“We’ll work on that,” I say.
Kat is so excited she can barely sit still the rest of the drive. She recites off boy and girl name possibilities as if she’s been rehearsing for months.
I ask Kat what she thinks I should fix for supper. She pulls out her favorite cookbook, a country Italian tome that Myrtle gave her for Christmas last year. She begins making suggestions. I flip through the pages with her, letting her decide which of the recipes are worth making tonight.
“These might be a little above my pay grade,” I say.
She giggles. “I’ll help you, Mama.”
We spend a full three hours in the kitchen, and I think we use every pot and frying pan we own. The wonderful smell of butter and onion sautéing in the skillet fills the room, and I realize how wonderful it is to be able to share times like this with my daughter.
I suppose I’m the one who should be teaching, but instead, I’m the one learning from her.
We’ve just stuck the pasta in the oven to bake when Kat looks at me and says, “Would it be all right if I watch a movie and eat my supper in the living room?”
I lean back and raise an eyebrow. “Are you doing the matchmaking thing again? If so, you don’t need to do that.”
“I know. I just think it would be nice if you had like, you know, a real date.”
“Honey,” I say carefully. “It’s not really a date.”
“Are you saying you two don’t like each other?”
“No. We do like each other.”
“Then why can’t it be a date?”
“Sweetie, it’s really complicated.”
“Which is code for what adults say when they’re about to make a mess of something.”
“You are way too smart to be ten years old, you know that?”
“It just seems to me that if both of you like each other, it really shouldn’t be complicated.”
“In a perfect world, I guess it wouldn’t be,” I say.
“But we don’t live in a perfect world,” she says.
“No, we don’t. So we kind of have to make the best of things, right?”
“Right,” I say.
“Okay. I’m going to eat my supper in the living room and watch a movie.”
I know my daughter. There’s no point in arguing.
Perhaps I am stronger than I think.
~ Thomas Merton
Gabby
We decide to take the walk before dessert.
I check in with Kat to make sure she’s all right with her movie. She teases me by making a kissing sound when she waves.
Outside the house, the night is dark under the overcast sky. Clouds had moved in late that afternoon, a ceiling beneath the stars. Low mushroom lights direct us along the stone walkway to the dock.
We walk there in silence, reaching the end where I take off my sandals and sit down to dangle my feet in the water. Sam takes off his running shoes, rolls up the bottoms of his jeans and sits down next to me.
“It’s amazingly warm,” he says.
“It is.” I run my fingers through the water, flick some at him.
“Hey,” he says, and splashes me back.
I laugh. “Do you remember that time we got caught out in a thunderstorm on the boat?”
“You mean the one where I thought we were going to die?”
“Yes. That one,” I say. “I thought the waves were going to come inside the boat.”
“I think they might have, if we hadn’t gotten to a dock and taken shelter under the porch of that house.”
“Thank goodness the owners weren’t home.”
“I felt bad for having you out there,” Sam says. “You kept telling me the storm was coming, but I wanted to ski just one more time.”
“Me the pessimist. You the optimist.”
“Probably more like you were the smart one and I was the dumb one.”
I laugh. “Hardly.” We sit quiet for a few moments while a boat hums by somewhere out on the lake beyond us.
“Do you ever wonder why those memories are so easy to pull up? I mean honestly, there are things that happened to me three years ago that I don’t remember. Places I’ve visited that I barely remember what I did there.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe because they were some of our firsts.”
“Is it like that for you?” he asks.
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Things seemed so simple then.”
“They were simple. Because it was just you and me and what we felt for each other.” My hands are clasped at the edges of the dock. Sam reaches out and presses his hand over mine. We sit, quiet, just absorbing the connection. I turn my palm up and link my fingers with his.
“I know you don’t want this now,” I say. “But it’s still there, isn’t it?”
“It is,” he says. “And it isn’t that I don’t want it, Gabby. That I don’t want you. Dear God, I do.”
“Then, why?” I ask, hearing the broken note in my own voice.
He makes a sound of surrender and reaches for me, lifting me up and onto his lap so that my legs are straddling his, and we are chest to chest, our faces nearly touching. I tip my forehead against his, draw in a shallow breath, then brush his lips with mine.
He kisses me back, softly, but I feel the longing in him. I deepen the kiss. I loop my arms around his neck and remember the night so long ago when we had given ourselves to each other. It seems like a lifetime behind us, and, at the same time, a mere blink. I remember what it felt like to be his, to be one with him. And there is nothing I want more than to know that closeness again.
I don’t know how long we kiss like that, but it’s a long time. And when Sam drops back onto the dock, his arms above his head, as if in surrender, I stretch out on top of him, looking down into his face.
“I want you so much,” I say.
“I want you too,” he says.
“Just not now.”
“Just not now,” he repeats.
“Will there ever be a now?”
“I want to believe so,” he says. “More than anything, I want to believe so.”
I need for him to explain to me why it can’t be now, but, for whatever reason, I know that he can’t.
