David Bell - Never Come Back

“Wait,” I said as we moved. “Is he okay? Is he even—?”

“He’s alive,” Paul said. “They’re treating him right now.”

“Have you seen him?”

“Not yet. But the nurse came out and updated me. She said he’s unconscious but stable. That was all she said.”

“What happened? What did he do?”

“It’s not entirely clear,” Paul said. “What I know is that a nurse went into Ronnie’s room late this morning, after you left Dover Community, and found him unresponsive. Frank Allison had arrived at the hospital, I guess, and started talking to one of the detectives. They went off somewhere, and they were gone for forty minutes or so. No one was allowed in Ronnie’s room. When the nurse went in, his breathing was shallow. He showed all the signs of having suffered an overdose. They think it’s possible he’s been hiding his pills for the last few days, maybe longer. Not swallowing them when the nurse brings the medication around.”

“Don’t they check that?” I asked.

“I’m sure they try,” Paul said. “But the place is understaffed. Every nurse and every aide looks dead on their feet. Ronnie’s smart enough to sneak something past them.”

“And he just confessed,” I said. “Do you think it’s because he feels guilty? Hell, it makes him look guilty. Doesn’t it?”

Paul simply reached out to me, his hand shaking, and took my hand in his. He didn’t say anything else. We sat like that for a while. My tears had stopped, at least for the moment. Paul squeezed my hand. His skin felt cold, clammy.

“I should have seen this coming,” he said. “I should have known.”

“We both should have, I guess.”

“No, no,” he said. He squeezed my hand a little tighter. “Earlier this morning, at the hospital, I wanted to talk to the police. Remember?”

“Did you want to warn them about this?” I asked. “Ronnie’s never done or talked about anything like this. Has he?”

“No, of course not.”

He didn’t say anything else. He stared straight ahead, his hand still in mine. A nurse came out carrying a clipboard, and my expectations rose. But she summoned another patient, the guy with the gash on his knee. I watched him limp behind the nurse.

Maybe the distraction of other people’s problems brought my mind back into focus. “Paul?” I said.

“Hmm?”

“I met someone today. A man named Gordon Baxter.”

Paul continued to stare straight ahead, but I saw him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as though he were passing a peach pit through his throat.

“Do you know him?” I asked.

Paul nodded.

“He was at the cemetery, right?” I asked. “At Mom’s funeral?”

“Yes, he was. But he wasn’t supposed to be.”

“So it’s all true, then? Mom was married to him? And they had a daughter?”

Paul still didn’t look at me, but he said, “There’s so much more to the story than anything that man could tell you.”

Before I could ask for more of an explanation, Dan came through the doors of the emergency room and headed over to us.

I stood up as he approached, and he folded me in his arms. He held me for a long time. When he let go, he looked at Paul, and I remembered that the two of them had never met. I introduced them, calling Dan my friend from school. They shook hands, formal and a little stiff, and then we all sat down again.

I could tell Dan wanted to ask a bunch of questions, but he didn’t. He sat next to me, and the three of us were in an awkward little row, nobody knowing what to say or do.

I knew what I wanted to talk about, though. I wanted to ask Paul all about Gordon Baxter and the story he’d told me. Paul had said there was more to the story. I wanted to hear it all.

But I didn’t want to get into it with Dan there. And I was glad he was there. I leaned in close to him in our uncomfortable waiting room seats. He took my hand.

“Do you want anything?” he asked. “Something to eat or drink?”

“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m fine.”

“If you need help covering your classes next week or anything, I can do it.”

“I know,” I said. “Thanks.”

“I’m glad you called,” he said. “I mean, I wish you didn’t need to, but I’m glad you did.”

“It felt like I needed you,” I said.

“Is that a problem?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “I’m okay with it.”

I didn’t know how much time passed with the three of us sitting mostly in silence. It must have been twenty minutes or so before a nurse came through the swinging doors and called out for the family of Ronald Hampton. We all perked up, and Paul and I moved quickly toward the nurse.

“The doctor is coming to speak to you,” she said. “You can wait in this room here.”

She pointed us toward a door. Paul went through. I asked, “Is my brother okay?”

The nurse smiled without much joy. “The doctor is on his way. I don’t know anything about his condition.”

Paul and I waited with the door closed. I was glad Dan hadn’t tried to follow us. He could have come into the room and heard the news from the doctor. But was it his place? Were we there as a couple? My heart started to thump as we waited. I tried to read the tea leaves. Would they have left us here to wait if Ronnie was dead? Would they tell us he was dead in a room like the one we were in? Is that how things worked?

“Your friend seems nice,” Paul said.

“He is.”

“It’s thoughtful of him to come.”

“Yes. Paul, do I really have a half sister?” I asked.

“Had,” Paul said. “She’s dead.”

His voice sounded cold and flat as he said the words. Almost angry. Was he angry with me for bringing it up? Or was he angry about something else?

“I never told you about the will—”

The door opened, and a middle-aged woman in scrubs entered the room. She reached out and shook hands with us, introducing herself as Dr. Something-or-other. I didn’t catch her name. I didn’t care what it was.

She didn’t beat around the bush.

“Ronald is stable now,” she said. “We’re moving him to a bed in intensive care for a while, probably the next twenty-four hours or so. After that, we’ll move him to a regular room and continue to monitor him there.”

“He’s alive?” I asked, my voice sounding like a child’s in the small, cramped room. A child pleading with an authority figure. Please tell me my brother is alive.

“He is,” the doctor said. “Very much so. Like I said, we’ll watch him and make sure there isn’t any long-term damage. It doesn’t look like the dose he took was that high, so there’s reason for optimism.”

“How did this happen, Doctor?” Paul asked. “He has Down syndrome, and he’s been in Dover Community.”

“They’ll be figuring that out over there in the coming days, I’m sure,” the doctor said. “But my guess would be he’s been holding pills back and not swallowing them. Maybe everything they give him. Your brother takes a variety of medications, which is not unusual for Down syndrome. He could create a pretty good cocktail over there. But like I said, thankfully not enough to do the job he wanted to do.” She stood up. “You’ll be able to go up and see him in about an hour if you want to go home or get something to eat. Someone will let you know when it’s time.”

She nodded at us and left the room.

I felt relief. A small measure, but it was there. I also felt something else. I turned to Paul and said, “I think I’m hungry.”

Dan was still there when we came back into the waiting room. He looked at us expectantly, and I suspect he could tell simply by the looks on our faces that we hadn’t received terrible news.