Page 145 of Counting On You

Chapter Forty

Vicky

I’m never goingto sleep. I’m never going to feel happy again. Even though I’ve known Kade for only a few weeks, it feels as though his departure has ripped a piece out of me. I knew the time for saying goodbye would come. That eventually we’d separate and move on with our lives. The knowledge that it would end was always there.

But I never expected our ending to take such a tragic turn.

After hearing about the accident, I was in shock, my heart inconsolable, parts of it broken—sharp like shards of crystal glass.

I couldn’t utter a word, afraid that even speaking his name would make it worse.

I haven’t spoken a word since.

Not to my mom or to my sister whose questions about my treatment have been bordering on obnoxious, so much so that I’ve decided to ignore their text messages.

It’s only after I’ve arrived back home and seen all the pictures of Bruce in my apartment that I realize I have to find a way to see Kade again.

I have to know more.

He’s done so much for me by just being there when I needed someone. He never judged me when everyone else did; he also never sugar coated the truth.

I pack another suitcase and call a taxi, clenching the little note Sylvie handed me before we parted.

“Call me,” she said, her tone imploring me to do so.

Kade had uttered the same words the night before stepping into the car that was supposed to drive him to the airport.

If only I had stopped him.

Spent a little more time together. Made plans. Discover the world together. Do as much as possible before what we had eventually turned sour.

If only.

I never got a chance to contact Kade, but I did ask Sylvie for help to find where Kade is. I skim her latest text message one last time before I toss my cell phone into my handbag.

The hospital where he was moved to is in Greensboro, almost three hundred miles from Roanoke Island. Getting there is the easy part. But how will I persuade the hospital personnel to let me see him if someone stops me?

I arrive before midday.

Stepping through the broad doors of Moses Cone Hospital, I breathe in the familiar scent of disinfectant. After years of working as a nurse, it’s become a part of me, just like the steady buzz of people living, surviving, healing, and sometimes even dying. This time, the rush of familiarity doesn’t instill confidence in me, which doesn’t make any sense.

To my relief, the hospital is unusually busy and no one stops me. No one wants to know where I’m headed.

As I pass floor after floor, the waiting rooms, the maternity ward, I realize being here as a visitor isn’t the same as doing my job.

All my life, I’ve known that death is a natural process. I’ve always believed in the advice of doctors and the progress in science. I’ve always shown compassion to patients and visitors. Now I realize I never truly felt the magnitude of it all.

I never understood the powerlessness people go through at the prospect of losing a loved one. And there’s also the guilt that I’m to blame for what happened to him. If we hadn’t gotten involved, he would never have left. He would never have stepped into that car and crashed on the way to the airport.

I reach the right floor and stop for a moment to orientate myself. His room number is on the left. As I head toward it, I can’t shake off the feeling that Kade needs me.

Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but I need to tell him that I’m sorry one last time, even if he can’t hear me.

I reach his door and my chest tightens, as if a string is wrapped around it and someone’s tugging at it. My stomach recoils at the thought that I might be too late.

I push the door open and stop.

Kade’s lying on the bed, surrounded by whirring machines.

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