Chapter Eleven
MAGGIE LET HERSELF OUT THE MUDROOM DOOR, closing it softly behind her. She bent on the stoop to tie her tennis shoes, then straightened and headed down the driveway at a brisk trot, elated by the feeling of freedom. It had been too long since she’d pounded the pavement. She’d taken up running when she moved back to Chicago to help her mother during chemo treatments. It had served as a release valve for her. Since then she ran as often as she could wherever she was. When she ran, she never felt trapped or worried or alone. She simply felt free.
The road was empty of cars, a ribbon of asphalt winding through wide, rolling meadows and stands of dark evergreens dripping with water from the late-afternoon rain. She turned away from the direction of Friday Harbor and ran fast, eating up the ground with a feeling almost like flying. Maggie had taken the opportunity to slip away while Lena was still in her room and the children were watching a movie before bed as Ellen cleaned up from dinner. It was just before sundown, the hushed and golden hour when the island seemed to hold its breath before the light slowly faded into shadows. The air was sweet and heavy with moisture and the smell of green growing things—spicy firs and ferns in the woods, hay from the meadows. And, as always, with the salt tang of the sea.
As Maggie ran, she let her mind wander, but she kept coming back to the problem at hand—the enormous debt and how she could help Lena and the children and save the island house. It was all she’d been thinking about the past few days, and only one solution seemed feasible after all her hours of contemplation, turning the problem this way and that. The Regent Fellowship. She had to win the Regent Fellowship. It awarded a cash prize of a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, which wouldn’t cover the debt but would take a substantial bite out of it. It offered more money by far than any other idea she’d had.
As her feet pounded out a steady rhythm on the pavement, she pictured what winning the Regent would mean. The image hung suspended in her mind, glittering like a crystal chandelier, alluring, promising all she so fiercely desired. If she won, it would be the pinnacle of her career, the dream she had worked and hoped and yearned for since she was sixteen, the stellar success she craved above all else. She had lived day by day with the burning of that ambition in her chest. It had pushed her to Rhys, to Alistair, to all the lonely places she had been for the last seven years. She had chosen it above a home and family, above a feeling of place or belonging. The pursuit of that dream had been her place, her belonging. And finally it was within her reach. To compete, to win . . . The thought brought a longing so sharp it felt almost like pain.
When Maggie finally stopped by a tumbledown mailbox a few miles from the farmhouse, she put her hands on her knees and took a moment to catch her breath. The light was fading from sepia to gray. She needed to head back soon before it got too dark to see the road. A deer stepped hesitantly from the undergrowth, saw Maggie and froze, then darted back the way it had come. Birds were twittering in the trees, getting ready for the night. Maggie straightened, walking in a circle, stretching her muscles gently. Trying to win the Regent seemed like the best solution any way she looked at it. That amount of money would surely save the island house and stave off creditors until everything could be made right. Nothing would bring Marco back, but at least her plan could help Lena and still allow Maggie to pursue the chance of a lifetime. She took a deep breath, wanting it to work, willing it to work. It was the best shot they all had.
Mind made up, Maggie looped back toward the farmhouse, feeling lighter than she had since she’d first heard about Marco’s accident. That had been only a handful of days ago, but it felt like forever. She would tell Lena about her decision as soon as she had the chance, break the news that she had to head back to Chicago, but explain her plan. She thought Lena would be supportive. Maggie was doing this for all of them. Now she just had to win.
The smell of burning eggs was really quite vile, Maggie reflected as she swiped at the blaring smoke alarm with a kitchen towel. Eyes smarting from the acrid smoke rolling over the lip of a frying pan, Maggie waved the towel back and forth like a flag of surrender. No luck. “Fine!” She pulled over a kitchen chair, hastily balanced on it, and smacked the hush button on the smoke alarm. A sweet silence descended on the kitchen. Now for the eggs.
“Who knew scrambled eggs could burn that fast?” she muttered, staring at the scorched mess of brown and yellow. She’d turned off the gas burner when the smoke alarm first sounded, but the eggs were still sitting there accusingly. With a sigh, she dumped them into the trash and turned to find Jonah, Luca, and Gabby peering over the kitchen counter.
