just like on the phone. Each word she said lowered my anxiety. I took a few deep breaths to clear my head. “He has two—a living will and a regular one. He showed me the sealed envelopes and made me watch where he put them. They’re in the bottom drawer of his dresser underneath his jeans.” I didn’t want to look at Oscar. I couldn’t take his wounded expression. Dad telling me about the wills and showing me where they were kept was one more thing for him to feed the isolation monster living inside him.
My thoughts and worries swallowed me up. White noise was all that registered. Was the lady talking again? I couldn’t be sure. I stared at my dad.
“Based on your father’s present condition, a living will is a good thing. It’ll spell out his medical wishes. And, Vance, since you are eighteen, you are legally an adult. You could be appointed as your brother’s guardian in the event of your father’s death, assuming of course other plans aren’t spelled out in his will. However, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
One word pierced through my haze: death. I whipped around. “Did you say death?”
“Yes, you could be appointed as your brother’s guardian in the event of your father’s death,” she said.
Kaboom. “What?” I shouted. “You’re talking about his death? What kind of messed-up shit is going on? He’s right there…breathing!”
She took a step back.
I flung open the curtain and jogged down the hall.