Doug’s expression softened. “Weren’t we that way, too, Barbie?”
“No. Never. All right, almost never.”
“So what did Janee do that was so bad?”
Barbara inhaled sharply. “She spilled grape juice on our plush carpet. She trampled my flower beds picking roses for her mother. She ran up and down the stairs and slammed doors and did a Tarzan yell that rattled my eardrums and put her muddy shoes on my velvet sofa.” Barbara’s voice quavered with an onrush of emotion. “And she kept begging me to let her sleep in the ‘pretty room,’ as she called it.”
“Maybe you should have let her,” said Doug under his breath.
Barbara stared at him in astonishment. “You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t I? Maybe it’s time we let it go, Barb. Stop making it a monument or a memorial or a shrine, or whatever you want to call it.”
Barbara pushed her chair back from the table and stood up, her ankles wobbly. “I’m not hungry, Doug. Will you put the food away? I’m going to bed.”
He stared at her, his brows knitting in a frown. “What about the dishes?”
“Leave them. I’ll do them in the morning.”
He bent over his plate, scowling, and muttered, “A lot of good it does, me coming home for dinner. You just walk off. Next time I’ll pick something up at the hospital.”
“Fine. You’ll probably find better company there, too.”
“Now that you mention it, I probably will.”
She pivoted and, without a backward glance, marched out of the room, quickly ascending the stairs to the bedroom. She undressed and slipped into her most revealing negligee, perversely hoping to tempt her husband just so she could reject his advances. She hated herself for behaving this way, hated the terrible dead-end course their marriage had taken, but she felt powerless to change anything. It was as if she and Doug were actors on a stage, spewing words they didn’t mean, words forced upon them by circumstances beyond their control.
Barbara had felt powerless since the day Doug had told her there was nothing they could do to save Caitlin. It seemed the only power she or Doug had these days was to inflict hurt on each other. It was what they were best at. What irony that the wounded had become so skilled at wounding one another. What hope was there for healing?
Barbara was nearly asleep when she heard Doug come up to bed. She lay still, her back to him as he climbed in beside her and rolled onto his side, away from her. She felt the weight of his body on the mattress, heard the springs creak. She waited, her breathing slow and rhythmic, pretending to slumber. Would he touch her? What would she do if he did? Should she risk letting him know she was awake and needed his closeness?
Barbara’s questions faded when she heard her husband’s deep, steady breathing. She lay in the darkness, listening, waiting. Doug was so close to her that she could feel his warmth as he lay stretched out beside her under the covers. And yet he had never seemed more distant. And she had never felt more alone.
In the middle of the night the telephone rang, startling them both out of sleep. With a muffled snort, Doug sat up and grabbed the bedside phone. Barbara sat up, too, her mind still shrouded in the gauzy cobwebs of a dream. She turned on the lamp and tried to focus on what Doug was saying. By his tone she knew something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
“Yes, this is Douglas Logan,” he was saying. “Nancy Myers? She’s my sister. What? When? Good Lord, no! Where did it happen? Are they—? Yes, I’ll be there. What hospital? All right. We’ll catch the next available plane.”
He hung up the phone and looked at her, his face drained of color, the lines around his eyes taut, distorted with shock and fear. She knew that look; it was coldly, frighteningly familiar; she had seen it a thousand times in her memory. That look had shattered her life, turned her world upside down. And now it was happening again. Her heart pumped with dread. “What happened?” she demanded.
His voice was tight, hushed. “That was the police. It’s Nancy. Their car crashed just south of San Francisco.”
Her skin prickled with an icy foreboding. “Oh, Doug, no! Are they okay?”
“They’re in the hospital. In some little rural town. A suburb south of San Francisco. We’ve got to go.”
“Of course. I’ll throw a few things in a bag.”
He nodded. “I’ll call the airline.”
It was amazing how in sync she and Doug could be when an emergency demanded it, she thought as she packed a suitcase, tossing in underwear, sleep-wear, toiletries, and a couple of changes of clothes for each of them. She made sure she had their address book, checkbook and a credit card, and put out enough food and water to last Tabby for a couple of days.
