Girl Out of Water(55)

I might throw up my Cap’n Lucky Puffs.

Ten missed calls and ten voice mails—six from Emery, two from Dad, and two from unknown callers.

I press play and listen.

And listen.

And listen.

Aunt Jackie…infection…where are you…hospital…emergency surgery…where are you…call us…where are you…where are you…where are you…

“Anise? Anise, are you okay?” Lincoln asks.

My phone shakes. No, my hand shakes.

My throat is tight. “Hospital,” I manage. “We need to get to the hospital.”





Twelve


Surgical site infections apparently strike one to three percent of all surgical patients. Warning signs include tenderness, swelling, and pain—all symptoms you might consider normal if you’ve been in tender, swelling pain for more than a month. Emery checked on Aunt Jackie while I was gone, noticed she was flushed and disoriented, and took her temperature: it was 103.

The good news is she panicked and called for an ambulance right away. An hour later Aunt Jackie was in emergency surgery for a deep incisional infection. The doctor told me if they hadn’t caught it in time, it could’ve permanently damaged her leg—or worse.

“Emery, is that you?” Aunt Jackie asks, her voice muffled.

“It’s Anise,” I say and lean forward in the armchair. “The others went home to rest.”

I spent last night in the hospital waiting room with Emery, Parker, Nash, and two of Aunt Jackie’s friends, piled on armchairs, using sweatshirts and hoodies as blankets. Lincoln stayed until almost two in the morning, going to the cafeteria on coffee and food runs, trying to nudge a smile out of my cousins, an impossible task since Aunt Jackie still hadn’t woken up from the surgery.

He offered to come back this morning, once Aunt Jackie had woken up, and take the kids home and watch them all day. I accepted so Aunt Jackie’s friends wouldn’t have to take off work and since Dad couldn’t get a flight back until tomorrow. His worried phone calls kept me on the phone all night and morning. I think he blames himself that he wasn’t here…but I wasn’t there either. Just like my mom, I left home, left someone who needed me for something more exciting on the horizon. My eyes threaten to well every time I think of Emery going into Aunt Jackie’s room, taking her temperature, fingers trembling to call the ambulance. In that moment, with no information and Aunt Jackie incoherent from the high fever, Emery probably thought she was losing her mom, even faster than she lost her dad. I flew here to help her this summer, to take care of her, to protect her, and when she needed me most, I wasn’t there.

I try to mask any shaking in my voice and ask Aunt Jackie, “How are you feeling?”

I move over to her hospital bed, uncomfortable at how normal the scene feels. Aunt Jackie already spent a month here.

She smiles weakly. “Guilty, mostly. Can’t believe I didn’t notice the fever myself. Emery…” Her voice cracks. “…She was so scared. I don’t remember much once the fever hit, but I remember those scared eyes.”

“Emery is okay now,” I lie. I don’t want to put more stress on her when she needs to recover.

In reality, Emery shut down last night, not even yelling at Nash when he tried to start a talent show in the waiting room. She just sat and stared at the wall—at the wall, not even her phone. I tried to talk to her, hug her like I kept hugging the boys, but she stayed unresponsive.

Maybe I’m fucking this up. I should tell Aunt Jackie that Emery is hurting a lot more than she’s letting on. And yet, every time I go to do so, the words stick in my mouth. The doctor said Aunt Jackie needs a low-stress environment. I can handle this on my own. I don’t need to give Aunt Jackie a reason to worry.

“You’ll be back home in a few days,” I say. “And everything will go back to normal.”

I say these words with conviction, even though at this point, I’m not sure what normal is.

? ? ?

I end up dozing on the extra hospital bed in Aunt Jackie’s room. And by dozing, I mean I knock out for a solid two hours until Aunt Jackie’s friend, Blue Cardigan Claire, shows up to take over. “Let me give you a ride home,” she says.

I nod, blinking with sleep-weighted lids, then crawl out of my hospital sheet cocoon.

In the car, I press my head against the cool glass and watch the empty suburban streets slip by. It’s nine o’clock. Most people are probably in their beds, TVs and tablets softly glowing.

When she drops me off, I thank Claire for the ride and mentally thank her for not bringing up my mom. The house looks silent. Almost all the lights are out. Are the kids already asleep? My phone battery died a bit ago, so I haven’t been able to text Lincoln for an update.

I unlock the door. The living room light is on, but I don’t see anyone. “Hello?” I call out. “Emery? Lincoln?”

No response.

My heart thumps as a dozen scenarios flash through my mind:

They went out to get ice cream at that little store a couple miles away.

An axe murderer came into the house and killed them all!

The stress exhausted them, and everyone went to bed early.

Aliens abducted them and they’re never coming back!

Then I notice light coming from the backyard. I walk through the living room and pull open the sliding glass door. Soft music thumps from portable speakers. The outdoor lighting basks the concrete in an artificial glow. A few people who are definitely too tall to be my cousins stand around the edge of the pool.