Her Name in the Sky (37 page)

“You are blinded,” Father Simon says. “You are blinded by sin and stubbornness and your resentment of our faith—”

“I’m not blinded!” Hannah screams. “I’m seeing clearly for the first time in my life!”

“Then you are lost!” Father Simon roars, his whole face turning purple, his neck straining against his clerical collar. “You are lost and you need the saving power of—!”

“Stand down!” a new voice says.

Hannah’s heart reels when she realizes her father is speaking. He jumps up from his seat and positions himself in front of Hannah, blocking Father Simon from her sight.

“I beg your pardon?” Father Simon sputters.

“Stand down, man!” Hannah’s dad repeats, his voice shaking. He breathes hard—his back moves up and down—and when he speaks again, his voice is more controlled. “I respect your vocation,” he says, “but I will not let you speak to my child like this—”

“I am a father of the church—”

“And I’m Hannah’s father, and I’m telling you to walk away. Walk away before you hurt these kids any more than you already have.”  

There is a long beat of silence, followed by the sound of Father Simon sucking air over his teeth.

“Fine,” he says.

Hannah pulls away from her father to watch him leave. He looks back at their group when he reaches the doors, and there is a vein throbbing in his red temple. “I’ll be praying for you all,” he says, swallowing hard. Then the automatic doors open, and he has gone out into the night.

“Dad—” Hannah says. “You didn’t have to—”

“No, Hannah, I did,” her dad says, breathing heavily, his voice shaking. “Hate like that—when it’s disguised as love, or righteousness or pity—I’m not going to subject you to hate like that. I’m not going to let that happen, honey.”

Hannah hugs him hard. She presses her face into his sweatshirt and breathes in the scent. It smells of his aftershave and the cedar in his office and her mother’s laundry detergent and the candles Joanie likes to burn all over their house. She loses herself in the smell of his sweatshirt and thinks about nothing else.

It’s a little over an hour later when Clay walks into the waiting room, flanked by his parents on each side. His eyes are still bleary with alcohol and tears, and his nose and left eye have swollen from fighting.

Dr. Landry pulls out a chair for his wife and then commands Clay to sit in another one. “Not a word,” Dr. Landry says to Clay, his voice deadly. “Sit there silently and do not move.”

Hannah and her friends turn their faces away as new tears fill Clay’s eyes. The adults—Mr. Broussard, Ms. Sumner, Mrs. Shackleford, the Landry’s, and Hannah and Joanie’s parents—start to talk about the party damage, with Dr. Landry sharing all the details from his conversation with the police department. “Drove all the way up from New Orleans just to be told that it’s the biggest party they’ve had to break up in a decade. And now this one—” he jerks his thumb at Clay—“may not even be eligible to walk on at LSU. We’re lucky they haven’t revoked his acceptance yet.” Dr. Landry squeezes his hands together over his knees, and Clay hangs his head next to him.

Mrs. Landry stares straight ahead, her eyes glassy. When she speaks, it sounds as if she’s coming out of a trance.

“We never should have bought that house,” she says, her voice lifeless. “We never should have risked that hill.”

Dr. Landry says nothing; none of the other adults speak either.

Hannah stands up where she sits between her parents. She turns to Joanie, then to Wally, then to Luke, and at last to Clay. “Come with me,” she says.

“Where are we going?” Joanie says.

“For a walk.” She turns to the parents. “We won’t go far. I just thought you all might want some privacy.”

Joanie, Wally, and Luke stand up to follow her. Dr. Landry nods at Clay, who lumbers gracelessly off his chair, still hanging his head.

Hannah leads them down a new corridor—away from the double doors that lead to the emergency ward—and into the deep silence of the hospital. “Where are we going?” Joanie asks again, but Hannah shushes her and scans one of the hospital maps.

They reach their destination a few minutes later. Hannah pulls the door open and leads the way inside, saying nothing. The others follow behind her without question.

