Disclaimer: Not mine, I swear.
A/n: Denise asked for a fic about Tom's electrocution and Lynette's reaction to it, which is a fic that I've been meaning to write for forever, but have never completely put together. And that is the only way I can possibly explain the length of this. I'm breaking it into two parts. Hopefully part two will be up sometime tomorrow.
Bless you, if you make it through this monster. It's ridiculous.
March Madness
By Ryeloza
Ten: Thirty-Six Hours Part One
February 9, 2012 – 3:00pm
At twelve, Parker Scavo has mostly outgrown his need to constantly ask "Why?" Most of the time now, if he doesn't know, he'll just go on the computer and look up the answer himself. It saves a lot of time—and eye rolling—and no one seems overly bothered by the fact that he keeps his innate curiosity bottled up, like it's something everyone has been waiting for him to stop doing all along. Which, mostly, he doesn't understand—why aren't more people dying to have all the answers?; why is it just him?
These are the kinds of questions the Internet can't answer. But Parker has realized over the years that most people can't answer them either, so the best he can ever do is guess.
At the moment, the most burning question in his mind is why the heck Porter is sitting next to him on the bus. Ever since they started eighth grade, the twins have basically been ignoring his existence in public, so this sudden, strange display of camaraderie has Parker slightly worried that Porter is merely a distraction, and that Preston is going to pop out at some point and surprise him by dumping leftover pudding on his head or something. Knowing the twins, it's really not paranoia so much as cautiousness, and he finds himself flinching every time Porter glances to the back of the bus. By the fifth time this happens, Parker just can't take any more.
"What are you doing?"
Porter turns and stares down him like he's grown another head. The twins have gone through another growth spurt in the past month and they're a good four inches taller than him now. Parker really misses the days where he didn't feel a year and a half younger. "I'm not doing anything."
"You keep looking back at Preston."
"No I don't."
"You're going to pull something—I know it."
Porter scowls at him in that way that makes him feel like a baby, and really that's another thing Parker wants to know—why the heck do eighth graders think they're so cool anyway? "Don't be an idiot," his brother snaps. "Preston's too busy talking to Kristi to even remember you exist right now."
This spikes Parker's interest. Without any inkling to be subtle, he sits up and cranes his neck to look back at Preston and realizes Porter is right; the way Preston is staring at Kristi, she must be saying the most fascinating things in the world. "Oh," he says, turning back and shrugging. "Well why aren't you back there with them?"
"Because Preston's gonna ask her to the dance."
"Ew, what? Like his date?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
It slips out before Parker can help himself. It's just so weird, like, is Preston going to kiss her and why would he even want to and is she like his girlfriend now? He has a feeling that these are all things a baby would ask, though, because Porter is staring at him like he's never heard such an absurd question. "Because," he finally says in this bored voice, "that's what you do."
"Oh."
He thinks maybe this is one of those things that he'll only understand once he's almost fourteen too.
Porter is apparently done talking to him. He roots around in his backpack until he finds his iPod (the twins both got them last year for their thirteenth birthday, which Parker thinks is horribly unfair, especially because he still has to wait another seven months until he's thirteen and by then his parents will probably have completely forgotten that they even promised he could have one), puts on his headphones and completely tunes Parker out. It doesn't really matter; it's not like Porter ever pays attention to him on the bus anyway.
It takes forever for them to get home that day because it's a substitute bus driver who apparently has no clue what he's doing. By the time they get dropped off on the corner, it's almost four o'clock, and Parker has already managed to finish half of his math homework. It takes him a couple of minutes to stuff all of his books in his bag again, and in that time, Porter and Preston manage to hurry off the bus. Parker lags behind them, watching as they laugh and shove each other, and vaguely he wonders if Preston actually asked out Kristi.
He wonders if his mom is actually going to let Preston go out on a date with a girl.
It's the last moment his mind will focus on the bizarre, closed-off world of his brothers for awhile.
