فصل بیست و هشتم

CHAPTER 28

WILL

I fall weakly back onto my gurney, my entire body aching. She’s getting new lungs. Stella is getting new lungs. Through the pain, my heart thumps happily. My mom’s hand wraps gently around my arm as Julie puts the oxygen mask over my face.

And then I remember.

No.

I sit bolt upright, my chest searing as I shout down the hallway. “Dr. Hamid!” In the distance, she turns back to look at me, frowning, and nodding for Barb to follow her while the attending nurse keeps rolling Stella through into her surgery. I look at the both of them before I look down at my hands.

“I gave her mouth-to-mouth.”

The room goes absolutely still as everyone processes what that means. She probably has B. cepacia. And it’s all my fault.

“She wasn’t breathing,” I say, swallowing. “I had to. I’m so sorry.” I look up, into Barb’s eyes, and then over at Dr. Hamid. “You did good, Will,” she says, nodding at me, reassuring me. “You saved her life, okay? And if she contracted B. cepacia, we’ll deal with it.” She looks at Barb, and then at Julie, and then back at me. “But if we don’t use those lungs, they’re wasted. We’re doing the surgery.” They leave, and I slowly sink back onto the gurney, the weight of everything pressing down on my entire body. Exhaustion fills every part of me. I shiver, my rib cage aching from the cold. I meet my mom’s eyes as Julie puts the O2 mask back over my mouth, watching as my mom reaches out to gently stroke my hair like she did when I was younger.

I close my eyes, breathing in and out, and let the pain and the cold give way to sleep.

I glance at my watch. Four hours. It’s been four hours since they took her back.

Shaking my leg nervously, I sit in the waiting room, staring anxiously out the window at the snow. I shiver despite myself, reliving the icy shock of the water from just a few hours ago. My mom kept trying to get me to go back to my room, put on more layers, but I want to be here. Need to be here. As close to Stella as I can be.

I pull my eyes away from the window, hearing footsteps coming steadily closer and closer. Looking over, I see Stella’s mom sitting down in the chair two away from mine, a cup of coffee clutched in her hands.

“Thank you,” she says finally, her eyes meeting mine. “For saving her life.” I nod, fixing my nose cannula, the oxygen hissing noisily out. “She wasn’t breathing. Anyone would have—” “I mean the lungs,” she says, her eyes traveling to the window. “Her father and I, we just couldn’t . . .” Her voice trails off, but I know what she’s saying. She shakes her head, looking over at the clock hanging above the OR doors. “Just a few more hours.” I smile at her. “Don’t worry. She’ll be out making a ‘Thirty-Eight-Step Lung-Transplant Recovery Plan’ in no time.” She laughs, and a comfortable silence settles over the both of us until she goes off to get some lunch.

I sit alone, still nervous, alternating between texting Jason and Hope and staring at the wall, images of Stella swirling around my head, separate moments over the past few weeks jumping out at me.

I want to draw it all.

The first day we met, Stella in her makeshift hazmat suit, the birthday dinner. Each memory more precious than the next.

The elevator doors slide open, and Barb, as if she’s heard my thoughts, emerges carrying an armful of my art supplies.

“Staring at the wall can get a bit boring after a while,” she says, handing everything off to me.

I laugh. Ain’t that the truth.

“Any news?” I ask her, desperate to know how the surgery is going. But, more important, the results of the culture. I need to know I didn’t give Stella B. cepacia. That those lungs will give her the time she wants.

Barb shakes her head. “Nothing yet.” She glances over at the OR doors, taking a deep breath. “I’ll tell you the second I hear something.” I open to the first blank page in my sketchbook and start to draw, the memories coming to life again in front of my eyes. Slowly, noon comes, the door busting open as Stella’s parents come back, Camila and Mya trailing a few feet behind, cafeteria food containers piled high in everyone’s hands.

“Will!” Mya says, running over to give me a one-arm hug, careful not to drop her food. I try not to wince, my body still weak from last night.

“We didn’t know what you’d want, so we brought you a sandwich,” Camila says as they all sit down in the chairs next to me, Stella’s mom opening her purse to pull out a plastic-wrapped hoagie.

I smile gratefully, my stomach growling its appreciation. “Thank you.” Looking up from my drawing, I watch all of them as they eat, talking about what Stella will do now, their words overflowing with love for her. She’s the glue that holds them all together. Her parents. Camila and Mya. Every single one of them needs her.

I pull my eyes away and draw, each page filled with another picture of our story.

The hours swim together—Camila and Mya leaving, Barb and Julie coming and going—but I keep drawing, wanting every little detail to be remembered forever. I look over at her parents, her mom fast asleep on her dad’s chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her as his eyes slowly close.

I smile to myself. Seems like Stella isn’t the only one to get a second chance today.

The OR doors swing open, and Dr. Hamid comes through with a small entourage of surgeons.

My eyes widen and I reach out, nudging her parents awake, and we all stand, studying their faces anxiously. Did she make it? Is she okay?

Dr. Hamid pulls down her surgical mask, smiling, and the three of us sigh with relief.

“Looks great,” one of the surgeons says.

“Oh, thank god!” Stella’s mom pulls her dad into a tight hug. I laugh with them, all of us elated. Stella made it.

Stella has new lungs.

• • •

I plunk down on my bed, absolutely worn out but happier than I’ve ever been. Looking up, I meet my mom’s gaze as she sits in a chair next to my bed.

“Are you warm enough?” she asks me for the millionth time since she got back to the hospital. I look down at my two layers of sweatpants and three layers of shirts I put on to appease her, a smile creeping onto my face.