She chooses a row of chairs in the back. She files in first and kneels with her hands folded on the chair in front of her. Joanie follows after her, then Wally, then Luke, then Clay.

They kneel in silence. Clay and Wally hang forward over the chairs in front of them, their heads bowed. Luke kneels with erect shoulders, his face screwed up like he’s trying hard to understand something. Joanie, kneeling next to Hannah, closes her eyes and moves her mouth around silent words.

Hannah stares at the skin of her folded hands until the sight starts to blur through her tears. 

Please help her. Please take care of her. Please take care of us all.

Clay stands up at the end of the row. Hannah opens her mouth to protest, to tell him to sit back down with them and pray, but the words die in her throat when she sees what he is doing. He has walked to the front of the room to light a candle. It flickers with a tiny, yellow flame, drawing their eyes to its light.

Clay sits back down and takes Luke’s hand. Luke takes Wally’s hand, and Wally takes Joanie’s hand. And Hannah, upon seeing what they’re doing, reaches for Joanie’s hand before Joanie can reach for hers.

In the anxious silence of a hospital chapel, with one small candle to light the darkness, five teenagers hold hands and pray.

They wander back to the waiting room a while later. The silent, sleepy adults look up when they reach their circle of chairs. “Anything?” Hannah asks, but her mom shakes her head no.

Hannah and her friends slump down into the vacant chairs, and their group of 12 sits in a circle, as if joined at table, waiting for news.

Hannah’s heart stops when Mrs. Hadley walks back into the waiting room. They all look round at her. Mrs. Hadley wipes a shaky hand across her eyes and breathes out.

“She’s going to be okay.”

It’s the most forceful feeling of relief Hannah’s ever experienced. Her heart stops pounding immediately and her whole body seems to cool over as it comes down from its adrenaline rush. She drops her face into her hands and the only thing she can think is
Thank you. Thank you.

“She just regained consciousness,” Mrs. Hadley says, her voice worn. “She has a broken rib and some bad bruising. They had to stitch up some cuts on her hairline. But the doctor said it could have been a lot worse. She’s alright, thank God.” 

Hannah loves the collective sigh that runs around their circle of chairs, loves the way Clay leans back against the wall and laughs in relief, loves the way Mrs. Shackleford closes her eyes and smiles into her fingertips.

“Jack’s sitting with her now,” Mrs. Hadley continues. “She needs rest. They’re not going to release her until late tomorrow, at the earliest. You all don’t have to stay.”

“We’ll bring you dinner tomorrow night,” Hannah’s mom says.

“I’ll bring it Sunday night,” Ms. Sumner says.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Hadley says. Then she pulls her lips together and blinks very fast at the floor, as if steeling herself for something.

“Hannah,” she says.

Hannah looks up, her heart beating fast again.

“She’s asking for you,” Mrs. Hadley says. She swallows; her lips press into a tight line. “Will you come see her?”

The rest of the circle looks at Hannah. Hannah looks past them all, her eyes on Mrs. Hadley. She stands and follows her through the double doors.

“Hannah…” Mrs. Hadley says when they’re on the other side of the doors.

Hannah waits.

“I don’t know everything that happened tonight,” Mrs. Hadley says. “I don’t know what’s been going on with you and Baker.” She swallows and closes her eyes for an extended second. Her chin quivers as she breathes in through her nose. “But I have an inkling.”

Hannah feels the blood rush to her face.

“This is difficult for me,” Mrs. Hadley says. “This isn’t what I—” She cuts herself off, swallowing hard again. She twists her hands together, her beautiful diamond ring catching the light. “I love my daughter, Hannah. Above everything else, I love her.”

Hannah nods her head fast. “Yes, ma’am,” she says, her voice small. “I know you do.”

Mrs. Hadley takes a Kleenex from her purse and dabs at her eyes. She bats her eyelashes toward the ceiling, trying to ward off tears.

“Be patient with me, Hannah,” she says, her voice thick. “Help Baker be patient with me, too.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hannah says, her heart rising. “I will.”

