F*ck Marriage(62)

By the time I am exiting the liquor store, my plastic shopping bags full of ingredients to make Billie her favorite drink, a rough idea is forming.





Chapter Thirty-One





The call comes as I’m locking up to meet Jules for dinner. At first, I think she’s calling to tell me she’s going to be late, but when I pick up and hear her voice, I know something terrible has happened. Her voice hits high notes of panic, warbling unsteadily across the line.

“Jules,” I stick my finger in my ear to block out the cabbie who is laying on his horn. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. Can you slow down a bit and say it again?”

She’s not the hysterical type, and that simple fact twists my insides into knots as I wait for her to calm down.

I hear Billie’s name ... twice ... My stomach has climbed from its spot in my abdomen up into my throat, and as I pull the key from the lock, Jules repeats her story in a slightly less hysterical voice.

“She was crossing the street, at the intersection! A car ran the light and hit her and two other people.”

“Where did they take her?” My voice is all business, but my hands are shaking.

I bound down the street dodging waves of pedestrians, as Jules screams the name of the hospital in my ear. I tell her I’m on my way and hang up as soon as I have all of the information. The hospital where they took Billie is only twenty blocks uptown, but the holiday traffic has severely congested every street in that direction. It would take at least an hour to get there by cab. I run.



The hospital is packed, the city ripe with New York-style emergencies. There’s a woman ahead of me at the desk asking asinine questions to the sole person manning the desk. I tap my foot, impatiently willing her to move on. When she finally does, I take her place.

“Billie Tarrow. She was just admitted. Hit-and-run…” The woman behind the desk glances at me over her glasses and then goes to work at the computer. After around a minute, I lean over the desk. “Have you found her…?”

“Was just finishing something. Looking now,” she says.

The receptionist has large eyes behind even larger round glasses. I tap my fingers on the desk. “The woman I love is lying somewhere in this hospital while you’re just finishing something…”

She pushes her glasses up her nose. “And do you think you’re the only one here who has a loved one they want to see?”

“No, but right now I’m the one in front of you, so I’m the one who matters.”

She tightens her lips, fingers moving across the keyboard. Finally she says, “She’s in surgery. You can wait on the fourth floor with her family.”

I head for the elevator wondering what family Billie has in New York. It’s not until I’m walking into the waiting room that I see Woods is already here, a pale Pearl at his side. It’s apparent that Pearl doesn’t want to be here, and I don’t blame her, but Woods does. That’s what bothers me: the dedication on his face like he’s still responsible for her in some way. I want to remove that look from his face, remove him from the hospital, but I have no more right to be here than anyone else. Woods is speaking to Jules, who has mascara smeared across her cheeks and is wringing her hands as I approach.

“Oh, thank God.” Jules launches herself at me, burying her face in my chest.

“How is she?” I ask no one in particular.

“We don’t know yet,” Woods says.

He looks so stricken, my best friend instinct kicks in and I want to ask how he is. I turn to Jules instead, pulling her away from my chest so I can see her face.

“What happened?”

“I was on the phone with her. She was really upset ... crying. She said she was going back to Washington and then I heard this noise.” Her eyes glaze over and it’s as if she’s remembering the noise because she shivers. “I kept saying her name and then someone picked her phone up off the ground and told me what happened.”

I hold her tight as she sobs against me. “Has someone called her parents?” I direct this at Woods, who is the only person in the room who might have their number. He nods, his nose red.

“They didn’t even say they were coming,” he says. “They just told me to keep them updated.”

I’m too worried to be angry. “What surgery? What are they doing to her?”

“There was internal bleeding…” Jules’ voice trails off.

I’m frozen: my face, my heart—all of it. I don’t want to think about what state Billie is in, but I can’t help it. In the next hour, another family trickles into the waiting room. We learn that they’re the parents and the husband of the other woman who was hit by the vehicle. She was pushing her toddler in a stroller when the green SUV came barreling around the corner. Their three-year-old son, Dakota, didn’t survive the impact; his mother, like Billie, is still in surgery.

When a doctor walks in two hours later, everyone in the room stands. He’s still in his scrubs, which I notice with relief, aren’t covered in blood. That has to be a good sign, right?

“Billie Tarrow’s family?” He looks at me when he asks this, and I nod.

“She was bleeding internally when the ambulance brought her in. We managed to stop the bleeding, but we won’t know the extent of her injuries until she wakes up. She’s in critical condition. Unfortunately, we can’t let you see her right now.”