How to Save a Life Read online

  “I just feel a little funny about interfering,” I tell him as he completes the word shazam on the board. I high-five him, even though his twenty-point word means that I’m now losing.

  “I don’t think it’s interfering, exactly,” he says. “I think the tree forbids us from using the repeated day for personal gain. Like you can’t watch the lottery numbers one night and then play the Powerball with those numbers the next today, because that wouldn’t be fair. But isn’t helping others a good use of this magical thing we’re stuck in?”

  I shrug. “I keep thinking about time travel movies and how you’re not allowed to change things that have happened in the past, because it throws off the whole balance of the universe.”

  “But we’re not traveling back in time here. We’re just repeating today over and over. And I think that part of being a good person is learning what we can and using that knowledge to help other people. Don’t you think?”

  I think about it for a moment and nod, then I use the a in shazam to make the word okay. “I’m still going to ask the tree.”

  “Just remember that the biggest thing that matters when you’re helping other people is to do everything you figure out on the last today. Like if you help Sheila get back together with her husband today, just remember you’ll have to do it again on the last today, or it gets erased. So today’s just kind of like a trial run, almost.”

  “Right.”

  Logan lays down more letters, creating the word zorillas. He grins at me. “I’m so beating you.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Zorillas isn’t even a word.”

  “It is too. They’re skunk-like mammals from southern Africa.”

  I google it on my phone and realize he’s right. “How the heck did you know that?”

  He shrugs. “Frankie used his spare time to read. Me? I look up words in the dictionary. Makes me unbeatable in Scrabble.”

  “Man, have I been wasting my todays.” I grin at him.

  He laughs. “Hey, I’ll be dead before I’m eleven. I might as well be good at something.”

  That sobers me. “Logan—” I begin.

  He looks down for a minute. “It’s okay.” He doesn’t elaborate, but after a moment, he adds, “Although I always thought it would be cool to be a teenager, you know? There’s something about turning thirteen that sounds so much more grown-up than ten.”

  “But didn’t you say you’ve been repeating for years?”

  He nods.

  “So you’re already thirteen, when you think about it that way.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Still, it would have been cool in real life.”

  LATER THAT MORNING, after leaving an anonymous bouquet of flowers for Sheila at the nursing station in hopes of cheering her up, I head down to the bench to talk to Merel. He emerges from the hospital, sits down beside me, and as usual, asks me for the time.

  “Can I ask you something?” I say after telling him that it’s a few minutes before noon.

  “Of course, young lady.”

  “You’ve been married for a long time, right?”

  He smiles. “Seventy years.”

  I nod. “I have a friend who’s going through a bit of a rough patch in her marriage right now. I think she and her husband have just grown apart, and they both love each other, but they don’t know how to fix things.”

  “Ah. Yes. Unfortunately, this isn’t uncommon in relationships. Think of a marriage like the body you live in. Over the course of your life, your body grows and changes, not always for the better, but you learn to adapt and to live with it, right?”

  I nod.

  “Marriage is like that too. When you promise someone forever, as long as it’s the right person and you’ve married for the right reasons, you’re built to grow and change, just like you’re built to inhabit the body you live in. So will there be rough patches? Of course. Like how babies scream and cry as their teeth are coming in: it hurts, but in the end, they’re better for it. Or look at me: I’m not the same as I was seventy years ago, but these lines on my face, they mean I’ve laughed and cried and lived. These arms of mine aren’t as strong as they used to be, but they’re still strong enough to hold on to the woman I love, and that’s all I need. What I’m trying to say is that in marriage, just like with your very own body, you have to learn to let go of the past as things transform and change. You have to embrace what you’ve become and strive to be the best version of it.”

  I smile. “How do you know all that?”

  He chuckles. “Lots of living, my dear. Lots of living.”

  My heart aches for a moment for all the living I won’t get to do. But as Merel has pointed out, we have to adapt to what life has given us. “With my friend and her husband, I think they’ve both done things to hurt the other person. It sounds like maybe my friend has taken her husband for granted.”

  Merel nods. “That’s common too. But the only way to fix it is to be honest.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If she’s done wrong, she needs to face up to it. She needs to be honest with herself first, and then she needs to be honest with him about what she’s done and about her hopes for moving forward. Honesty is at the root of love, you see. Some people think it’s all about chemistry or physical attraction or maybe even the way you match up on paper. And those things are important, but they fade over the years. Love is always rooted in truth, and you must feed it with honesty to keep it thriving.”

  For a moment, I’m not thinking about Sheila and Darrell anymore. I’m thinking of Jamie and how I long to tell him the truth about what’s happening with the tree. I’m falling in love with him, and Merel is right; love has to start with honesty. Maybe it can’t ever be real unless I let down my walls.

  “Can I ask you a favor?” I ask Merel.

  He nods.

  “My friend works up on the pediatric oncology floor with me,” I say, pointing toward Children’s. “If I send her down in a few minutes, can you tell her what you just told me? She doesn’t think I know a lot about love, so I don’t think she’ll take this advice from me. But I think she’ll listen if it comes from you.”

