"I'm really okay," she told him, trying to sound calm. "But, you're right. I have been busy. I hope Janette makes her decision soon."
The rest of that day Dani made an effort at being calm and organized. She was angry at herself for letting Miguel upset her so much that it showed in her work. And yet, it seemed ever since the weekend she'd spent with him, work just wasn't as important to her as it had been. After re-examining her past and her hatred of him and then finally letting it go, she began to think of all the other things life offered that she wasn't experiencing. Love, marriage and a family. Was it just her age, or was it meeting Miguel again that had brought on these new emotions and desires?
"Damn you, Miguel!" Dani blurted out that evening as she hung her coat in the closet and spied the red one she'd bought just for him. "Damn you for making me alive again, then leaving me!" She had another long weekend to look forward to, alone. Maybe it was time that changed.
Winter spilled across Minnesota two days before Thanksgiving Day, giving the bare trees and brown grass new life with its sparkling white blanket. Dani's parents came to her apartment for the holiday, knowing it was a busy time for Dani to get away because of Friday being the busiest shopping day of the year. It also gave Dani's mom a chance to do some holiday shopping of her own in the city.
They enjoyed a peaceful turkey dinner on Thanksgiving Day and the next day joined the throngs of shoppers hitting the malls. Dani's father joined them in their shopping excursion and the three came back to her apartment loaded with packages and stories of crazy shoppers.
Dani had given her parents her room and taken the sofa bed for herself. That evening, as her mother helped her make up the sofa bed for the night, her father softly snoring in the other room, her mother probed just a little into Dani's personal life.
"Anyone special in your life these days, honey?"
Dani smiled, not the least bit put off by the question. Her mother kept hoping that someday she would find that 'someone special' who would make her happy. She knew her mom meant well by it.
"No mom, not really." Tucking a corner of the sheet under the mattress she added, "But I was invited to go to the company Christmas party with the manager of the Men's Department. I've known him for years. He seems nice."
Actually, Mark Phillips had been asking Dani out for the past two years, but each time she'd declined. He was good looking and personable, but she didn't feel a spark. But this time, when he asked, she'd said yes, surprising both him and herself.
"So, are you going with him?" her mother wanted to know.
"I said yes."
Mrs. Westerly smiled. "I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time."
When they were done, Dani sat on the freshly made bed and looked up into her mother's brown eyes. Both her parents had brown hair and eyes, quite the opposite of Dani's light coloring. Her mother always said she got her blue eyes from her side, an uncle Dani had never met. But the shape of her face and tilt of her nose were reflected in the older woman's face. She had her mother's looks and her father's serious disposition. Both her parents had easy temperaments, but her father was always the serious one of the two.
"Mom," she said, then hesitated. "How did you know when you met Dad that he was the one for you?"
Mrs. Westerly chuckled and sat down on the bed opposite Dani. "I didn't at first. Actually, I was dating your father's best friend when I met him. We used to all go around together in a big group to parties and picnics and things like that. Your father was in his second year of college and I had just graduated high school. I always thought he was too serious, so I never really paid much attention to him."
"So, what happened?"
"Well, one night we all went to the beach for a bonfire and the guys decided it would be funny to throw the girls in the water. Your father thought they were being ridiculous and had no part in it. When they picked me up and dropped me in the ice cold water, it was your father who came and helped me out. I stood there in ankle deep water, shivering, and he gave me his sweater to keep warm. I remember looking down and seeing his brand new penny loafers immersed in the water knowing they would be ruined. And when I looked up at him again, well…" Mrs. Westerly looked down shyly. "He just kissed me."
Dani looked at her mother, amazed. It was hard enough picturing her parents as young and silly, let alone standing in the ocean kissing. "Is that what did it?"
"It wasn't so much the kiss as the way I felt when he kissed me. It felt so warm, so right. I just knew he was the one for me."
Mrs. Westerly patted Dani's hand. "Do you think this man you're going to the party with is the right one?"
"I don't really know, Mom," Dani replied as she stared down at the blue tufts of fuzz on the thermal blanket.
"Well, you'll know it when it happens, honey," her mother assured her.
Dani ran her hand over the blanket, remembering the night she and Miguel had held each other in this very bed. Being with him had felt just the way her mother described. Warm and right. Yes, she knew just what her mother was talking about. Both times she had felt it, and both times she had lost it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Thanksgiving Day came and went for Michael as if it were just another day. Vanessa held on, and Michael did, too, each day sitting beside her bed, talking, holding her hand, praying. The doctors kept telling him that there was no reason they could detect for her not coming out of the coma. So he waited.
Some things had changed for him though. He attended the weekly vet meetings and felt better each time he went. By sharing stories with them, and listening to the other vets, he felt like many of his troubles were being peeled away from his soul, one layer at a time. It was like a bad sunburn finally peeling away to reveal new skin. And it all looked and felt so fresh again.
Each week Michael became more comfortable around the men and opened up a little at a time. He talked about his nightmares, his endless wait for Vanessa to wake up and the days when he had jumped jobs and been hooked on pot. At one meeting the subject of how being a Vietnam Vet affects family and friends came up. Wayne Garrison surprised them all by admitting the reason he had to leave his hometown in Oklahoma, a reason that struck a chord in Michael.
