Stay(33)

“I just amended an old contract I had.” He’s watching me in that way that feels like heat on my skin.

Things are different between us since Saturday. Or are they?

I don’t like to let myself go there. Eli joins us, backpack on one shoulder.

“Ready?” I lean down to give him a kiss.

I’m just getting close when his eyes go wide. His fist jerks up to his chest, and my stomach plummets as he hits the floor.





12





Stephen


Everything feels too fast and too slow. I’m fumbling, trying to remember what I know about seizures, trying to control the chaos.

Eli’s eyes are rolled back in his head, and his body is alternately rigid and shuddering. A steady stream of tears coats Emmy’s cheeks, and she rocks back and forth on the floor of the dry cleaner holding Eli’s hand. “I’m here, Eli. It’s going to be okay.”

“I’ll call 9-1-1!” Lulabell runs to the back room.

“What time is it? Somebody check the clock.” Emmy’s voice breaks. She’s calm but her shoulders shudder.

Dropping to my knees, I rip off my coat and ball it up. “Put this under his head. Roll him onto his side.”

“It’s ten o’clock!” A woman cries from the back.

Emmy hiccups a breath. “It’s going on too long.” She holds her son’s little hand, rocking back and forth. “Stay with me, baby.”

Thankfully, the customers either leave or move to the outer walls. I place my hand on Emmy’s shoulder. “It hasn’t been a minute.”

“I can’t take this.” Her head drops, and her tears are like glass ripping my chest.

Fuck. I want to help them. “He’s going to be okay.” My voice is quiet, soothing, I hope.

She only shakes her head. “God, please help him… I hate this so much.”

The noise of sirens grows louder, and a murmur moves through the crowd. Some are sighs of relief. Some are grumbles of it’s about time.

Eli is starting to relax. He’s coming out of it.

“Time?” I call.

“Ten oh-two? Three?” It’s an analog clock, so it’s not much help.

“Eli?” Emmy strokes his head with trembling fingers.

EMS bursts through the door, surrounding us. “Where’s the patient?”

I stand, giving them space to get to him. “Is a parent present?”

“I’m his mom.” Emmy’s voice is so weak.

“I’m her friend.” I step forward.

“Sorry, sir. Family only.” They push me aside. Indignation burns in my chest, but I stand back watching as they coordinate and lift Eli onto the stretcher. “Would you like to ride in the ambulance?”

“Where are you taking him?” I ask, only to be rebuffed again.

Lulabell is in the room with us. She touches Emmy’s arm. “Don’t ride in the ambulance. It’s too upsetting. He’ll be okay.”

Frustration is a tight fist in my guts. I understand the concerns for privacy, but being pushed aside like this when I’m trying to help my little friend is infuriating.

I touch Emmy’s hand. “I’ll drive you. Find out where they’re taking him.”

“Sir?” She straightens, staying close to the gurney. “What hospital?”

“Mount Sinai is the closest.”

I look up at the guy. “Komansky Children’s is the best for this type of thing.”

“We don’t have time to get all the way uptown.”

Emmy turns pleading eyes on me, and I back down. “Whatever. We’re right behind you.”



* * *



My fists clench and unclench. I stand in the waiting room, watching through the glass as Emmy talks to the doctor alone. She’s been crying off and on since the seizure, and I can’t say I blame her. Eli’s a sweet kid, and seeing him in the grip of invisible torment is gut wrenching. I want to pull her in my arms and hold her. Hell, I want to pull them both into my arms and tell them I’m going to fix this.

I sure as hell understand Emmy’s reasons for homeschooling and her fixation on that surgery now. If Eli were my kid, he’d have a private tutor and already be on a waiting list, if not in treatment.

A bustling noise behind me causes me to look up.

Burt Dickerson barrels into the waiting room. “Where’s my boy?” His voice is too loud. His face is red. “Where’s Elijah?”

Through the glass, I see defeat filter through Emmy’s features. She drops helplessly into a chair. I want to go in and give her the strength she needs. Instead, The Dick barges in and begins attacking the doctor. Through the walls, I hear his booming voice.

“My son gets the best care available. I want to know what caused it…”

The other voices are quieter, but I see Emmy point to her head. I see Burt explode again. “Don’t tell me it’s because he played lacrosse. Exercise is good for him.”

Leaning forward, I prop my forearms on my thighs. Sometimes the legal and medical fields feel really fucked up.

“Families are hard.” An old woman slowly approaches me, using her IV stand as a prop. “Your girlfriend is very upset. I take it that’s the child’s father?”