4:00pm
Lynette feels like her mind is spinning, her thoughts tripping over one another, there and gone so fast that she can't make sense of any of them. She really shouldn't be driving; she's already almost run two red lights, but it's not really any surprise since she seems to have to stop every minute because of one and who decided to put a red light at every damn intersection on this road anyway? There has to be a faster way to the hospital. She knows there is. When she was pregnant Tom made all these little maps of all these different routes to the hospital so they could get there as quickly as possible, and it all ended up being for nothing anyway because she'd been in labor for so many hours that they could have stopped to have a sit down dinner and still made it in time. But that's Tom. Always so worried about her and always trying to be calm and rational when he knows she won't be, and now it's her turn to be the calm and rational one and she's driving like a lunatic and can't even remember one damn faster route to the hospital. Of course, Tom had nine months to plan, really twenty-seven if you count all three pregnancies, and she barely had time to call Mrs. McCluskey to ask if she could babysit before she flew out the door. God, she knows she scared Penny half to death because she was acting so crazy, but nothing has ever been so scary in her entire life as getting a call from a doctor saying her husband is in critical condition and might be—But he can't be. He can't. Because Tom is nothing if not dependable and dependable people don't just go off and die on a Thursday afternoon in the middle of working while their wives are taking their daughters to the dentist for a check-up. It just doesn't happen. And it especially doesn't happen to Tom because he knows that she'll track him all the way to hell and back just to kick his ass. So he's not dead. He's just not. He's not. He's not. Dear God, she can't believe she's still sitting at a red light. She should call home. The boys should be home by now. It's after four. And Penny was crying when she left. The boys will probably be ticked that she got them a babysitter, but she and Tom have agreed that the boys aren't responsible enough to stay home with Penny without some kind of supervision. They're always saying next year they'll be old enough, but next year always comes and they're not. Which is ridiculous because they'll be fourteen in a couple of weeks and by the time she was fourteen she already knew how to cook dinner for four and do laundry and clean the bathroom and she should really, really start giving those kids more responsibility. If they were more responsible, she'd be able to trust them to watch their eight-year-old sister for a couple of hours without having to worry that the house will burn down. That's what she'll tell them when they complain—if they complain—they have to complain because the only way they wouldn't complain is if something bad has actually happened and nothing that bad has because she'd know. And that's the truth. She'd feel it all the way down in her bones because that's how she and Tom are—they're connected—and she'd know. God—how much further away is the fucking hospital?
5:00pm
They won't let her in to see Tom yet because they're still running tests or something, and Lynette can't quite help but feel like she can't really believe he's okay until she actually sees him. Despite everything the doctor said—all the reassurances he offered—her hands are still trembling and her voice shakes whenever she speaks. It's why she hasn't called home yet even though she should, because the kids would hear the doubt and worry in her voice and it would only make everything worse.
She really wishes that she could call one of her friends. Right now the only thing better than actually seeing her husband would be having even one of her friends there to hug her and tell her that everything will be okay. But Bree is at work, and Gaby is a week away from her due date, and Susan is gone visiting her mother this week. It's so mundane—so normal—and she desperately wishes that she was at home right now fixing dinner for her family and helping Penny do her homework just like always. This, sitting here, waiting…It's making her crazy.
She's never been good at waiting.
But then, neither has Tom, and that's why the thought that he's still waiting for her—two hours since they brought him in—is absolutely unbearable.
She remembers when he proposed. They'd only been dating a few months, but it hadn't stopped him from asking or her from accepting. Honestly, it felt like she'd been waiting forever for him to ask because she'd known for so long at that point that she was going to spend the rest of her life with him. It was just a question of when the rest of her life would actually start. Their engagement had been short—it was what they both wanted. They just couldn't wait to be together.
She doesn't want to believe that it was all some deep seeded fear; she doesn't want to believe that some greater force made them rush because they knew their time together would actually be so short. Fifteen years isn't enough time together—not even close.
She can't think about this anymore. Impatiently, she gets up and approaches the nurse's station again, hoping for a different result.
Somehow they have to understand: she really, really just needs to see him.
6:00pm
"It's a good thing she hasn't called yet, right?"
Penny perks up a bit at the sound of her brothers' voices, but tries not to make it too obvious. They're talking in whispers purposely so she can't hear, but if there's one thing her brothers are terrible at, it's being quiet. She's lying against Mrs. McCluskey, who has her arm wrapped tightly around Penny's shoulders, and it's comforting in its familiarity. She's the only regular babysitter Penny's ever known, and in some ways she's closer to being her grandmother than either of her real grandmothers ever have been. At least, she's certainly there more often, and she's never forgotten to give Penny a birthday card; her grandma Stella has only sent her one in eight years. In any case, Penny's really glad she's there now.
