I'm glad it's back, too, Carolyn!
Part 84
It had taken hours for Liz to fall asleep, and unfortunately, right after she finally managed it, her cell phone rang. She rolled over onto her stomach and reached over onto her end table for it, not willing to move too much. “Hello?” she mumbled.
There was a slight pause, and then his unmistakable voice. “Hey. It’s me.”
She propped herself up on her forearm, immediately wide awake again. “Hey,” she said, confused as to why Max would be calling her at—what time was it? She glanced at the clock—5:00 a.m.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said.
“For tonight?”
“Just . . . for everything.”
She frowned. An apology, huh? This wasn’t like Max. But she supposed she should just be grateful for it. Maybe he had calmed down, and maybe now they could talk again and work things out. Except . . . she wasn’t sure she wanted to work things out anymore. Part of her needed some space.
“I’m gonna be leavin’ town tomorrow,” he revealed suddenly, much to her dismay.
“What?” Where would he go? He couldn’t rely on his dad anymore, and he didn’t have college to fall back on. What was he planning to do? And what about her? Was this the end for them? “Max . . . what about the baby?” she asked.
He grunted. “Probably better off without me.”
She sighed, thinking that maybe, in a really sad, really unfortunate way . . . that was true. The Max Evans she’d seen tonight was not ready for the responsibilities of fatherhood. As much as she feared the idea of having to raise a child alone, maybe it would be easier, in a way. With Max, it might be like having to raise two kids. “Where are you gonna go?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I just need to leave.”
She lay down on her back, holding the phone tightly to her ear, feeling a little lost for words. “I don’t know what to say,” she admitted.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he mumbled. “Listen, you’re gonna hear some things about me, about something I did tonight. And trust me, when you do, you’ll be glad I’m gone.”
Her frown intensified. That sounded bad. “What did you do?” she asked.
“Isabel can tell you. I don’t wanna talk about it,” he dismissed. “I just wanted to say . . . I don’t know, goodbye, I guess.”
She felt tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes, and she quickly wiped them away. “Just like that, huh?” It probably was for the best, but it still made her sad. She and Max had been together for nearly five months now. She’d loved him. But now that she had a better idea of who he really was, she couldn’t deny loving him a little less.
“I’m sorry,” he reiterated. “Goodbye, Liz.”
She didn’t have it in her to say goodbye back. So she just lay there and waited as he ended the call. When there was only silence, she tossed her phone down to the foot of the bed, and she curled up on her side to cry harder.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Come sunrise, Michael felt exhausted, but he couldn’t have slept for one second if he’d tried. He kept worrying that Max was going to show up again, that he’d try to take Dylan out of his hospital bed the same way he’d taken him out of Tina’s bed. It was irrational, he knew, to worry about that when an armed guard was standing outside Dylan’s door. But he worried anyway.
The guard who had cuffed him was more of a glorified babysitter at this point. He must have had orders not to leave Michael’s side, because wherever Michael went, he went. To the vending machine, the drinking fountain, even the bathroom. He kept checking his watch, though, like his shift was about to end. He was probably thrilled to get out of there.
Time seemed to drag by, and Michael had nothing to do but sit out in the waiting room and . . . well, wait. Wait for Maria to get there. No one was even talking anymore. Tina had curled up in a corner chair a few hours ago and was fast asleep. Tess and Kyle had nodded off around 5:30. Tess was using Kyle’s shoulder as a pillow, and he didn’t seem to mind.
He felt his eyelids starting to get heavy, and as he fought to keep them open, he saw a familiar figure walk in and approach the front desk: his mom.
“Hi,” she said to one of the nurses on duty. “I’m here to see Dylan DeLuca.”
“Are you his mother?” the nurse asked.
“No, I’m his . . . um . . .” She twirled her hands around as she struggled to explain. “He just . . .”
Michael got to his feet and called, “Mom.”
She spun around, smiling tearfully when she saw him. “Hi, honey.” Opening her arms, she came to him and engulfed him in a hug, seemingly confused when he didn’t hug her back. But how could he when his hands were behind his back?
“What is . . .” She stepped back a bit, looking down at his hands. “Honey, why are you in handcuffs?”
He grunted. “Beats me.”
She looked perplexed and a little bit outraged when she turned to the guard and asked, “Excuse me, why is my son in handcuffs? Did he do something wrong?”
The guard cleared his throat and explained, “He got a little violent when some people showed up here. Pushin’ and shovin’.”
“When
Max showed up here,” Michael made sure to add in.
“Oh, goodness, he’s been through enough. Just take the handcuffs off of him, please,” his mother entreated.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the guard apologized, “but hospital policy--”
“I don’t care about hospital policy,” she cut in. “Take these handcuffs off my son.”
“Ma’am.”
She spoke sternly, pronouncing each word separately and slowly. “Take. These handcuffs. Off. My son.”
