November 3rd, 1971
Ma was pulling a pie out of the oven. The house was rarely quiet, so she enjoyed it while it lasts, with her grandson home with his mother, Shermie at work, Pa downstairs in the pawn shop, and Ford and Stan out causing mischief with Hephzie. She didn't have work tonight, so Ma fully expected to have her join the Pines family for dinner once the twins came home for the hot meal. It was only four or so, meaning Ma didn't have to get started right away. She had time to relax and enjoy the blissful smell of the dessert she was just made.
She was slipping off her oven-mitts when she heard the door slam open and close and heavy footsteps running down the hallway.
"MA!"
That yell was so full of terror and desperation that it made the mother's blood run cold and she turned around to find Stan breathing hard and his skin pale.
"Stanley, what…"
"MA! Hephzie's hurt!" He yelled.
"What?!"
"We were heading for the library, a-a-and crossing the street when some truck spun around the corner a-a-and hit Hephzie!" Stan stuttered, gasping for breath and trying to get the story across as soon as possible.
"Sweet Lord!" Ma yelled in shock and put a hand over her heart. "Where is she? Did you call an ambulance?"
"We did." Stan replied as he nodded, still in shock. "Ford's with her. They're on their way to the hospital right now."
Ma breathed a little easier that learning that Hephzie was receiving medical care this very moment. She turned off the oven and said, "Good work, Stanley. We'll get Pa to watch Mrs. Cece and we'll bring Mr. Cece with us to the hospital."
"I need to get Ford some clothes." Stan added and ran for his bedroom to get his brother a clean sweater and a pair of jeans. "Will Pa really babysit Grandma Cece?" He called suspiciously, not really trusting Pa for the job.
Ma grabbed her purse and glared at her son when he re-entered the living room. "Your father will like his life depends on it, which it does."
Stan nodded and followed her out the door for the pawn shop.
Ford held his head, his twelve fingers grabbing his brown hair like his life depended on it. Well, it didn't. His life depended on Hephzie getting better or not. That horrifying scene - his best friend getting hit by that truck, her body being crushed underneath the vehicle, her blood spilling out onto the street and in his hold - it wouldn't leave him. It was enough to make him pull out chunks of his hair if Ford wasn't careful.
The whole time he never left Hephzie's side. Stan had gone to call for help while he sat there on the street, not caring if another car came and hit him, too. He wished one would. Ford stayed with her and begged her to keep her eyes open, but too soon Hephzie's strength failed her and she fell unconscious. Even when the paramedics came to the scene, he held her body carefully as to not hurt her but was reluctant to let her go, even if it meant it would save her life. Only one other person was allowed in the ambulance, so Ford got in and sent Stan to get help and meet them at the hospital. Covered in her blood, Ford held Hephzie's right hand and watched as the doctors sustained her and did all they could until they reached the hospital.
Once there, Ford ran alongside them as they wheeled her away in the stretcher, holding her hand tightly until she was taken into a room where he could not follow, and he was quickly looked over for any injuries. All he had was a torn knee and a scraped hand from when he had landed on the concrete after being pushed. He was fine. He was alive and safe, thanks to her.
That had been thirty minutes ago, and now he was alone in the waiting room, his heart pounding madly like a drum, his hands forming sweat, his breathing fast. His family may be Jewish, but Ford was a man of science and wasn't too sure if Yahweh even existed. But Ma was pretty confident that He did. And she had tried to teach her sons that, in times of desperation, He's always listening. Ford didn't know if anyone was there to hear him, but if someone was, he screamed in his head that, if given the chance, Hephzie's and Ford's faiths would be switched.
The icing on the cake was the guilt that plagued him about the whole situation. It was almost him - it should've been him - but she yelled in panic, pushed him ahead, and wasn't quick enough to save herself from the reckless driver. Stan had already crossed the street and turned to witness the horrifying accident. Ford had turned from the concrete he landed on just in time to see it, too. Damn it. It should've been him. Grant it, the truck had sped around a corner and left no time for Ford to dodge it himself, so there was no logical way he could guilt himself with the idea that he should've seen the truck coming. He could, however, guilt himself that he could've made Hephzie cross first. He should've crossed the street faster. He should've protected Hephzie in some way or form, but he didn't. And because of that, she could be dying for all Ford knew.
Just then, the double-doors flew open and Stan, Ma, and Hephzie's grandfather looked around until they saw the teenager holding his head, hunched over in a chair in blood-soaked clothes. The sight made Grandpa sick at realizing who's blood that was, and Ma thought she might faint at seeing her son like that, his shirt ruined by the red liquid and his skin pale with fright. His face was hidden from view. The three ran to him and Ma put a soft hand on her son's shoulder.
