Break(15)

“He’ll be okay.”

My throat hurts so badly and pain explodes from my broken wrist down to my fingertips, but I should have been there I should have been there— “Jonah. Jonah.” She grabs me and wraps her arms around me, her chest against the small of my back. “Stop it.”

I feel her deep breathing against me and it reminds me that this is real. That I’m really here and really this upset, and I really screwed up this badly.

“He could die,” I say.

She turns me around and reaches up to my face. Her hands are so cold against my skin. “He didn’t die. Now stop crying.”

I do, but I don’t feel any better. My nose is running all over my face.

“Get in the car,” she says. “I’ll take you to the hospital and you can see him. Jesse’s going to be fine. He’s always fine.”

Of course he’s always fine. If he ever wasn’t fine, this would all be over. He wouldn’t have any more opportu-nities to get sick. Any more near-scrapes.

They can’t all be near-scrapes.

She guides me to the car and buckles the seatbelt over my lap. “Get your cell phone out and call your mom. Find out what’s going on.”

“I can’t.”

“Jonah.”

“Just shut the f*ck up, Naomi!”

She turns the key in the ignition and doesn’t talk anymore. I put my good hand and my throbbing cast over my face.

He will be fine.

If he wasn’t fine, the message would have said JESSE MORGUE.

911 just means they called an ambulance.

It just means he had a bad reaction.

What did he eat? I try a mental inventory. Apple at breakfast. Protein shake. Rice cake. Coke. Another protein shake.

I say, “What have you eaten today?”

She glances up from the road. “What?”

“What was on your hands when you touched his basketball?”

“Nothing.” She fixes her cap. “I had pizza, like, three hours ago.”

I throw my hands up.

“Three hours ago, Jonah! That is so far-fetched. He could have touched anything! Your Mom’s boobs are leaking all over the house.”

“You know you have to be careful—”

“I was careful! I’m always careful with him. Jesus Christ! I was there for two minutes. You really think he got this from me?”

“What are you saying?”

“He already wasn’t feeling well. And you were with Charlotte and all the cats—”

“I changed my clothes!” My ribs feel like they’re getting punched. “This is not my—”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She exhales, shaking her head. “I’m not saying anything.”

She grew up with Jesse just like I did, and I know this is hard for her, but it’d be easier to honor that if she’d appre-ciate it’s hard for me, too. That I’m not just pointing fingers here. That I’m trying to solve something. That I’m trying to keep my goddamn brother alive, every single f*cking day.

“God.” I put my head back. “God, I hate the hospital.”

She says, “Call your mom.”

I give up and take out my cell phone.

She’s all breathless. “Hello?”

“What happened?”

I hear all that stomach-throbbing ambulance noise, and I think I’m going to puke on Naomi’s grody upholstery. “We don’t know,” she says. “He took his EpiPen and it looks like one dose is going to be enough.”

Sometimes we have to keep hitting him and hitting him with epinephrine to keep him conscious. . . . It’s pretty awful. He’ll be jumpy for days after that.

“Did you see him have anything, Jonah?”

She’s asking me if I poisoned him.

“No. He didn’t have anything when I was with him.”

I ask it right back.

She just makes all these heartbroken noises. I’m making a habit of underestimating how hard this is for anyone but me and Jesse.

“Can I talk to him?” I say.

“No, honey, he can’t talk right now.”

I wait for Jesse to snatch the phone, but he doesn’t. I say, “Is Dad there?”

“No, he’s home with the baby. Trying to get a sitter so he can come down here. We’re at the hospital now, Jonah. Are you on your way?”

“Yeah. We’ll be there soon.” I look at Naomi, who nods and leans on the gas.

In ten minutes, the gray building rises in front of us like a sick beacon. I’m mocked by the pictures of happy children on the direction signs.

“Go to the south lot,” I say. “It’s never crowded.”

We walk into the parking garage and take the ele-vator to the ER entrance. I have to stop when we get inside because I’m shaking too hard.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Naomi says, and I wish she’d shut up because it’s not like this will ever stop.

She holds the top of my arms and lets me tremble. People flow around me, respectfully. People who understand, or feel like they should.

He has a lot of reactions. I don’t usually freak out this badly.

Naomi eventually nudges me up to the ER front desk. I weave through the bleeding old women and hacking children on benches and find the receptionist behind heaps of clipboards. “I’m looking for Jesse McNab. Probably got here by ambulance. He’d still be on the floor.”