A Word Away

-CAROL-

Jane says I only have today.

It’s rare my sister ever sets an ultimatum. If she does, she really means it. Today’s my only chance to patch up what I broke years ago.

I grip the steering wheel like it’s a balloon weight to keep me from floating away.

If I don’t get to that hospital, I might lose all contact with the only family I have left: my sister, her husband, and now my newborn niece.

Finally, the car in front of me moves. I press the gas, and I’m off.

I’ve always had trouble keeping my mouth shut. Sometimes, it’s like it’s got its own arms and legs and likes running away before I can catch up. Maybe it’s the Texan in me.

But I’ve seen what secrets do to people. Jane and my parents, for instance. Daddy never told her he loved her, and Momma didn’t say she missed him when he went away. Guess what happened? They didn’t last twenty years.

That will never happen to me, I told myself years ago. No one will be guessing what I feel. They’ll know.

Daddy always told us girls that words are like toothpaste: Easy to get too much out. Impossible to put back in.

I guess I’m like that toothpaste. Jane was only a month pregnant when I went up to her and told her what I thought. “You’re in your twenties, Jane,” I said, “You and Mike are in no fit place to have kids. You should be working and waiting till you’re ready.”

She’s never talked to me since. I’ve never forgiven myself, and I’ve never known what to say.

If I don’t make it there in time, I’ll be going back to my cold apartment alone.

I need to say the right thing today or I will lose my sister. And then I’ll be stuck with a plate full of toothpaste I can never take back.

-JACK-

The doctor says my father has one day left.

I try to picture it, my dad hooked up to a life support machine, heart beating quiet and low. Maybe he’s holding on by a thread—or maybe I’m already too late.

I shake the thought off uneasily.

The traffic is so slow today I wonder how we’re not all snails stuck on a claustrophobic race track.

Nothing seems like how it should be today. I feel like my soul's been set in my body wrong—upside down or something like that.

I promised my dad once that I’d be there. I’d be there right away if something happened to him.

Who am I kidding? What kind of lawyer makes a promise he can’t keep? Sure I was here now, but I’d said I’d be there before.

I could argue any case, whether it be for the guilty or the innocent, and I’d win. Yet I could never find a single sentence for my own father.

My dad never thought I should go into law. With how bad my grades were during high school, I don’t think him or Mom ever thought I’d graduate.

“Try something simpler, Jack,” he’d say. “Don’t aim too high. I don’t want you getting disappointed.”

I was so angry I cut him off entirely.

Funny, isn’t it, how small that stuff seems once you realize death exists?

Now he’s in a coma, the Doctor's giving him a day to live, and I might not get to say goodbye.

I hate myself sometimes for moving away. But what did I have to stay for? If I ever visited, he’d forget who I was and say something like, “I want Jack. Where’s my son?” Early onset dementia put out our relationship like a flame in the wind.

Still, I want to say the right thing today. I want to see my dad’s face light up, if he’s even awake. I want him to know he’s going to heaven and that I’ll see him again soon.

I want to say the right thing. But now, all the words in my vocabulary have run off like my dad’s rabbits.

I take a sharp turn into the hospital parking lot. Well, here goes.

I need to say the right thing today, or I’ll never forgive myself.

-CAROL-

I pull the bright pink gift bag out of the passenger side door. Hello Baby Girl, it says in obnoxiously yellow words.

Trying to come up with the perfect explanation that doesn’t make me sound like a try hard, I shift the weight of the gift bag. ‘I’m sorry’ feels like too little effort. But then again, maybe that’s what I need. I’m too extravagant to trust myself with a speech unscripted.

Suddenly, it occurs to me, a little voice whispering in my ear: Leave the bag outside of the door.

Of course! Why hadn’t I thought of this before? I could leave the bag on the floor, and run away before anyone sees me.

The hospital door automatically opens, and I step in. After checking in with the lady at the front desk, I make my way to the elevator doors, feeling like a sinner approaching to repent. The elevator takes a few minutes to open, and when it does, I rush inside.

A middle aged man steps in, too. He’s in a black tux, with short, dark, fuzz hair. He’s holding a bouquet of baby’s breath flowers.

“Which floor?” I ask, since I’m standing right by the buttons.

“Three.”

“Same.” I punch the number and we both wait as the elevator begins to rise. He fidgets, checking his watch every now and then. Then his eyes fall on my bag. “Congrats,” he says.

I blink, then remember the bag. “Oh, thanks, but it ain’t mine. It’s my sister’s. I just got a few necessities and such and I hope it’ll be some use to her, but we’ll see. I’m just gonna leave it outside the door because I don’t really want to do any talking, if you get what I mean. Aren’t exactly on friendly terms, you know?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Oh, my mouth ran away again, didn’t it? “Well, just congrats all the same.” He bites his lip and goes quiet. “It’s a, uh, good thing to be coming to the hospital for.”