The boys are in the kitchen. She has to strain a little to hear what they're saying because the TV is on, but it sounds like, as usual, Porter and Preston are on different sides.
"If it was good news she would have called."
"No, she would have called for sure if it was bad news. Waiting just means that it's no news."
"No news is good news."
"Says who?"
"Says everyone."
"Just because you say it doesn't mean everyone does."
"Hey! Chuckleheads!"
Penny jumps a little at the sound of Mrs. McCluskey's voice. She kind of didn't realize how much she'd sat up and started to lean over the arm of the couch to listen in, and as Porter, Preston and Parker turn to stare at Mrs. McCluskey, Penny slouches down. They hate when she eavesdrops. And she suspects that Mrs. McCluskey knew was she was doing and that's why she put a stop to it. But she really doesn't see why everyone cares so much if she listens or not. After all—she's part of the family too.
"Why don't you three stop goofing around and start doing your homework?"
"Homework?" asks Parker incredulously, like he's never heard of anything so absurd.
"Yeah. You do have school tomorrow, don't you?"
"Yeah, but—"
"Yeah, but nothing. Let's go."
Porter scowls. He does that all the time now, and their mother always says his face is going to freeze that way. "What about her?" he asks, pointing at Penny accusingly. She frowns. She'd done her homework while they were waiting for the boys to come home—Mrs. McCluskey had made her even though she was really upset and crying after her mother left. "School comes whether you like it or not," she'd said to Penny in this stern-but-not-really voice. The strange thing is that it really had made her feel better.
Of course, since the boys got home all the nervous butterflies in her stomach have come back, but she hasn't cried again. She absolutely won't—not in front of her brothers.
"I did my homework," she announces, sitting up and tucking her feet under her legs. "So there."
Porter doesn't say anything, he just stomps up the stairs and a minute later, she hears the door to his room slam shut. Mrs. McCluskey doesn't do anything, though; she just stares at Preston and Parker until they sit down at the table and pull out their homework.
No one talks any more.
7:00pm
It's just after seven when Gaby shows up.
The nurses have tasked Lynette with more paperwork than she knows what to do with (none of the words even make sense as she looks at them), and she really suspects that it might have been to get her out of their hair more than anything else, so it's an absolute relief when she sees Gaby waddle out of the elevator, holding her stomach and swearing at an old man with a walker to get out of her way. It's enough to make her smile, even just for a second, though she also suddenly would very much like to cry. "What are you doing here?" she asks, standing and hugging Gaby, squeezing her as tightly as she can given how huge Gaby is in her ninth month. "You didn't have to come."
"Karen called. She told me what happened. Is Tom okay? What's going on?"
Lynette pulls back, shaking her head in an absolute deference to the tears building behind her eyes, and sinks back into her seat. Gaby looks terrified, and she sits down too, reaching out and squeezing her hand. "Lynette?"
"The doctor said he's going to be okay," she says. The words sound like they're coming out of someone else's mouth. "But they haven't let me see him yet—And they said the next thirty-six hours are critical, and I don't even know what that means. And they won't let me see him."
"Oh, God, sweetie." Gaby wraps her arms around her the best she can, pulling her down to bury her head in her shoulder. It's immensely comforting, and it's only as Lynette starts to feel her tears pooling between her cheek and Gaby's neck that she realizes she's crying. She wonders if she's been crying for hours, and didn't know it. It feels like she's been crying for hours.
"I just keep thinking, what if I never see him again? What if the last time I ever talk to him was rushing out the door to pick up Penny? And all I said was, 'I'll see you at dinner.' That's not a goodbye."
"You're going to see him again. You really think Tom could just give up without a fight? He'd never be able to leave you and the kids. It isn't in him."
Lynette pulls back, wiping her eyes and sniffling loudly. Gaby opens her purse and roots around for a tissue, handing over a slightly crumpled one with an apologetic shrug. Lynette doesn't care; she just blows her nose and give this helpless little shrug because she really wants to believe Gaby, but part of her just can't.
