Time Between Us

  Here it comes. “What’s up?” I ask, steeling myself for a lecture about spending the day with a boy they don’t even know. But as they get closer, I can see that Mom’s been crying.

  “What?” I repeat, looking back and forth between the two of them. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s Justin…” Mom pulls me into a hug, but I resist, stepping back from her.

  “What do you mean? What about Justin?”

  Mom starts crying again, so Dad jumps in. “Sweetie, he’s been in a car accident. I guess it happened earlier today, but we just found out about it an hour ago.”

  “A car accident? Are you sure?”

  Mom tries to pull herself together, rushing to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “We don’t have much information yet, honey. I guess he was on his way into the city and someone ran a red light. The Reillys are at the hospital now, and I’m sure he’d want to see you—we’ve just been waiting for you to get home so we could all go over there together.”

  “Why was Justin going to the city? He doesn’t even have a car.”

  Then it hits me.

  “Oh, my God. He was with Emma.”

  Dad’s driving, Mom’s in the passenger seat, and I’m in back. No one’s said a single word for the last fifteen miles.

  We’re taking the same route that Emma always takes into the city, so I’m searching out the window for leftover flares. Or tiny balls of tempered glass. Or pieces of red plastic taillight. Something to indicate where they were when their date took a turn for the worse. I can’t find a thing.

  When we reach the hospital, Dad drops us off at the main entrance and goes to look for parking. It doesn’t take Mom and me long to locate Justin’s parents. When we enter the waiting room, they stand up, eyes all red and puffy, and thank us for coming. Mrs. Reilly explains what happened, and even though I’m standing right next to her, her words fade in and out of my head and I process only the pertinent details. The accident happened just after two. They didn’t get here until four thirty. The girl’s parents arrived just after it happened, which is a good thing, since she’s in much worse shape. They’re up on the seventh floor in the ICU. She’s out of surgery now, but her condition is still considered critical. Justin will be fine, but they’re keeping him overnight for observation.

  I must have found a chair, because I’m now sitting in one. I watch Mom—who looks like she’s moving in slow motion—pull Mrs. Reilly toward her and whisper something into her ear.

  Mrs. Reilly’s voice rises an octave when she asks, “Who? Who’s Emma?!” Strangers turn to look in her direction, relieved, I imagine, for any activity that distracts them from whatever reason they’re sitting in the ER on a Saturday night.

  “The girl who was with Justin today. That’s Emma, Anna’s best friend from school.” Justin. Emma. And Justin. Emma and Justin. I can’t breathe. This can’t be happening.

  Mom talks with Mrs. Reilly in low, hushed tones designed for me not to hear. It doesn’t matter. Everyone sounds far away, anyway.

  After a few minutes, Mom gets up and comes over to sit next to me. “Sweetie.” She rubs my back in small circles. It feels so familiar, even though it’s been years since she traced the invisible pattern that used to make me drop right off to sleep. “Justin is going to be okay, but the other car collided with the driver’s side, so Emma got the brunt of the impact. The Reillys had been trying to find out who Justin was out with, but no one would tell them anything, and I guess Emma’s parents have been with her in the ICU all afternoon.

  “If this was Northwestern Memorial, I’d be staff, but here—” I can hear the frustration in her voice. She hates that she has no clout. “Stay here. I’ll go upstairs and see what I can find out.”

  I haven’t said a word since we left the house, but now I find my voice. “No.” I stand up. “I’m coming with you.”

  Emma looks small and frail against the while sheets. Her eyes are closed, and the skin underneath them—all the way down to her trademark cheekbones—bulges, black and shiny. Red marks speckle the left side of her face, indicating—as her parents explained when they prepared me to see her—where the doctors had to dig the glass out of her skin. There’s a clear plastic tube running up her nose, and even given all the rest of the damage, I think that would piss her off the most.

