She walked down the stairs slowly, gingerly taking one at a time, as though afraid she would break. Her steps were quiet and no one noticed as she made her way down. Noise filled the house like a bright cloud.
The children of all of the collective relatives were sprawled in the room, like some sort of live rug, watching some sort of holiday special. Between the characters breaking into song and the kids yelling at each other, the living room wasn’t a great place to be. The kitchen down the hall was scarcely quieter, with the banging pots and pans, step-aunts and grandmothers cautiously guarding their secret recipes from the dreaded in-laws.
The men were in the garage, drinking beer and awkwardly telling jokes. Every place in the house, it seemed, was brimming with noise, full of a happiness that rang false to her ears.
She stopped at the bottom step and pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans. It was almost seven o’clock. That meant it would be almost eight in New York. She allowed her mind to drift out the front door for a moment, out into the darkness and the world beyond.
She shook her head, trying to clear it and crossed the hall to look into the living room. Her little cousins were still spread out over every available surface, sitting rapt in front of the TV. The small black cell phone in her hand seemed to draw her gaze to it. With a sigh, she brushed her long red hair back behind her ears and slipped on a pair of shoes.
The bracing, cold air hit her as she opened the door and walked out onto the snowy sidewalk. The red sweater she wore was too big and clashed with her hair but she was grateful her mother had forced her to wear it as she shuffled toward the car.
It was the same car her parents had driven since she was twelve. The locks tended to freeze in the winter, so she wasn’t surprised when she pulled on the cold metal handle and found the car unlocked. She sat in the driver’s seat and stared back at the brightly lit house. She imagined she could hear laughter coming out of it. Pressing her cheek against the cold window, she felt her eyes welling up. She didn’t deserve to be in there. She didn’t want to be in there. But she couldn’t stay in the car forever.
The phone was heavy in her hand. She wiped the tears from her face, took a deep breath and dialed the number by heart.
“Lenox Hill, how may I direct your call?”
Her voice stuck in her throat for a moment when she tried to answer, but finally the words came out.
“Can you please connect me to the critical care unit?”
“Sure thing. Please hold.”
Generic hold music filled the line for a few moments before she heard another click and another voice answered.
“Lenox Hill Critical Care, how may I help you?”
“Can I …. Can I please speak to Layla?”
She heard background noises; paper shuffling and footsteps, as the phone was handed over.
“Layla speaking, how may I help you?”
“Hi Layla,” her voice was quiet. “How’s your holiday going?”
“It’s …. going.”
She looked up at the house and wiped away another tear, hoping it didn’t show in her voice.
“How is he today?” she asked, knowing the answer would be the same.
“He’s doing well.” Layla’s voice was steady, the way it always was. “His leg is healing up fine and so are the skin abrasions.”
“And has he…. come out of it?”
Layla’s voice was soft.
“No honey. He hasn’t woken up yet,” she said. “But I’m sure he will really soon. Don’t lose hope.”
“Can I speak to him?”
“Sure thing.”
The next thing she heard on the other line was the slow rise and fall of Hunter’s breathing, the rhythm was steady. She could almost believe that he was just sleeping. If she closed her eyes, she was back in New York, back in their apartment, watching him sleep in the warm morning light.
“It’s going to be all right,” she told him. “You’re going to wake up soon. And the nightmares will be over.”
Then Layla’s voice was on the other end again.
“I have to go now,” she said. “I’ve got to finish making my rounds.”
“Ok,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “I’ll call again tomorrow night.”
“Good night,” Layla told her. “Go enjoy your holidays, sweetheart.”
“I’ll try,” she said, but the line was already dead.
She brushed the tears off her face and ran her fingers through her hair, but she couldn’t bring herself to go back inside yet. She stared off into the darkened air, trying her hardest not to think. She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there, but the knock on the window startled her.
“Hey Bud.”
She rolled the window down to reveal her father’s well-worn face, nose slightly red from the cold. He wasn’t wearing a jacket either.
“Hi Dad.”
“What are you up to out here all on your own? Your Mom’s starting to worry.”
“Nothing, Dad.” She rolled the window back up and opened the door. “Just wanted some quiet time.”
He looked concerned for a moment.
“Is everything ok at school? How’s everything with that boy, what’s his name, Horton?”
“Everything’s fine, Dad.”
“You ready to go back in, milady?”
“Sure.”
He took her hand, pulling her out of the seat and shutting the door behind them as they trundled back up the sidewalk. She hoped he didn’t notice how unsteady she was on her feet.
She was a little surprised when he paused, right before the front door, and turned to face her.
“Bud?”
“Yeah Dad?”
He pulled her into a hug for the first time in years, the first time she could remember since she’d been a little girl.
“Merry Christmas,” he told her, as he let go and turned back towards the door.
“Merry Christmas, Dad.”
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