Apparently the guard was intimidated or sensed not to mess with her or something, because he motioned for Michael to turn around. Took him about two seconds to take out a key and release the handcuffs. Michael rubbed his wrists once they were off and shook out his shoulders. God, he’d been in those damn things for hours.
“Thank you,” his mother said, motioning for the guard to leave now. Once again, he complied. Then she turned back to Michael and stroked his cheek. “How are you holdin’ up, honey?” she asked.
He shrugged, sugarcoating it. “I’m alright.”
“And Tina?” She glanced over at her daughter with concern in her eyes.
“She fell asleep a few hours ago,” he explained. “Tess and Kyle have been lookin’ after her.”
“That’s nice of them,” she said.
“Yeah.” He sat back down, and when she took a seat beside him, he asked, “How did you know to come here?”
“Well, Kyle called me,” she replied. “He said you’d probably be mad at him for it.”
Michael snorted, then shook his head. “Nah, I’m glad you’re here.” There was something comforting about having an adult there, especially his mom. She could usually make him feel better.
“So how’s Dylan?” she asked. “Kyle told me everything that happened.”
Michael sighed. “Yeah, he’s . . .” He shuddered, wishing he could give her a more accurate report. “Actually, I don’t know how he’s doing. Last time I checked, he was sleeping, but . . . they won’t let me in there now ‘cause . . .” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m not family.”
She gazed at him sympathetically, reaching over to put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This must be tough on you.”
Tough? he thought. No, that didn’t really even begin to describe it. It was literally painful to not be sitting next to that hospital bed. If Dylan opened his eyes and no one was there . . . it just wouldn’t be right.
“Have you eaten anything?” his mother asked him.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Well, you should,” she suggested. “Let’s go to the cafeteria. I bet they’re serving breakfast.”
He wasn’t hungry in the slightest, but he figured he, much like the guard, didn’t have much of a choice. If his mom wanted him to do something, he’d do it. And she wanted him to eat.
They were the first ones in the cafeteria. Actually, they had to open it a half an hour early for them. Michael loaded up his plate with pancakes, eggs, and sausage, but then he barely ate any of it. A bite here, a bite there. None of it tasted very good.
“Is that all you’re gonna eat?” his mother asked as she cut her pancakes into smaller bites.
He pushed his plate aside, muttering, “I’m not hungry.”
She gave him a look. “Since when?”
He shrugged. Since getting his ass kicked by Max. Since jumping off a bridge to save Dylan. Both of the above.
“Well, I’m gonna eat up,” she said, drizzling more syrup onto her pancakes.
He watched her dazedly for a moment, then asked, “Where’s Dad?” Not that he cared.
“Oh, he, um . . .” She suddenly didn’t look very hungry, either, and she stopped drizzling. “He’s coming back tonight like we originally planned.”
“Seriously?” Michael grunted. He knew his dad had never been Maria’s biggest fan, but he couldn’t haul his ass back to Roswell for the near-death of his future grandson? Ridiculous.
“It’s probably for the best,” his mother said. “He wouldn’t bring the best energy here.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Still, it pissed him off. His dad was such a fucking loser. “Does he know everything that happened?”
“I just told him everything Kyle told me.”
“Which was . . .?” He wanted to know which, if any, parts of the story Kyle had left out.
“Well, that Max came by and took Dylan out of Tina’s room, and you looking for them and found their car crashed. And then Dylan fell off the bridge, and you jumped in after him.”
Michael nodded. More or less accurate. More or less. “Did he tell you
how Max was able to sneak inside and take Dylan in the first place?” he asked her, knowing she’d inevitably find out. It’d be easier to tell her first, Maria second.
“No,” she said quietly. “How did that happen?”
Michael sighed, embarrassed to admit his own mistake. “We were having a party. Me and Kyle and all the guys.”
His mother’s eyebrows arched.
“We were playing beer pong. I was having Tina watch Dylan, and I was playing . . . beer pong.”
“You were . . .” She trailed off as she processed all that. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” What he would have given to go back in time, shoot down the stupid party and spend the whole night playing with Dylan instead.
“Well, that’s . . . that’s not good,” she acknowledged. “But when you realized something was wrong, it doesn’t sound like you hesitated. Kyle said you were really brave.”
He grunted. “Sure.”
“Michael.” She gave him a serious look. “You jumped off a bridge to save that little boy. You risked your life for his own, and you saved him. I’m so proud of you for that.”
Proud? His mind could barely even comprehend the word. Was she just trying to make him feel better, or did she really mean what she was saying? Because it didn’t make sense to him. However he thought about it, he didn’t feel any less guilty. “Do you think Maria will be proud of me?” he asked, just to put things in perspective.