“I’ve got us booked on a red-eye special out of Burbank at four a.m.,” said Doug, as she ran a brush through her hair. “They’ll have a rental car waiting for us in San Francisco.”
Barbara and Doug said little to each other during the drive to the airport and the flight to San Francisco. Each was tight-lipped, their thoughts turned inward, their emotions on hold.
They arrived at San Francisco International shortly after five a.m. The airport was nearly deserted, with only a few passengers milling around or catching a catnap on some iron bench. The huge superstructure with its endless high-ceilinged corridors was so silent and everyone so hushed that Barbara had the feeling she was walking through a mausoleum. The only immediate sound she heard was the echo of her own heels on the hard tile floor as she and Doug traversed the long hall to the baggage carousel. After retrieving their suitcase and securing their rental car, Doug got directions, and they drove the twenty miles to St. Mary’s Hospital north of Hillsborough. Again, mostly in silence.
It was nearly six a.m. when they entered the hospital lobby. Daylight was already filtering through the windows, giving the room a smudged, hazy cast, as if the darkness were reluctant to relinquish its hold. Doug went straight to the information desk and asked where he could find his sister. The receptionist checked her charts and directed them upstairs, to the third floor, the Intensive Care Unit. “Dr. Glazier is on call.”
They took the elevator upstairs to the ICU nurses’ station, and Doug asked to see his sister, his voice tight with anxiety and impatience.
“I’ll page Dr. Glazier,” said the nurse. “Please have a seat in the waiting room.”
Doug held his ground. “I just want to know if my sister and her family are okay. Can’t you tell me that much?”
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to speak with the doctor.”
Doug’s tone hardened. “Listen, I am a doctor. A surgeon. And I want some answers. Now.”
“Dr. Glazier is on his way, Doctor. Please have a seat.”
Doug was about to protest again, but instead he threw up his hands in a gesture of futility and muttered something under his breath. He and Barbara crossed the hall to the waiting room and sat down on a green vinyl couch beside a tall potted palm. Nearby stood a table with a carafe of coffee and foam cups. Barbara got two cups of black coffee and handed one to Doug. “Maybe this will help.”
“Thanks. Some news would help even more,” he snapped. “All I want is a little information about Nan, and you’d think I was after top government secrets or something.”
Barbara thought of something. “What about Pam and Benny? I wonder if anyone’s called them.”
“Let’s wait until we have some news to report.”
Finally, a lanky man in a white lab coat approached; he had a narrow face, thinning hair, and a small black mustache. He held out his hand to Doug. “Mr. and Mrs. Logan? I’m Dr. Glazier.”
“It’s Doctor Logan,” said Doug. “How’s my sister?”
“I won’t sugarcoat it, Dr. Logan. It’s serious. Your sister has sustained multiple injuries, including a lacerated liver and spleen. We operated immediately, but there was too much damage. She’ll need further surgery, but at the moment she’s too weak. If she can gain some strength in the next day or two…”
“What about
her husband, Paul?”
Dr. Glazier’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry. Your sister’s husband was killed on impact. A drunk driver crossed into their lane and hit them head-on.”
“And their daughter?” asked Barbara, choking back a sob. “Did she make it?”
Dr. Glazier’s voice brightened slightly. “Yes. She was asleep in the back seat. She sustained only minor injuries. She’s in the pediatric wing. Barring any complications, we should be able to release her in a few days.”
“When can I see my sister?” asked Doug.
“The two of you can see her now, but just for a few minutes. She’s in module 2A.”
Barbara and Doug instinctively clasped hands as they entered the small, unadorned room. In the large hospital bed lay a pale figure connected to a maze of blinking, whirring machines. Barbara clasped her hand over her mouth and whispered, “Oh, Doug, she looks so bad.”
Doug approached the bed and put his hand on Nancy’s arm. His voice rumbled with emotion. “Hey, sis, it’s me, your big brother.”
Nancy’s eyes fluttered open, but her gaze remained unfocused. “Doug?” she murmured through pale, swollen lips.
“Yeah, it’s me, baby. Barbara’s here, too.”
