HAVEN
The waiting room at the hospital was cold. Cold, white, and clean, and filled with the scents of disinfectant, stale coffee, and anxiety.
I sat in my chair with my book bag, scanning the room, watching the waiting family members of the other patients in this wing of the hospital. I also watched the nurses as they came and went from the unit.
The amount of people in the waiting room dwindled, and the darkening sky outside signaled the approaching end of visiting hours. And, yet again, they had not allowed me to go back to see my dad.
“Come on, kiddo,” Scott said as he walked towards me from the restroom. “It’s time to head home.”
“Mom?”
He grimaced. “She’s staying here again. I guess they’re giving her a few more nights of it before they tell her she can’t anymore.”
I nodded, grabbed my bag, and followed him out to his car.
It had been the same routine for several weeks. School, hospital waiting room, home, repeat. Except, “home” kept changing. Some nights it was Scott’s house, some nights Tiffany’s, but never my actual home.
I clutched my book bag to my chest the entire drive to Scott’s house. Inside, I had not only my school supplies but also my blanket. Unfortunately, all my letters and my music box from Wesley were still at my house because I couldn’t fit them in with everything else.
But I had taken to bringing my blanket everywhere with me. It brought me comfort to know it was close to me. Plus, I never knew for certain whose house I would stay at each night, and I needed my blanket to sleep. I usually played Wes’s music box when I went to bed too; however, I had learned to do without it over the weeks.
Scott’s house was clean and minimally decorated. He had a spare room that he and Tiffany had put a small bed and dresser in for me, and there was a matching set in the spare room at her apartment, too, since I had to stay with them while Mom stayed overnight in the hospital.
I didn’t blame her in the least, but I was growing tired of what was becoming our norm. I wanted my routine back. I wanted my parents back.
Mom spent all day by Dad’s side, and, on the rare occasion I saw her, she was withdrawn, and she smelled… off. Wrong.
Scott and I had a wordless dinner together. I scarfed down my food, avoiding his eyes and thinking about my bookbag upstairs. He had his laptop on the table, his eyes scanning over his work at high speeds, the whites filled with small red veins that were becoming a permanent fixture.
Once I was upstairs, I burrowed down into my bed, tucking the covers up to my nose and squeezing my eyes shut tight to block out the dimming light
from outside. I slowed down my breathing and kept my movements subtle and small.
I waited until I heard Scott open and shut my bedroom door as he did his check-up on me to see if I was asleep. Some nights, I would already be asleep when he’d come in, and I wouldn’t hear him. Other nights, I would be wide-eyed and sleepless, and he would pat me on the head, hug me, and tell me everything was going to be fine.
Even though I knew it was a lie. It was just something adults said when they didn’t know what else to say.
That night, however, even though I was awake when he checked on me, I didn’t move or flinch or blink. I just laid there as his eyes scanned over me, listening as he shut the door soon after.
I stayed in bed still, waiting for the sound of his shower starting. He always took a shower every night before he went to bed, even if it was well past midnight.
When the rush of water in the pipes roared above me and through the walls, I pushed the blankets off of my still-clothed body, slipped my feet into my shoes, pulled my jacket on, put my blanket in my book bag and slung it over my shoulder, then snuck downstairs and out of the house.
Scott’s home was the closer of the two to the hospital, which was why I picked this night to enact my plan. I’d been paying close attention to each stop and turn we took on our drive from the hospital to his condo until I could recite it to myself in my sleep.
It took us only a few minutes in his car, but it took me much longer on foot. I kept my head down and clutched my coat around me, blocking against the slight breeze and the cool spring night air.
I didn’t look at any of the cars that passed by me. I wore dark clothing, hoping to blend into the night sky and the surrounding greenery on the walk. The only bright bit on me was my hair, the red a beacon in the moonlight. I had my hood up, but even that didn’t cover all the vivid and unruly strands.
The pitter-patter of my feet on the pavement accompanied me the entire journey to the hospital. I let out a sigh of relief as the parking lot came into sight—I made it, and I met no resistance.
I walked right through the entrance and straight over to the elevator, avoiding eye contact with anyone. If I looked at people, someone would question me. If I acted as though I knew what I was doing, like I had a purpose and I belonged there, then I was less likely to be questioned.
Luck was on my side as well, since there was hardly a soul in sight. Only one person sat at the front desk, and he was busy on a phone call and checking something on his computer screen, so he didn’t even see me as I pressed the up button on the elevator and waited for the doors to open.
Again, everything went my way, as no one was in the elevator. I walked in and pressed the button for Dad’s floor, and rode up while listening to the elevator music version of “Drops of Jupiter.”
Normally, I would hum along, but I couldn’t. My stomach twisted and knotted around itself, and my heart raced. My palms had sweat in the center, and I wiped them against my thighs a few times to remove it.
When the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, I stepped out and walked towards the hall that led to his room. The employee at the desk here turned, and I ducked down below the counter. For the first time in my brief life, I prayed to anyone listening that she wouldn’t see me or walk around the desk.
I stayed crouched as I tiptoed around the desk, working my way towards the corner that would block me from her sight.
I breathed out a sigh as I stood up straight once I was where I wanted to be. I stepped into Dad’s room, laying eyes on him for the first time since he’d collapsed in our kitchen.
It hadn’t been very long, but he already looked way different from what I remembered. His skin had a gray tinge, and his arms were thin and weak. He had tubes going into his nose, wires connected him to various machines, and IV lines connected to his hand.
My lip trembled as I took in his appearance. I wanted to press a rewind button so we could go back to that joyful moment in the kitchen. So I could find a way to prevent this from happening.
