Thursday’s Call
Taylor had specifically asked me not to call him. She was hardly coherent what little time she was conscious, but I had been told “No Tyler,” she had added as an after-thought, snapping her eyes open after decided I was to call her mother and only her mother.
“Hello?” he answered, yelling over a nearby crowd.
“Where are you?” I asked, checking my watch and calculating Seattle-time. 10pm.
“It’s Thursday,” Tyler changed the topic, “Are you alright?”
I knew he’d immediately be concerned. I was a creature of habit and called every Tuesday night, and it was, in fact Thursday.
“I can’t- Ty, can you-”
The background noise was too much. And this was something he should hear alone.
“Hang on, I’m moving.”
As I listened to muffled movements and other voices, waiting for my brother to return to the phone, I became more nervous and stressed. I closed my eyes.
You have to tell him.
“Joanna? That better?”
“Much. Hi.”
“Hi. What’s going on?”
I paused and considered how to begin.
“I cannot stress how confidential this is-”
“Yes, yes, Madam Mayor. Please just tell me what’s going on. I am a vault. Nothing leaves it unless your wife asks. She’s very mean and will get it out of me, you and I both know that.”
“No. You can’t tell Taylor,” I snapped. It came out far harsher than I’d intended.
“Jesus, Joanna, what is it?”
“She’s hurt.”
“I can’t tell Taylor that she’s hurt?” He decided to be a wise-ass.
“For fuck’s sake Tyler!” I heard him suck in a breath and when he wisely chose not to respond I continued, “She’s in the hospital. She didn’t want me to tell you but I need... Tyler-”
It was my turn to fill my lungs with oxygen; a distraction from my eyes filling with tears.
“She hurt herself. She really... she hurt herself.”