“Is that our lunch?” Jonah asked, all three eying her dubiously. Ellen was running errands in town, and Maggie had glibly volunteered to take care of feeding the kids. Lena was still in bed. Maggie had not yet had an opportunity to tell Lena about the plan she had decided on the evening before, but she was going to buy a ticket back to Chicago just as soon as she had a chance to talk to her.
“Well, not anymore.” Maggie put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. She had never really learned to cook. Her eating habits fit her transient life—airplane food, meals cooked by other people, hole-in-the-wall restaurant fare, and exotic street food. She loved food, loved the taste and texture of so many diverse flavors. Spicy yellow curry, bratwurst and mustard, papaya salad with shrimp and chilies, hunks of succulent grilled goat dripping with grease—all of it. But she was incapable of translating those flavors into meals made with her own hands. Her mother had tried to pass on traditional recipes from her childhood in Puerto Rico, but Maggie had never been interested in the kitchen. She’d rather eat food than learn how to make it.
She opened the fridge and assessed the contents, trying to put a meal together in her head. Alfalfa sprouts. Greek yogurt. A package of bacon. She was stymied.
“We have waffles in the freezer that you cook in the toaster,” Luca offered helpfully.
Maggie turned to the trio. “Do you all like waffles?” Three nods of affirmation.
“With butter and syrup,” Gabby amended.
“And powdered sugar,” Jonah added.
“Great.” With a sigh, Maggie opened the freezer.
A scant ten minutes later all four were sitting at the table eating waffles successfully toasted, not burned, along with yogurt and a half carton of strawberries that had somehow escaped being turned into jam. Maggie had found them in the back of the refrigerator, hidden behind the yogurt.
“These taste funny.” Gabby wrinkled her nose and poked at a slice of strawberry. Maggie speared a segment of the fruit and chewed it. It was a little rubbery but edible.
“Anyone want more waffles?” she asked.
“Did I hear someone say waffles?” Lena asked, suddenly appearing at the foot of the stairs.
“Mommy!” Gabby flung herself at Lena, wrapping her arms around her mother’s legs. Lena laughed, hugging her close. “Go finish your waffles.” She shooed her back to the table.
Maggie surveyed Lena in amazement. Dressed in a soft, short-sleeved, dove-gray sweater and jeans, her hair smoothed back into a casually elegant chignon, she looked for all the world like she’d just stepped out of the pages of a Good Housekeeping magazine. No hint of fatigue or sorrow. She even wore her pearl studs, the ones Marco gave her when Jonah was born, and a touch of pale-pink lipstick. She dug through her purse, finally producing her keys.
“Are you going out?” Maggie asked, wondering if she should broach the topic of the Regent Fellowship now. Lena looked up, nodding, her gaze flickering to Maggie’s and then away. Maggie felt a tiny dart of unease somewhere in the pit of her stomach. Lena was not as well as she looked.
Lena cleared her throat. “I’m just going to run down to the quilting shop. I have some squares I’ve been trying to finish for Gabby’s quilt and I’ve run out of the pink fabric. I won’t be gone long.” She rounded the table to each of her children, hugging them tightly and kissing their foreheads.
“Be good for Au
nt Maggie while I’m out, okay? No getting into trouble.” She smoothed Gabby’s hair, then turned to Maggie. “Take care of them while I’m gone, will you, Maggie?”
Maggie nodded. “Sure. Of course.” She’d talk with Lena about the Regency when she returned.
“Good. I don’t know what we would do without you.” Lena met her eyes for an instant, her own cornflower-blue gaze flicking away from Maggie’s. Then she slipped her purse onto her shoulder and walked out the door.
After Lena left, the mood in the house quickly soured. No sooner had Maggie cleared the lunch dishes than the sky turned brooding, with thick, iron-gray clouds rolling in and blotting out the sun. Within a few minutes it began to spit rain. Stuck inside, the children’s tempers flared, and the afternoon progressed in fits and starts, punctuated by spats over which cartoon to watch, who was sitting in who’s seat, and all manner of other minor disagreements.