She pressed her lips together tightly, worriedly, and didn’t say anything. He nodded. Yep, that look pretty much summed it up.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Maria knew she must have looked like a freak show when she got to the hospital. The girls in the band had graciously driven her back to Roswell from Las Vegas. It had been an all-night drive. Eleven hours. Eleven hours of anxiety and uncertainty. Eleven hours of not knowing if Dylan was okay or how badly he was hurt. Eleven hours of hoping for the best but fearing the worst.
She’d tried to call Michael numerous times, but he must not have had his phone with him at all. So she just drove, or rather Leah drove, and she sat in the passenger’s seat, all coiled up with worry, trying to muster up some thanks for the girls she had begun to call friends as they promised her that everything would be alright.
When she crashed through those hospital doors, she felt desperate to see her son. There were two nurses at the reception station pouring over someone’s charts. They looked just about as stressed as she was, as though the evening shift had been a tough one on them. But Maria was too worked up to be polite or patient, so she blurted out, “Dylan Deluca. Which room is he in?”
One of the nurse’s took the chart, and the other sat down at the computer. “Dylan DeLuca,” she echoed. “And who are you?”
Wasn’t it obvious? Maybe not. Maybe they thought she was an older sister or something. “I’m his mom,” she replied.
It took a minute too long for the nurse to get fully focused and find out which room he was in, then a minute or two more to actually get back there. Maria wanted to walk fast, but the nurse escorted her at a less than brisk pace. Plus, the room was at the end of the hallway, almost like a mirage that never seemed to get any closer.
“Here you go,” she said, motioning towards a door with a security guard out front.
“Who’s this?” he asked.
“She’s his mother,” the nurse explained.
“Oh. Of course.” The guard stepped aside, opening the door for her, and Maria stepped past him, confused. She wasn’t about to ask questions, though. There was sure as hell no harm in a little extra security.
He left the door open but didn’t come in with her. Which was good, because Maria didn’t want anyone else around. Except for maybe Michael, but he wasn’t there. There was a chair next to the hospital bed, though, as if he’d been sitting there a while. Dylan was curled up, halfway on his back, halfway on his side, and he was sucking his thumb.
Oh, thank God, Maria immediately thought. It was so much less frightening than she’d pictured. No casts, no bruises, no gigantic gashes. Just a small little cut on his forehead, swollen and bandaged and barely visible.
“Oh, Dylan . . .” She bent down over him and kissed his head, so thankful he seemed to be alright. She was about to sit down in the chair when he started to stir, and she wanted to be closer, so she sat down on the edge of the bed instead.
Slowly, he opened his eyes. He had lots of crusty, gunky pieces of goo in the corners, like he’d been sleeping for a while. “Mommy?” he managed hoarsely.
“Hey, baby.” She smiled at him happily. Because she was happy. She was happy he was okay.
“You home?” he asked, his voice squeaky.
“Yeah, I’m home.” She wished now she’d never left. “I’m here now.”
He smiled, too, apparently glad to hear that. “Where Daddy?” he asked.
“I don’t . . .” She looked around, expecting him to come down the hall at any minute. “I’m not sure.”
“Where we go?” he whimpered.
“We . . .” She tried to keep her tone upbeat and cheerful so as not to alarm him . “. . . are at the hospital. Because you had an accident. You fell.”
He frowned, seeming to have no idea what she was talking about. “I did?”
“Yeah.” She frowned, too. He didn’t remember? It must have been pretty bad for him to end up here. Why would he not remember that?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Unable to suppress a yawn, Michael traipsed down the hall with his mother. He felt like a zombie, and he probably looked like one, too.
“Tired, huh?” his mom surmised.
“Yeah. I didn’t sleep last night.”
She put her arm around his waist, pulling him to her side as they walked along. “You need to eat and sleep and take care of yourself, Michael.”
“No, I just wanna take care of Dylan. Except I can’t do that, ‘cause they won’t let me anywhere near him.”
“Oh, honey . . .” She patted his back supportively. “I know it must be frustrating.”
Frustrating didn’t even begin to cover it, but it was good enough. “I’m glad you’re here, Mom,” he told her appreciatively. “And I’m glad Dad’s not.”
She smiled knowingly, sadly, as they turned the corner for Dylan’s room.
Something wasn’t right. “Where’s the guard?” Michael asked, growing alarmed when he noticed the door was open. Had Max come back? He hustled forward, stopping in the doorway when he saw just who was in that room: the one person no one would object to being there. Maria.
“Daddy!” Dylan exclaimed when he saw him.
He’s awake? Michael’s heart leapt with joy. It was so good to see that same sparkle in his eyes that was always there, hear that same giddiness in his voice.
Maria looked understandably less giddy. But not furious at him. Not yet.
“Daddy!” Dylan exclaimed again, trying to crawl out of bed.
“Whoa, hold on a minute.” Maria had to gently push him back down.
