Tears dropped like waterfalls down her cheeks and over the black handset pressed up against her jaw.
“I’ve got to go eat some leftover meatloaf now, but I’ll be contacting you about Sean. You hang up and remember what I told you. Take care of yourself.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
IT was two days later, in the waiting room of the hospital where Dad was getting additional scans, that Abby received a call back from James McCarrin. Since she rarely turned on the cell phone she’d recently been provided, he’d had to contact her through Mom.
“Why does James want to speak with you?” Mom asked, her arms crossed in front of her in concern, cell phone hanging idly from her hand.
It took everything in Abby’s power not to wrestle the phone from her and make the call. She’d been dying a little bit every day since she’d heard that Sean had been in jail. And now here she stood, facing off with Mom in order to retrieve the information. It wouldn’t do to lie. Mom was the actress, not Abby. She’d never been able to pull off a moment of deceit, even as a child.
“He’s trying to find Sean,” she admitted.
“Oh goodness!” Mom lifted the phone towards Abby, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows now raised in concern. “Please, take it. Call him back right away.”
Abby looked at the screen and pushed the icon for ‘Return Call’, then listened to the rings as they rattled through her veins.
“McCarrin here.”
“Hi, Mr. McCarrin. It’s Abigail again.”
“Hey. Got some intel on Court,” he said. It was mid-day, and Abby could tell that James was still in business mode. Dad had been the same way whenever she’d contacted him at work. It usually took him at least an hour to detox from ‘senator mode’ before he began speaking like a normal family man again. She supposed it was the same way for James.
“Is he okay?”
“Not sure. He flew out of Nairobi a couple weeks ago. Arrived in Dubai. No further information from there. We’re keeping our eyes peeled, but Court has been trained by the best. Slippery eel, that one. I wouldn’t worry about him if I were you. If history is any indication, Court will contact you when he’s damn good and ready, and not a moment sooner.”
Abby couldn’t process the words he was saying. Dubai? Trained? History? She wanted to ask him a hundred more questions, but her throat had once again become a closed drawbridge. She dropped to the couch in confusion and despair.
Mom could see her response and pulled the phone from Abby’s hand.
“Hi James… Yes. She’s fine. It’s the damaged larynx. Gives her a bit of trouble…”
Abby watched as Mom’s eyes widened and narrowed. “No. I wasn’t aware of that…No. I hadn’t been informed… Where is he now? … Okay. Do you think you can find him? … I see.”
Mom sat down next to Abby on the sofa and put her arm around her quivering shoulders. “Yes. I’ll tell him… I agree. If we hear from him, you’ll be the first person we call… Thank you, James… I will. And give Ellen a hug. We’ll have you over for dinner as soon as he gets better… Okay. Bye bye.”
Mom set the phone down on the coffee table.
Abby stared at it. She still couldn’t comprehend the call. “I think there’s a lot we don’t know about Sean,” Mom said quietly. Her fingers smoothed over Abby’s brow, lifting strands of hair from her tear-stained face. “But I still believe in him, sweetie. There’s a lot that your dad can’t tell me either, but it doesn’t mean he loves me less. It’s just the opposite. You remember that, okay?”
Abby curled up and put her head on Mom’s lap. “You know when you were little, and those electric repairmen came in and did a terrible job with the wiring in the house?”
Abby nodded, the softness of Mom’s jeans wiping away the tears that drained from Abby’s eyes.
“Well, those weren’t electrical repairmen. Our security was able to catch them, and they were eventually convicted of breaking and entering… and attempted kidnapping.”
Abby sat up in shock. Why had mom never told her?
“You see, honey. Sometimes it’s better not to say anything. Do you feel that you’re better off knowing that someone had been out to kidnap you when you were seven years old?”
Abby shook her head. No. It would only add to her nightmares. It made sense. Dad and Sean’s lack of information had been to protect her. It always ended up being about her security. She pressed her palms into her eyes, wishing the tears would dry up. If only she could reach that emotionless state she’d had in Switzerland. Wouldn’t that be better than the decrepit feelings she had pounding through her head?
As Abby tried to push the tears back, Mom’s gentle voice filled her ears, “I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love, we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.”
Abby felt the hands around her neck loosen with the sweet words. “What is that from?” she whispered, her voice tight and gravelly.
“Lamentations.”
The sound of footsteps approached, and Dad’s nurse appeared in the waiting room. A look of sympathy crossed her face as she saw the teary faces of mother and daughter. Thinking it was due to worry for their father, she patted Mom on the shoulder. “No need for crying. I think the doctor has some good news for you.”