Nancy struggled to speak, her lips forming a faint smile. “Didn’t think…you’d see me again…so soon…did you?”
“Can’t say that I did,” said Doug, his voice catching.
“You know me,” whispered Nancy, closing her eyes. “Always doing…the unexpected.”
Barbara slipped over to the other side of the bed and gently smoothed back Nancy’s mussed hair. “Now we need you to get well, Nan. Show us how quickly you can come back to us, okay?”
Nancy moistened her dry lips and gazed up urgently at Barbara. “Janee? Is she…okay?”
Barbara nodded. “She’s going to be fine, Nan. The doctor says she’ll be out of the hospital in a few days, good as new.”
“Thank God.” Nancy lifted her hand weakly to Barbara. “If Paul and I…don’t make it…take care of Janee.”
“Don’t be silly, Nan,” said Barbara, forcing a smile. “You’re going to be just fine.”
“Promise me, Barb. Just in case. Take care of my little girl.”
Barbara blinked away sudden tears. “Of course we will.”
Nancy swallowed hard and groped for words, her voice growing faint. “Teach her about art…and music…and poetry. Take her to church. Show her God’s love…like you showed us.”
Barbara fished for a tissue in her purse and blew her nose. “We will, Nan. I promise.”
“Give her all the love…Paul and I gave her. She needs…a lot…of love.”
Doug bent over the bed and kissed his sister’s pale forehead. “We’ll take good care of her, Nan, until you’re well again and can take care of her yourself. You just concentrate on getting better, okay?”
Nancy turned her eyes to Doug, her sallow skin taut against her high cheekbones. “Say a prayer. Please.”
Doug hesitated for a long moment, giving Barbara a look that said, Get me out of this. She stared back unflinchingly and waited. Finally Doug bent over the bed, his face close to Nancy’s, and whispered a simple, heartfelt petition for her healing. Halfway through he stopped and drew in a deep, shuddering breath. In the silence Barbara could hear the whoosh and click of the machines monitoring Nancy’s vital signs. After a minute, Doug spoke again, his voice broken, the anguished words rising on a sob as he begged God to spare his sister’s life.
It was the first prayer Barbara had heard Doug utter in over four years.
Chapter Three
“We’ve got to look in on Janee,” Doug told Barbara as they left Nancy’s room.
Barbara felt a tight, choking sensation in her chest. “I don’t know if I can. Oh, Doug, it brings everything back.”
“We’ve got to go in, Barb. We’re responsible for Janee until—until Nancy’s well again.”
They were already walking toward the pediatric wing. Barbara took Doug’s arm, fearing her legs might buckle. Quietly they entered the small room with its frilly curtains and bright animal decor. A nurse was jotting something on a chart. Barbara drew in a sharp breath and forced herself to gaze at the sleeping child. In the large bed with its raised guardrails, Janee looked small and pale and defenseless, like a broken porcelain doll, her head bandaged, bruises on her face and arms.
Like another child so long ago.
“Oh, Doug, she looks so bad,” Barbara whispered, clutching her stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“How is she doing?” Doug asked the nurse.
“The child’s sleeping soundly. I don’t expect her to wake for several hours. You may want to get some rest and come back later.”
“But someone should be here if she wakes,” said Barbara.
“Leave a number and I’ll call you the moment she stirs.”
Barbara looked at Janee, then nodded. “You’re right. She’s sleeping soundly. We’ll come back later, but please don’t hesitate to call.”
As they headed back down the hall, Doug said, “I’ve got to phone Pam and Benny. They should be here.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know.” Doug ran his fingers distractedly through his thick, curly hair. “The nurse is right. We need some sleep. Paul and Nancy’s apartment isn’t far from here. Twenty minutes maybe.”
“Then let’s go. We’ll need to contact people and…make arrangements.”
Barbara waited on a sofa in the lobby, while Doug crossed the room to a pay phone and called his older sister Pam in Oregon. Barbara didn’t want to hear him repeat the painful news, didn’t want to imagine Pam and Benny’s shock and grief. She just wanted to be back home again, with everything normal, the way it was yesterday. But then again, what was normal? Barbara’s life hadn’t been normal for years.