Michael shuffled into the room, so relieved. Dylan was going to be fine. He knew that now. “Hey, buddy,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
“Hi, Daddy.”
He almost lost it. That word . . .
Daddy . . . he almost felt like he didn’t deserve it anymore, but after Max had gone to such crazy lengths to try to stake a claim on it, he would never give it up. Ever.
“I’m so glad you’re awake,” he said, stepping around to the side of the bed Maria wasn’t on. He bent down and kissed the top of Dylan’s head, and for some reason, that made Dylan laugh.
His mom followed him into the room, stopping first to give Maria a hug. “How are you?” she asked.
“Fine,” Maria replied softly. “Better now.”
“Good.” His mom then turned her attention to Dylan, giving his little foot a squeeze. “And how are you, Dylan?”
“I’m good,” he proclaimed.
“Yeah, looks like. We’re all really happy to see that.”
Really happy, Michael thought, holding the little guy’s hand.
You have no idea.
“I fell,” Dylan blurted.
Michael tensed, and Maria gave him a look.
“That’s . . . what I heard,” his mother continued on, glancing at him cautiously. But then she put that smile back on her face and kept it simple for Dylan. “Well, we’re all really glad you’re gonna be okay.”
“Yep.” He nodded his head affirmatively. Damn, kids were resilient. He’d just fallen off a bridge, and he didn’t even seem scared.
Michael looked at Maria again. She looked as tired as he felt, and equally as relieved. “I’m glad you’re here now,” he told her. He’d hated having Dylan’s room all locked up. Now that she was here, they couldn’t keep him away.
“We drove all night,” she revealed. “Had to. It sounded . . .” She trailed off, apparently not wanting to have this conversation in front of Dylan. And neither did he.
“I’m gonna go check on Tina,” Michael’s mother said, giving Maria one more quick hug before she headed out of the room. “I’ll be back.”
“Thanks,” Maria said softly. And then, when it was just the three of them, an awkward silence took over. Michael was so unused to it, but . . . he didn’t know what to say.
Luckily, it didn’t last too long, because one of the nurse’s poked her head into the room and exclaimed, “Well, well, well, look who’s awake!”
Dylan giggled, clapped his hands, and yipped, “Yay!”
Michael laughed a little, too. Yay for being awake? Yeah, he could get on board with that.
“How do you feel?” the nurse asked him.
“Good,” he replied. “I gotta go potty.”
“Well, you’re hooked up to all sorts of machines here, mister. So let me unhook you, and you can go potty, and then the doctor’s gonna come in and have a look at you, make sure you’re feeling as perky as you look. Okay?”
Apparently he didn’t like the doctor idea, because he just mumbled, “Okay,” unenthusiastically.
“Yeah, that—that sounds good,” Maria agreed, standing up. She gave Michael a questioning look and motioned out toward the hallway. “Can I . . . can I talk to you?”
Oh, here we go, he thought anxiously. He’d known this was coming. Couldn’t put it off forever.
He messed up Dylan’s hair, eliciting one more giggle, then followed Maria out into the hallway while the nurse made a big entertaining show out of unhooking Dylan from all the medical equipment he was attached to.
Maria shut the door once they were out, and for a second, he wondered if she was about to yell at him. But when she spoke, her voice was low, barely above a murmur. “What exactly happened tonight?” she asked.
He exhaled heavily, wishing there were some way to explain it that wouldn’t freak her out so much. “He fell,” he repeated.
“Off of what?”
He fell silent. He didn’t really want to say.
“Because when you said that, I was picturing, like, a cast or something,” she said. “A broken bone. Like he fell down the stairs or out of a tree.”
He didn’t fall out of a tree, Michael thought. That would have been easier.
“What happened?” she demanded, her voice growing louder now, more insistent.
He stood there like an idiot for a few more seconds, stuffing his hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet. And then he said the one word he knew would make the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end: “Max.”
She fell silent then, too, but not the stupid kind of silent; the shocked kind. Finally, she gasped, “What?”
“Max happened,” he reiterated. “He got high and he . . .” Michael swallowed hard, not sure he’d be able to keep going. “He came over to our house, and he . . . he took him.”
“I don’t understand,” she fretted. “What do you mean he took him? How could he--”
“Right out of our house, Maria. He took him,” Michael cut in. “He went upstairs and he took him, and before I realized it, it was too late, ‘cause he was drivin’ off with him.”
Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Oh my god,” she managed.
“So I drove off lookin’ for ‘em, and . . . I found them. He crashed the car on that bridge heading out of town.”
“On that . . .” Suddenly, her eyes widened in absolute horror, and it seemed to click in her mind. Like it just suddenly came together, and she got it. “That bridge?” she croaked out, tears immediately pooling in her eyes. “Michael . . .”
