Chapter 14 - THE ACCIDENT
Daniel was already running.
“What happened?”
“Car accident.”
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
“Where?”
Rachel gave him the hospital.
Daniel stopped.
“The same hospital?”
“Yes.”
He grabbed his keys.
Then remembered.
No car.
He ran outside and called a ride.
The twenty-minute trip felt longer than four years of dialysis.
At the emergency department, Rachel was pacing.
Daniel rushed toward her.
“Where is she?”
Rachel turned.
Her face was pale.
“Surgery.”
“What happened?”
“A truck ran a red light.”
Daniel grabbed the wall.
“Is she—”
“Alive.”
He shut his eyes.
“Barely.”
They sat in the same waiting room where Claire had waited during Daniel’s transplant.
The irony was vicious.
Daniel stared at the doors.
“What surgery?”
“Internal bleeding. Broken ribs. They think her spleen ruptured.”
Rachel rubbed her face.
Daniel said, “She’ll make it.”
Rachel laughed bitterly.
“Is that what she told you?”
Daniel looked at her.
“Every time you were in surgery, she sat exactly where you’re sitting.”
Rachel pointed at his chair.
“She would tell me, ‘He’ll make it.’”
Daniel’s throat closed.
Hours passed.
Daniel paced.
Prayed.
Begged.
Around midnight, Dr. Harris appeared.
Daniel stood.
“You’re not her doctor.”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Rachel called me.”
Daniel looked at the doors.
“Any news?”
“She’s stable. They controlled the bleeding.”
Daniel almost collapsed.
Rachel began crying.
Dr. Harris sat beside them.
Daniel whispered, “Did you destroy the letter?”
The doctor looked at him.
“Yes.”
Daniel nodded.
“Good.”
Dr. Harris studied him.
“You sure?”
“No.”
A tired smile crossed the doctor’s face.
Hours later, a trauma surgeon finally came out.
“She’s awake.”
Daniel stood.
“Can I see her?”
The surgeon looked at Rachel.
Rachel hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Five minutes.”
Daniel entered Claire’s room.
She looked impossibly small beneath the blankets.
Bruises covered one side of her face.
Daniel stopped by the door.
Claire opened one eye.
“You look terrible,” he whispered.
She gave a tiny smile.
“You should’ve seen the truck.”
Daniel laughed and immediately cried.
Claire watched him.
“You came.”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
The question hurt.
Daniel pulled up a chair.
“Because you almost died.”
“So?”
He stared at her.
Then nodded.
“Fair.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Daniel said quietly, “I’m not staying unless you want me to.”
She opened them again.
“You can stay five minutes.”
“Doctor said five.”
“I’m agreeing with a doctor. Write it down.”
He smiled.
They sat in silence.
Then Claire whispered, “I was angry about the loan.”
“I know.”
“Still am.”
“I know.”
She looked at him.
“But thank you.”
Daniel’s eyes filled.
“You’re welcome.”
Another silence.
Claire said, “I’m still moving.”
“You should.”
She looked surprised.
“Oregon seems nice.”
“You hate rain.”
“I’m not moving there.”
Claire almost laughed.
Daniel stood when the nurse appeared.
His five minutes were over.
At the door, Claire said, “Daniel?”
He turned.
“What?”
“Take your pills.”
He smiled.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Weeks passed.
Claire recovered.
Daniel didn’t visit unless she asked.
He didn’t send flowers.
He didn’t write speeches.
He simply left her alone.
Two months later, Claire moved to Oregon.
Daniel stayed behind.
He rented a small apartment.
Worked.
Took his medication.
Went to therapy.
Started volunteering twice a month with transplant patients and their families.
He never told them his story unless they asked.
A year passed.
Then two.
Then, on a rainy October afternoon, Daniel received a letter.
Not an email.
A real letter.
The return address was Oregon.
He stared at Claire’s handwriting for almost a minute before opening it.
May you like
Inside were five words.
I think I’m ready to talk.
