How to Save a Life Page 5

He nods slowly. “Of course it is.”

  I take a few steps forward and sink into the chair beside his bed. “I don’t understand.”

  “Not everything in life has an explanation,” he says. But when I don’t say anything, he adds, “Okay, so from what I know, the tree has a few rules. One: you have to ask it each day to live today over again, just like we did yesterday. Two: you can’t use it for economic gain or things like that; it’s about getting your life right. Three: the tree will tell you when it’s time to live your last today.”

  “Wait, the tree talks to you?”

  He smiles. “Don’t worry. I’ll explain in a bit. But there’s a fourth rule too: you can’t tell anyone that you’re repeating days unless the tree tells you to. People will think you’re crazy.”

  I close my eyes and put my head in my hands. “I think I’m crazy. There’s a part of me wondering whether none of this is happening at all. What if my brain tumor is making me think all of this is real? What if I’m already dying?”

  Logan pats my arm. “You are dying,” he says gently. “But not immediately. Let’s go talk to Frankie and Katelyn. Maybe they can help convince you.”

  I look up. “They’re in on this too?”

  He nods. “Come on.”

  Against my better judgment—after all, Logan shouldn’t be out of bed, nor should he be exposed to the germs Katelyn and Frankie might be carrying—I let him lead me into the hall.

  “She knows,” Logan says as we arrive in Frankie’s doorway.

  Frankie looks me up and down. “Okay.”

  “Can you go get Katelyn?” Logan asks.

  My professional instincts finally kick in. “Guys, it’s really not a good idea for all three of you to be in the same room right now. You know your immune systems are compromised.”

  “Jill, any germs we catch won’t have enough time to make us sick before the clock restarts and we begin the day all over again.” Frankie rolls his eyes. “I’ll go get Katelyn. Wait here.”

  He slips out of the room, and I turn to Logan. “That means that he and Katelyn are definitely dying too?”

  Logan nods, and I can feel tears in my eyes again. “Don’t worry!” he says quickly. “We’re all okay with it. The tree makes it okay. Age is just a number, Jill. We’ve all had plenty of time. And so will you.”

  “Plenty of time for what?” I ask.

  He’s silent for a moment. “The tree gives extra days to people like us, who haven’t really had the chance to live yet.”

  “But I’m way older than you guys are,” I say. “Why am I getting the chance to have extra time?”

  “Maybe because you’re kind. And because there are so many things you haven’t gotten to do. The tree knows what it’s doing,” Logan says. “And here’s the thing, Jill. I think we’re kind of lucky. Most people don’t know when their time is up. And because they think they have years and years ahead of them, they don’t take the time to really seize every moment and go after the things they want. It’s all about making your life complete, and lots of people don’t get to do that in eighty or ninety years. So even though we have less time, we know the clock is ticking. It makes every second more meaningful, doesn’t it?”

  “I guess so,” I say just as Frankie comes back into the room, trailed by Katelyn. They both sit down on Frankie’s bed and stare at me.

  “Thanks for including me in your tree thing,” I finally say when the silence gets awkward.

  “We thought it was just for kids,” Katelyn says. “But then Logan said the tree told him you were supposed to get a chance to live too.”

  I turn to Logan. “So you’re saying the tree actually talks to you guys?”

  He nods. “We can hear it whispering sometimes.”

  “Have you heard the tree?” I ask, turning to Frankie and Katelyn.

  “Not very often,” Frankie says. “But sometimes.”

  “And it told you to include me?” I ask, turning back to Logan.

  He nods again. “But we all had to agree. We had to move forward one day in order to add you on.”

  I glance back at Katelyn and Frankie, suddenly understanding their reluctance. “So you all had to give up a day.”

  “Yeah,” Katelyn says. “It’s the second time we’ve done it. At first, it was just me and Logan. Then the tree told us about Frankie. So we had to move forward then.” She glances at Frankie and then back at me. “And it was worth it.”