"Stanford."
He looked up and stood once he saw who was with him. Ford tried to compose himself, clearing his tight throat and flattening his unruly hair, before Grandpa asked him,
"Where is my granddaughter?"
Ford tried to prepare himself for the worst. "They're operating on her in the emergency room right now. They started working half an hour ago."
"What happened, son?" Ma asked softly.
Ford looked down in shame, the head-tilt casting a glare over his glasses so it was harder to read his shameful expression. "We were crossing the street when… sh-she pushed me out of the way, and… and…" His voice failed him. He couldn't spit out an explanation. He hoped his brother had said enough when he got help and Ford wouldn't have to fill in the blanks.
His mother brought him into a tight hug. As unmanly as it may be, he couldn't refuse a hug from his Ma, so she hugged her back tightly and allowed himself to bury his face in her shoulder. If Ford kept growing like this he would soon be taller than his mother. She rubbed his back tenderly and spoke in a quiet voice only for him.
"It'll be okay, son, she'll pull through."
She finally released him and patted his shoulder as he breathed a little easier. The polydactyl teenager waited for Grandpa's response to this, expecting blame and anger from him. Grandpa had a right to feel betrayed and angry; he trusted the safety of his granddaughter to the twins whenever she left the house, and Ford had failed.
But Grandpa Cece didn't look angry at all. He nodded at the young man in front of him and said in a cracked, weak voice, "Don't blame yourself, boy. I don't."
It was worse than if he did blame Ford. Feeling his shoulder tremble beneath her hand, Ma scooped up the clothes from Stan's hands and handed them to Ford. "Here, Stanford, go change and we'll let you know if they say anything."
He desperately didn't want to leave, but he needed a few minutes alone before facing his loved ones again. He took the clothes, mutter his thanks, and left for the restroom. It was a single stall, meaning no one else would hear him lose his control and cry if he chose to; but he was already a wimp as it was, and those age-old insults from his father and his classmates echoed in his head, refusing to let his eyes become wet, so he settled for screaming into the folded clothes in his hands to let out some tension in his body. Ford screamed as loud and as forcefully as he wished, even to the point that it felt like his throat would split in half. Once he was done, he gratefully changed out of his long-sleeved polo and into the orange turtleneck sweater and new jeans. It felt better to not have the thick, copper-smelling, red substance under his nose and constantly remind him of what happened. After he washed his hands and splashed his face with cold water, he felt ready to face the world.
Grandpa was sitting in a chair, his elbows on his wobbly knees and his head low, his hands together as if in prayer. Ma was sitting next to him and flipping through a magazine to try to distract her while Stan sat back and lazily watched the TV, his mind elsewhere. His eyes met Ford's and their twin-telepathy came into play.
Stan knew how Ford felt. He felt guilty, too, for not being able to stop Hephzie from getting hurt, but it wasn't his sorry butt she had saved; that special reward had been reserved for Ford. Stan also knew Hephzie well enough to know that she didn't do anything unless she wanted to, and there was no doubt in his mind that she wanted to make sure both of her best friends were okay, no matter what. Stan also knew how Ford's brilliant mind worked, and how it often turned on Ford and made him believe lies, like he was a freak or something was his fault.
Ford sighed quietly at seeing the sympathetic look on his brother's face and sat down next to him, covering his eyes with one hand, the other holding his glasses and dangling from his side. Stan kept his big mouth shut and just patted his brother's shoulder. The four remained still for another half an hour before a male doctor with short black hair, a graying toothbrush mustache, and a white coat and a clipboard came in and called out to the waiting room,
"Hephzibah Cece."
Ma, Grandpa, Stan and Ford all jumped up and ran to him. It was a miracle no one ran over the older gentleman.
"How is she, doctor?" Grandpa asked in a pleasing tone for good news.
"She's sustained several serious injuries, sir. She had three broken ribs, her left arm is broken in several places, and her right femur was snapped. Some of her other organs were also severely damaged in the accident, including her kidney and reproductive organs."
"Will she be okay?" Stan blurted, unable to take any more bad news.
"She should make a full recovery within the year, but it'll take time." The doctor answered, making everyone's breathing a little easier. "We've managed to stop the internal bleeding and cast her broken limbs. Right now we just need to keep her on pain medication and wait for her to wake up."
Grandpa's knees shook so violently it was a wonder how the old man was still standing. He thanked the doctor and asked if they may see her. The doctor nodded and led the way out of the lobby. As the little group ventured on down the hallway and past several rooms, Ford and Stan brought up the rear so Grandpa could enter first. The doctor overseeing Hephzie opened room 306B for the group and said no more than six visitors at a time was allowed during visiting hours, but after that only two were allowed. The four nodded, understanding, and the doctor left them to see Hephzie in private.