"I keep thinking about Rex. None of us thought—He was two years younger than Tom is now—I just—"
"You're making yourself crazy. Come on, where is the Lynette Scavo I've known all these years? You are not the person who sits around crying and thinking of these horrendous what if scenarios."
Lynette doesn't know what to say to that because it really isn't true—she's always preparing for the worst because she's so used to the bottom dropping out of things. It's always the first place her mind goes when something bad happens. The only difference this time is that she can't see a way out of it. She can't come up with the solution. There's no practical response because there's no way to even consider how she is going to go on if Tom dies. There's just…nothing. Nothing but fear and loneliness and a constant, gnawing anxiety.
"We need something practical to do."
"Huh?"
"Have you eaten?"
"Oh—No, Gaby…I'm not hungry."
"Well I am. This baby is ravenous. So let's go down to the cafeteria, and we'll have dinner, and then we can come back up here and I'll cause a scene until they let you in to see Tom."
Lynette doesn't have the strength to say no.
8:00pm
As it turns out, Gaby doesn't have to make a scene.
After sitting through a torturous hour of dinner where Gaby did her best to cheer her up with stories about Juanita tearing her room apart every day when she was supposed to be napping, they come back upstairs and are told by one of the nurses that she can go in. Immediately, her heart leaps into her throat and for a second, she actually can't move. Then Gaby gives her a little nudge, promising to wait for her, and Lynette shakily follows the nurse down the hall to Tom's room.
Despite spending hours thinking of nothing but seeing him, she is not at all prepared when she actually walks into the room.
Tom lies in the bed, unmoving and ghostly pale, hooked up to various kinds of machines that are beeping quietly, and the only thing she can think when she sees him is that he looks so fragile.
Tom isn't supposed to be fragile. He's sweet and loving and kind and generous and stubborn and rash and goofy and dorky and smart and funny and strong and dependable and giving and joyous and amazing and hers.
And her Tom is not fragile.
Robotically, she edges toward the bed. Up close, she can see how papery his skin looks, his face ashen, but all she can do is stare at the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes in and out. It's calming. He's breathing. He's breathing on his own, right before her eyes, and that means he's alive. It's all she can focus on.
9:00pm
Over an hour passes before Lynette regains any sense of awareness of the world around her. She stands, mesmerized by the simplest sign of life because she spent five hours of her life today fearing that she'd never actually get to see he husband breathe again, and her brain entirely shuts off for the first time in hours. It isn't until her legs begin to burn from standing unmoving for so long that she glances at her watch and realizes that it's after nine. Reluctantly, she bends and kisses Tom's forehead (so wonderfully, wonderfully warm and alive!), and whispers, "I'll be right back."
Gaby is asleep when she steps back into the waiting room, dozing lightly in one of the chairs. She looks horrifically uncomfortable, and Lynette shakes her shoulder, gently rousing her. "Hey," she says. She will never in a million years be able to express her gratitude. "You should go home."
"Tom's okay?" Gaby half-yawns. Lynette reaches down and grasps her arm, helping her out of the chair.
"Yeah. He's going to be okay."
"And you?"
"Yeah. I'll be okay too."
Gaby nods as though there's no doubt in her mind—Lynette wishes she had that much confidence in herself—and says, "Do you need anything else? A change of clothes…a toothbrush?"
"I'm good. I just have to call the kids, and then I'm going back in."
"Okay."
Gaby reaches out and squeezes her arm, but Lynette can't let her go without hugging her. "Thank you," she says quietly, and it's not nearly enough to convey her gratitude. Somehow, Gaby seems to understand, though. She pulls back slowly, smiling, and then grasps Lynette's hand for a moment before letting go.
Lynette watches until the elevator doors have closed, and then pulls out her cell phone and pushes down two on the speed dial. There is only one ring before the home phone picks up; it's Preston, she thinks, although sometimes it's impossible to tell the twins apart on the phone.
"Hey sweetie," she says, and even she can hear the exhaustion ringing through her voice.
"Mom? Mom—What's going on?"
Immediately, guilt settles rock hard in her stomach. She's not sure that she's ever heard either of her twins sound scared of anything, but right now Preston sounds absolutely panic-stricken. It dawns on her that it's been six hours since she ran out of the house, babbling to Karen and practically crying, and the only thing she'd been able to say was, "Tom's in the hospital. I have to go. I don't know what's going on. I'll call you later."