“The possibility of a now,” I say, “I can live with that.”
“I don’t deserve your waiting, Gabby.”
“Will you let me be the one to decide that?” I ask, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth.
“Only because I’m a selfish jerk,” he says.
“That’s not how I see it,” I say.
Sam puts a hand to the side of his head and closes his eyes, pain flashing across his face.
“What is it?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
I slide off him. He tries to sit up, then falls back onto one elbow, his face still contorted with pain.
“Sam,” I say, my voice a harsh cry. I get to my feet and reach to help him up. “What’s wrong?”
“I—it’s just a bad headache,” he says.
“Let me help you.” I put an arm around his waist. “Let’s go back to the house. I have some medicine there.” My heart is beating so hard I can feel it pounding against my chest.
He starts to say something, but his jaw clenches again, and he squeezes his eyes shut.
“Sam. You’re scaring me. Please, let’s go to the house.”
He leans on me a bit, and we walk slowly along the dock. I feel more of his weight settle onto my shoulder, and then he starts to fall.
I grab hold of him, trying to wrap my arms around his waist, but I’m not quick enough, and we’re right at the edge of the dock. And then we’re both falling, off the side, down, down. It seems like forever before we hit the surface of the water. Just as we do, I feel Sam go completely limp, and realize he’s passed out.
My scream is instant and piercing, even to my own ears. “Sam! Sam!” But I’ve lost my grip on him. He’s sinking into the night-dark water. “No! Sam!”
I reach
below the surface, trying to grab onto him and pull him back to me. I don’t know how deep the water is here, but I can’t touch the bottom. I flail about, finally grabbing onto the back of his shirt. His weight pulls me down, and I take in a mouthful of water, just as my head slips beneath the surface.
Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.
~ Nathaniel Hawthorne
Gabby
I can swim. I had many lessons as a child. But I’ve never considered myself a strong swimmer. Fear threatens to consume my rational brain, and I have to steel myself not to let it overcome me. I know I can’t let go of Sam, because in the dark water, I will never be able to find him again in time.
And so, with my lungs screaming for relief, I hold onto his shirt with both hands and start to kick with my legs in the direction I pray is the shore.
I don’t know how long it takes me to reach the point where I can stand on the bottom of the lake, my head breaking through the surface, my lungs begging for air.
I breathe in great chunks of it, gasping and sputtering, but never letting go of Sam.
He’s still face down. I have to get him to the edge of the water. My arms feel as if they are going to snap from the pressure of his weight. But somehow, I manage to get him in close enough that the upper half of his body is flat on the sandy shore. I struggle to turn him over onto his back, calling out his name over and over again. “Sam! Sam, please! Wake up!”
I begin screaming for Kat as I struggle to remember the basics of the CPR class I took when I first brought her home. I force myself to draw in a calming breath and then begin pumping his chest, alternating with breathing into his mouth.
“What is it, Mama?” I hear Kat call out from the deck at the house. “What’s wrong?”
“Call 911! It’s Sam. He needs help. As fast as you can, honey!”
I continue with the CPR, crying now with no ability whatsoever to stop my sobbing. “You cannot do this, Sam. You cannot do this. We haven’t had our now. Don’t go. Don’t go.”
I force another breath of air into his mouth, and suddenly he coughs, water flooding from his lungs.
“Oh, thank God,” I say, crying harder. “Sam. Sam.”
He opens his eyes, struggling for a moment to focus, and then he looks directly at me. “I’m sorry, Gabby. I’m so sorry.”
Do the thing you think you cannot do.
~ Eleanor Roosevelt
Kat
I’ve never been this scared in my life.
Sam’s face is so pale. Mama is rubbing his hair and crying softly. She’s trying not to, but she can’t help it. She’s shaking, and I don’t know if it’s from being wet or because she’s so scared too. Tears run down my face, and I reach out to put a hand on her shoulder.
The rescue squad sirens scream in the distance, and I’m so relieved they’re almost here that my knees go weak.
“I told them to come to the dock, Mama,” I say, my voice cracking with fear.
She nods and says, “Thank you, sweetie. Everything is going to be all right.”
I want to believe this, and I know she does too. But something is awfully wrong with Sam. What if they can’t fix it?
A flashlight beams across us. Two people from the rescue squad are running through the yard toward us, carrying a stretcher and a big bag.
“Here!” Mama cries out.
The man and woman get to work immediately, pulling out equipment and checking Sam’s heartbeat.
“Can you tell us what happened, ma’am?” the man asks, his face serious.
Mama tells them how Sam collapsed and fell into the water. And how he started to sink and she pulled him in to the shore. I realize then just how brave she had to be to do that, how dark the water must have been down there. I reach out and take Mama’s hand, holding on tight. I won’t let go until she asks me to.
And then you find yourself living what you never imagined.
~ Author Unknown
Gabby
One of the paramedics asks me for as much information about Sam as I can give her. Insurance info? I find a card in his wallet. Previous medical history? I don’t know.
