Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Alex

"DO YOU NEED a box?"

I startle when a woman in the pizza shop offers me a cardboard box to put the rest of the pizza in. I was too busy watching Henry leave, eyes trailing him until he disappeared down the street. He was walking quickly, head down, a finger swiping at his phone, presumably to respond to his roommate.

"Uh, yeah, sure, thanks," I say.

"The other guy already paid so you're all set," the server says.

I pack up the pizza, but linger in the shop even when I should be leaving. I don't want to go back to my parents' house. Remaining in this moment I shared with Henry feels a lot nicer. He was friendly and kind, even when I scowled at some of his questions. It wasn't his fault. How could he know that just about everything about my life is a sore subject? My family, my reason for this visit, my job. I have nothing good to share about myself. Henry is a barista at a cat café, yet I haven't seen his smile falter even once since I've been here. The memory of that smile does something weird to me, something that makes me antsy and restless and too warm.

I grab the pizza box and head out before the servers have to come and kick me out. It's not like the place is busy — we're still in Tripp Lake, the place where absolutely nothing happens — but I'm sure they want their table back.

My parents' car waits in a parking spot around the back of the pizza place. They let me borrow it for the evening. I'm sure I'll pay for that somehow tomorrow. Maybe I'll have to clean the whole house for them or fix a leaky faucet or answer a bunch of probing questions about why I don't have a girlfriend and a white picket fence yet. How do they expect me to have time for those things while I'm busy meeting all their other demands? I went to the school they wanted, got the degree they wanted, secured the career they wanted. And somehow it's still not enough.

I wonder how Henry's parents feel about his life choices. I never knew his folks. Do they live in town? Did they hope he'd do more than work at a cat café? I was so caught up in my selfish brooding that I didn't even ask him about himself during our meal. Shit, he probably thinks I'm a huge prick. Why can't I even do a single meal right?

I park in my parents' driveway, but don't exit the car. There's a light on downstairs. Maybe Dad's still up watching television or something.

The thought of encountering him makes me want to turn around and drive away. I should have offered to help Henry with whatever emergency his roommate has going on. Right, sure, as though I should invite myself to the guy's place after I made that weird comment about him looking nice. God, why did I say that? The words popped out before I could stop them, and Henry clearly felt weird about it because then he started rambling, trying to offer me an out, probably. I'm such an idiot. Henry was nice enough to invite me out, and I went and made it awkward for no reason. I mean, it's not like I'm into him. He's a guy.

A jittery sensation propels me from the car. I'm crushing the pizza box in my hand as I hurry for the front door, but when I throw it open, I don't find my father on the couch like I expect. The lights are on, but he's nowhere to be found in the living room. Maybe he forgot and left the lights on when he went to bed.

I head for the kitchen, meaning to store the pizza in the fridge, but I never get there. Two steps onto the linoleum, I freeze.

My father is sprawled on the floor.

I drop the pizza and rush to his side. He's on his back, his hands on his chest, his eyes glazed with pain. His breathing is wheezy and thin, and the look that crosses his face when he recognizes me is one I've never seen him wear — fear.

My father has always been on the other side of that emotion. He's always been an intimidating, larger-than-life figure, with a voice that boomed through the whole house when he yelled at me or my sister (but mostly me). To see him so small, so frightened, so physically weak shakes me to my core, and for a moment I kneel there gaping at him.

Then logic kicks in and I dig my phone out of my pocket, dialing 9-1-1 with trembling fingers.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?" an operator says.

"It's my dad. He just got out of the hospital for a heart attack, but I think he's had another one. I found him on the floor and…"

"Okay, stay calm. Is he conscious?"

The operator asks for my address and assures me she's sending an ambulance while talking me through a series of questions. I don't know how I answer. My body is numb, my mind retreating a safe distance from this surreal moment.

My mother doesn't even know anything's wrong until the flashing lights of the ambulance in the driveway wake her. They're getting Dad on a stretcher when she flies down the stairs in her robe.

"What happened? What's going on? Oh my God."

I rush to intercept her so the paramedics can do what they need to do, then answer her frantic questions. I'm not sure what I say to her, but at least I keep both of us out of the way.

"We have to go," she says. "We have to follow them. They'll take him to the hospital over in Everett."

"Okay, Mom. Alright. It's fine. He's in good hands. We'll go. Do you want me to drive?"