By two thirty Maggie was ready to pull out her hair. Where was Ellen? Where was Lena, for that matter? And why in the world had she volunteered to babysit? Why hadn’t she volunteered for the grocery run? At least she could tell the difference between a good cucumber and a bad one, but she had no idea how to referee fights over programs she’d never heard of and quell sibling rivalries and grievances that seemed endless.
“Okay!” she announced loudly, cutting Gabby off midwhine. She held out her hand for the TV remote, which Jonah was purposefully sitting on. “Right here, right now, the pity party is over. I am the crabby police. You!” She pointed to Gabby. “I can’t hear you when you whine. You!” This one to Jonah. “Stop trying to control your sister. And, Luca . . .” She looked around for Luca, who was at that moment in the kitchen trying to sneak fruit snacks out of the cupboard. “Stop eating sugar!”
She strode resolutely to the cabinet of DVDs and pulled out Mary Poppins at random. “Now, we are all going to sit here and watch this together, without fighting, and in silence. Got it?” She turned a gimlet eye on the room.
Gabby nodded. Jonah looked mutinous but shrugged finally, resigned. Luca rejoined them, undeterred, piping up, “Can we make popcorn?”
Armed with bowls of microwave popcorn, they started the film. They’re probably wishing I was a little more like Mary Poppins, Maggie thought grimly as Julie Andrews took the children to a magical world through a chalk drawing. Gabby snuggled up to her, resting her head on Maggie’s chest, and Maggie hugged her close, reveling in the calm.
A few minutes later she heard a car crunch down the lane, and a second after that, the door to the mudroom slam. She craned her neck, expecting either Lena, fabric in hand, or Ellen with a load of groceries. It was Ellen, but her hands were empty. She stopped dead in the doorway, her face drained of color. Maggie sat up, a sudden feeling of dread blooming in her chest. Ellen looked at Maggie, clasped her trembling hands tightly in front of her, and said very calmly, “It’s Lena. There’s been an accident.”
Chapter Twelve
LENA LAY PALE AND SILENT IN A HOSPITAL BED, an IV and heart monitor snaking from her arm and chest. She was unconscious. She had been airlifted from San Juan to the nearest hospital trauma center on the mainland in Bellingham. Maggie sat beside her, alone and in shock. She had caught the tiny San Juan Airlines’ four-thirty flight from Friday Harbor to Bellingham and arrived at the hospital just as Lena was being wheeled into her room after a round of tests. Ellen had stayed at home with the children and was waiting to hear any news from Maggie.
So far no one had told Maggie anything other than a nurse who assured her brusquely that a doctor would arrive shortly to give her an update. Lena’s medical insurance card had been in her purse the EMTs had brought with her, the nurse informed her, and all her personal belongings, including her jewelry, were in a secure place. Maggie could pick them up after she talked with the doctor. All Maggie had to do was sit there and wait.
Maggie crouched forward on a hard chair as though to protect herself, waiting for someone to tell her exactly what had happened and why Lena wouldn’t wake up. She watched the heart-rate monitor, finding reassurance in the steady beep, beep, beep of Lena’s heart. Lena looked untouched except for a cut across the bridge of her nose, bandaged with a bit of gauze, and an ugly bump on her forehead. She lay still, eyes closed, as pale as though she’d been carved from marble. Maggie pressed her hand to her own heart, trying to force away the dull ache spreading there. She felt adrift, with no information, no assurance that Lena would be okay. How could something like this happen? First Marco and now this. It was too much to take in.
She shifted uncomfortably in the hard chair. She hated hospitals. She had spent so much time in the hospital during her mother’s battle with breast cancer. She knew the blanched smell of them, the metallic clatters and whirs and beeps. They were so impersonal, filled with hearts and bodies and voices, but all of it smothered under a layer of institutional practice. The scrubs and clipboards, the covered trays and sealed plastic packages of medical equipment. They bore no relation to real life, to people who wept and worried over loved ones—many of whom lived, but many who died. She hated it all.