  “I’m sorry,” is all I can think to say. “I’m sorry I cost you all a day of your lives.”

  Frankie shrugs. “It’s okay. Time doesn’t mean the same thing as it used to when you know you get to keep repeating.”

  “But you can’t tell anyone,” Katelyn says, suddenly stern.

  “I know. I promise.”

  Katelyn and Frankie exchange looks. “Okay,” Frankie says. “You’ve always been really cool to us. So I guess if anyone’s going to join us, we’re glad it’s you.”

  Katelyn nods.

  Logan reaches for my hand. “I’m going to take Jill down to the tree now. I haven’t explained the—other thing yet.”

  “The other thing?” I ask.

  No one answers me. Katelyn and Frankie nod, and Frankie offers a hand to help Katelyn down from the bed. “I’ll walk her back. See you guys in a bit.”

  They leave, and I turn to Logan. “What other thing?”

  “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  I follow him down the hallway to the elevator, astonished that once again, no one seems to notice us making our escape. We head down to the lobby, and as we emerge and walk toward the tree, I find myself searching for Jamie. But he’s not around.

  “Ask the tree for your extra day,” Logan says.

  I touch the trunk of the tree, like I did last time, and murmur, “One day more.” Several leaves flutter from the tree, and Logan picks them up and hands them to me.

  “Five,” he says solemnly.

  I study the leaves in my hand. “What does that mean?”

  He waits until I’ve looked him in the eye. “It means that in five calendar days, you’ll be gone, Jill.”

  I gape at him. “Wait, what?”

  “Each time you ask for one day more, the tree sends down the same number of leaves as there are days left in your life.”

  “But the doctor said I have another month or two!”

  “Doctors aren’t always right.”

  I consider that, and then I shake my head and look back at the leaves. “Five days? How many do you have, Logan?”

  He touches the tree and says, “One day more.” We both watch as many leaves flutter to the ground. “Twenty-two,” he says without counting them. “I have twenty-two days.”

  “That’s all?” It’s so unfair.

  “Don’t forget, I’ve been living for a really long time like this,” he says. “I’ve been doing this for a grand total of about three years now.”

  “Three years?”

  He nods. “I was the first. I don’t know why the tree chose me, but it did. I woke up one night, just before midnight, and I had the weirdest feeling that I was supposed to go down to the lobby. So I snuck past the night nurse and wound up staring at the tree. I looked up at the skylight, and the moon was really bright overhead. That’s when I heard it.”

  “Heard what?”

  “The voice. Coming from the tree. A girl’s voice. She said, ‘Touch the tree and ask for one day more if you want to keep living.’ And so I did. And the leaves fell. And the tree explained everything.”

  “You realize this sounds crazy, don’t you?”

  Logan smiles and shrugs. “Maybe all great things do at first. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  LATER, AFTER I get Logan tucked back into bed, I check my watch and head for the nursing station. I need to get out of here early if I have any hop
e of getting Merel into the hospital before he has his heart attack.

  But first, I have to explain to Sheila why I’m leaving.

  “Girl, you look like death warmed over,” she says as I approach the nursing station. It’s exactly what she said yesterday.

  “Sheila, I need to tell you something.”

  She looks up at me, and something in her expression changes. “Jill! The doctor’s appointment! I forgot! How did it go?”

  I cut right to the chase. “Not well. I’m dying, Sheils. The doctor said I only have a month or two left.” I refrain from adding that the tree’s estimate differs. “It’s an aggressive glioblastoma.”

  “No. Absolutely not. I refuse to believe it.” Tears pool in her eyes. “You’re fine! You’re standing right here, and you’re fine.”

  I smile. At least her replies are consistent. “No, Sheila, I’m not. My brain is shutting down. There’s nothing they can do.” I check my watch. It’s a half hour earlier than when I left yesterday, which might mean I still have time to save Merel. “I’m so sorry.”

  Sheila is sobbing now, big, heaving sobs. “No, I’m sorry! It’s just so unfair.”

