Page 109 of Ancient History

“Hutch, I’m so sorry.”

“I should’ve texted you, but everything happened so fast.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Please don’t apologize.”

“I wasn’t standing you up.”

“I never thought that.” He was dealing with so much and yet still thought enough to mention our date. Why did I ever doubt what a stand-up guy he was?

Hutch exhaled like the heavy breath of someone carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “He’s in the ER.”

I curled a fist in determination. I pictured Hutch all alone in an ugly hospital waiting room. I pictured Bud all alone on a gurney. Neither deserved this fate. “I’ll be right there.”

“But what about the prom?”

“Fuck the prom. I’m not letting you wait it out by yourself. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“What about chaperoning?”

“The kids will be alright. Hutch…”

“Yeah?”

“It’s going to be okay.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah.” I just made a promise I couldn’t keep, but I sent a mental prayer to every god in existence begging them to spare this sweet man’s life. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

When I hung up, I relayed the news to Aguilar and Julian, who were understanding. I made a cameo at the dessert table and slipped a few brownies into my pockets before hightailing it out of there. Since we couldn’t enjoy prom, I’d bring a little bit of prom to Hutch.

30

AMOS

Bud Hawkins fluttered his eyes open sometime after midnight. He was not the virile, jovial man I’d had breakfast with. He looked frail and pale on the hospital bed, tubes coming and going around his face and chest.

But when he fully opened his eyes, I saw that same spark that met me at breakfast for some Froot Loops.

“You’re not my son.” At least he had his sense of humor intact. He smiled despite all the tubes criss-crossing his face.

“He just went–”

“Pop!” Hutch raced back into the room and swooped into his seat beside his dad’s bed. He couldn’t figure out how to hug without messing up the hospital equipment and hurting his old man, so Hutch stretched his arms over his dad’s chest like he was a straitjacket. “I just went to take a leak. I wasn’t leaving.”

“I know that.” His dad patted him on the back, but it had a firmness to it. He would’ve wrapped his son in a bear hug if he had the strength.

“Pop.” Even pressed into his dad’s chest, I could still hear his voice break. And that caused my eyes to well up with tears. I was witnessing a private moment, the awkward observer in the corner of the room. Would it be less awkward to stay and be quiet or to try and sneak out?

“I’m okay,” his dad said. “I’m okay. Just a little scare.”

“It was a heart attack.” Hutch smoothed a finger over a bandage on his forehead. “And another nasty fall, too.”

“The fall wasn’t planned. That was the free gift with purchase.” Bud’s voice had a raspy softness to it that came with exhaustion from fighting to live, and yet I detected the playful tone I’d heard from our previous conversation.

The doctor and nurse came in to check on Bud’s vitals and welcome him back to the land of the living. Dr. Kumar was an Indian woman who managed to project professionalism despite the bags under her eyes from a long shift.

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