"When I got back home, I had trouble concentrating on anything for long periods of time," he said in his southern drawl. "I couldn't keep a job more than six months at a time and all my friends from high school acted like they didn't know me. I felt like such a loser. I was twenty-two and most of the women my age didn't want anything to do with a Vietnam Vet. I started dating and seducing teenage girls, one after another, like I couldn't get enough. I never thought about whether I was hurting any of them by dumping them as quickly as taking them on. I just needed them. Their youth and their innocence. I really needed that."
Wayne sighed and ran a thick hand through his short hair before continuing. "Anyway, I ended up with a girl who was younger than she said, only fourteen. Even though she had consented to being with me, well, her parents found out and threatened to press charges against me for rape. My parents had had enough of me at that point and told me to just get out of there and don't come back 'til I was normal again." He gave a short laugh. "Normal. I'll never be normal again. But I did straighten out my act and have been very careful since moving here."
Michael stared at the man who had just bared his soul and said quietly. "I know what you mean. I went through the same thing with women, jumping from one woman to another. It was like I was trying to lose myself in them in order to forget about the hell Vietnam had been."
Wayne nodded his head in agreement. "Sometimes I wonder how many of them I hurt. Not physically, but emotionally. I feel really bad that I did that to them."
"Vietnam hurt the people around us like it hurt us," Kevin added. "The way we act and the things we do to others are all by-products of our war experience. In many ways, they are as much victims of the war as we are."
Michael thought of Dani and the pain he had caused her. He knew Kevin was right. She was as much a cas
ualty as any of them.
At another meeting Michael talked about his constant nightmare of the day Billy was killed. Until that night, John, who had been at Cu Chi and been one of the many men known as a "tunnel rat" because they would squeeze into the tunnels and search out the enemy, had been quiet and withdrawn. But his small black eyes darted up in interest as he listened to Michael's description of Billy's death.
"That happened to me, too," he said in a hushed voice. Then his eyes dropped again to the floor as if he were sorry for having said anything.
"You mean you saw a friend die the same way?" Kevin asked gently, trying to coax John on.
"Yes," he said, still studying the carpet. "Except we were in a tunnel at the time," he stopped again.
Michael knew that John never spoke about his experiences and this was the beginning of a breakthrough for him. So he tried to keep him talking.
"What happened?" he asked quietly.
Feeling some connection with Michael, John locked eyes with him as he spoke. "We'd been clearing this one tunnel of Viet Cong for a couple of weeks and we thought we had everything and everyone out of it. Three of us went down to check things out, you know, to make sure none had moved back in. They were always moving back in, right under our noses. We'd clear out one tunnel and before we knew it, they were back in there." John's voice was running faster and sounded strained. He took a shaky sip of his coffee, then continued.
"Anyway, my buddy, Steve, was ahead of me, and the other guy was bringing up the rear. Steve was one of those reckless types. We'd gone through boot camp together and were in the same unit for two tours. He started getting way ahead of us and I kept telling him to slow down. The tunnel was small; we had to crawl on our bellies to get through. Steve got to an open area big enough to stand up, and that's when it happened. The damn Cong had come back all right. They booby-trapped the tunnel and two grenades went off under Steve throwing pieces of him everywhere."
John dropped his head and Kevin, who was sitting beside him, laid a hand on his shoulder. "That must have been tough on you, man," he offered.
Head down, John continued. "Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat screaming, trying to pick pieces of Steve off of me. But I can't make them go away...they just won't go away..." he trailed off, his body trembling.
Kevin kept a firm hold of his shoulder. "That's what we're here for, man," he told him. "To try and make some of that go away."
Michael caught Kevin's eyes with his own and knew that Kevin was silently thanking him. It was because Michael shared his story that John finally opened up. A warm feeling spread through him at the knowledge that not only was he getting help, he was giving it, too.
December came, bringing the winter chill to Southampton and quiet days at the beach residence since most of the summer residents were gone. Michael stayed on to be near Vanessa. Although he spent the majority of his time with her, he had begun going into New York City to his office two days a week to ease back into work. It was a busy time, with the spring showings only a month away, and he couldn't ignore his responsibilities any longer.
His New York City days were good for him and they gave him something new to talk to Vanessa about. He rambled on about what was going on at the office, the latest gossip, what the new styles looked like for spring. He hoped that talking about work would spark some interest in Vanessa. He talked as she slept on.
One crisp morning two weeks into December, Michael came downstairs feeling lighthearted and positive. He'd been at work the prior day and he planned on going in to see Vanessa today. He was also looking forward to the vet meeting that night.
But first, he decided, he had to get a Christmas tree for the living room. He'd buy the biggest one he could find and tomorrow he and Michelle would decorate it together. It was time to cheer the house up and make it a happy time for Michelle. He thought he might even get a small tree and decorate it for Vanessa's hospital room.
The phone invaded his thoughts and he picked up the one on the entryway table.
