Beautiful Graves(62)

Belinda shoves a bookmark into her hardcover. “We will have new information when one of the doctors performing the surgery comes out, Mr. Graves.”

“Thanks for nothing,” Joe mutters.

“No news is good news.” I rub at my forehead. “There’s nothing to work on if he’s dead.”

The last word explodes between us, and we both stare at each other, wide eyed.

Sarah storms back to the waiting room wearing fresh scrubs, a face shield, and all the other stuff surgeons wear. She passes the double doors leading to the surgery room, not sparing us a look.

“He is going to be okay, right?” I ask Joe.

He takes my hand and squeezes it wordlessly. The answer is in his touch.



Gemma and Brad arrive at the hospital in their pajamas and matching UGG slippers. Two police officers show up as well. The policemen tell us that the truck driver who hit Dominic, a forty-year-old father of three from the Boston area, was tested sober and was not driving over the limit. That, according to witnesses, Dom collapsed from the sidewalk onto the curb just as the truck was making a right turn. Unfortunately, he not only suffered the impact of the hit but was also dragged across the pavement while the truck completed its turn.

Sarah is not out of the operating room yet. There’s no word from the other doctors working on him. It feels like we’re stuck in one of Dante’s circles of hell. Maybe in the treachery circle.

“I’m going to get everyone some coffee,” I say to the Graveses before retiring to the small cafeteria on the other side of the floor. I’m jittery and out of focus. I also want to call Dad and Renn and tell them that I love them. That I don’t take them for granted. That I’m sorry that I suck. That I’m going to suck less from now on, because it’s true. There’s no guarantee any of us are going to be here tomorrow. We have to make the best of today.

While I wait for four cups of coffee and some pastries no one is going to eat, I shoot Nora a quick message about what happened to Dom. I tell her I left Loki in his carrier in my haste. I ask if she can get him out of there and make sure his litter box is clean and that he has water and food.

She messages me right away that she is extremely sorry and horrified for me, that she and Colt are on their way to the apartment, and to keep her posted.

The woman who works at the cafeteria gives me a tray to carry the coffee and pastries. I make my way back to the waiting room slowly. There is no point in rushing. It feels like the surgeons will never get out of that room. It’s five in the morning, and we still haven’t heard anything. It scares me that I’m getting comfortable in the state of not knowing. That the limbo of being in the dark is, to me, preferable to knowing he is not going to make it.

The closer I get to the waiting room, the more it is apparent that a commotion is going on there. If it’s Sarah causing a scene about the engagement, I am going to scream. The Graveses don’t deserve this kind of chaos right now. But when I push the doors open with my shoulder and see two exhausted-looking doctors, a devastated Sarah, and a lifeless Joe and Brad, I know.

Gemma is on the floor in a heap of limbs, sobbing her eyes out.

The tray slips from my hands. Hot liquid splashes on my shins, but I don’t feel it. Brad and Joe turn to face me. They are talking to me, but I can’t hear them. Everything goes white and dotty. I stumble backward. Away.

No. No. No.

Everything sounds like I’m underwater. I cannot hear them, which is for the best.

I turn around and start running. Or try to run. I’m like a baby giraffe taking its first steps. My legs tangle. I fall on the floor. Another body launches itself atop of me from behind. The weight feels tragically familiar. His arms engulf my whole frame.

His lips brush my ears. “Shhh. I got you. Let it all go.”

I fall apart on the floor. I kick, I cry, I scream. I make a scene. I claw at my own face. I don’t know how long I do this for. But after a while, I run out of energy. I become limp in his arms. He is still holding me in his grip.

“We should be there for Gemma,” I mumble, congested with tears and snot.

It’s always the mother who hurts the most.

Joe stands up and offers me his hand. I take it, sniffling.

Together, we walk to our new, Dom-less reality.





TWENTY


We decide to stick together for the next few hours in a postapocalyptic daze.

We consisting of Joe, Brad, Gemma, Sarah, and me.

Sarah and I don’t talk much, but when we do, it’s not hostile. We’re both exhausted and reek of despair. Even cheating and infidelity is small in the grand scheme of life. And what does it matter that Dom made both of us look like fools if he is not even here so we can properly yell at him? The anger is so redundant, and duller in comparison to the pain of losing him.

Joe drives us to Dom’s apartment, where I make everyone tea, moving on autopilot. Sarah cuts a Valium pill with a butter knife, then gives one half to Gemma and the other to Brad. She offers Joe and me something to take the edge off, but we both decline.

Joe locks himself in Dom’s bedroom and makes some calls. I don’t know what to feel. I don’t know what to think. I’m scared of processing everything that’s happening here.

Gemma, Sarah, and I are in the living room, sipping tea. Apparently, Dom just collapsed onto the street, right into incoming traffic. My guess is he was too exhausted to stay up on his feet. I’d always worried about him not getting many hours of sleep.