I smile. “Sure is. See if I were married, I’d be here a lot more often for that reason. I wanted a lot o’ kids, you know. But Prince Charming never did turn up, but what can you do?” I’ve never forgiven Jane for getting married before me. Mike came outta the blue and swept her off her feet. Here I was begging for a husband while Jane was never looking for one in the first place. For crying out loud, what are you going on about? “I, uh…. what are you here for?”

“My dad.”

“Oh. Is he alright…?”

“I don’t know yet,” he replies, rubbing his jaw and looking away.

Well then… “I’m so sorry. I wish you the best. I can’t even imagine how terrible you must feel. You seem very composed, though, so good for you.” Toothpaste, Carol. Don’t spill it all out.

The elevator doors open, and we step out. “Thank you,” he says, fidgeting with his jacket. “Good luck with your niece.”

I nod. “Thanks. You too.”

After the door closes, I feel like my lungs aren’t being squeezed so tight. I hope he doesn’t think I was impertinent. “Why can’t you ever be normal? Show up to things without making it about you?” Jane once asked me. I wish I could say why.

It isn’t long before I reach room 304. I spin the bag in my hands and stare up at it.

Set the bag down and leave it.

I want to go inside…

Set it down. You’ll mess it up anyway.

I bite my lip, and slowly set the bag down, feeling a sudden cloud of disappointment hover over my vision. I’m about to walk away when I hear a cry—small, new, and my heart melts like ice cream in the sun. I wanted to see that baby so bad. But all I ever did was mess things up for my sister and myself.

-JACK-

As the woman waves her bag at me and walks away, I have to hold back a smile. It was nearly impossible to do it in there, keep a straight face while she was chatting about kids and family and nieces.

You seem very composed, she’d said.

Good. I certainly didn’t feel it.

She was pretty for sure, but good gracious did she have a lot to say. But just as the smile twitched at the corner of my lips, I stopped myself. My father was here somewhere. Dying.

I walked down the hall to room 101.

As I open it, my breath catches. He’s hooked up to some wires and tubes, but other than that, he still looks like my dad. Carved features, roman nose, greying hair, with some blonde poking out like stubborn weeds in a hay field. His eyes are closed, and if it weren’t for the steady sound of the machines pulling me into reality, I might think he was only napping.

I don’t think I know how to say the right thing.

I come up to the side of his bed, and close my hand around his. His hand is cold, but not lifeless.

Say the right words. Say something. Anything.

I open my mouth, then close it again. Say something.

All the prayers and speeches I’d prepared scatter like ash in the wind.

“I’m here, Dad,” I whisper. His hand flinches, then closes over mine.

-CAROL-

I’m walking down the hall to grab a coffee from the hospital cafeteria. My mind is still reeling like a fishing line. My arms are like jelly with the memory of that perfect little baby that was carried in them. They feel sort of useless now without my niece bundled up like a little cocoon giving them something to do.

So, I went into that room. All my good sense and repeated warnings weren’t enough to hold me back. I still remember what I said, too—standing there by the door while Jane held the baby, looking at me like she didn’t quite know what to do with me.

I said I was sorry. I said I didn’t mean half of what I said before, and the other half came out wrong, and I probably shouldn’t be trusted to talk when it matters, but I didn’t want to stay out in the hall like a coward either.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t neat. It wasn’t what I practiced.

But Jane says I have another chance; with my niece, with my brother-in-law, and with her. I shudder at the thought that I might not have gone in at all. What a cold day that would’ve looked like! Now not only am I getting coffee for myself, I’m ordering food for my sister and her family.

Someone brushes past me, and I flinch. I'd forgotten where I was. It’s the man from the elevator, still in that smart tux, but he seems a little less bent.

“Hey!” I call. He stops and turns.

He smiles, small yet more sincere than earlier today.

“How’d it go with your father?”

He rubs the back of his neck and walks closer. “It went well, actually.”

“Is he…?”

“Doc says it’s a miracle. I showed up and now my dad’s stabilized a little. Got a few more days now,” he answered. “It isn’t much, but he’s awake.” We stand in silence, and for the first time I don’t know what to say. “What about you?” he says finally. “How’d things go with the baby?”

I grin. “Everything is perfect right now, actually. I’m going to get food for my sister and her husband and a coffee for me. I actually went in instead of leaving the gift bag out and I’m so glad I did.”

He smiles. “Good for you. I’m Jack, by the way. Jack Brown.” He reaches out a hand, and I shake it.

“Carol Cartwright,” I reply. Then getting bold, “Hey, would you like to go get a coffee?” He hesitates. “I promise I won’t talk your ear off, if I can help it,” I add quickly.

He laughs. “Sure, I’d love to.”

We walk towards the cafeteria together.