Mrs. Hadley closes her eyes and nods to herself. When she opens her eyes, she gives a short, quick laugh, almost in embarrassment. “I’m a silly woman,” she says, shaking her head.

“No you’re not.”

“I am, honey, but that’s okay.” She fixes a smile on her face. “Let’s go see Baker now, hm?”

It’s funny how Hannah can’t think of anything to say to her. Funny, because all she’s done for the last few weeks is think of everything she wants to say, everything she wants to confess and profess. Now she stands in this hospital room and blinks at Baker through her tears, but the swelling of her heart seems to have taken the words away.

“We’ll give you some privacy,” Mrs. Hadley says, her tone outlined by a softness Hannah hasn’t heard before. She pats Mr. Hadley’s arm and the two of them step out of the room.

Hannah stares at Baker, wondering how to start. Baker looks back at her, her eyes dark and familiar.

“How bad is it?” Baker asks, her voice raspy. “Do I still look like a prom queen?”

Hannah laughs through her tears. She can feel her heart in her throat. “Not too bad.”

Baker’s bottom lip, split open and shining red, lifts in a smile. “Liar.”

“You look like you’re hurting.”

“I am,” Baker says. “But not from the fall.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I should have done it ages ago.”

They look at each other, and the eye contact is so powerful that Hannah might collapse from it. She steps closer, waiting for Baker to look away at any second, but Baker never does. Hannah steps closer until she’s right there at her side, close enough to touch her.

Baker swallows hard. She keeps looking at Hannah, but tears start to pool in her eyes. Hannah watches her try to blink them away.

“Han—” she says, her chest rattling.

“Don’t cry, Bake. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not. I’m just, I’m just, breathing,” she heaves.

Hannah touches her cheek. “Don’t cry.”

Baker turns her head so that Hannah touches more of her cheek. She closes her eyes and Hannah watches her struggle to keep her sobs down. Tears slide out beneath her eyelids and down onto Hannah’s hand.

“Baker,” Hannah says, her voice catching on the name.

“I’m so sorry,” Baker says.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry,” Baker heaves, opening her eyes again to look at Hannah. Her tears spill out freely. “So sorry, Han, so sorry. I was so wrong—I was so awful to you—to
you
—”

“You were scared—I know you were scared—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Baker says in a rush, her voice reaching a high pitch.

“Baker,” Hannah pleads, insistent tears spilling down her own cheeks, “Baker, please, don’t cry. Please don’t. You’re going to hurt yourself more. You broke your rib. Please.”

Baker gasps and heaves, and Hannah tries in vain to steady her shaking shoulders. She leans her head down close to Baker’s, so that she doesn’t know whose tears are making her hair wet.

“I hurt you,” Baker cries. “I hurt the one person I love more than anyone else in the world.”

The swelling in Hannah’s throat threatens to explode. Her sinuses prickle; her body rushes with uncontrollable feeling.

“I hurt you, Han. I hurt you,” Baker says, her body convulsing.

The sobs burst out of Hannah’s throat. “Yeah,” she cries, choking on the word, hating that she needs to release it. “Yeah, you did. You hurt me. You really hurt me.”

Baker’s face contorts with anguish. Her chin trembles; her mouth gasps around shuddering breaths. Her eyes bleed with agony. “I’m so—” she heaves. “I’m so—”

“But Baker,” Hannah says, touching a hand to her tears, “you also saved me.”

Baker’s face screws up again. She heaves with more sobs, placing a hand over her ribs.

“You saved me, too,” she cries.

It takes long minutes for Baker’s sobs to subside. Hannah holds her the whole time, crying along with her.

And then everything is calm. Their sobs soften into normal breaths. Hannah tries to inhale through the blockage in her nose and hears Baker doing the same thing.

“You alright?” Hannah asks.

“Yeah,” Baker breathes, her voice wet and nasally.

“Let me get some tissues.”