  As bad as she looks on the outside, that was all fairly easy to fix. The real mutilation is invisible. Her spleen ruptured on impact and had to be removed, but it took the surgical team two hours to find the source of the internal bleeding. There’s a small skull fracture that they say should heal by itself, but they will need to run an MRI before they can determine whether there was any permanent brain damage. When her internal injuries are healed, she’ll have to have her left shoulder reconstructed. She has three broken ribs, but at least they didn’t puncture her lungs. The doctors delivered that last part as “the good news.”

  The other car hit them going fifty miles per hour, just as she and Justin reached the middle of the intersection. “A T-bone collision,” Mrs. Atkins called it. Emma probably never even saw it coming, she had said. No, I’m quite sure she didn’t.

  I sit next to Emma on the bed and cradle her soft and perfectly manicured hand in mine, still caked with chalk dust, with dirt still wedged under my fingernails. The accident happened around two o’clock. While I was reclining against Bennett, laughing and cuddling and kissing him, my best friend was being ripped apart by metal and glass, transported by a speeding ambulance, and then torn apart all over again so that she could be reassembled. It took me six hours to find out. Another hour to get to the hospital. And yet another to get here to her hand. Eight hours.

  The whirs and thumps and beeps of all the machines are inescapable in the tiny room. I want to unplug them, one at a time, and give her the peaceful silence she deserves, but then I remember she might not be here without them, so instead of being annoyed, I try to find their musical qualities. Thump-beep. Thump-beep-whir. Thump-beep.

  We sit like this, Emma silent because she can’t speak, and me silent because I can’t think of anything to say. I think I’m supposed to talk to her. To let her know I’m here. But every time I open my mouth to say something, I can’t quite get the words out.

  I hear the door slide open and my jaw drops. Justin is standing there in a hospital gown, bruised and bandaged, unable to move his head because of the blue plastic brace wrapped tightly around his neck. His hair is matted and speckled with something that looks like blood. His wrist is in a cast.

  “Justin.” I rest Emma’s hand on the sheets and run to him. I stop short, afraid to hurt him, so I’m grateful when he reaches out to hug me first. The scratches on his face and body may be superficial, but they make him look like a porcelain doll that’s been dropped on the floor and put back together. I’m pretty sure the glue’s not yet dry.

  “Are you okay?” I grip a spot on his arm that doesn’t look damaged, but he sucks in a breath and I recoil as if he were hot to the touch. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Justin says. He gives me a wobbly half hug. “How is she?”

  I just shake my head.

  I watch his face fall as the information sinks in, then follow his gaze across the room to Emma. I’m pretty sure we’re both thinking the same thing. He’s okay. She’s not. Justin walks over to where I was sitting on the bed and takes my spot. He picks up her hand and strokes the back of it with his thumb.

  “You know, you’re supposed to be home writing about me in your diary right now,” he says. I can see him smiling at her, and I watch her face to see if she’ll return it, but she doesn’t. She’s too far away. But that doesn’t keep him from talking. “I had a bunch of great jokes lined up. I read the newspaper this morning so we could talk about current events. I’m telling you, you would’ve been hooked. Now look at me.” He glances at his chest. “I ripped my best sweater.”

  He keeps smiling at her. Talking to her like I should have but couldn’t.

  “S
he was looking for a CD.” He’s still looking at her, but I know the comment is meant for me, so I sit down on the opposite side of the bed and take her other hand in mine. I watch Justin’s face contort. “We were talking about this British indie band that we like and she asked me to find her CD case on the floor.” I picture the hot pink suede case I gave her for her birthday last year and my stomach lurches. I was always putting all her CDs in that case. I should have left them loose, piled up in the glove compartment and on the floor where she had them. I shouldn’t have given her that case in the first place. “She started to flip through it and…” He trails off.

  I just squeeze her hand. There’s nothing more to say, because our shared silence confirms what I already know. She wasn’t paying attention—the accident was her fault. And she crashed holding on to my gift, which shouldn’t make me feel so responsible, but it does.

  There’s a knock on the door, and it slides open before we can react. The nurse pokes her head in. “I’m sorry, kids. That’s all the time I can give you.” Her voice is just loud enough to be heard over the machines. “I wasn’t even supposed to let you in,” she says, like we’re about to argue with her. “Family only.” We know. She’s told us this three times since Mom pulled whatever strings she pulled to score us these ten far-too-short minutes.