Tears came to his eyes, too, as he thought about it. It felt like the scene out of a movie, the kind that would be entertaining to an audience but not so fun to actually live through. And he and Dylan
had lived through it. “I tried to get him in the truck, but . . . Max wouldn’t let up, and we—we were fighting and—and Dylan just got out and . . .” He felt his jaw start to shake as he pictured it over and over again in his head. “He just slipped.”
Maria clasped her hand over her mouth as tears came pouring from her eyes. She looked like she was in disbelief as she tried to process it. “Oh my
god!” she cried suddenly. “Are you telling me he fell off a . . . a
bridge? He fell off a bridge, Michael?”
“Yeah.” He had to say, this was one conversation he’d never envisioned the two of them having.
She shook her head wordlessly, as though she didn’t want to accept that. “He can’t swim,” she whimpered.
No, he thought sullenly,
he sure can’t. “I jumped in after him,” he revealed, “and Max called 911. But I couldn’t find him at first. But I finally did, and I got him out, and I did CPR. And then he started breathing again--”
“Again?”
“Yes, and then they brought him here.”
“He wasn’t breathing?”
He shook his head sadly. “No.” He would never forget what it felt like to put his hands on Dylan’s chest and start an incorrect version of CPR. Never.
“Oh my . . . oh my god, I . . .” she sputtered, sinking to the floor. She covered her face with her hands and began to openly weep, letting it all out. “Oh god. Oh,
god.”
“But he’s gonna be okay,” Michael assured her. “The doctor said he’ll be fine, and you saw him just now. He’s doin’ good.”
That seemed to be only a marginal comfort to her as she grappled with all this news. “But I don’t understand. How could he . . . I mean, how could Max just--”
“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know how anyone could kidnap their own son.”
“No, I mean . . .” She threw her hands down at her sides, looking frustrated that it was taking her so much effort to get the words out. “How
could he? Like, how could he sneak into our house and snatch Dylan up without you even noticing? I thought you were watching him.”
“I was.” He felt like a liar right after he said the words. “I mean, I . . .”
Oh, shit. He couldn’t skirt around it any longer. He had to tell her the truth. “I was watching him, but then I had him go upstairs with Tina for a while. And she was watching him.”
“What?” she spat. “Why?”
“Because I . . .” He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing them open so he could look right at her when he confessed how royally he’d fucked things up. “I was downstairs with Kyle and some of the guys from school.”
“The guys,” she echoed suspiciously.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Oh, please don’t hate me, he begged internally, literally feeling his heart break as he said his next words. “We were having a party.”
Her questioning gaze turned into a full-on glare, and she got back to her feet, narrowing her eyes at him accusatorily. “
What?” she ground out.
“I’m so sorry, Maria.” It wasn’t enough.
“You were having a party while my son was getting kidnapped?”
Oh god, when she put it like that, it sounded even worse. “I didn’t think--”
“He could’ve
died, Michael!”
“I know!”
“Do you even care?”
“What are you—of course I care!” he spat. “I love Dylan!”
“Yeah, well, you have a funny way of showing it.” The anger was practically emanating off her as she turned her back on him and twisted the knob on the door again.
“Maria . . .” He reached out and touched her arm.
She shook it away from his grasp, glaring at him over her shoulder. “Just leave us alone,” she seethed. Her tone left no room for argument, or second chances.
His shoulders slumped, and he gave in, figuring he owed her some space. Right now, besides Max, he was probably the last person she wanted to see.
He could give her space. He could give her that. Yeah, he could go back out into that waiting room and wait some more, until she was ready to talk to him again, until she’d had time to calm down and realized he’d just made a huge mistake.
Still . . . it killed him to let her walk back in that room alone, and killed him even more when she shut the door in his face to keep him out.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
When Isabel headed downstairs to make breakfast—or brunch, actually—the house felt empty. It always
sort of felt empty since it was so big and since so few people lived in it. But lately, since Max had been there, it hadn’t been quite so quiet.
She looked out the kitchen window, and there was her brother, sitting out on the sidewalk, a duffle bag and box on either side of him. He looked contemplative and confused, and even a little bit afraid. Like a little boy running away from home.
Forgetting about breakfast, she slipped on a pair of flip-flop sandals and went outside with her brother, sensing that she wouldn’t have many more opportunities to do so. “Are you leaving?” she asked, sitting down beside him.
He nodded. “It’s for the best.”
She wasn’t about to argue that point; it probably was. For Dylan and Michael and Maria. Maybe even for Liz. And definitely for Max himself. This town had been toxic to him. “Where are you gonna go?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Just away,” he replied vaguely. “I gotta get some help, figure things out.”
“Like rehab?” she guessed. It was probably a good idea.
“Yeah, maybe,” he mumbled. “I’m pretty sick, Isabel. You know, it’s not just an addiction anymore; it’s like a disease.” He sighed, his head drooping. “I don’t expect you to be able to understand, but . . .”
