What the heck was he doing?
I groaned and unlocked my car door, slid inside and immediately dialed Ryan’s number. The idea of doing something light for a change made me smile. It was a far cry from what we did last Friday together.
I pushed a Black-Eyed Peas CD into the rarely used stereo and waited for him to answer his phone, but it just rang and rang.
Odd, I thought to myself. Maybe he’s feeling better and went out?
I pulled into the parking lot of Edward’s to pick up a few things. Mom would definitely want flavored creamer for her coffee and I was craving Swedish Fish. I grabbed a green basket after entering through the automatic doors and headed for the back of the store. I found myself drawn to the Entenmann’s pastry table, but an unexpected sense of worry hit me. Two older women were whispering next to the yogurt shelves, but I could still hear what they were saying, word for word.
“A shame, I tell you. That man should be locked up for what he did to that boy. It’s just so hard to believe it was his own son.”
“They were carrying on all night, Grace. I had to call the police. What was I to do?”
“You did the right thing. Well, at least Gunther Jameson won’t be able to do any more harm from behind bars.”
“Which hospital did you say that poor boy was sent to?”
“Mercy.”
The basket nearly slipped from my grasp. My eyes followed the two women as they headed for the checkout and then my legs felt numb. I had to get out of there.
I made it through the self-checkout in three minutes and high-tailed it to my car.
Oh my god, Ryan’s … in the hospital?
I could have kicked myself for thinking he didn’t seem to care about my afternoon with Brynn. He told me his father was an alcoholic, but failed to mention the abusive part. I began feeling sick to my stomach. I raced home and sped to the kitchen, throwing the groceries inside the refrigerator. Then, as quick as lightning, I was back out the door. I still had a few hours before my mom was due home and headed downtown toward the hospital.
Finding a parking spot was practically impossible. For a small town, it seemed everyone was at the hospital today. I approached the information desk to find a woman in white scrubs, scanning a tabloid magazine over her black bifocals.
“Um, hi. Ryan Jameson’s room, please?”
She studied me for what seemed longer than necessary, then checked the monitor.
“Room 312, honey.”
I smiled a thank you and headed for the elevator. When I stepped out onto the third floor, a sterile smell stung my nostrils. My shoes squeaked on the floor. It was uncomfortable to be in somewhat familiar territory. The little plaque that read 312 was to the left of the open door and I could hear the steady beep of the blood pressure machine that was beyond. It reminded me of last spring, when I, too, had been a patient here.
“Hey,” Ryan croaked, struggling uncomfortably to sit up.
“You don’t have to get up,” I said back, crossing the floor to the bed.
God, he looked awful. His face was puffy and swollen with fresh purple bruises along his jaw. It made me want to cry. His arm was bandaged but I didn’t have the nerve to ask why. How could a parent do this to their own child?
“These are for you,” I placed the yellow bag of Swedish Fish on the table next to the bed. My mother had always taught me never to show up empty handed.
“Well, now you know, huh? About my dad, I mean.”
I nodded sympathetically, determined not to tell him he was the hot-off-the-press news floating around our local grocery store. “I’m really sorry, Ryan.”
“Yeah, well.”
I could now see the yellowing of old bruises lingering still on his arms and collarbone. How could I have never taken notice before?
“When will you be released?”
“Tomorrow, probably; my aunt’s going to stay with me until the court decides what to do. This way school won’t be interrupted.”
I nodded. I knew Ryan lived alone with his father and that his mother had passed away a few years ago. Now I couldn’t help wondering how she died. I sighed and looked out the large window next to his bed. It overlooked the parking garage and a small clinic. I couldn’t help feel hopeful that Ryan’s life would be changed for the better even while I was still stuck with mine.
“You okay?” he asked and I quickly pulled myself back into the moment, feeling guilty for pitying myself at a time like this.
I let my hand rest on top of his. “I thought that maybe, if you were feeling up to it on Friday, that you might want to go to the Fall Harvest dance? With me? Maybe it will take our minds off our problems for one night.”
Surprisingly, Ryan’s face lit up. “Sure, but I can’t guarantee how good of a dancer I’ll be.”
Laughing, I smiled back at him, “I’m not a very good dancer, either.”
“Then we’ll make a good pair.”
I stood up to leave. He was beginning to look tired and I had to get home.
“Hey, Tea.” I spun around at his voice. “Are you sure you don’t want to ask Garreth to the dance? You know, to fix things?”
I thought of Garreth and Brynn hanging out together today and bit my tongue.
“I’m sure.”
“There you are! I’ve missed you so much!” My mother’s arms wrapped me in a vise grip so tight, I had to strain to breathe.
“Mom, you’ve only been gone forty-eight hours,” I uttered breathlessly, waiting for my lungs to fill again with air.
“I know, honey. I’m just not used to being away from you, that’s all,” and she squeezed me once again.
“So, where’s Nate?” I asked, looking around the empty kitchen.
“He ran home. He wanted to check on a few pending issues in his office, but don’t worry, he and Brynn will be over in a little while.”
Don’t worry? Why would I do that?
“He’s picking up Japanese for everyone.”
“I thought we were going out?” Actually, it was better this way. The thought of being seen in public with Brynn was enough to curl my toes.
I poured myself a glass of lemonade, while my mother sorted through yesterday’s mail.
“Did you want to invite Garreth?”