BooksBarbecue
Back Early Departures
Chapters (122)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Facts
  5. 101
  6. 100
  7. 23 Months After the Funeral
  8. 99
  9. 98
  10. 97
  11. 96
  12. 95
  13. 94
  14. 93
  15. 92
  16. 91
  17. 90
  18. 89
  19. 88
  20. 87
  21. 86
  22. 85
  23. 84
  24. 83
  25. 82
  26. 81
  27. 80
  28. 79
  29. 78
  30. 77
  31. 76
  32. 75
  33. 74
  34. 73
  35. 72
  36. 71
  37. 70
  38. 69
  39. 68
  40. 67
  41. 66
  42. 65
  43. 64
  44. 63
  45. 62
  46. 61
  47. 60
  48. 59
  49. 58
  50. Postreanimation Day 1
  51. 57
  52. 56
  53. 55
  54. 54
  55. 53
  56. 52
  57. 51
  58. 50
  59. 49
  60. 48
  61. 47
  62. Day 2
  63. 46
  64. 45
  65. 44
  66. 43
  67. 42
  68. 41
  69. 40
  70. 39
  71. 38
  72. 37
  73. 36
  74. Day 3
  75. 35
  76. 34
  77. 33
  78. 32
  79. 31
  80. 30
  81. Day 4
  82. 29
  83. 28
  84. 27
  85. 26
  86. Quincy
  87. 25
  88. Jamal
  89. 24
  90. 23
  91. 22
  92. 21
  93. 20
  94. Day 4
  95. 19
  96. 18
  97. 17
  98. Day 5
  99. 16
  100. 15
  101. 14
  102. 13
  103. 12
  104. 11
  105. 10
  106. Day 6
  107. 9
  108. 8
  109. 7
  110. 6
  111. 5
  112. 4
  113. 14 Days Postreanimation
  114. 3
  115. 2
  116. 1
  117. 0
  118. Acknowledgments
  119. About the Author
  120. Books by Justin A. Reynolds
  121. Back Ad
  122. About the Publisher

I turned around to see Trauma 2’s door propped open, a man mopping, a woman spraying a mist onto a metal table.

“Did you say Jada?” I asked the man.

He glanced at the woman.

She sucked her teeth. “Told you you can’t whisper.”

He waved her off. “Who you, little man?”

“I’m looking for Jada Anderson.”

He scratched his cheek. “You gotta ask the front desk. They’ll help you.”

But I could feel it, the things he wasn’t saying. “Was she here?”

His face fell.

The woman cleared her throat. “Don’t do it,” she warned. “They’ll fire you for that.”

He stood up straight, soaked the mop head into the bucket. “I’m sorry, but just go back down this hall and . . . c’mon, little brother, don’t cry, man. C’mon.” He scratched his chin, like he was thinking. “Look,” he said softly. “Who you say you looking for?”

“Jada Anderson. She’s . . . she’s my mom. And my dad, he’s Andre Anderson. I’m looking for him, too. If you can show me where either one of them is, I’d . . .”

And that was when I saw them. Just behind him. In a second room inside trauma room two marked TR-2B.

I pushed past him, and he tried to grab me, but I was too quick. The woman didn’t even try to stop me. I had to stand on tiptoe to see.

And there they were.

Mom and Dad were flat on their backs atop two metal tables, their eyes pointed toward the ceiling lights. Two nurses moved between the tables, fastening a gown onto Mom, wiping Dad’s face.

I palmed the metal door plate and pushed, just as I was grabbed from behind.

“Noooo,” I screamed.

I punched his arms, but he wouldn’t let me go.

“No matter what happens, little man, you gon’ be okay.” His voice was damp as he carried me out of the room. “You gon’ be okay,” he said, over and over.

I flailed and screamed but I couldn’t escape his hold. And we were nearly at the front desk when Whit came flying down the hall, yelling you can’t do that don’t ever do that again it’s just you and me now okay you can’t just take off Jamal you can’t just you can’t just—

84

They tell her: Simone, please, you have to wait. Please, Simone. Just another minute.

They’re cleaning up.

They’re almost finished.

If she could just be—

They’ll take her to him as soon as they—

“I’m not going anywhere or listening to anyone until I see my son. You will take me to my son now.”