  “I know,” I tell her. “And we can talk more about it later. I have to get going now.”

  She nods and pulls me into a fierce hug. “You’re going to fight this.”

  “I will,” I tell her, even though I know it’s a losing battle.

  I take the elevator down to the ground floor, hurry past the tree, and emerge into the late-afternoon sunlight. I blink a few times as my eyes adjust, and I’m immensely relieved to see the bench across the street empty. Merel hasn’t arrived yet, which means there’s still time to get him into the hospital. Those precious few minutes could make a difference.

  As I cross the street, I see Merel emerge from the front door of Atlanta Memorial and make a beeline for the bench too.

  “Merel?” I say quickly as we reach the bench at the same time.

  He looks up, and I realize he’s crying. “Oh, Jill. Hello, dear.”

  “Merel, what’s wrong?”

  His face crumples. “It’s my wife. Ernestine. I—I lost her. They told me the surgery was going well, but she died, Jill. Right there on the operating table.”

  “Oh, Merel.” I pull him into a hug. “I’m so, so sorry.” I can feel his body shaking.

  “How am I supposed to live without her?” he sobs into my shoulder. “She was my everything. She was my heart.”

  “I know, Merel. I know.” I hold him tightly and try to imagine what it would be like to be loved that way, to love someone that way. I’ll never have that. “But right now, you have to do something for me.”

  He looks surprised as he pulls away. “For you? Now?”

  “Well, it’s sort of for you, actually. I need you to come back into the hospital with me.”

  “But, why? They’ve already lost my Ernestine. There’s no reason for me to be there anymore.”

  “I just have the feeling that something bad is going to happen to you,” I say. I hold up my name tag like it’s proof. “See, I’m a nurse. If I’m wrong, feel free to go on your way. But humor me, and head back to the waiting room for a little while, okay?”

  He sighs. “I’m too tired to argue.” He lets me lead him up the sidewalk to Atlanta Memorial, where we head through the doorway, into the emergency room.

  “Here, you can sit down while I go talk to the nurse on duty,” I tell him. He shrugs and wilts into a chair. His eyes look glassy, and I realize he’s too lost in his grief to even register what’s going on. I walk up to the nursing station and gesture to the first nurse that catches my eye. “Hi. I’m a nurse across the street, and I have reason to believe this man is about to have a heart attack,” I say, gesturing to where Merel is sitting.

  But as I turn to look at him, it’s already too late. He’s clutching his chest, his face red and his eyes wide. He stands and begins to flail wildly before collapsing. The woman beside him screams as the nurse and I rush over.

  “I need a gurney over here!” she yells back in the direction of the nursing station. “Now!” Meanwhile, I bend to begin checking Merel’s vitals, but the nurse pushes me out of the way. “No,” she says sharply. “We’re fine. Help is here.”

  Sure enough, two nurses appear with a gurney, and within seconds, they’ve lifted Merel up and are wheeling him away, toward an OR. I stare helplessly after him, wondering if I’ve made a difference by getting him inside or whether I’ve only succeeded in making his last seconds of consciousness scary and unsettling.

  I give the nurse at the desk my name and number and ask her to call if there’s any word on Merel’s condition, then I head out the front door, feeling like I’ve failed.

  I’M LOST IN thought, my head down as I head to my car on the staff floor of the parking garage. I’ve just come out of the stairwell when I crash into a warm, solid chest.

  “Oof! I’m so sorry!” I exclaim. Then I look up and realize that for the second time today, I’ve collided with Jamie.

  “We have to stop meeting like this,” he says with a smile as we both take a step back.

  “My fault,” I mumble.

  “No. It was mine. I was thinking about my daughter.”

  “Caroline,” I fill in without thinking.

  He stares at me. “I’m sorry, I know you said we’d met before, but I can’t remember.”

  I dodge the question by sticking out my hand. “I’m Jill,” I say.

  “Jamie,” he says. “And listen, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just, I feel like I’d remember meeting you.”