“No, I understand,” she assured him.
“Really?”
“Uh, craving something that’s harmful to you? Hello, I dated Michael Guerin.”
He chuckled a bit, and for the briefest of seconds, a smile appeared. But then it was gone. “He’s the one who saved Dylan,” he admitted. “Not me.”
Isabel frowned. It was weird to hear Max sound . . . jealous.
“I should’ve,” he practically whispered. “But I didn’t even jump in there after him. My son was drowning, and I just stood there and called 911.”
“Max . . .” She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. “That was important, too.”
“No, I should’ve jumped in,” he argued. “I should’ve never . . . I never should’ve done any of it in the first place, Isabel. I’m so fucked up.”
She rubbed his shoulder sympathetically, unable to disagree. Last night, as horrible as it had been for everyone involved, had at least been a wake-up call. Maybe it was exactly what Max had needed for years now.
“That’s why I gotta go,” he said, looking down the empty street.
She nodded in agreement, though part of her did hate the thought of no longer having him around. He wasn’t just her brother; he was her confidante, her companion. Nowadays, with friends in short supply, he was one of the only people she felt like she could talk to. But he had to do what was best for him, and she wasn’t about to hold him back. Besides, she had Jesse and Courtney and Eric to hang out with all summer. And come August, it was Princeton time.
“Where’s Mom?” he asked suddenly.
“Oh, she, um . . . she took two gigantic sleeping pills late last night. It was the only way she could nod off. I can go wake her up, though, if you want.”
He shook his head. “Nah, don’t bother. I don’t wanna deal with some sappy goodbye.”
“Hmm.” She supposed she could understand that. Sometimes a clean break was just easier. “I guess that means you’re not saying goodbye to Liz then.”
“I already did,” he told her. “I called her last night.” A look of pain flashed onto his face for a few seconds, and she wondered what he was thinking about, what he was feeling. Did he love her? Would he miss her? Would he wonder about the kid they were having together and she was raising alone?
“Do you want me to keep you updated on how she’s doing?” Isabel offered. “Because I can. Or . . .” She frowned. “Or are you not even gonna talk to me after you leave?”
“I’ll call you once in a while,” he promised. “But not right away. I just need . . .” He labored over his sentence, as if he couldn’t find the right word. But when he did, he winced as he said it, and his voice wavered. “. . . help.”
I’m sorry I can’t help you, Max, she thought, knowing she couldn’t even help herself.
I’m sorry I probably made things worse.
“Tell Mom goodbye for me,” he said, getting to his feet as a yellow taxi rounded the corner. “And tell her I’m sorry.”
She stood as well, brushing the back of her shorts off, and allowed herself to get a little teary-eyed as he gathered up his things. Her brother was a mess, but he was still her brother. These past few weeks had been the most quality time she’d spent with him since she’d been four years old and too young to remember much. Despite all his wrong-doings and his plethora of problems, she really would miss him, even if no one else would.
“Take care of yourself, Max,” she said, giving him a quick hug.
He hugged her back, only letting go when the taxi came to a stop right in front of them. “Take care of
yourself, little sister,” he said, smiling weakly as he opened the back door and tossed his things into the car.
She took a few steps back, folding her arms over her chest, watching as he got in and shut the door. He gave her one last look and managed a wave, and she managed one back. It wasn’t until the taxi drove off down the street and he disappeared from sight that she really let herself cry. Not loudly, not heavily, but just enough to feel it.
He was gone, a quiet exit for an otherwise dramatic visit. And now her long-lost brother was lost again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Watching Dylan sleep in the hospital, Maria was reminded of what it had been like to watch him sleep in the little crib next to
her hospital bed, right after he’d been born. He’d been so small, even though she’d carried him to full term. His legs and arms had been so pudgy and soft. She remembered not being able to fall asleep herself, because she didn’t want to stop watching him, didn’t want to take her eyes off of him for even a second. Sort of like right now.
Except this was different. He wasn’t as small anymore, but he was still so little and so young. Way too young to have dealt with everything he’d gone through last night. He hadn’t said one word about it to her, which, in a way, had her concerned.
There was a quick knock on the door, and right as she glanced over her shoulder, the doctor came in. Dr. Carl, as he’d told Dylan to call him. Apparently his last name was too hard to pronounce.
“Tired himself out again, did he?” the doctor remarked.
“Yeah, he just fell asleep,” she said, stroking her son’s hair off his forehead. “But we were playing games and telling jokes, and he was just talking my ear off.”
The doctor smiled. “Well, that’s a good thing,” he said. “Listen, Maria, your son’s doing well. I don’t see any need to keep him here another night, so I’ll draw up the paperwork, have you sign a few forms, and we’ll send him on home with you. How’s that sound?”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “That sounds great.”
“Alright. I’ll get that goin’ for you.”