Nothing was normal without Caitlin.
“Barb, they’re taking the next plane out of Portland.”
Barbara looked up, startled that Doug had already finished his call. “How did they take the news?”
“The way you’d expect. Shock. Disbelief. Tears.”
Neither Barbara nor Doug said much as they drove the twenty miles to the renovated Victorian house in south San Francisco, where Paul and Nancy had an upstairs apartment.
As Doug unlocked the door, Barbara murmured, “It feels strange coming here like this. Like we’re trespassing.”
“I know, Barb, but it’s got to be done.” Doug opened the door, and they stepped tentatively into Paul and Nancy’s world—a quaint, cluttered apartment that embodied a diversity of styles, from traditional to modern to garage-sale chic. Floral wallpaper, dark mahogany woodwork and intricately carved cornices and moldings were counterbalanced by vinyl beanbag chairs, a leather recliner, a rattan sofa, pine bookcases, and a simulated black marble entertainment unit. Plants abounded—from ceiling to floor, on every table and windowsill: creeping ferns and climbing vines, small pots of violets and hanging baskets of petunias, and plant stands with large, leafy philodendron, all badly in need of watering.
“Your sister made an art of clutter,” said Barbara, noting the books, magazines, canvases and sheet music strewn around the room. A guitar was propped in one corner, an easel in another. “I’d forgotten what a creative person she is.”
“When I was growing up, she was always dabbling in something,” said Doug wistfully, picking up an unfinished still-life. “Always writing a poem, painting a picture, picking out a tune on her guitar.”
“And what were you doing?” asked Barbara softly as she examined a charcoal rendering of Janee.
Doug chuckled ruefully. “I was putting splints and bandages on my sisters’ dolls. I even tried operating on Pam’s favorite Raggedy Ann. Cut the thing nearly in two. Stuffing everywhere. Told her I was doing a heart transplant. She wasn’t amused.”
Barbara gave him a gentle smile. “Even then you were preparing to be a great surgeon.”
Do
ug grimaced. “And where’d it get me?”
“You’re still a great surgeon. You just refuse to see it.”
Doug let the unfinished canvas clatter on the coffee table, and countered, “How did this get to be about me?”
Barbara looked away. She couldn’t handle this rift today. Some other time. “We’re both exhausted, Doug. Let’s get some sleep and talk later.”
“Okay by me. I’ll grab a glass of water first.” He headed for the kitchen, and she followed. It was a clean, compact kitchen with more plants in the garden window and lots of curios and handmade knickknacks on the counters. Janee’s colorful drawings covered the refrigerator door.
“Looks like Janee has some of her mother’s talent,” he said with a catch in his voice. He turned on the spigot and ran the water until it was cold.
Barbara got two glasses from the cupboard and handed them to him. “Do you want me to fix us something to eat? I’m sure there’s something I could whip up.”
He filled her glass and gave it to her. “No, I couldn’t eat. You go ahead.”
“Maybe later.” They went down the hall to Paul and Nancy’s room and hesitated for a few minutes before lying down on the neatly made queen-size bed. “It feels strange being here like this,” said Barbara, easing herself down so she wouldn’t muss the chenille spread. “I’m too tense to relax. Maybe we should have stayed at the hospital.”
Doug rolled onto his side and ran his hand soothingly over her arm. “Try to sleep, Barbie. We need our rest. We’ve got a long, hard road ahead of us, and we’ve got to be strong.”
Stronger than we were when Caitlin died? she wondered silently. How can we be strong now when we still haven’t got past that loss?
Barbara fell into a fitful sleep punctuated by vivid, exhausting dreams. She and Doug were climbing a mountain, trying to reach Caitlin, who stood perched on a precipice, crying for help. No matter how high they climbed, there was always more rugged terrain waiting to be scaled. When they finally reached the spot where Caitlin had stood, she was gone, and they were alone on the mountain, just the two of them, buffeted by dark winds, with the precipice yawning like a black hole below them. “We’ll fall unless we hang on to each other,” she told Doug, but when they tried to embrace, the winds and the darkness drove them apart.
A Family To Cherish Page 3