Six hours. And that's all they've heard from her.
"Your dad is fine," she says, but she can feel the lump in her throat again and tears are already welling in her eyes. "Sweetie, he's going to be okay."
There's a pause as Preston repeats this—she can picture them all in the living room in their pajamas, anxiously waiting for this news—and then her son is back. "You're sure? What happened? He's really okay?"
"There was an accident at the restaurant. Dad was working with the wiring and got shocked, but there was a policeman there, and the paramedics came, and he's going to be fine."
"Thank God."
Lynette raises a hand and wipes the tears from her eyes, surprised to find that her hand is still shaking. Vaguely, she wonders if she's in shock. "Are you guys all okay?"
"Yeah, we're fine."
"You ate dinner? Your homework is done?"
"Mom," says Preston. "Everything's okay. Don't worry." There's something oddly grown-up about his tone of voice, like he's the one reassuring her. She can't remember that ever happening before.
"Okay," she agrees, mostly because she honestly doesn't have the capacity to worry about anything else right now. "Can you put Mrs. McCluskey on?"
"Yeah." There's a pause, and then, "Love you, Mom."
She bites back a sob. It's just too much. "I love you too." Somehow she manages not to completely fall apart.
10:00pm
Their bedtime is nine on school nights, but that night it's after ten by the time they're in bed with the lights out, and Porter can't sleep anyway. After he stormed out of the room, he didn't bother going back downstairs even though he regretted it instantly. It was so much worse just lying up in his room, listening to his iPod and purposely not doing his homework. He tried to write a little—he can only do that when no one else is around anyway—but it was impossible. He was too angry: at Preston for insisting that there was bad news; at Mrs. McCluskey for acting like nothing was going on; at his mother for not calling; at himself for not having the guts to go back downstairs. Not that it was any different than normal—lately he feels annoyed all the time, like he's growing out of his own body too fast, and he just wants to escape. Even when Preston had finally burst into the room to tell him what was going on the relief was tinged with just the slightest wish that everyone would go away and leave him alone.
He doesn't understand how he can want his family around and wish they'd all just disappear at the same time.
Now he lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling, kind of wanting Preston to say something, but at the same time hoping he doesn't. He knows his brother isn't asleep either. That twin connection thing isn't just made up, though sometimes he wishes that it was. Like today, when Preston asked Kristi to the dance and she said yes—the tiniest part of him is jealous, and he knows that Preston knows, which really isn't fair.
Just for once in his life, he'd like some thought or feeling or moment that's all his.
The door opens, light from the hallway spilling into the room, and Porter glances over halfheartedly. It's Parker, of course. He slips into the room quietly and climbs over the foot of Porter's bed, settling in as though he's been invited. Somehow, though, Porter doesn't have any inclination to kick him out.
The silence between them is comfortable—familiar. Up until two years ago, they all still shared a room, and even now they fall back into the old patterns with ease. Porter isn't even surprised when Parker takes a deep breath—the way he always does before he asks something he knows they don't want to hear—and says, "Do you think Dad almost died?"
"Doesn't matter," says Porter instinctively. "He didn't."
"Yeah, but—"
The words are cut off as the door creaks open again, but this time, all three boys turn their heads in surprise. It seems likely that Mrs. McCluskey is going to chastise them to go to bed, and another possibility honestly doesn't enter Porter's mind until Penny sticks her head in the room. She's hugging a cloth doll that Porter hasn't seen her carry around in years, and he's suddenly reminded that Penny is practically still a baby, and she's never confronted their parents' mortality before. She'd been too young to understand what was going on when their mom was sick. Actually, Porter thinks, forgetting that he'd barely been older than Penny was now when their mother had cancer, she's probably still too young to really understand anything but how scary this is.
"I can't sleep," she says. She juts out her chin, trying to show her brothers that she isn't frightened. "Can I hang out with you guys for awhile?"
Preston nods before Porter can and Penny scrambles up onto his bed.
Parker bites his lip, obviously a little hesitant to continue the conversation now that Penny's here, and Porter is glad. He doesn't want to think about what maybe almost did or did not happen. Their dad is fine—he's going to be fine. That's all that matters.
