16 Things I Thought were True Part 8

You were in such a hurry and then both of you disappeared. I was worried, but no one knew anything." She pauses for a teeny second to breathe.

"Everything's fine," I tell her to cut her babbling short. "And Adam's not mad."

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e The look on his face makes me laugh out loud- like he's consti- pated or something. It's obvious he's trying not to get angry, and for that I give him silent props. I feel closer to him than I've felt to anyone in a while. He was so great handling the emergency with my mom.

Adam glances at his watch. "You should probably go start your shift. I have to get back to the office. Theresa's going to kill me."

"I know." Amy waves and wanders back toward the snack shop.

"Wow," Adam says. "I think she just broke up with me."

I laugh. "Sorry to interfere. I couldn't resist."

"Yeah. Way to undermine my authority." He laughs though. He doesn't sound so uptight anymore. I'm grateful to Amy for spin- ning in and lightening the moment with her whirlwind of energy.

"She's harmless," I say.

"A little. But it might be better if she came with a mute b.u.t.ton."

He glances at his watch again and rolls his shoulders back. "Okay.

I really should get to the office." His cheeks turn slightly pink. "I wanted to make sure, you know, your mom is okay." He glances around the gift shop, avoiding my eyes.

"Thanks."

"And to let you know I'm stalking you on Twitter."

My turn for my cheeks to warm up. And then he grins and walks out, whistling to himself. It's very off- key. And it's a Taylor Swift song. I grin, but the notes disappear as the sounds of the amus.e.m.e.nt park opening up for the day swallow them up.

I'm tempted to check my Twitter feed, but I feel like I owe it to Adam not to since I'm technically now on duty. I replay our con- versation in my head, and that's enough to get me past the urge.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r A steady flow of customers keeps me busy for the next hour, and when there's a lull, I take a moment to sit on the stool behind the cash register to catch my breath. When I look up at a ruckus by the door, Adam is rushing inside and Theresa is with him.

I jump off the stool. Judging by the looks on their faces, I'm in trouble. "I just finished ringing through a bunch of customers. I'm going to fill up the gum machine in a sec," I say.

"Your brother called the office," Adam says, cutting me off. "Jake.

There was a cancellation at the hospital and they're doing your mom's angiogram in an hour and a half. Your brother wants you to get right there."

Theresa is already behind the counter, and she pats my arm as she slides past me. "Go on," she says.

I don't move. I blink, trying to concentrate. I don't have a car.

The bus will take at least an hour to get back to town and then I'll have to transfer to the hospital. I don't know what to do.

"Come on," Adam says. He's standing on the other side of the counter. "I'm taking you. Theresa's lending me her car."

My hands start to shake. Theresa puts her hand on my back and gently pushes me toward the exit. A customer walks in the store then, an old woman wearing a layered dress and an orange cardi- gan. Adam grabs my hand as I come around the counter and pulls me along, out of the gift shop.

"I'll get you there as fast as I can. You got this, Morgan. You can handle it."

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sixteenthings.indd 52 9/9/13 2:21 PM.

chapter five.

T he elevator door opens and I stride through the now- familiar hospital corridor toward my mom's room. Josh is standing outside in the hallway, stroking his mustache between two fingers.

"You made it here fast," he says.

"Adam broke some speed limits."

"Is he here?" The ways Josh says it, he almost sounds hopeful, as if he wants Adam to explain things or take control.

"No, he was borrowing Theresa's car and had to get back to the park." Only his calm rea.s.surances on the way over kept me from freaking out. "What's wrong?" I ask Josh. "Why're you out here?"

A nurse hurries past us with a stack of towels. "Mom wanted to be alone for a minute. Jake's in the chapel." He stands up straighter, stretches his arms into the air. "Mom asked for you to go see her as soon as you got here." He glances at the clock in the middle of the stark white wall across from him.