  “I’d be happy to talk with her. But why do you think she doesn’t trust your perspective on love?”

  I shrug. “I’ve never really been in a long-term relationship.”

  He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Dear, that doesn’t mean you don’t know love. In fact, perhaps it means the opposite. You’re strong enough on your own not to have to fool yourself into thinking you’ve found love when you haven’t yet. You will one day, and then you will know. Your friend will realize then that perhaps it was you who knew the most about love all along.”

  “THERE’S A MAN outside I’d like you to go talk to,” I tell Sheila fifteen minutes later, when I find her at the nursing station.

  “What?” she asks distractedly.

  “I know it sounds weird. But just trust me. His name is Merel, he looks like he’s around ninety, and he’s sitting on the bench across the street waiting for you.”

  She looks up. “Waiting for me? Why? What are you talking about?”

  I realize that in this version of today, she hasn’t told me yet about Darrell. “You’re not yourself lately,” I tell her. “And I’m wondering if it has to do with relationship stuff.”

  She looks surprised. “What makes you think that?”

  “Just a gut feeling. But listen, Merel gives the best advice of anyone I’ve ever met. He’s been married to his wife for seventy years. She’s actually in surgery right now, so it would probably be a nice distraction for him to have someone to talk to.”

  She puts down her iPad. “So did he give you some advice?”

  “As a matter of fact, he did.”

  “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that he told you to get laid, since that’s the only
logical advice someone could give a person in your situation.”

  I sigh. “Not exactly.” But at least I see Sheila’s words for what they are now: a reflection of what she’s going through. It’s easier to reduce love to centering around sex than it is to deal with it head-on. “But he knows what he’s talking about. Please? Humor me. And don’t hold back with him. He can help you the most if you’re honest.”

  She stares at me for a minute and then nods. “I guess I’ve got nothing to lose. You’ll keep an eye on the desk for me?”

  I nod.

  “Hey, wait,” she says as she starts to head for the elevator. “Weren’t you supposed to have a doctor’s appointment today across the street?”

  “Uh, it was rescheduled.”

  “Well, don’t worry,” she says with an easy smile. “Everything will be fine. You’re way too young for anything to be seriously wrong.”

  I watch her as she gets into the elevator and disappears. It’s only after she’s gone that I’m struck by what a strange statement that is coming from a person who works with the sickest kids in the hospital.

  Thirty minutes later, Sheila returns with red eyes and damp cheeks. “Can you cover for me for a few more minutes?” she asks, sniffing as she looks at the floor.

  “No problem.”

  “I just have to make a quick call.”

  “To Darrell?”

  She hesitates. “Yeah.”

  “Good,” I say. “Just be honest!” I add, as she heads down the hall.

  She gives me a watery smile, and then she disappears into the break room.

  LOGAN AND I are just coming back from asking the tree for one more day when we spot Darrell emerging from the elevator beside ours, clutching a bouquet of flowers and making a beeline for the nursing station.

  “That’s Sheila’s husband,” I whisper to Logan.

  He grins. “You did a good job, then.”

  We hang back and watch from near the elevator bank as he strides toward Sheila. She turns and sees him, and her whole face lights up.

  “Darrell?” she asks, more vulnerable than I’ve ever heard her.

  “Baby, I can’t imagine ever being without you,” Darrell says, handing her the flowers and then kissing her deeply. “I’m so sorry I left.”

  “I’m so sorry I hurt you,” she says. “I never, ever meant to make you feel like I didn’t love you.”

  “I know that now,” he says.

  As they lean in and begin talking more quietly, Logan reaches for my hand. “Now you just have to remember to do this on your last today.”

  I can feel tears in my eyes. “I’m not ready to think about that yet.”

  “I know,” Logan says. “But you’re learning fast. And when your life feels completed, it’s time.”

  “How can it ever feel completed?”

  Logan squeezes my hand. “Don’t worry. It will. You’ll see.”

  11

  I REALIZE BY the time I get home that night that I have the same sense Logan does: that my todays might be running out. At first, I think I assumed I’d get years’ worth of repeated days like Logan, Frankie, and Katelyn did, but that wouldn’t make sense, would it? As much as I rue letting go of this life, I have to admit that I’ve had much more time than the kids have had, and therefore, I have fewer milestones I need to achieve, fewer things I need to make up before I feel a sense of completion. For the kids, they had to at least partially grow into adults before they were ready. I, on the other hand, found adulthood years ago. It’s just a matter of having the courage to connect the final dots in my life.

  And so I make a decision. I need to focus on making each of my remaining days truly count. So far, I’ve been coasting, coming in to work each day and being mostly reactive rather than proactive about the things I do and the people I encounter. But maybe it’s time to ask myself what I really want—and how to get it.