  I squeeze Emma’s hand again, reach forward, and run my finger across her unstitched cheekbone. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” I say into her ear. I walk to the door and wait for Justin.

  He brushes her hair back and kisses her forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow too.” He stands up, looking around the bleak and sterile room. “And I’ll bring you some music. Maybe that will help.”

  At first, I think he means that the music will help drown out the incessant beeps. But as I watch him watch her, I think he may mean that the music will help bring her back from wherever she is right now.

  Emma doesn’t look any better on Sunday, but the room is cheerier. Enormous bouquets of bright flowers hide all the sterile surfaces, cards have been taped to an empty wall, and a collection of Mylar balloons with Get Well written on them in fancy script decorate the corner over by the small window. “Ten minutes,” the ICU nurse tells us flatly, “just to keep her company until her parents come back from lunch. You’re not supposed to be in here.” She looks behind her to be sure no one’s watching and then draws the curtain and closes the door.

  Justin hasn’t been home yet, but his mom has brought in this enormous boom box and a series of CDs as he instructed. Now he comes around to the side of Emma’s bed, plugs it into the wall by the monitors, and pops open a CD case. It’s one of his homemade mixes, though I can’t help noticing that there are no watercolor swirls on this one. He presses play, and the sounds of the machines are instantly masked, their whir-thump-beep pattern fading into the background as accompaniment to the music. I take a seat on the bed next to Emma and watch her, wishing I could talk to her, the way Justin did yesterday, but every time I open my mouth I feel awkward.

  He’s watching me. “Do you want me to leave for a bit?” That would be even worse. I’ll have no reason not to talk to her, but I still won’t be able to.

  “No,” I say.

  He walks around to the other side of the bed and lifts her other hand in his, and we just sit like that. Our ten minutes pass, then twenty, but the nurse never returns to kick us out, so the two of us just stay put. I’m silent, watching her chest move up and down. Justin is silent, too, mesmerized by the glowing red blips on the monitor. The music does help make this horrible room feel less sterile, but that’s about all it’s doing. Emma is still far away.

  The Atkinses return, and I look over at Justin. He was discharged a half hour ago, and his parents are still downstairs, filling out paperwork. He looks exhausted, like he can barely keep his eyes open.

  “You wanna get some air?” I ask, and after some thought, he finally nods. I leave all my things inside so I have an excuse to get back into Emma’s room.

  Once we’re in the hallway, Justin leans against the wall. “This sucks.” He starts to rub his forehead, forgetting about his stitches. “Ow. Damn it.”

  I lead him to the elevator. “You should go home, Justin. Go rest. Come back tomorrow when you’re feeling better.” I wish I could say Emma wouldn’t be here tomorrow, but we both know she will.

  The elevator takes us to the bottom floor and we follow the signs to the courtyard. We walk around for a few minutes, but it’s windy and freezing and it doesn’t take us long to get the requisite air and decide to go back inside and find Justin’s parents. We locate the registration office easily, and Justin’s parents are still sitting there, waiting for the clerk to finalize his discharge papers. Mrs. Reilly assures us that they’ll be a while, so the two of us go in search of the cafeteria.

  When we’re sitting, drinking the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted, and taking turns picking at a stale doughnut, I say, “So…you and Emma.”

  Justin looks at me with a guilty smile.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He picks off a piece of the doughnut and stares out the window. “I’m so sorry. I should have told you about us. I don’t like keeping secrets from you, Anna. But I guess the whole thing just seemed a little…weird. I’ve known you my whole life, and—” His voice trails off and he brings the Styrofoam cup to his lips again, takes a sip, and looks right at me. “I should have told you.”

  “Yeah. You should have.” I smile so he knows I’m not angry. “Really. It’s okay. Emma told me. And besides, you’re my friend. Emma’s my friend. This is good.”

  “So, you’re cool with us going out?”

