Page 30 of Beneath the Indigo Sky

“Hey.”

His eyes snap to mine, and I offer the most comforting smile I can manage.

“It’s going to be okay. Okay?”

He only nods. The small muscles in the side of his jaw are twitching, and it’s blatantly obvious how upset he is. I reach out carefully. I want to help, but as tightly wound as he is in this moment, I’m afraid that any quick movement might spook him.

“Let’s get you settled in, okay?”

I try to mimic the way he’d spoken to Ken as we waited for the ambulance, offering soft, repetitive reassurances as I unzip and remove his coat and guide him to my sofa with my fingertips on his elbow.

“You have your phone?”

He pulls it out of his pocket, clutching it tightly in both hands as he sinks into the cushions.

“Good. Okay. I’m going to go, but I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

His cheeks are wet as he glances up at me, and it’s all I can do to nod and walk out the door instead of sinking down next to him and wrapping him up in my arms as if I can protect him from the world.

I rush into the medical center’s small emergency department and sigh internally as I speed walk up to the young blonde woman who sits, half hidden behind computer screens, at the small reception desk. While the hospital has a dozen or so nurses, the woman at the desk is Cindy Buchannon, a woman whose heart Jordyn broke sometime in our early twenties. That’s her take anyway. When Jordyn talked about their four whole dates, it sounded like they simply weren’t a good match. I’ve run into her in town a few times since I lost Jordyn, and while she has never been my biggest fan, she’s at least been civil in the past. Apparently, however, with Jordyn gone, the resentment she still holds has been redirected…to me.

“Cindy, come on. You know me. It’s not like I’m some stranger trying to break in to steal narcotics,” I beg for what feels like the tenth time. This is getting me nowhere.

“You’re not his emergency contact, Jayce. How many times do I have to say it?”

“It’s not like I’m trying to get back there so that I can trick Mr. Johnson into changing his will and leaving me the funeral home. Come on, Cindy.”

Her smile is fake and icy as she continues. “Look, Jayce, these are federal privacy regulations. I can’t just ignore them because I know who you are. Only emergency contacts are allowed in the emergency room.”

“As I’m sure it says in Mr. Johnson’s chart, Namid is his emergency contact, and he can’t be here right now.”

I’m sure her derisive snort is loud enough to be heard in the parking lot as she rolls her eyes.

“Of course he can’t be. Why Ken would ever put that…”

I cut her off. I don’t even want to guess how she plans to finish her sentence.

“Don’t, Cindy. He’s my friend too.”

God. How has Namid survived in this town? I’ve always known that he’s not overly welcome, but before getting to know him, I’d thought everyone to be politely indifferent, maybe even slightly curious or wary. I had no idea they were this rudely passive-aggressive. I still can’t get over the way Bob watched him with suspicion while he waited for me to finish his truck the first time he’d seen Namid in Jordyn’s office or the side-eyed looks we get just walking down the street or sipping our drinks together in the park. How has he managed to stay the generous, almost innocent man I’ve come to know?

What if the things he told me about himself are true and he really can feel what others feel? He’s just been walking around town his entire life feeling the way others resent and dislike him?

“CINDY!”

Mr. Johnson’s voice breaks me out of my momentary introspective trance. His yell is loud and angry enough that he could be Thor or Apollo or the goddess of death herself. I suppose the one saving grace of a small-town emergency room is that Ken knew we’d be able to hear him out at the reception desk.

“You let that boy back here right now, Cindy, or so help me!”

I offer Cindy a sticky sweet smile and take off at a jog through the doorway to the exam room.

It took nearly an hour for Namid to tell me about himself and for me to get him settled at my house, and Mr. Johnson is already hooked up to an IV with his arm strapped into place when I pull back the thin curtain and step next to his bed.

“Namid?” Even with whatever cocktail of drugs is flowing through his veins, Ken sounds concerned.

He’s the one lying here with part of his skeleton sticking out through his skin, but his first concern is Namid’s well-being, and somehow, I understand that. There is something about Namid that makes me want to shield him from the world.

“He’s shaken but okay. I dropped him at my place; it’s only about ten minutes away, and I promised him I’d stay here with you.”

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