Page 8 of Burn

“The doctors would prefer you come in to discuss her condition. When can you be here?”

The conversation is a blur. I make notes on the pad of paper on the fridge designed for groceries, and it’s so surreal. Yesterday, I wrote a list of school snacks the kids needed, and now I write down the details of the hospital one of my best friends was taken to after a fire — to the hospital that won’t tell me if she’s okay or alive.

I walk back to the bedroom; it’s 6:12 A.M.

I lower myself to the edge of the bed next to Dave, and as soon as I’m fully seated next to him, his eyes fly open.

“What?”

He knows something is wrong.

“Lane, what’s wrong?”

I can’t speak. I don’t know how to say it. I don’t know what to say because she wouldn’t give me information. The frustration crashes into me, and I break down, sobbing quietly next to him.

He’s upright, with his arms wrapped around me in a flash. Gently shushing me.

“Lane, who was that? It’s okay. Tell me what’s happening.”

He’s so calm, always so calm.

“It’s Lex. Something happened, and that was the hospital.”

I struggle to get the words out between sobs.

He presses for more information, and my frustration surrounds me.

“I don’t know, Dave. I don’t fucking know. They wouldn’t tell me anything. They asked me to come there.”

I press my head into my hands.

Is my friend dead?

He moves, rising out of bed and walking to the closet.

“What are you doing? It’s so early. Go back to sleep.”

As if he could or would. I’m not thinking clearly.

He reaches for my phone, still gripped in my hand.

My ears ring — my mind races.

The morgue or the burn unit —where will they take me?

Dave sounds a thousand miles away when he speaks to the receiver.

“Hey, Mom. Yeah — I know. It’s early. Sorry.” There is a pause, “Kids are fine, but Lane just got a call from the hospital, and something happened with Lex. Can you come to stay with the kids while we go?”

I can faintly hear his mom speaking; her tone sounds frantic even while barely audible.

“We don’t know, Mom. Can you come? Okay, thanks. See you soon.”

He’s pulling a small suitcase out of the closet.

“Dave, you can stay. Your mom doesn’t need to come…”

I don’t sound confident because I don’t want him to stay here. I need him to come with me, but I don’t like putting anyone out.