She clenched her hands together, keeping herself in the chair by force of will. She would not bolt. She had to stay put and find out what was happening, not just for Ellen, but also for the kids and for Lena herself. She knew the medical jargon more than most people. She knew how to ask questions and how to make sure medical personnel were taking enough time, paying enough attention. She glanced again at the figure on the bed, biting her lip, filled with worry and more than a little in shock. Lena looked so still and serene, in direct contrast to Maggie’s agitated state. Lying there, Lena looked almost peaceful, no sorrow pinching the corners of her lax mouth, her hands still, face placid, the only one at ease in a world gone so very wrong.
“Mrs. Firelli has sustained a brain injury from the forceful blow to the head she received upon impact in a car collision,” Dr. Yamamoto, Lena’s attending physician, explained to Maggie more than two hours later when he finally arrived for a consultation. With soft brown eyes and thinning hair, he had a world-weary, responsible look about him, as though constantly aware he held people’s lives in his hands on a daily basis.
He scanned Lena’s chart slowly.
“Mrs. Firelli was very fortunate that she sustained no other major injuries, but initial tests indicate she has an acute subdural hematoma, which has resulted in a coma. There’s some bleeding on the brain accompanied by swelling, but we’re monitoring the situation and feel there is no need to intervene yet to reduce swelling. She is stable but unconscious.”
“Is there any way to know when she’ll come out of the coma?” Maggie asked, pretty sure of the answer but hoping she was wrong. She’d faithfully watched ER every week through high school and knew a lot about comas, though she was the first to admit watching ER wasn’t the most accurate way to learn medical information.
“I’m sorry, no. There is no way to tell. Sometimes it’s a matter of hours or days, even weeks or months.” He did not say what they both knew to be true, that sometimes the person never regained consciousness at all.
“Is there any way to tell whether she has any . . . brain damage?” Maggie asked, steeling herself for the answer. How could she be sitting here so calmly, discussing Lena, her best friend and college roommate? It seemed surreal. Perhaps it was the sense of unreality that made her able to talk so clearly, ask the right questions, gather what information she could, which, as it turned out, was precious little.
“Until Mrs. Firelli wakes up, we can’t tell if there’s been any permanent damage to the brain or assess the extent of it. In some cases there is no permanent damage.” And again the unspoken fact, weighty between them, that in many cases the patient was not nearly so fortunate.
“Okay,” Maggie said, scrubbing her hands on her jeans, taking a deep breath, trying to think. What more should she ask? “Is there anything we can do?” She looked at Dr. Yamamoto, feeling helpless.
“I’m sorry,”
he said again, looking sympathetic. “There really isn’t. All we can do is wait and see. The brain will either repair itself or . . . Well, we hope this condition will resolve itself quickly. Until then, you can be assured we will make every effort to keep Mrs. Firelli comfortable. She is in excellent hands.”
“And you’ll let me know if there’s any change in her condition?” Maggie asked.
“Of course,” Dr. Yamamoto assured her.
Maggie left Lena’s room and walked outside to the front entrance of the hospital, calling Ellen with an update. Ellen listened with concern as Maggie briefed her.
“Oh dear heavens,” she said. “Poor Lena. I know they’re doing all they can, but it’s just such a shock.”
“I know.” Maggie ran a hand over her weary eyes, feeling the strain of the last few hours.
“I’ll stay here tonight and call you tomorrow—or sooner if I hear anything new. How are the kids?”
“I told them you’re with their mama and she’s hit her head, but the doctors are going to take good care of her. They’re pretty scared.”
The thought of the three children, their world already shaken with the loss of their father, made Maggie’s heart ache. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Maggie repeated. There didn’t seem to be anything more to say.
She spent a fitful night in Lena’s room, waking early the next morning with a sore neck from sleeping in a hard chair. There was no change. Lena looked the same. Dr. Yamamoto confirmed it when he paid a visit around lunchtime.
“There’s really no telling how long Mrs. Firelli could be unconscious. Go home,” he urged her. “Get some rest and have a good meal. We’ll call you if anything changes.”
Maggie was reluctant to leave Lena, but the thought of the children spurred her to return to the island. She needed to see them, needed to explain what had happened to their mother. She couldn’t reassure them that Lena would be okay, but she could be there with them in the midst of the uncertainty.
Ascension of Larks Page 12