They met in the office of Dr. Gonzalez. The information about scans, progress, and continued monitoring were lost on Abby as her thoughts continued to review the conversation with James.
She was glad to hear that Dad was getting better, and the prognosis was far improved from the last time they’d met. Abby knew he was making strides. Ever since her hand squeezing communication with him two days ago, Dad had been ever more diligent about following Mom’s instructions to swallow, breathe, and move. Even his facial features seemed to be falling more into place, with less spasmodic jerks, and more fluid movements through the muscles.
After the appointment, Abby continued to monitor and encourage Dad’s progress. She found that he was able to communicate via the hand-squeeze strategy for well over ten minutes before his thought processes became scrambled and his muscles weakened. The sessions were very draining for him, and Mom insisted that Abby reduce them to only three times a day, and even then - only to communicate happy, idle thoughts. Like traffic and the weather.
By June, James still had no information about Sean, but Abby was able to force thoughts of him from her mind due to the improvement in Dad’s health. He still wasn’t able to talk or swallow properly, but he could lift one arm independently and make guttural noises in direct response to questions. He’d even managed to grunt a complaint when Abby turned the television channel from Law and Order to Dancing with the Stars. She’d gladly turned it back until he fell asleep ten minutes later.
Abby occasionally accompanied Mom in public appearances. Making a point to join her at least once a week, showing a unified front in support of Dad, even attending the swearing in of the man who had taken Dad’s place as Senator. Mom was elegant and poised as always, as she handed Senator Williams’ wife a small diary, telling her “I have experienced many joys and many heartaches in the past years as my husband and I have been allowed to provide our service to the great state of Florida. My prayer is that you will have more joys than heartache. Be sure to note every one, as they are each a gift from God.”
The words were captured by the reporters and bounced around newscasts and the internet. Abby knew Mom’s message was heartfelt. She truly did wish the best for the new senator and his family and had even suggested to Abby that they pray for them.
The change in Mom during Dad’s illness was subtle, but very clear to Abby. She’d always been an independent woman, but now Abby found her to be more focused, more able to base decision on her own thoughts and experiences than relying on her agents and security advisors. Several times, Abby had found Mom turning dow
n offers for parts in movies that had been recommended by her agents, instead choosing to spend time with family. She’d also managed to say no a few times to security. She took extra time to spend with fans, signing autographs, talking to them about her recent movie, and often turning the conversation around to discuss their own lives. It was very different from the way she’d always rushed from one scheduled task to another, always avoiding things that wasted time or caused unnecessary glitches in security.
Abby couldn’t help but wonder if Dad would be appalled at the knowledge that Mom was stepping out into the unprotected world, using her own mind instead of that of knowledgeable sources, following the guidance of God instead of the security department.
It was a familiar transition. One Abby had already experienced. The transition from being held in a gilded cage, safe from any attackers that didn’t have the key - or a crowbar to bend the bars, to a world of freedom, where you could weigh the options of your own thoughts, making decisions independently and relying on God for the answers.
Mom was experiencing that freedom now, yet Abby was falling away from it. She needed to find her way back - to the ability to think for herself, to freedom.
CHAPTER EIGHTY
“I think he wants some more juice,” Mom said, attempting to translate Dad’s grunting and hand gestures.
“No. He wants a beer,” Abby corrected, then leaned back in the patio chair to face her father, who was pointing at the outdoor fridge near the pool deck. “It’s eleven in the morning, Dad. You can’t have a beer.”
He continued the demanding grunt and Abby relented. Rolling her eyes, she lifted herself off the lounge chair and retrieved a beer from the fridge, then she poured it into a chilled glass and slid a straw along with a tiny pink umbrella into the glass.
Dad’s eyes lit up with laughter and he managed a half a chuckle as she moved his juice glass over, setting the beer in its place. “Don’t complain to me if you get gas again,” she said, lifting the straw to Dad’s lips and watching him smile in delight as the amber liquid moved haphazardly from the straw to his mouth.
He’d made amazing progress, and the fact that he could use a straw was like a gift from God. So, even though Dr. Gonzalez had said no alcohol, Abby was inclined to bend the rules at Dad’s use of a straw. Once he’d managed to consume half the glass, he waved Abby off and she moved back into the sunshine. Her skin was back to tan again, having gone pale during the months sitting inside with Dad. Now that summer was in full swing, she’d convinced Dad to take advantage of the estate’s roomy backyard. They walked the garden every morning and night. Dad in his wheelchair, while Abby or Mom pushed. Dad enjoyed their family time together and had communicated frequently that he was glad he’d ‘retired’ in order to spend time with his lovely ladies.
