Author's Note: This is where I think I might start shifting away from the show's current story lines -- I think it's about time to wrap this story up. Hope you all enjoy! -Jac
I couldn't shake the way he pulled his gun on that kid without thinking; there was a glared of hatred that I rarely saw come out of Woody. I wasn't afraid of the kid; I didn't really know what damage a fencing sword, or whatever they call it, could do to me. Woody seemed to anticipate the worst; he protected me without thinking.
I was getting ready for my date with 'the dork.' I had a feeling that I might be giving the wrong person a second chance, but he sounded so nice on the telephone. He didn't sound like the confused kid he once was; I was sure that I should have called Woody. I should have been giving him a second chance tonight.
We worked together on a few cases this week. My flight was only forty-eight hours away; my pulse raced a little every time I thought about it. I was nervous, excited, and scared all at the same time. I hadn't felt this way in a long time; it felt damn good. I think Woody knew that I was excited; he seemed upset when he saw all the Dallas visitor brochures cluttering my desk. I knew he was disappointed, but I was determined to make my way to Dallas. Maybe second chances would come for Woody and I, but that would be far in the future. I wondered if Woody was right about only having six months; I wondered if that was in reference to our mortality or to the shelf-life of a relationship. I wondered if relationships do have shelf-lives; I wondered if Woody and I hit our expiration date sometime last year . . . when our relationship had first begun to sour.
It was hard to shake him from my thoughts; he seemed like a constant presence these last five days. I couldn't get the image of him doubled over in front of the Pogue gasping for breath. He was a frantic mess; he was so terrified of losing me. I rationalized that he would need to have me before he could lose me; maybe he did have me that night he came to the Pogue to seek solace in me. Complicated; he said he could be complicated. I thought complicated was a little bit of an understatement. Woody could be downright impossible. Six months; I hoped he could get it together in six months. I held onto the hope that we could at least be really good friends.
I dressed carefully. Garrett told me not to screw things up before dessert; I normally managed to screw things up before the appetizers. Always held men to a higher standard; I had Woody to thank for that. He had these endearing, protective, up-standing-citizen qualities that were lacking in most of the men that I met. Woody made everyone else look bad. Especially when he went back to pretending that he was perfect; all week he pretended to be that happy-go-lucky Farm Boy. He didn't outwardly look like he was muddling through the consequences of Devan's death or his commitment issues. I wished he knew that he didn't have to pretend.
"Cavanaugh," I said as I picked up my cellphone. The caller ID showed a number that I had never seen before; I reasoned that it might be Spork calling to make sure that I was still going to meet him for dinner and drinks.
"Is this Jordan Cavanaugh?" A woman asked.
"This is," I replied. Telemarketers . . . I was annoyed that they were calling this late.
"Your father Max Cavanaugh has just been brought into Boston General," the woman said. I couldn't believe the words; I wasn't hearing this. My father couldn't have possibly been in Boston all this time; I had two private detectives looking for him.
"Is he okay?" I asked. That was a dumb question; she wouldn't be calling if he was okay.
"He's suffered a heart attack. You should hurry," the woman said. With that, I hung up my cellphone and frantically searched for my keys, purse, and shoes. Everything else could wait. I could call Spork from the hospital. He would understand. He would have to wait for that second chance.
The drive was excruciating. What normally took me twenty minutes seemed to take well over an hour. It didn't help that I would look at the clock on the radio ten times in a minute. I picked up my cellphone and dialed the only person that I knew I could count on.
"Macy," Garrett said. He sounded groggy; he must not have went out for that drink after all.
"Garrett, I need you," I said. It was more of a squeak than words. I didn't really know what to say.
"Jordan, are you all right?" He asked suddenly sounding a million times more awake than just moments ago.
"No . . . no, I'm not all right," I replied.
"What's wrong?" Garrett asked. I could hear shuffling in the background. He must have been getting dressed. Garrett was the only person I knew that would get up and come to me in the middle of the night.
"Dad's had a heart attack . . . he's at Boston General," I rambled. I pulled into the ER parking lot and put my car in the nearest available spot. I whipped the keys out of the ignition.
"Is he okay?" Garret asked; I could hear the distinct rattling of keys.
"They wouldn't tell me anything on the phone. I just got to the hospital," I replied. I knew that was the first thing they teach to physicians; you never give really bad news over the telephone. I expected the worse; I expected to walk into the hospital to find out that my father was dead.