Before he could leave, she stopped him. “Um, doctor?”
He spun back around. “Yes?”
She looked at Dylan again, wondering what he was dreaming about, wondering if it was a nightmare. “He hasn’t said anything about what happened,” she revealed. “Actually, I don’t really think he remembers any of it. Is that—is that something I should be concerned about, or . . .”
“Oh, no, not at all,” the doctor assured her. “All of Dylan’s scans and tests have come back fine. He’s not suffering memory loss. More like . . . selective forgetting.”
She made a face. “So . . . he doesn’t remember what happened because he doesn’t
want to remember?”
“In a nutshell,” Dr. Carl confirmed. “It’s not uncommon for a patient, particularly one as young as Dylan, to block out a traumatic experience, erase it from his mind.”
A shiver raced up Maria’s spin. A
traumatic experience. Hell, it traumatized her just thinking about it. No wonder Dylan didn’t want to remember.
“It’s not always a bad thing,” the doctor noted. “Usually, it’s for the best.”
She nodded in agreement, and instead of being concerned about it, now she felt grateful. If Dylan never had to remember last night for the rest of his life . . . that was fine by her. She could tell him he tripped and fell off the stairs. Bumped his head a little bit and that’s why he didn’t remember. If the memories started coming back, then she would be honest with him about it, but until then, there was no need to tell him about it.
“Thank you,” she told the doctor.
“Of course.” He smiled politely, then backed out of the room, shutting the door on his way out.
Maria sighed, raking her hands through her hair. She was exhausted, but she couldn’t imagine sleep would be a possibility tonight. Her mind was racing, and it would race well into the a.m.
“I love you, Dylan,” she whispered, holding her son’s hand. She felt incredibly selfish for ever leaving him, agreeing to go on that stupid little mini-tour. It hadn’t been worth it. She loved music, loved singing, but she loved her son so much more. If she had been here to take care of him, none of this would have happened. She wouldn’t have let it happen. She wouldn’t have let Michael have some stupid party . . .
It upset her to think about it, so she tried to just keep thinking about Dylan instead.
Merely a minute after the doctor had left, the door to the room opened again. She groaned, thinking it was Michael, but when she looked over her shoulder, she was surprised to find his sister standing there instead.
“Tina. Hey,” she greeted. “I didn’t know you were still here.” It was a long time for a little girl to spend in a hospital.
“My mom’s taking me home,” she explained. “She said I could stop in and see you, though. You and . . .” Her bottom lip quivered as she looked at Dylan. “Is he gonna be alright?” she whimpered.
“Yeah,” Maria assured her quickly. “He’s just sleeping right now, but you should’ve seen him ten minutes ago. Same old Dylan.”
Tina exhaled heavily. “Thank God,” she said, approaching the bed. “I was so worried.”
“I know. You really care about him.”
“He’s like a little brother,” Tina said, smiling. “Or nephew or . . . whatever.”
“Yeah. He really looks up to you.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Tina swallowed hard, suddenly looking like she was holding back tears. “Maria, I’m really sorry,” she choked out apologetically. “It’s all my fault.”
“What? No, it’s not,” Maria reassured her.
“No, it is,” Tina insisted as she cried. “I was supposed to be watching him, but I just left him in my room when Todd called, and I went into the bathroom to talk. And while I was in there, that Max guy just . . .” She trailed off, shrugging helplessly.
“Tina, this is
not your fault,” Maria told her. “Not one part of it. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But if I hadn’t been talking to Todd--” she protested.
“Tina.” Maria paused. She couldn’t very well explain to this little girl that her brother was the only person, besides Max, she blamed for this. She couldn’t sit there and tell her that it was his fault, not hers, because she would defend him at all costs, make excuses for him.
“I really appreciate you saying you’re sorry,” Maria told her. “But you don’t need to be.”
Tina wiped her nose with the back of her hand, nodding reluctantly, and Maria could tell she didn’t really buy that. She still felt guilty, and she still felt like it was her fault, and she probably would for a long time.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There was a problem with the TV in the waiting room: It didn’t change channels. So that meant that Michael was stuck watching a
Real Housewives marathon all day while he sat out there. He tried halfheartedly to pay attention, if only because it helped pass the time.
When he could no longer take it, he grabbed a magazine instead. Some trashy tabloid with a photo of one of the Kardashian’s asses on the front. But even that couldn’t hold his interest.
Tossing the magazine aside, he contemplated going to the cafeteria, or at least the vending machine. He had promised his mom before she left that he’d eat something. And he’d promised Kyle he would get some sleep. But he’d promised himself he’d just keep waiting. As long as he had to.
His stomach started to rumble, though, and just as he was about to resign himself to a vending machine excursion, the worst thing possible happened. Well, maybe the second-worst thing. Max would’ve been the worst.
Amy DeLuca walked in.
