Chaos and Control(50)

Sirens wail as they approach, and I don’t leave Bennie. Men come with a stretcher and pull my sister from my arms. They wheel her away, and all I can do is watch.

“Where are they taking her?” I ask. I shake my head in an effort to clear my mind.

“Franklin Memorial. Let’s go.”

I nod and stand motionless while Preston closes the store. He ushers me out to his truck. I see his lips moving, but I can’t comprehend the words. Finally, he picks me up and places me in the truck. When I don’t respond, Preston buckles my seatbelt, too.

With nothing but highway, fields, and blue sky between here and Franklin, it seems like a never-ending journey. My mind races with worst-case scenarios and a world without my sister. It’s something that I can’t imagine. I replay every conversation we’ve had since I returned, looking for some clue, but I come up with nothing. There are too many thoughts buzzing around my brain to nail anything down.

When we pull into the hospital parking lot, I am out of the truck before the engine shuts off.

“Where is she?” I ask over my shoulder. Preston is scrambling to keep up.

“They said to go to the emergency room.”

Summoning a forced kind of calm, I slip through the sliding doors. The scent of hospital overwhelms my senses, antibacterial cleaner and medicine. The bright lights of the ER are blinding, even more so with the reflection off the shiny floors. I approach the counter and try to keep my voice even.

“Bennetta Hart. She was brought in by ambulance.”

The lady nods and taps on her keyboard. “She’s with doctors now. Are you a relative?”

“Yes.”

“They will let you know something soon. Have a seat for now. There’s fresh coffee.”

I sit in the chair nearest the door, and Preston sits beside me. We don’t speak, but we don’t need to. There is a soothing air in the space between us, an understanding of our roles here. Some trashy talk show plays on the television in the corner of the room. A mother and her toddler are curled up together against the opposite wall playing games on a tablet.

Every time I check the institutional clock hung above our heads, it’s only been another few minutes. Preston’s knee bounces up and down vibrating our row of chairs.

“Tell me something good. Distract me,” I say.

“I made it through an entire work day without having to touch anyone yesterday.”

“That’s good. But you usually seem to handle it okay.”

Preston takes a deep breath and blows it out. His knee stills.

“The struggle is internal, you know? And I hate people in my space.”

“I’m in your space,” I say, ducking my head, trying to catch his gaze.

“I’m different with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“The first time I saw you, those things just fell away. You were standing there with Tupelo Honey, and all I could see was you. Your lavender hair and black boots. Your big innocent eyes and that devilish smile telling me I’m pretty.” Preston stops, leans back in his chair, and crosses his arms. “No counting, no lists, no thoughts of germs. It’s like the only thing that existed was you. I can control my tics better around you. Not completely, of course. There’s no cure for this. But you seem to calm that part of me.”

“Why me?” I ask.

He runs one hand through his hair as his leg begins to bounce again. I let my fingers curl around his knee, and he stops.

“I don’t know. You’re like the best medicine,” Preston says, looking away.

I lean my head on his shoulder and smile at the speckled linoleum floor. I’m not sure what to say to his confession, so I keep quiet. After forty minutes, I feel my sanity slipping. I’ve watched four doctors come and go through that main door, but I still don’t know what’s going on with Bennie.

“Why haven’t they come talk to us yet?”

“Maybe they don’t know anything yet,” Preston answers.

I finally look at him and see how uncomfortable he is here. His posture is rigid, though it usually is, and his eyes constantly scan the room. He’s made three trips to the bathroom, where I assume he is washing his hands. A hospital must be a terrible place for someone afraid of germs.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

Preston scoffs. “I should be asking you that.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me tight against him. “I’ll survive. You?”

“I’d be a lot better if they came out here and told me my sister is okay.”

The double doors next to the nurse’s counter swing open. A tall man with green scrubs and a white coat comes through. I watch his face, trying to decipher some kind of code in the way his eyes move or the way his hands gesture and point. He speaks to the nurse, and she looks at me.

“Miss Hart?” she says. I jump out of my chair and hurry over. Preston releases me and follows. “Dr. Devall will take you back to see the patient.”

“Thank you,” I say.

We trail behind the doctor through two halls, three left turns, and finally into a room. Bennie is in a gown and hooked up to a couple of machines. Her eyes move to mine, and she gives me a weak smile.

“Hey, kid.”

“Bennie, you scared the shit out of me,” I say, rushing to her side. “What the hell happened?” I’m asking her, but I turn toward the doctor.