“I’m practically sweating at this point.” I tug at the neck of my hoodie.

There’s a knock and Barb peers around the door, meeting my eyes as she holds up a sheet full of test results. I’m paralyzed; her eyes aren’t giving away anything of what I’m about to hear.

She pauses, leaning against the door as she scans the paper. “The bacterial cultures will take a few days to grow, and there’s still a chance it will grow in her sputum. But as of now . . .” She smiles at me, shaking her head. “She’s clean. She didn’t get it. I don’t know how in the hell, but she didn’t.” Oh my god.

As of now, she’s B. cepacia free.

As of now, that’s enough.

“What about Will?” my mom asks from behind me. “The Cevaflomalin?” I meet Barb’s gaze, a look of understanding passing between us. She swallows, glancing back down at the papers in her hand, the results of a test I already know the answer to.

“It’s not working for me, is it?” I ask.

She lets out a long sigh and shakes her head. “No. It’s not.”

Aw, shit.

I try not to look at my mom, but I can feel the distress on her face. The sadness. I reach out and take her hand, squeezing it gently. For the first time, I think I’m actually as disappointed as she is.

I look up at Barb remorsefully. “I’m so sorry for all of this.”

She shakes her head and sighs. “No, sweetie . . .” She trails off, shrugging and smiling faintly at me. “Love is love.” Barb leaves and I hold my mom’s hand while she cries, knowing she did all she could do. It’s no one’s fault.

She eventually falls asleep, and I sit in a chair by the window, watching as the sun slowly sets on the horizon. The lights at the park that Stella never got to see switching on as another day ends.

I wake up in the middle of the night, restless. Sliding into my shoes, I sneak out of my room, heading down to the first floor, to the recovery room where Stella sleeps. I watch her from the open door, her small body hooked up to large machines that do the job of breathing for her.

She made it.

I inhale, letting the air fill my lungs the best it can, the discomfort tugging at my chest, but I also feel relief.

Relief that Stella gets to wake up a few hours from now and have at least five more wonderful years, filled with whatever her to-do list has on it. And maybe, if she’s feeling fearless, a few things not on there, like going to see some holiday lights at one a.m.

When I exhale, though, I feel something else. A need to keep all those years safe.

I tighten my jaw, and even though everything in me wants to fight it, I know exactly what I have to do.

I look around the room at the small army I’ve assembled. Barb, Julie, Jason, Hope, Mya, Camila, Stella’s parents. It’s the most ragtag crew I’ve ever seen, standing there, staring at the boxes laid out on my bed, each of them with a separate but important role. I hold up my drawing, showing the intricate plan I spent most of the morning working on, every detail perfectly accounted for and coinciding with a different person and a task.

Stella would be proud.

I hear my mom’s voice from the hallway, loud and firm and getting stuff done as she does her part.

I shiver, thinking about when she uses that tone on me.

“So,” I say, looking up at all of them. “We have to do this together.” My eyes land on Hope, who wipes away a tear as Jason hugs her close. I look away, at Julie, at Camila and Mya, at Stella’s parents.

“Is everyone in?”

Julie nods enthusiastically, and there’s a chorus of agreement. Then everyone looks at Barb, who is dead silent.

“Oh, hell yes! I’m in. I’m definitely in,” she says, smiling, the two of us on the same page for the first time probably ever.

“How long will Stella be sedated?” I ask her.

She glances down at her watch. “Probably a few more hours.” Her eyes scan all the boxes, the list of each of our tasks. “We’ve got plenty of time.” Perfect.

I start handing out the boxes, pairing each person with their job. “All right, Camila and Mya,” I say, giving them their task list and joint box. “You two are going to be working with Jason and Hope on the—” My mom ends her call, poking her head back in the room. “It’s done. They said yes.” YES! I knew she could do it. I shake my head. “You really are scary sometimes, you know that?” She smiles back at me. “I’ve had some good practice.”

I hand out the rest of the boxes, and everyone heads out into the hallway to start getting everything ready. My mom lingers back, peeking her head inside the doorway. “You need anything?” I shake my head. “I’ll be there soon. There’s just one more thing I need to do first.” The door closes, and I turn to my desk, pulling on a pair of latex gloves and taking out my colored pencils. I’ve been stuck on the same drawing. A drawing of Stella, spinning around on that icy pond, moments before I told her I loved her.

I keep trying to get every small detail right. The moonlight shining off her face. Her hair trailing behind her as she spins. Pure joy filling every feature.

Tears fill my eyes as I stare at the drawing, and I brush them away with my arm, knowing that for once, I’m doing the absolute right thing.

I stand in Stella’s doorway again, watching the steady rise and fall of her bandaged chest, her new lungs working perfectly. The now-dry panda is tucked safely under her arm, her face peaceful as she sleeps.

I love her.

I used to always be searching for something. Searching from every rooftop for something that would give me a purpose.

And now I’ve found it.

“She’s waking up,” her dad says as Stella begins to stir.

I look up as her mom crosses the room, her eyes beginning to water as she looks at me. “Thank you, Will.” I nod as I reach into my bag with a gloved hand and pull out a wrapped package. “Give this to her when she wakes up?” Her mom takes it and gives me a small, sad smile.

Then I look at Stella one more time as her eyelids start to flutter. I want to stay. I want to stay in that doorway, and right by her side. Even if it’s always five feet away.

Six feet, even.

But for exactly that reason, I exhale, and with everything in me, I turn and walk away.