Oh, crap.
“Hi,” she said to the nurse at the reception desk. “I’m here to see Dylan DeLuca. I’m his grandmother.”
“Oh, sure,” the nurse responded politely. “Let me check and see what room he’s in.”
Michael rolled his eyes and got up. His bones actually creaked because he’d been sitting out there so long. “Amy!” he called.
She whirled around, looking none-too-pleased when she saw him. “Michael,” she bit out.
He shuffled towards her, questioning, “Who called you?”
She grunted. “Well, you sure as hell didn’t. I had to find out from Jim, who found out from Kyle.” She huffed, “You know, I would like to think that you
might have the decency to call and let me know my grandson almost drowned, but I guess that’s expecting too much out of you.”
He stared at her in disbelief. This woman was so out of touch with reality. Did she seriously not understand that this was exactly why he
hadn’t called? She only made things worse. But still . . . she had a point, and he knew it. Whether he liked it or not, she was Dylan’s family. She deserved to know when something happened to him. “I was gonna call,” he lied.
“Next month?”
He groaned in frustration. “I screwed up.”
“You’re damn right you did. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go see my grandson.” She pushed past him, heading down the hallway on an apparent hunch since she never had gotten Dylan’s room number from the nurse. Of course Michael followed her, like a storm chaser following a tornado. That was basically what she was. She was going to walk into that room and cause chaos.
“Does Maria know you’re here?” he asked.
“Of course,” she replied, much to his surprise. “I already spoke with her. She knows I’m here to take her home.”
Michael made a face and stepped in front of her to halt her forward progress. “Wait.” That just didn’t
sound right. “What’re you talking about?”
“Oh, she didn’t tell you?” Amy smirked, almost victoriously. “She and Dylan are coming home tonight. To their
real home.”
“They already have a real home,” he pointed out.
“Yes, they do,” she agreed. “With me.” Sidestepping him, she left him standing there, slack-jawed, trying to wrap his brain around it. Since when did Maria seek refuge
with her mom? Away from her, sure, but rarely ever with her. Only when she was desperate. Her mom aggravated her and stressed her out. He couldn’t believe she’d agreed to this, and part of him felt the need to try to protect her from it.
“No,” he decided, scurrying after Amy. “No, I’m not gonna let you do that.”
Amy stopped at the end of the hall, looking first to the left, then to the right, in the direction of Dylan’s room. “This way?” she guessed.
“Listen, Amy, if you think for one second . . .” He wasn’t able to finish his threat, though, because out from the room came Dylan, giggling gleefully as he rode along in a wheelchair a nurse was pushing. When he saw Amy, he exclaimed, “Gramma!” and tried to hop out of the chair while it was moving. The nurse had to hold him down.
“Hi, sweetie!” Amy cooed, rushing towards him. She knelt down in front of the chair, hugged him, and immediately set in telling him how much she loved him and missed him lately.
“Michael?”
He tore his eyes away from them when he heard Maria’s voice. She came out of the room and down the hall, ignoring her mom as she passed by and stopped in front of him. “What are you still doing here?” she demanded, her voice a whisper.
“Waiting,” he replied simply. Now he was starting to wonder what he’d been waiting for.
She let out a heavy sigh, dragged her fingers through her hair, and reminded him, “I told you to leave us alone.”
“And I did.”
“No, I meant . . .” She trailed off, giving him an impatient look.
Oh. Great. His worst fear was becoming a reality. She wanted to be left alone for a while, not just a day. Amy wasn’t completely full of shit after all. She really was taking Maria and Dylan home with her, and Maria really was okay with that.
“Are you serious?” he spat. “I can’t even be around you?”
“Michael . . .”
“Do you know they wouldn’t even let me see Dylan until you got here? ‘cause I wasn’t
family.” He snorted angrily. “And now you won’t let me see him, either.”
“Any reason why I should?” she challenged.
“I just thought . . .” He trailed off, watching helplessly as Amy tickled Dylan, getting him to laugh so hard he started kicking his feet with excitement. “I thought you’d still at least come home with me so he could sleep in his own bed and—and feel . . . normal.”
She glared at him accusatorily. “Things aren’t normal, Michael.”
No. They weren’t. He knew that. But he wanted them to be.
Maria turned around and said, “Mom? I’m ready to go.”
Amy smiled with satisfaction. “Me, too.”
“Let’s head out then,” the nurse suggested, wheeling Dylan forward. Maria sulked out after them, and Amy brought up the rear.
“Now you know how it feels,” she murmured to Michael as she sauntered past.
His whole body tightened as he stood there and watched them go. He’d helped Maria make an exit from her mom’s house once. Very dramatic. Very much like this. Except this was worse. Because he needed her and Dylan more than Amy did. Without them, Amy was sad; but without them,
he was lost.
TBC . . .
-April