"Hey guys," says Parker hesitantly. "I just thought of something."
"What?"
"Did Mom call Kayla?"
Synchronized as usual, Porter and Preston sit up simultaneously and say, "What?"
Parker shrugs. "I was just thinking…I mean, she should know too, right?"
"I don't know," says Preston, his indifference spoiled by a slight hint of annoyance. "Does it matter? I doubt she cares."
This is an opinion Porter shares and, deep down, he's sure Parker does as well. None of them have seen their sister since she went to live with her grandparents. Even their father's visits have petered out over the past couple of years. Kayla always claims she has other things to do, some busy life to lead. No one ever says that she's lying, but all of them privately think it. Personally, Porter believes they're all better off without Kayla anyway, though he'd never say that to his dad.
"I'd wanna know," says Penny suddenly. Porter looks over at her; he's surprised she's still awake. "Even if I wasn't here I'd want someone to tell me about Daddy."
"We'd tell you." Preston tickles her stomach until she giggles.
Parker, who has that pasty look he always gets when he feels guilty, frowns. "I think Penny's right. We should tell her."
"Maybe Mom already did." Parker shoots Porter a dirty look and he sighs. He doesn't want to agree to this. He doesn't want to dredge up the past, and he honestly has no desire to speak to or actually see Kayla. Ever. It's all just more bad memories.
Preston glances over at him, and Porter knows that he knows what he's thinking, but the look on his face suggests that he agrees with Parker. It's really obnoxious, but as siblings they have some unspoken rules, and he really can't fight all three of them. "Okay, fine," he sighs. "We'll call."
11:00pm
Visiting hours ended at ten, but either the nurses feel sympathy or else they're really sick of dealing with her, because they don't protest when she insists on staying the night. Karen had volunteered to stay with the kids before Lynette even had the chance to ask, easily brushing off the entire litany of information Lynette tried to give her about the kids' morning routine.
"Lynette, the kids'll be fine," she'd said. "Don't worry about it. And try to get some sleep."'
She really isn't sure if that last piece of advice will be possible to follow.
She's just gotten back to Tom's room. By the time she was off the phone with Karen and had finished her weak battle with the nursing staff, she'd spent about ten minutes wondering whether or not to call her in-laws tonight or wait until the morning. She knows Rodney and Alison well enough that they'll probably be on the next plane up here, and Tom's siblings need to know as well, but after so much back and forth within her own mind, she finally decided to let it wait.
Truthfully, she can't bear the idea of explaining it to even one more person tonight.
Now she settles into the only chair in the room, a stiff, uncomfortable thing with no padding whatsoever, and tries not to groan. As quietly as she can, she scoots forward, bringing the chair close enough to Tom's bed that she can reach out and take his hand. Whatever else is going on, she needs the physical contact—the reassurance.
She needs to know that he's still here.
February 10, 2012 – 12:00am
Kayla is just about asleep when her phone begins to vibrate, spinning in crude semi-circles around her nightstand as she glares at it. It's probably Ethan, and he's probably drunk. Since he left for college, it's become a routine Thursday night activity, and she's growing weary of it. For a second, she thinks about not answering, but the last time she didn't he ended up kissing some stupid girl, and she's not quite ready to end this yet, especially over something so trite.
"Hello," she says, not bothering to hide the annoyance in her voice. She's very surprised when the voice on the other end is decidedly not her boyfriend.
"Hi…Uh, Kayla?"
"Who is this?"
"This is Parker."
Kayla's eyes widen and she reaches over to click on her bedside lamp, sitting up at the same time. She finds it basically impossible to form a coherent thought beyond: why? Why is Parker calling her? After midnight? On a school night? Why, when she hasn't heard from any of her siblings in nearly three years?
"Parker Scavo," he clarifies, clearly taking her silence to mean she doesn't know who she's speaking to. "Your brother."
"Yeah, I know. What do you want?"
There's a long pause, and she thinks that maybe what she said came out a little ruder than she intended, but she's too confused to really worry about it. "Hello?" she prompts. "Parker."
There's a noise—handing off the phone—and then a different voice comes through. "Kayla, this is Preston."
"What the hell is going on?" she snaps, because this is really getting kind of ridiculous.
"It's Dad. He's in the hospital. I mean—he's okay, but he got hurt pretty bad at work."