She's watching the ambulance scream its way out of the neighborhood, her eyes not really focusing on anything. I decide not to wait for her to collect herself. Plus, I still have the keys in my pocket. I get her into a coat and shoes, then lead her out of the front door and deposit her in the passenger seat of the car. I look up the hospital's address in my phone, letting the unfeeling device provide cool-headed direction while my heart races.

I shouldn't have left. I shouldn't have taken a night off. The whole point of me coming here was to help out, and I wasn't here in the moment when it mattered most. If I hadn't arrived when I did, would Dad have made it to the hospital at all? How close did it come tonight?

My head is a jumble. My heart is a mess. But the only thing I can do about it is get us to the hospital as fast as I can.

"HE'S RECOVERING WELL," the doctor says, and I swear Mom and I breathe for the first time in hours. "But he shouldn't have been pushing himself. He should be resting. Another incident like this could be extremely dangerous for him."

My mother looks immediately at me. I refuse to meet her gaze, refuse to acknowledge that heavy stare. As though it's my fault Dad was messing around in the kitchen when he should have been recovering. Apparently, he was trying to move the stove because he dropped something behind it, and that's what did it. I suppose if I'd been home I could have stopped him, but I can't babysit the man.

I say nothing, just hang my head and wait for the doctor to walk away. He gives my mother some instructions, I think, and some kind of paper before finally leaving.

We sit in a silence so tense I can taste it. The pizza I ate a few hours ago is a brick in my stomach. I hunch forward onto my knees like a kid hiding himself under blankets.

"Where did you get off to tonight?" my mother says.

"I told you. I was getting dinner with someone."

"A girl?"

She'd like that, wouldn't she? It would fit in with the life plan she's always had in the back of her head for me. Tough luck.

"No," I say. "A guy I knew in high school."

She huffs, and I swear I can feel her eyes rolling. "You're supposed to be here to help your father."

I sit up straighter so I can glare at her. "You were home. Why didn't you help him? I didn't fly up here to be your personal butler."

"I was in bed, Alexander."

No one in the universe calls me Alexander except her. Once, a senior partner at work did it and whatever reaction it caused resulted in a near-instant apology. I've never been called Alexander at work again.

"Fine," I grit out. "Sorry. It's not like I have plans for the rest of the week. It was a fluke."

Maybe she accepts the apology. Either way, she goes back to whatever documentation the doctor gave her, and I sit beside her sulking until we can get the hell out of here. I really don't care what she thinks of where I was tonight. It's not like I can disappoint my parents any more than I already have, despite having the job and life they want for me. I suppose I could go on an actual date with Henry and not merely grab a casual meal. Ha. Yeah. Like that would ever happen. The idea is tempting simply thanks to how angry it would make my parents. Imagine if I ended up being gay. Boy, would that ever ruin their tidy plans for me. But I'm not going to lead a nice guy like Henry on for the sake of frustrating my parents. I'm not a teenager smoking behind the school in the hopes of getting caught and putting a smudge on my immaculate record.

"Oh," Mom says.

The way she pronounces that single portentous syllable has me jerking my head up. She's squinting at the paper in front of her, face creasing with concern as her eyes trace and retrace the lines on the page.

"What?" I ask too anxious to wait any longer.

"It says here your father will need to go through a recovery period again," she says. She looks up, meeting my eyes, and my feet cement themselves to the floor even as I sit. "A long recovery period. He shouldn't strain himself much during that time, if he can help it. If he pushes it…"

She leaves the implication to hang in the air between us, air that is suddenly far thinner than it was only a moment ago.

He's going to hurt himself. We both know it. My father is not the type of man who takes it easy, not without being forced. He's going to do something stupid like trying to move the stove again, and the next time someone finds him collapsed on the kitchen floor, there might not be time for an ambulance to reach him, even if it's parked next door.

Which means…

"Weeks," my mother says.

It's the only word I hear, and it rings in my head like a solemn bell chiming.

Weeks. He'll need help for weeks. He'll need help from me for weeks. The look my mother levels at me leaves no doubt.

I could argue that I have a job and an apartment to go back to, but who am I kidding? I have no girlfriend, no pets, not even a plant to look after in my sparse San Francisco apartment. And my job will let me work remote as long as I need once I explain the situation.

I'm not leaving Tripp Lake any time soon. I'm stuck here, just like I was in high school.