"Hello."
"May I speak with Mr. DeCara please?"
"Speaking."
The woman's voice on the other end hesitated a moment. "Mr. DeCara, I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm calling for Dr. Bradseth from Southampton Hospital."
Michael clenched the receiver. "What's happened?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. DeCara, but there's been a change in your daughter's condition and Dr. Bradseth would like you to come as soon as possible."
"Tell me what happened."
"I don't know myself," she told him. "The doctor only told me to have you come immediately."
Michael took a deep breath to control his emotions. "I'll be there right away."
He left the house without a word to anyone and was at the hospital within minutes. All the way there, he kept telling himself that a 'change in her condition' could be something positive, too. Maybe she had awoken and the news was good. But the closer he came to her room, he realized that wasn't the case.
Walking into room 207B was like a bad flashback of the first night he'd seen her in ICU. Once again she was hooked up to a respirator, IV tubes were strung into her from all directions and a heart monitor filled the room with its constant, grating sound. Dr. Bradseth stood at the end of Vanessa's bed quietly conferring with a nurse and both looked up as Michael entered.
"Mr. DeCara, thank you for coming," the doctor greeted him in his usual serious tone. The nurse slipped quietly from the room as Michael continued staring at the pale, thin form lying in the hospital bed. When had Vanessa become so thin, he wondered, confused by all that was going on before him. Had she been that way before and he hadn't noticed?
The doctor brought his attention back to him. "Mr. DeCara, I'm afraid your daughter has had a relapse. The damage to her internal organs must have been more extensive than we realized, and the length of her coma has weakened her strength to fight back. She experienced a massive heart attack this morning. We are still evaluating the extent of the damage that it caused her, and I must warn you, it doesn't look very good at this point."
The doctor's low-key, droning voice only confused Michael more. All his words seemed to run together. The only ones most prominent in his mind were relapse and heart attack. But he couldn't have heard right. Only old people had heart attacks, not young, strong women.
"I don't understand," Michael managed to say. "She was fine the other day. How could all this happen?" He searched the doctor's face for answers, but all he got was the same, inhuman voice replying.
"Like I said, Mr. DeCara. Her body was run down from the coma and there must have been more damage than we first realized to the internal organs..."
"Yes, yes, yes!" Michael interrupted, irritated now at this calm man before him. "I know all that. But how could this happen? She was supposed to get better, not worse." The heart monitor continued its grating beeping sound, which pounded in Michael's ears. "And what is all this equipment for? Why does she need that damn thing?" Michael angrily pointed toward the heart monitor.
Dr. Bradseth remained calm and controlled from twenty years experience with similar heart-wrenching experiences. It was never easy, every loss was a tragedy. But he continued explaining as best he could to the emotional father before him.
"Your daughter's vital organs were damaged during the accident and the heart attack she experienced this morning only made her condition worse. Right now she is on complete life support."
Michael stood dumbfounded as the doctor continued. "We've done a scan on the brain to see exactly what the extent of the damage has been. The technicians are still reading the x-rays now and we should know more about her condition in the next hour or so."
"And then what?" Michael asked quietly. The words 'life support' had knocked all the fight out of him.
"Let's just take this one step at a time," Dr. Bradseth suggested, trying to put off the biggest blow.
Michael looked him squarely in the eyes. "I need to know doctor. Please."
Dr.
Bradseth sighed. "Depending on the results, you will have to decide whether or not to keep her on life support."
Michael's eyes widened as he took a sharp breath. Dr. Bradseth placed his hand on his shoulder. "Let's wait for the results. One hour at a time, okay?" He promised to come back as soon as he knew, then he left the room with silent footsteps.
Walking past Vanessa's bed, Michael stood and stared out the window of her room. The day was frigid and ice encrusted the edges of the glass, frozen in odd-lined shapes. Beyond, on the street, people were rushing to and fro, cars were passing through the quiet intersection and employees were busy in the shops beyond. Outside, life was going on while he stood in a room where death seemed imminent.
He turned from the activity outside and sat heavily in the chair he'd sat in for countless hours. The heart monitor continued its noise, sometimes at a slow steady beat, sometimes erratic, as he studied the small form that no longer resembled his daughter.
There were dark circles under her once sparkling eyes, her skin was sallow, no longer porcelain, and even the light freckles that she used to hate on the bridge of her nose were discolored. Her hair, once thick and a shiny auburn color now looked a dull brown, and the arms that extended over the blankets looked more like twigs covered in parchment.
As he listened to her erratic breathing, despite the respirator, he wondered when she had begun wasting away and why he hadn't noticed it before this. Had he wanted her to come out of the coma so badly that he had been blind to her growing frailty?
He could now understand what the doctor had been trying to tell him. Her body was much too frail to withstand even the slightest disruption, let alone a massive stroke. Slowly, as he continued staring at Vanessa, he silently prepared himself for the worst.
An hour later, when the doctor returned, Michael stood stoically and nodded as he was told the diagnosis. There was severe damage to Vanessa's brain. She was considered brain-dead and her body could not survive without the life support system.
Memories Page 14