Tears filled my eyes, and I almost missed the sound of the door opening. I darted behind the curtain, tucking myself away as the night shift nurses entered to check on him.
“How are his stats?” the male nurse asked.
“The same,” the female replied. “He’s stable, but there hasn’t been a change for the better. Or for the worse, which is good, I guess. But the family is miserable.”
“Yes, I saw the little girl again today. I understand why they don’t want her to see him like this, but…”
“It’s not our place to question that decision,” she said. “What about the wife?”
The girl sighed. “She left again. I think she goes to the bar down the block every night. When she returns in the morning, she always reeks of alcohol. I don’t know if her kids are so busy with everything else that they just don’t notice or if they’re just ignoring it, but she needs help.”
“Have you sent the chaplain in?”
“I did, and she told him to leave,” she replied. “I mean, I get it. Not everyone finds comfort in religion, but I had to at least try…”
Their voices faded as they left the room, and I swallowed, trying to get rid of the dry feeling in my throat.
I left my hiding spot, set my backpack on the chair, and sat on the bed. My hand shook, but I reached out for Dad anyway, gripping his hand in mine as gently as I could.
“Dad…” I said, my voice breathy and hoarse. “Dad, please, you have to come back.”
A tear slipped down my cheek, and I wiped at it with haste. “Nothing is the same anymore. Everyone is so serious all the time. I never know where I’m going to be at night. And they won’t even let me see you. They think they’re protecting me, but they’re not.”
I took in a shuddering breath, the air rattling in my lungs, my throat tightening.
“And Mom is… Mom is… she’s not good, Dad. She’s a mess. She doesn’t say anything. She stares off into space. I hug her, and her arms just stay limp at her sides.”
The tears I had kept at bay for so long finally burst through the dam and fell freely down my face and onto my chin and my shirt. My voice mixed with sobs as I kept talking to him. “So you gotta wake up, Dad. Please. We need you. I can’t… please. Please wake up. Wake up! Wake up!”
I collapsed forward, burying my face into his chest, where there were no cords or wires blocking my contact with him. My whole body shook and heaved as I held in the sounds of my crying. I didn’t need to alert the entire
floor that I was in here with him. But I needed this. I needed to see him, and touch him, and hug him.
I blinked my crusty, swollen eyes open against the brightening room, and turned my head towards the commotion at the door. Scott and Tiffany’s voices were recognizable over the top of all the noise.
I jumped up and grabbed my bag, nausea swirling in my stomach as I rushed towards the door. I hadn’t realized I’d fallen asleep. I’d meant to sneak back out and go home.
I stopped in my tracks when I saw a cop standing in the room near the door. I swallowed and clutched my bag to my chest, then turned back towards Dad, only to realize I was no longer in his hospital room.
My chest rose and fell as I tried to breathe, and my knees shook as they tried to keep me standing.
“You’re okay,” he murmured in what I assumed was supposed to be a comforting voice.
But all it did was cause more panic. How had they moved me? Why had they moved me? I needed to be with my dad in case he got better. In case he woke up.
“How…?”
“The nurses found you asleep in Jack’s room,” he breathed. “They called us and the social workers.”
I shook my head. “No,” I said.
“It’s all right, sweetie,” he continued. “You’re safe. We’re just waiting on the new family, and then—”
“NO!” I yelled, and I darted forward to the door, my hand grappling with the handle.
They couldn’t take me away. This was my family. I picked them and they picked me. We were happy. They were going to be my parents and my siblings.
They did not need to save me. I was already safe. I had a mom and dad.
I wrenched the door open and met the red-rimmed eyes of Tiffany, Scott, and Mom. I tried to run to them, but firm hands gripped me around my waist and held me back.
“Let me go!” I cried, squirming in the arms of the cop.
My body was hot, and my heart pounded from my chest all the way into my head, the sound filling my ears. I fought against his hold and twisted around to break free, but nothing worked.
The tears running down my face mixed with the snot coming out of my nose, but I was too busy fighting to reach my family to care.
“You don’t understand!” I said hoarsely.
My foot kicked out behind me, making contact with the officer’s knee. He grunted and flinched but didn’t lose hold of me.
My social worker, Jennifer, stepped between my family and me as I fought against the officer. My bag sat on the floor, forgotten in the scuffle. Mom tried to step around her, but Jennifer stopped her with her arm and a firm shake of her head, glancing behind her towards a second officer in warning.
“Haven, it’s okay,” Mom said, her voice strained. “You need to stop fighting him.”
I shook my head, too afraid to use my voice. I didn’t know what words I would spew if I opened my mouth.
“Yes,” she retorted, her voice stronger than it had been in weeks. “You need to go with him, and let us work this out with social services and the
authorities.”
Tiffany looked at her with wide eyes. “But Mom—”
“Tiff, this is how it has to be,” Scott whispered. “We have to do as they ask. Otherwise, it could be worse for us.”
A sob broke out of my lips, and I went limp in the cop’s arms. All the fight left me at Scott’s words.
The worst part was all of it was my fault. If I hadn’t snuck out, if I hadn’t tried to see Dad on my own, then none of this would have happened.
The cop lifted me against his chest, cradling me to his body as he bent to grab my bag off of the cold white tile flooring.
“I’m sorry,” I whimpered, wrapping my arms around my stomach to keep my insides from becoming my outsides. “It’s all my fault.”
“It’s not your fault,” someone said, but I was too lost in my sorrow to tell who.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered again as the cop walked me back into the spare hospital room. “I’m so, so sorry,” I repeated, over and over again through my tears, until my voice was raw, and the only person who could hear me was myself.