Mom wanted to be alone? Jake's in the chapel? This has "not normal" stamped on it on so many levels. I'm itching to run inside to her, but Josh looks absolutely miserable, so I put my hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

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J a n e t G u r t l e r "I suck at this. I freaking hate hospitals," he says. He brushes my hand off. "Go," he says.

"It's okay, Josh," I say, shuffling my feet, wishing I knew what to say to help him. "Lots of people aren't good at hospitals."

"Go," he says again, so I turn and go inside Mom's room.

One of the old men is gone, but the man with gas is still there.

He's sleeping. Mom's privacy curtain isn't pulled around the bed.

The bed is raised so that she's almost sitting up. She's staring into s.p.a.ce and looks pale and fragile under the baby- blue hospital bed-ding. It would wash out anyone, but without her makeup on, she looks especially vulnerable. When I approach her bed, she glances at me, the corners of her mouth turn up, and her eyes brighten. She hasn't looked at me like that in a while.

"You made it," she says.

"Of course. You're my favorite mom." I step beside the bed and take her hand. It's seems lighter and bonier.

"I'm your only mom," she says and then sighs.

I stare down at her and, for a fleeting moment, get the sensation that our roles have been temporarily switched. I don't like it. I don't even like watching body- switching movies. They freak me out. This does too.

"Are you still mad at me?" she asks and turns toward the window.

The blind is pulled down. The redbrick wall is hidden from sight.

"No. You're still my favorite mom."

She glances toward the door. "They're coming to get me soon. I don't have a lot of time."

"Mom." I squeeze her hand. "You're going to be fine. Okay?

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e You'll have plenty of time after the surgery to do whatever you want. Except smoke." The old man snores loudly, which I prefer to farting. "The angiogram will find it if something's wrong, and they'll get you all fixed up."

"I have a bad feeling. A dream."

"Mom..." I start to say.

She takes her hand from mine and waves her fingers at me in the air. "Let me talk. It's not about the dream."

I press my lips shut.

"I'm sorry." She blinks fast. Her eyes are bright and serious, and I see fear in them. She turns back to the blinds.

"The boys need you. They're going to rely on you to pull the family together. That's what women do. But first, you need to accept yourself for who you are." She sounds as if a death warrant in her name has already been written.

"Mom. You're not going to die. You're coming home in a few days. You're just going to have to make some changes to your life- style, that's all."

She doesn't answer me. She just sighs dramatically with her head turned toward the window.

"You need to know who you are first. I know that now. I wanted to protect you, Morgan." She sniffles. "That's why I never told you about your dad."

I look around and outside the door, see Josh still lingering around in the hallway. He's not looking inside. Tears plop down my cheeks.

They roll one after another, after another. I want to keep my emo- tions under control, shoved down, but I can't. "Maybe you wanted

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J a n e t G u r t l e r to protect yourself," I say softly, knowing it's wrong to do this to her now. "That's why you never told me."

"You have no idea what it was like," she whimpers.

"So tell me," I plead. I want to know why she always made me feel horrible for wanting to know who my dad was.

There's a long pause, and she sniffles and gulps in air. Guilt pumps around my body, traveling through my veins. I open my mouth to apologize.

"The answers you might be looking for...who he is..."

I stop breathing. My heart pounds. The machines in the room whir and beep. The old man snorts and mumbles in his sleep. I push off the bed, get to my feet, stumbling a little as if I'm dizzy from low blood sugar or something. I fainted once in the hallway at school when I had too many Tylenol for cramps. It felt like this.

I reach out and touch the end of the bed to steady myself.

"What?" I can't think of anything else to say, so I walk to the closed window and stand in front of it, my arms crossed, my back to her.

"I don't want to go to my grave knowing you never got a chance to find the truth. I'd feel guilty the rest of my life. Well- the rest of my death, I suppose." She attempts a laugh, but it fades as soon as it leaves her mouth. "I'd have to hang around the hospital as a ghost or something, unable to move on to the light."