  I think of the conversation I had with Logan about the things that would make my life complete. I told him that I wanted to fall in love, have a family, and reconcile with my dad. It occurs to me that at least the latter goal is within my grasp. There may not be time left to get on a new path and start over with my father, but there’s time to forgive, at least. I don’t want to die with any anger in my heart, and that means letting go of the things I’ve held against him for so long. And I want him to know, long after I’m gone, that I forgave him in the end. I resolve to start working on that in the morning.

  As for a family, yes, it’s too late for me to have children of my own or to adopt or anything along those lines. But I already have a family, don’t I? I’ve had one for years. When you’re a nurse who works with kids, you form a special kind of attachment. You see them on a regular basis, and you grow to care about them. It’s not the same thing as being a parent, of course, but there are ways in which it’s close. And maybe I need to acknowledge that I’m fortunate to be surrounded by kids I love each day. Love is supposed to be selfless, isn’t it? Maybe as long as I’m making a difference in the lives of kids I care about, that should be enough.

  Finally, falling in love. It’s already happened, hasn’t it? Each interaction with Jamie has deepened my feelings for him, and although I know full well that there won’t be time for those feelings to be reciprocated, it doesn’t make them less real. And maybe love is, at its core, about opening your heart to another person as opposed to taking their love for yourself. Maybe reciprocated love is just a nice bonus. Over the course of a long life together, I think love is a cycle—the way it is for Darrell and Sheila, and the way it was for Merel and Ernestine—and it requires reciprocation to keep it going. But at the beginning, maybe love is something different altogether, something selfless and pure.

  And maybe that means I’ve already found what I’m looking for. I resolve to stop holding myself back with Jamie. I know by now that once my repeated todays are over, I’ll have to steer clear of him, because I can’t start a relationship with him in real time without hurting him. But for now, perhaps I just need to open my heart and stop coming up with reasons why I shouldn’t be falling for him or why I don’t deserve the kind of love other people have.

  It’s just a shame I didn’t learn that lesson sooner. Love is about an open heart, and it’s only now—when my remaining heartbeats are numbered—that I’m realizing I’ve been doing it wrong all along.

  I HEAD TO the hospital earlier than usual when I wake up in the morning, and Logan looks up in surprise when I enter. He’s just barely awake, and I know he hasn’t even had his breakfast yet.

  “Come on,” I say. “I’m breaking you out for the day.”

  He smiles. “You don’t have to do that, Jill. Going out and seeing the world really isn’t on my bucket list.”

  “I know. But becoming a teenager is. I figure it’s time to celebrate your next birthday.”

  He looks confused. “My next birthday?”

  “Sure. Happy eleventh!”

  “But I’m ten.”

  “Are you? Because the way I figure it, you bypassed ten a long time ago. So come on. It’s time for your party.”

  “My . . . party?”

  “It’s the best I can do on short notice, and sorry kiddo, but a repeated today is always going to be short notice. So are you going to make me stand here and beg? Or are you going to come with me before someone spots us making our escape?”

  He still looks confused, but he laughs and nods. “Just give me a second to get dressed.”

  I wait for him in the hallway, and a few minutes later, he emerges in jeans, sneakers and a faded T-shirt. “Okay,” he says. “Where are we going?”

  “Hold your horses and you’ll find out.”

  We avoid the nursing station—I already called in sick for the day—and head down to the ground floor. After we’ve stopped and asked the tree for one day more, I spot Jamie coming
through the front entrance with dozens of balloons. I can’t help but laugh; he gets stuck twice on the way in the door because some of the balloons are caught outside.

  I hurry over to help him, and with Logan grabbing a few of the lower balloons and me pulling the strings of a few of the outliers, we manage to get Jamie into the lobby.

  “Thank you so much!” he exclaims, flustered, as he tries to rearrange the balloon cluster, pulling them down and adjusting the strings that have lengthened as the balloons tried to make their escape.

  “You looked like you were struggling,” I say.

  “Understatement of the year.” He pauses and looks more closely at me. “Have we met before?”

  “Not exactly.” I reach out for a handshake. “I’m Jill.”

  “Jamie,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “And this is Logan. It’s his eleventh birthday, and I’m breaking him out of the hospital.”

  Jamie raises his eyebrows. “Breaking him out, huh? Sounds dangerous.”

  I smile. “I think sometimes in life, we have to take risks, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah,” he says softly. He holds my gaze for a few more seconds before turning to Logan. “So, eleven? That’s pretty old.”

  “I’m actually way older than that,” Logan replies seriously.

  Jamie laughs. “An old soul, I see.”

  “No. Just old,” Logan says.

  Jamie gives me a questioning look, but I shake my head. He smiles and grabs several balloons from his giant cluster. “Here,” he says, handing them to Logan. “Every birthday deserves balloons.”

  “But they’re someone else’s, aren’t they?” Logan asks.

  “They’re yours now. So where are you off to?”

  Logan shrugs. “She won’t tell me.”

  “Because if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” I ask Logan.

  Jamie laughs. “Well, wherever the two of you are going, I hope you have a blast.” He pauses and looks at me for a long moment. “I hope I see you again. So you can tell me all about the birthday fun, I mean.”