Opposite of Always(77)

“You guys ready to rock?” Jillian asks, motioning toward the stage.

“Born to,” I say, sticking my hand out, which Franny promptly slaps onto with his palm.

“My middle name is Rock,” Franny says, somehow curling his lip in a way I’ve never seen him do before.

“So, then your last name should be Hard,” Jillian says, high-fiving Kate before adding her hand to our hand pile.

Kate laughs.

“Well, what are you waiting for, Kate,” I say. “You better get in on this.”

“But I’m not in the band,” she protests.

“But you definitely rock, right?” Jillian says.

“Hard, right?” Franny adds.

And Kate, still laughing, puts her hand into our huddle.

“Oh yeah, now we’re ready,” I say.

“Rock hard on three,” Franny shouts, his eyebrows arched intensely. “One-two-three . . .”

And the day’s so perfect it’s hard to believe that today also marked another anniversary.

That this is the night that everything’s gone black.

Except this time Kate isn’t in any hospital.

Her treatment’s working. Even better than we could’ve hoped for, according to Dr. Sowunmi. There are a dozen reasons to be optimistic. To be happy.

So, the question is, why am I so afraid?

“Maybe you can stay tonight,” I suggest to Kate.

She laughs. “You mean, as in at your house, with your parents’ consent?”

“Why not?” And no, I’m not entirely sure my parents would be excited about a Jack-Kate sleepover, but tonight I don’t want to let her out of my sight.

Despite my best efforts, Kate’s not having it. “I have plans with Kira in the morning, and you should be with your folks tonight,” she insists.

There’s no changing her mind, either.

She won’t even let me give her a ride back to her parents’ house.

“Go back inside and get drunk with your parents,” she says, smiling.

“Don’t worry, Jack,” Jillian assures me, starting up her car. “I’ll get her home safe.”

My parents and I share a bottle of wine and I listen to them reminisce about their courtship and the first years of their marriage and I wonder what it would’ve been like to have known them back then, the younger versions of my parents. Would I have thought they were cool? Might we have been friends? What if I had Back to the Future’d it and had traveled back far enough to go to prom with my mom? It’s disturbing to contemplate (that last question, anyway).

Before I climb into bed, I set my phone ringer to deafening, just in case.

I call Kate, but she doesn’t answer. I text her to call me whenever.

Franny, Jillian, and I group-text into the wee hours; I’m determined to stay awake all night, like maybe that could be the difference.

I wake up, in what I think is the middle of the night, to my alarm.

I shake the sleep from my brain, reach for my phone.

Only it’s not an alarm.

“Jack, I don’t know what’s happening to me,” Kate screeches into the phone.

“Wait, what do you mean? What’s going on?”

“I think I’m going into crisis,” she says.

“But you can’t. The treatment. Dr. Sowunmi said—”

“Jack, I’m scared . . . it feels different this time. Worse than before . . . I don’t know what to do.”

“Where are you?”

Kate’s breathing is jagged.

“Kate, where are you? I’ll come to you. I’ll call an ambulance. Just tell me where you are . . .”

I race to the top of the stairs. I can’t believe it. This is happening again.

“Jack . . . ,” she says, faintly. I hear a thud, like maybe she’s dropped her phone.

“I’m coming,” I swear to her, though I don’t know where she is.

I tear down the stairs, careful to hit each step. I make it to the bottom without falling. No cosmic trips. No black-hole surprises.

Twenty seconds later I’m backing Dad’s car out of the driveway.

The other injection, I think. Kate needs the second injection.

In the car I dial. The phone rings so long I expect voice mail, but then— “Hello?”

“You lied,” I say to him.

“What? Who is this?”

“You told me you could save her.”

“Jack?”

“She’s still going to die, though, isn’t she?”

“Jack,” he says, and I can hear someone say something in the background, hear his hand cover the speaker, everything muffled. “Jack, listen to me,” he starts again.

“Just tell me the truth, Doc.”

“The only truth about medicine is—there is no truth. We don’t know. We practice at it and we don’t always get it right. That’s why we say practicing medicine. Sometimes we get it really wrong.”

“But you’re different. Kate, her family, they all believe in you. Everyone says you’re the best.”

A long pause, a deep sigh. “I wish I was better.”

“. . .”

“Jack? Jack? You there?”

“Night, Doc.” I toss my phone onto the passenger seat.