The words wash over her like a wave: physically hitting her hard enough to almost but not quite knock her backwards, and then leaving her with a strange, numbing, tingling sensation. Really, it's not even so much what he said as opposed to the fact that they're calling at all. Like, how bad is it that they feel compelled to actually let her, the leper of the family, know about it?
"Kayla?"
"Yeah, I'm here." She draws in a breath and exhales slowly. "You said he's okay."
"Yeah—Well, I mean, Mom's at the hospital, but she called and said that he's be okay."
"Oh."
"And…We thought…I guess we thought maybe you'd wanna know."
Kayla has no idea how to respond to that. It's been nearly a year since she's seen her dad, and as much as she'd like to blame him for it, it's really her choice. "I'm busy," has become her mantra more and more lately, and it's only partly true. It's also because it's uncomfortable and awkward, and she has no idea what to say to him. Part of her still feels like he abandoned her, and she thinks that's something that's never going to fade no matter how many years go by.
"Well…Thanks, I guess."
They're quiet. She almost asks how he's doing, but it just sounds stupid, and she knows they all hate her anyway. It's ridiculous to pretend that this phone call is anything more than a courtesy; they don't have a relationship.
"Uh…Goodnight."
"Bye."
She hears the click of the phone on the other end, but it's several minutes before she sets her cell down again.
1:00am
Her eyes shut against her will, but she's so exhausted that she can't help it. Slowly, she leans forward and buries her head on the mattress, and it's not exactly comfortable, but it will do as a makeshift pillow. The day drifts through her mind like a haze, as though she watching it from an outsider's perspective. The phone call and the drive and the hours of waiting and praying and crying and then finally getting to see her husband: it's all like a distant nightmare. She frowns. She's so tired. But she already knows that this isn't going away. It's going to be the thing that haunts her day in and day out now because she came so close to losing him today, and that fear doesn't just go away once it's discovered. It stays with you. Because someday it's not going to just be so close…Someday it's going to be reality. And there's nothing she can do about it.
2:00am
Kayla isn't really thinking as she blindly stuffs some clothes into her backpack and tucks her cell phone into the pocket of her jeans. For the past hour or so, she's tossed and turned, and as absurd as it is, she can't get the idea out of her mind that things can't just be fine like Preston said. The fear was too real in his voice. She knows. She remembers. It was the same thing when Lynette was sick because even then she could hear the terror underscoring everyone's words whenever anyone mentioned the cancer. A person doesn't just forget that.
Sometimes she dreams that that is how her mother sounded right before she died. She wonders what that fear was for her—fear of the pain? Of death? Of the unknown?
Kayla isn't brave enough to believe that it was a fear of leaving her forever.
Quietly, she sneaks downstairs. Her grandparents are pretty sound sleepers, but she's snuck out of the house enough times now to know that they're listening for it. By the time she reaches Fairview, they'll just be waking up. She'll call then and let them know. They'll be pissed—probably take away her driving privileges for a few weeks, but she doesn't care.
The keys to her grandfather's truck in hand, Kayla creeps out of the house.
3:00am
The truck is ancient and there's no CD player and definitely no hookup for her iPod, so Kayla is forced to listen to the radio. Unfortunately, her choices this late seem to be slow, sleepy ballads or country or one really annoying talk radio station. She finally settles on the talk radio, arguing out loud with everything the guy says just to keep herself awake.
4:00am
Kayla finally has no choice but to pull off at a rest stop. She's too tired. She thinks if she can just sleep for an hour, she'll be able to make it the rest of the way.
5:00am
Tom opens his eyes.
For a second, he has no idea where he is because the last thing he remembers was a pain so intense and the policeman standing over him and all he could think of was the he was going to die. He was going to die on the floor of a restaurant during the mid-afternoon lull and that would be the end. And as his eyes closed and all he could feel was the fear, the only thing he could think was that he was never going to see his family again. Never see his boys learn to drive or walk his daughters down the aisle or watch any of them graduate from high school or grow up and become even more spectacular than they already were. Never see Lynette again—never hold her or touch her or kiss her or tell her that he loved her.
It was the end; he was certain of it.
But he's not dead.
Somehow.