  “I’m very forgettable sometimes.”

  “Oh, I seriously doubt that.” He holds my gaze for a long second, and heat floods through me, forcing me to look away. “You work at Children’s?” he asks, gesturing to my name tag.

  I nod. “Pediatric oncology.”

  He smiles. “You help sick kids. That’s nice.”

  “Yeah, well, the kids I work with mean a lot to me.” I feel silly for replying like that, but he looks into my eyes for a long time before smiling.

  “They’re lucky to have you.”

  “Thanks. Well,” I say after another loaded pause, “I should be heading home.”

  “Sure. Right,” he says. “I’m sorry again about all the collisions. I’ll watch where I’m going next time.”

  “No, I kind of like running into you,” I say softly, then I hurry away before he can say anything else. I look back once over my shoulder and see that he’s still standing there, staring after me. Our eyes lock for a beat, and then I turn around and force myself to get into my car without looking back.

  I sneak another look after I’ve closed my car door and see that he’s gone. I squeeze my eyes closed for a second, and then I pound my palms into my steering wheel. “Damn it, Jill!” I say aloud. “You can’t flirt with him. He won’t remember you!”

  There’s something there with him, I can feel it. But my time is up. You can’t create a relationship in a day, no matter how many times you repeat it.

  6

  INSTEAD OF HEADING home, I drive to the small cemetery on the edge of town where my mother is buried and walk to her grave. It’s been five years since she died, but I still feel lost without her.

  “Mom,” I say, reaching out to touch her headstone. I choose to believe that she can hear me; it’s why I come here at least twice a month to talk with her. “Guess what? It turns out I’ll be seeing you sooner than I thought. I’m dying. Apparently, I only have five days left.”

  I take a deep breath, trying to digest the reality of the situation. “The thing is, Mom,” I continue, “there are so many things I want to do with my life, and there’s not nearly enough time. Did you feel that way too? Does everyone feel that way when they find out they’re dying?” I listen for an answer,
but there’s nothing but the rustling of the wind through the leaves, so I go on. “One of the kids on my floor has shown me something, though. I know this is going to sound totally crazy, but there’s a tree in the lobby of the hospital that grants people the ability to live the same day over and over again. I didn’t believe him at first, but I think I’m reliving today already. Or maybe this is just a sign that I’ve already lost my mind.”

  I pause and add, “And I’ve met this guy. I think you’d like him. But that’s a crazy thing to be thinking about now, right?”

  Again, the only reply is the soft whisper of the wind. After a while, I say good-bye to my mother, stand up, and head back to my car.

  On the drive home, I call my father, and I’m relieved when he picks up instead of Sharon.

  “Hey, Dad,” I say when he answers.

  “Jill?”

  I resist the urge to tell him that of course it’s me; he doesn’t have any other children. “Yeah.”

  “Hi, dear. Sharon and I were just headed out to dinner, so I can only talk for a few seconds. What can I do for you?”

  I open my mouth to tell him my bad news, but then I realize something. Telling him will be useless if I wake up in the morning and find myself repeating the day again, and it will only hurt him in the short term. “I was just calling to say that I love you, Dad.”

  He’s silent for a minute, then he laughs. “You dying or something?”

  My heart aches, not just because of his uncannily correct joke, but because the sentiment behind it is right. We don’t have the kind of relationship where we call and say that to each other. Everything went so off track years ago, and we’ve never gotten it back. I laugh weakly instead of answering his question. “Have a good time at dinner, Dad.”

  “Thanks.” He pauses. “And Jill? I love you too.”

  Just before I go to bed that night, I call Atlanta General and ask to speak with the nurse on duty in the ICU. I explain that I’m the nurse who brought an older man named Merel Friedl in earlier that day, and I ask if he survived his heart attack. She shuffles through some papers and says yes, he’s in critical but stable condition. I thank her, and as I hang up and turn out the light, I wonder whether I’ve thrown off the balance of the universe somehow by saving a man who would have otherwise died.