In a way, it was easier to look at her now than before. Instead of moaning in unimaginable pain, holding her bleeding leg, and lying helplessly in Ford's arms, she appeared to be asleep in a comfortable bed, cleaned, dressed, and healing. Despite this, there was her pale skin, the frown on her face that told them she was still in pain, and the tubes that went into her right arm to give her medicine, blood, and vitamins. Her dreadlocks were down, rather than her standard ponytail, and without her favorite earrings and bracelets, which were lying on the table next to her bed, her lively appearance was missing. Hephzie, one of the liveliest, energetic, spunkiest people anyone ever knew, was fighting for her health and looked more dead than alive.
Grandpa Cece took a wooden chair and pulled it up to the bed to sit by her head on her left side, her casted arm lying by her side. His bottom lip trembled, so he bit it. Ma sat in the armchair behind Grandpa and the twins watched a few feet shy of the bed to give the grandfather some time with his granddaughter.
It seemed like only yesterday he and his wife were hurrying to the nursery of a hospital in California, hoping to meet their new granddaughter. There, lying in a crib decorated with pink, named Alicia-Sarah Fisher Cece by her mother before she ran away, was a tiny newborn baby no bigger than George's hands put together. He should know; he got to hold her first and was so afraid that she'd snap in half in his grasp, but she was strong like her grandfather and grabbed not only his finger, but his heart, too. That day they drove another ten hours to take her home. That day George's life changed for the better and she became the center of his whole world. Now that little baby was all grown up, and in a hospital again for all the wrong reasons.
It wasn't fair. It was supposed to be the other way around. George was supposed to be in the hospital bed and Hephzibah was supposed to be healthy and vibrant. No, that wasn't fair, either. He knew the day would come, and that pained him, but that was the way things were supposed to be. George firmly reminded himself that Hephzibah would live and make a full recovery, and to help him do so, he gently covered her left hand with his own and gave it a soft squeeze as to not pain her broken arm. She did not wince or make her frown grow, but she did not respond at all which was, in a way, even worse than not responding at all.
Grandpa blinked away his tears at seeing his baby girl so broken. Ma looked at the young woman sadly, and then averted her eyes to her sons. She knew that if anyone was hurt more than Hephzibah or Grandpa, it was Ford and Stan. Stan's fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were turning white and his teeth were gritted in anger. Of course her little free spirit's initial reaction would be anger at whoever caused all of this misery. Ma watched Ford carefully, having a good idea of how destroyed he felt. He didn't appear to be angry, but heartbroken. His head was low and his glasses hid his eyes again. His hands were stuffed in his pockets and he was as stiff as stone.
An hour passed and a nurse came by with an update on Hephzie's health and said it may be awhile before she wakes up, so if needed the family could leave the get their affairs in order. Ma volunteered to watch Grandma Cece, who was too ill-minded to be left alone, so Grandpa could stay at the hospital, but he refused and reminded Ma that she had to watch her grandson tonight, in which Stan stepped up and said he would watch his nephew tonight. Grandpa then pointed out that Grandma, his wife, could be a little… strong-willed, and would begin to panic if she didn't see Grandpa soon. The old man looked down at his granddaughter sadly, but his worry of her waking up alone was tossed out the window when Ford said in a low voice that he would stay with her.
In the end, George kissed Hephzie's forehead goodbye, Ma gave her son a hug and promised to be back in the morning, and Stan lingered in the room for a moment, looking down at Hephzibah and putting a hand on his brother's shoulder.
"You sure you'll be okay?"
Ford nodded solemnly.
Understanding his need to do this, Stan clapped Ford's shoulder and left the two of them alone.
Free to act as he pleased, Ford sat in the same chair once occupied by Grandpa. He looked down at her closed eyes and tight jaw. Her pain was mellowing due to the medication, and she looked more peaceful in her sleep. Ford's eyes moved downward to her left hand and considered touching it, just to feel Hephzie's warm skin and her pulse underneath his fingers. He didn't deserve to touch her, but she deserved to be comforted and reminded that she wasn't alone.
Ford placed his six-fingered right hand on top of her left and rubbed it gently. Her skin was cool to the touch, but would soon warm up. He slipped a finger under her wrist to feel her heartbeat. Her vessel moved under his fingertip, and that small movement gave him a great amount of peace. He held Hephzie's hand in a way so he could feel her heartbeat and prepared himself not to move all night.