The two of us follow the paramedics to the vehicle, its red lights still flashing in circles across the front yard of the house. I want to ride in the ambulance with him, but I’m soaking wet, and I can’t leave Kat here alone.
They load the stretcher into the rescue squad, the woman paramedic climbing into the back with Sam. The other one slams the doors closed and looks at me. “We’re taking him to Roanoke Memorial.”
“We’ll be there as quickly as possible.”
He runs to the driver’s side, jumps in, and the vehicle screams out of the driveway. The sound echoes in my heart.
~
I CHANGE MY clothes as quickly as I can. Kat is already waiting in the car when I run back out. She’s even managed to get her wheelchair in the back by herself.
The drive to Roanoke seems as if it will take forever. I take the back way over Windy Gap Mountain because it comes out closest to the hospital near downtown.
My hands grip the steering wheel, and I stare straight ahead, pushing the curves as much as I dare.
“Can I say a prayer for Sam, Mama?” Kat asks from the back seat.
“Please, sweetie,” I say.
I listen to the words, her soft pleas for Sam’s safety, her quiet faith that her prayers will be answered.
The tears roll up and out of me with fresh force. I am struck with the feeling of still being in the water, knowing I’m being dragged down, even as I flail for the surface.
~
WE ARRIVE IN THE lobby off the emergency room, and when I ask for information about Sam, the woman at the front desk asks if I’m a relative.
“A friend,” I answer.
She gives me a sympathetic smile, but says, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we can’t give information out to non-relatives.”
“But we’re the only people he knows here, and—”
“Again, I’m sorry. As soon as we are able to get Dr. Tatum’s consent, we will let you know.”
I roll Kat’s chair across the lobby and take a seat on an empty row. My chest feels so tight that I can’t get a deep breath.
Kat puts her hand on mine and says, “Don’t they understand that he would feel better seeing us?”
“I’m sure they’re just trying to protect their patients,” I say, but I feel the same frustration as she does. And then I wonder if I should try to call his brother, someone in his family. Of course, I don’t have any of their numbers or any idea of how to get in touch with them. But then I remember that Sam said Ben is in Hawaii, speaking at a conference.
I pull my phone from my purse, Google Ben’s name, Hawaii, speaker, conference. The search wheel spins for a moment, and then the results pop onto the screen. A page on the Johns Hopkins website has a photo of Ben and a mention of the conference he is speaking at. The location is the Four Seasons Resort Hualalai.
I type the name into the search bar, and the hotel’s website pops up as the first choice. I click and find the main number.
“I’m going to step outside and make a call, Kat.”
She closes the book on her lap and says, “Want me to come?”
“No, sweetie. I’ll be right back.”
~
I ACTUALLY HAVE no idea what time it is in Hawaii right now. Are they three hours behind us? Five?
The hotel operator answers, and I ask to be connected with Ben Tatum’s room.
“One moment, please,” she says in a smooth voice.
“Thank you. Can you tell me what time it is there, please?”
“It’s five-thirty a.m., ma’am.”
“Thank you.” Hopefully, that means he will be in the room.
The line rings four times before it clicks, and a groggy voice says, “Hello?”
“Ben,” I say, trying to keep my words steady. “This is Gabby Hayden.”
I wait for several seconds for him to proc
ess this. I’ve woken him, and he hasn’t seen me in twenty-five years. I hardly expect him to recognize my name right off the bat.
“Gabby. What—is something wrong?”
“I’m afraid so, Ben. It’s Sam. He collapsed tonight at my house. We’re at the emergency room at Roanoke Memorial.”
“What happened?” he asks. I hear the note of apprehension beneath the words and the fact that he is now fully awake.
“I’m not sure. I can’t get any more information because they will only release it to relatives.”
“Is there someone I can speak with?”
“It might be best if you call the hospital and see what you can find out.”
“Of course. Can you give me your number, and I will call you back?”
“Yes.”
“Just a moment. Let me grab a pen.”
His tone is now neutral, and I suspect he is responding as a doctor intent on helping a patient.
“Okay,” he says.
I give him the number and say, “Could you please let me know something as soon as you can? My daughter and I are here at the hospital. I won’t leave until I know how he is.”
“Gabby. Thank you. It’s good to know that you’re there with him.”
I hear the dozen questions beneath his gratitude. Why was he with me? Are we together? But he says none of them, and we hang up with heavy goodbyes.
I go back inside then, take my seat beside Kat. I keep my phone in my hand, waiting for it to ring.
~
KAT HAS FALLEN asleep with her head in my lap when it finally does light up beneath the ringtone at just after three a.m. The screen says “unknown caller,” and I close my eyes as I answer.
“It’s Ben, Gabby. I’m sorry for how long this has taken.”
Something in my stomach clenches at the tone of his voice. His words sound as if they are each attached to weights.
Blue Wide Sky Page 13