I can think is, Please, please, please let Dad be okay.
George holds out his hand. “Give me your keys.”
“What?”
“Your keys, Emma. We need to get to the hospital and you can’t drive like this.”
I do what George is asking, hand him my keys. My hands are shaking, and George takes my arm, lifts me gently off the curb and holds on to me. He steadies me the whole way through the parking lot to my car and helps me get in.
It is weird to be in the passenger seat, to see George in the driver seat of my car, and this is something I might comment on if I weren’t also hyperventilating. George adjusts the seat and the mirror and pulls out. “Just breathe, Emma,” he says. “I’m sure everything is going to be fine.”
“You don’t know that,” I say, my voice breaking.
He stops at a red light, turns and puts his hand on my arm. “You’re right, I don’t know that,” he says. “But try not to panic yet, okay?”
The light turns green, and George speeds down Highbury Pike, faster than I normally would drive. I put my head against the seat, close my eyes and pray that George is right.
* * *
George drops me off at the front of the ER, and I run in as he goes to park. It’s packed inside, but I make my way up to the front desk, and have to wait in line. Finally, I’m at the front, and I ask for Dad.
George runs in, and I wave him over to where I’m standing.
“Woodhouse?” the nurse says, scanning a list in front of her. “I don’t see him.”
“What do you mean you don’t see him?” I’m talking too loud, almost yelling. “Kristy said he was taken here.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, holding up her hands. And I know I have to explain more, or ask more questions, but I can’t find the words, and when I try, I start crying instead. If they can’t find him, does that mean he’s dead? I can barely breathe I’m crying so hard.
George steps forward and explains what he thinks happened, and where Dad would’ve been coming from. “Check again,” George says to her. “Please.”
“Woodhouse?” Another nurse steps forward, and hands the first nurse a chart. “He was just admitted. Third floor. Room 301.” She points toward the elevator, and I run in that direction, hearing George thank them behind me.
It takes forever for the elevator to come and then to rise up to the third floor, and it’s hard to focus on anything because my eyes are still teary, and I didn’t think to ask why Dad was admitted or what condition he’s in. I picture him in a coma, tubes and wires coming from his large body. My breath is ragged in my chest and I can barely stand. George grabs on to my hand and it feels more like it’s to hold me up, to keep me from falling, than to try and comfort me. I don’t let go of him. I can’t.
Finally, the elevator makes it to the third floor; room 301 is just across from it, and George and I run toward it. I stop at the doorway when I see Dad. He’s sitting up in bed, reading something on his iPad. No tubes and wires at all, except for an IV.
“Dad. You’re alive!” I run into his room and give him a huge hug.
“Emma, honey, of course I’m alive. I was just trying to figure out how to connect this thing up to the Wi-Fi to text you. My phone is back at the office but I had my iPad with me in my briefcase. How did you know I was here?”
I hold on to him so tightly, and he’s warm and smells the way he always does, like his Old Spice aftershave, and I’m so relieved I can’t let him go for a few minutes. “Kristy called me,” I say. “But all she said was that you collapsed and then the nurse couldn’t find you and I thought you were dead.”
“Oh, Em.” Dad holds on to me tightly and kisses the top of my head. Dad suddenly notices George standing nearby, too, and he waves to him. Then he tells us both we should sit down on the small daybed next to his hospital bed. I reluctantly let him go and sit with George.
“What happened?” I ask him. “George and I were just leaving school when Kristy called. He drove