"I'll be right there. Be brave, Jordan. I'll see you soon," Garrett replied. I could hear a car starting before he hung up his telephone. I ran out of my car and into the emergency room. I ran to the desk.
"Max Cavanaugh . . . where's my dad?" I asked breathlessly to the woman behind the counter.
"Go have a seat in the family room . . . someone will be out to talk to you shortly," the woman said as she continued to type on her keyboard. I wanted to jump over that desk and strangle her, but I numbly walked to the family room. I sat down and waited. I don't know how I long I waited, but I tried to wait patiently.
"Ms. Cavanaugh, I'm Alex Burnam. I treated your father this evening," a young man said as he sat next to me. I was startled; I hadn't heard him open the door to the silent room. They must have sent the intern to see me; he looked as scared as I did . . . I wondered if this was the first time that he had to tell a family bad news.
"My dad . . . is he okay?" I asked. My voice was trembling.
"Max was brought in earlier this evening. He was having a massive myocardial infarction. We stabilized him in the ER and took him up to the cardiac catheterization lab. During the procedure, Max's heart stopped," the doctor said. I couldn't believe that I was hearing; he had to be lying to me. I knew he had to be lying to me.
"Ms. Cavanaugh, your father is in the ICU on a ventilator. The neurologist is going to come by to assess his brain function; I'm afraid that it probably won't be good news," the doctor said. I wanted to hit him for not working harder to save my father.
"I'll send someone to walk you up there," the doctor said as he placed a hand on my knee. That's all it took for me to start sobbing uncontrollably. I was sobbing so hard that I couldn't even breathe.
"Jordan, God, Jordan," Garrett said as he rushed to my side and immediately pulled me into his arms. I sobbed as I clung to him. He whispered things in my ear; I couldn't hear them but the tone of his voice was soothing.
"Garrett, he might be brain dead," I said between raspy sobs. I could feel him pull me closer to my chest. He talked more; I liked the sound of his voice, but that was not enough to make things better. What if we don't have six months? That's all I could hear running through my head; maybe I should have been questioning the mortality of myself and my father. Maybe Woody had the right idea after all.
I don't remember how we got up to the ICU; I don't remember riding and elevator or climbing stairs. All I remember is how sick my father looked and how the respirator made this gentle hum as it forced my father to breathe. I sat next to him; Garrett sat next to me. He held my hand.
"Love, I tried to get here as fast as I could," Nigel said as he kneeled before me. I hadn't heard him come into the small cubicle where my father was dying, if not already dead. Nigel kissed my cheek. I couldn't cry anymore. All I could do was feel my heart being ripped out of my chest; it was a pain that I hadn't felt since I saw Mom on the hardwood floor.
"Lily, Bug, and Sydney are on their way. Okay, love," Nigel said. I don't think he expected me to answer. I don't think I could have answered if I wanted to. I was waiting for the neurologist to do his second EEG on Dad; the second EEG would determine whether or not the ventilator would be turned off. Dad had only abnormal reflexes; the doctor in me knew that all his upper motor neuron control was lost . . . he was brain dead. The doctor in me knew this, but I couldn't let myself believe that he was gone . . . my Dad was dead.
"He's dead, Nigel," I said. I hadn't realized that I said that. Nigel and Garrett looked shocked; I couldn't believe I had said such a horrible thing out loud.
"Love . . . is there anyone else that you want me to call?" Nigel asked. I think he was asking me if I wanted him to call Woody if he had not already; I didn't think he'd call Woody without my permission.
"Can you call my date? I was supposed to be there thirty minutes ago . . . I don't want him to be worried. Can you call Eddie? Eddie was Dad's partner . . . Eddie should be here," I said. My voice sounded shockingly calm; it was the numbness. I had just lost my father. The emotions would come after the shock.
"Anything, love," Nigel said as I handed him my cell phone . . . that's where all the numbers were. Nigel quickly disappeared to make the telephone calls. Garrett held my hand . . . I held my father's hand. I wondered how I could ever say good-bye to Dad. I wondered what words I should use and what I should tell him.
"Garrett . . . he needs his last rights. He would want that," I said.
"Are you going to be okay alone?" Garrett asked.
"Could you call Woody? I think I need him," I replied. Garrett nodded. Woody would understand. I didn't expect Garrett to fight me this time; he walked away silently. I tried to think of what to tell Dad before the ventilator was turned off.