  I decide not to tell him that I still can’t put their two names together in my head without a question mark showing up. “Definitely. I’m definitely cool with it.”

  We both look down at the table. He starts tracing the design of the Formica with his fingertip, and I push my doughnut crumbs into a little pile.

  “Tell me about your date. It was obviously going well, until—” I immediately wish I could take back that last part, but Justin doesn’t seem affected.

  He smiles down at the table. “It was a really good day. We went out to dinner once before, you know, and had coffee one other time, and that was nice, but it was fun to just be together at her house. See her room and her stuff. And just hang.”

  He stares out the window behind me. “We had the most amazing talk about…” He trails off, but his mouth turns up in a small smile.

  “About?”

  He shakes his head and looks at me again. “Never mind.… Anyway. She’s very cool.”

  I rest my chin in my hand and smile at him. “You really like her, don’t you?” I ask, and he nods. He leans back and crosses his arms.

  “Yeah. I admit, I didn’t expect to, and I wasn’t even totally sure until yesterday. But yeah, I really do. She sort of surprised me, I guess.” I don’t know if Emma feels the same way about him, but for his part, he sure looks hooked. Apparently, some guys really do make CDs for girls who are only friends.

  “She surprised me too,” I say, and I find myself repeating the words I said to Bennett on the rock yesterday, describing Emma’s cheekbones and braces and how kind she was to the frizzy-haired new kid. And I smile as I picture her now. Or rather, the way she was until yesterday. Same cheekbones, but no more braces. No more awkward stilts for legs. Just gorgeous, funny, charming Emma, who wins over everyone she meets—even a jock-nerd like me and a skeptic like Justin. I suddenly realize we’re looking at each other with matching sad expressions, like we’re both wondering what we’re doing here, talking about her like this.

  Justin breaks the awkward silence. “So-o-o-o…” he says, drawing out the word. “Better topic: How was your date?”

  The question makes me flash back to yesterday, and I feel a grin start to form as I think about Bennett and me, curled up on a rock exchanging questions and stories and kisses and chalk dust. But then I’m overcome with guilt. I can’t sm
ile while Emma lies unconscious six floors above me. “It was good.”

  I keep my emotions in check as I tell Justin about rock climbing and how it felt to reach the top and look out at the view. I tell him how Bennett and I talked and talked, about music and running, about traveling and our families. And suddenly it hits me. I’m supposed to be in the coffeehouse right now trading date stories with Emma, not in a sterile hospital cafeteria talking with Justin. I get quiet and start staring past him, fixing my eyes on the vending machine at the far side of the room. “Sounds fun,” I hear him say, but his voice sounds quiet and far away. We both look off in opposite directions, and neither one of us speaks again for a long time.

  “What time is your mom coming to get you?” he finally asks.

  “Six.” I look down at my watch. It’s only three.

  “I should go find my parents, but I can stay here and catch a ride home with you if you want. I don’t want to leave you alone.” He looks sincere but exhausted. It’s clearly taking all his energy just to stay awake.

  “I’m okay. It’ll be good for me to have some time alone with her.”

  He stares at me. “Okay. As long as you’re sure.” He reaches across the table and grabs my hands to give them a comforting squeeze.

  I give him a weak smile. “I’m positive.” I sound so certain, lying to him like this. But I’m doing it for him. If he didn’t look so tired and pained, I’d say what I really want to say. That right now, as we sit here like this, Justin seems exactly like the person he used to be—my comfortable friend who gives me music and makes me laugh and is the one person I can talk to about anything—and all I want is to have him hug me tight and tell me everything’s going to be okay, because if he did, I might just believe him.

  After Justin leaves, Danielle stops by, and the two of us get caught trying to sneak back into Emma’s room. The nurse is just about to kick us out when Emma’s mom shows up and convinces her to let us stay. But Danielle can’t take it for long; ten minutes later, she still can’t bring herself to walk all the way back into the room and Mrs. Atkins finally wraps her arm around her shoulder and suggests she come back tomorrow instead. Danielle says she will be back in the morning, since she has no intention of going to school anyway.