“Those people don’t deserve to know his status,” she says, and her voice breaks. I take her hand and give it a squeeze.
Jake and Mr. Jacobson join us in the hallway with the doctor. And that’s fine with me.
“Ethan came through the surgery just fine,” the doctor says in one big rushed breath, obviously aware that we are all anxious to know his status. “I’d say his condition is serious, but I feel confident, barring any other issues, that he will recover.”
Ethan’s mom teeters on her feet. I hold her tightly. Jake wraps his arm around Mr. Jacobson’s shoulders as he lets out a heavy, joy-filled breath. “Thank God,” he breathes.
“If you hadn’t gotten to him when you did…” the doctor tells the two men, trailing off.
“He never should have been in the water to start with,” Mr. Jacobson grouses. “Hard-headed ass.”
The doctor smiles. “He has a broken arm, but we were able to stop the bleeding on the ruptured spleen, and we stitched up his side. He needed fifteen units of packed cells, so if anyone feels like donating blood, we’d be grateful.”
“We’ll donate,” Mr. Jacobson says. “They’ll donate,” he adds, tilting his head to indicate the packed lobby and waiting room. He has that look on his face like he’ll hold every single one of them in a chair while they do it if necessary.
“So, we should just wait?” Ethan’s mom asks.
The doctor nods. “From what I hear, your son is a hero. He saved two children, two women, and one rescue worker, all of whom could have certainly drowned if he hadn’t been at the right place at the right time and willing to do whatever was necessary. You should be very proud.”
Her eyes fill up with tears and she doesn’t even try to blink them back. Her voice trembling, she says, “I’ve always been proud of him, every day of his life.”
I wipe my wet face, and we go back out to the lobby.
Mr. Jacobson addresses the crowd. “They need blood donors. I’ll expect you all to line up.” He sits down as people start to roll up their sleeves, and the nurses form lines for donations, since so many people are willing.
Finally, when things have settled a bit, Mr. Jacobson stands up.
But Derrick stands up at the same time. He talks over Mr. Jacobson when he opens his mouth to speak. Mr. Jacobson scowls at him, but Derrick continues. “I was wrong,” he says. His voice rings out loud and clear. “I treated that poor man horribly. And for no reason. And tonight, he didn’t think twice about saving Imogene.” His voice breaks. “I just want to say I’m sorry.”
“You should tell him when he wakes up,” Mr. Jacobson says quietly.
“I will. I just wanted to say it publicly so everyone would know. I was wrong. I shunned that man, and I convinced a lot of you to shun him too. That was wrong. This town has treated him just awful, and it’s my fault.”
Some are nodding as a small rumble moves through the crowd.
“I was wrong,” he says again decisively. He swipes his hand down his face.
The doctor comes to get him to take him to his wife, who is in recovery. But it’s about an hour later before they come and get us to take us to Ethan.
When I walk into the room, Ethan looks to be asleep. His face is pale, his lips dark in stark contrast to his skin tone. He’s wearing a hospital gown. His mother walks over, brushes his hair back from his face, and kisses his cheek. His eyes flutter open.
“What…?” he asks. His brow furrows. He looks around, confused.
“You’re going to be fine, son,” his mother says softly.
“Mitchell?” he asks.
“He’s with my grandmother,” I say quietly from behind Ethan’s mother.
He tries to smile when he realizes I’m in the room. “Abigail,” he says, his voice weak. He lifts his uninjured hand slowly, and I rush over to take it.
“I told you not to go, you stubborn man,” I say. “You didn’t listen.”
He shakes his head, a soft smile on his face. “I didn’t die. Dying is not very healthy.”
I snort out a laugh, and he grins.
“My arm hurts,” he says, as he tests the cast, lifting it an inch before letting it fall with a grimace.
“You broke it. Along with your spleen. And you got a slice up your side somehow which they had to sew up,” I explain.