And as he looks around now, the first and only thing he can concentrate on his the sight of Lynette, asleep and holding his hand like a lifeline.
She's his lifeline.
He squeezes her hand.
6:00am
Kayla wakes up to the sound of her cell phone buzzing and immediately groans. Her neck is stiff and her back aches from sleeping in the car, and as she glances out the window, she realizes that she slept much later than she intended. Guiltily, she fishes out her cell phone.
It's her grandmother.
She sighs and answers the phone.
7:00am
Tom has finally fallen asleep again, and though Lynette feels guilty, she needs to go home for a little while. For the first time since yesterday, she feels a little bit better. Talking to Tom, trying to calm him down, grounded her in a way she desperately needed. She can't be out of control when he is. That's part of why they work; she's his support system as much as he is hers, and right now he's too vulnerable to carry her. But for the moment it's okay, because it is in these occasions that she finds her most genuine strength.
She gets home just as the kids are heading out to meet the bus. As she walks through the door, they're all standing in the foyer gathering their things, and for a moment they just freeze and stare at her. It feels like a lifetime has passed since she's seen them, and she's startled by the quiet. There's no arguing, no shouting, no teasing, no laughing—they seem like strangers.
"Hey guys," she says, managing a mostly genuine smile.
Penny seems to snap out of the stupor first. She walks toward her slowly, wrapping her arms around her waist and hugging her tightly. "Morning Mommy. How's Dad?" She yawns hugely, and Lynette frowns.
"He's good," she says, more concerned at the moment by the obvious fatigue of her children. "Did you guys get any sleep last night?"
Parker nods as the twins mutter halfhearted yeahs. It's hardly convincing, but she doesn't have time to interrogate them. "Well let's go," she says, holding open the door and ushering them out. "You guys can take a nap when you get home."
"Yeah right," snorts Porter as he heads out the door. Lynette smiles; that's more like her children.
8:00am
Preston Scavo is about to fall asleep, and he's only been in school for forty minutes.
He keeps trying to distract himself by doodling on his notepad, but his head keeps drooping lower and the pencil keeps moving more slowly and just as he thinks he's going to drift off, he manages to jerk himself awake again. He wonders if his siblings are having the same problem right now. He and his brothers were up until nearly two—it had taken forever for Mrs. McCluskey to fall asleep so they could sneak downstairs and find their mother's phone book, and then the call to Kayla had been short but infuriating. They'd stayed up nearly another hour ranting about it until finally they passed out from exhaustion.
Penny, of course, hadn't even lasted until midnight.
Honestly, Preston isn't even sure why he's in school today to begin with. It seems like the sort of day that would be reasonable to miss. It's not like he's learning anything anyway, just sitting here trying not to fall asleep.
Porter was still pissed this morning. He'd complained about Kayla the whole way to school, and it had taken a lot of effort not to just tune him out. He thinks that it's not really about Kayla and her lack of a reaction anyway—not really. Porter just lashes out in weird ways when he's upset, and Preston knows without a doubt that their dad maybe almost dying has him a lot more freaked out than he's pretending. He just doesn't want to admit it.
For Preston, it's simpler to think about his siblings than himself. Trying not to freak out Penny, answering Parker's stupid questions, listening to Porter: it all makes it easier for him not to think about how he feels. Because he's pretty sure if he took a second to really think about what happened yesterday, he might do something ridiculous like cry.
And almost fourteen-year-old boys definitely do not cry.
There's a tap on his shoulder, and Preston turns to see Kristi Webber smiling at him. He brightens a little at that, sitting up a straighter. He asked her to the dance yesterday—was that only yesterday?—and she actually said yes.
"You want to be my partner?" she asks now, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Huh?"
"We're supposed to find a partner to read with? Weren't you listening?"
Preston shakes his head, and Kristi laughs.
He's pretty sure that alone was worth coming to school for.
9:00am
The doorbell rings at 9:10.
Lynette is just about to leave for the hospital again. She's showered and has clean clothes on and has just finished making coffee, and already she feels so much better than she did even two hours ago, but she's honestly surprised to be interrupted by a visitor. She figures it must be Bree or Gaby—maybe Karen left something—and she heads for the door without too much thought.
She opens the door, and her eyes widen.
For the first time in three years, her stepdaughter stands in front of her.