They’d also hired Jerome, a highly-skilled, and possibly military-trained, physical therapist to come in and help Abby lift Dad into the pool several times a week for sessions of therapy in the water.
Dr. Gonzalez had shown Abby an app that Dad could use to communicate just by tapping at the screen of his computer or iPad. Since the introduction of the communication software, Dad had become much more demanding, but in turn, also more confident. She watched as Dad sat in the shadows of the patio, enjoying the beauty of the palm trees swaying in the breeze. She saw the side of his mouth turn up into what had become his new way of smiling. He leaned over and began tapping at the iPad next to him. It was an awkward movement, as Abby hadn’t tilted the screen close enough to his hand to make it accessible, but he would surely grunt and groan at her if she left her seat just to come over and adjust the iPad two inches for this convenience. Instead, she just watched as he leaned and poked, leaned and poked. It took him about ten minutes before he finished the message. Just enough time for Abby’s skin to heat up to unbearable. He waved her over, so she tucked a towel around her waist and looked at his message.
Jerome come 4x week. U need break. I sick of U.
“I’m hoping that last sentence was a joke,” Abby said. Dad’s laugh and ridiculous smile told her it was. She knew Jerome had offered to come in more often. Heaven knows, they paid him enough to practically live there. But Abby wasn’t sure what she would do with the extra time. Her new normal was sitting here with Dad or going off with Mom on her weekly public appearances. He motioned at the screen and Abby moved it closer. It took less than a minute from him to write the sentence.
U school
School. Abby hadn’t even considered it. It was too soon. She couldn’t possibly go back. But then she thought of her time at the hospital with Dr. Otieno when she’d been helping during the doctor’s strike. She’d thrived during that time. And even though the work had been hard, and it drove her to the very extent of her mental and physical abilities, she’d found joy in it.
Abby tipped the screen her way and tapped one button in the top right corner, then moved it back into Dad’s line of sight.
Yes.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
IT hadn’t taken much to get Abby back into the school. Classes began in August and her letters of recommendation from Dr. Otieno and several prominent surgeons that she’d worked with in Kenya got rave reviews from the admissions office. But this time, Dad hadn’t forced her to go to the small private hospital of St. Francis. She was working at Memorial, where chaos reigned with a daily infusion of chest pains, bullet wounds, and foreign objects in the body. Her first rotation was in trauma surgery and she took to it with ease, finding the paperwork and restrictions more problematic than the injuries and illnesses themselves. Things were so much more restrained in the States. In Kenya, she had spent most of her time treating patients, not filling out online forms and adapting to recommendations of oversight committees and cover-your-ass documents.
She often came home spouting her disapproval of the U.S. medical system to her dad, who would, in turn, recommend various legislators and representatives to whom she could provide insight of her opinions.
The last day of Abby’s ER rotation ended up being the hardest. A car had lost control at the intersection near a weekly farmer’s market, plowing into a crowd and killing two. Abby had been at the forefront as wounded victims rolled in with broken bones, gaping wounds, and scraped knees. She’d initially been called upon to assist only when necessary, but the sudden influx of patients had demanded that she jump in and perform several procedures that the staff whispered would be ‘off the books’. She was fully aware of the implications if anyone outside of their small circle were to find out that a greenhorn medical student had repaired an internal abdominal injury, so she kept her mouth shut, only relying on God to give her a high five.
After twenty-one hours and sixteen minutes at the hospital, Abby finally managed to trudge home on mental and physical fumes. Mom was in Toronto for the weekend doing interviews and a photo shoot for several Canadian media sources, and Jerome was hanging out with Dad until she got home.
Jerome had become a permanent fixture around the house while Abby was at the hospital. He and Dad hit it off like old fishing buddies and she felt comfortable knowing that Dad was under the care of someone who truly appreciated being around him. They’d even given Jerome use of the guest bedroom when Abby’s rotations went through endless hours as they had last night.
She searched for a sign of either of them, but the house was quiet. When she got to Dad’s room, she saw that he was resting peacefully, and he had been tucked in neatly. It was unlike Jerome to make sure that Dad’s covers were secure. That was more of a task left to Mom or Abby, but tonight the blanket was folded tidily and placed over his chest with his hands arranged on top.
She looked around the house, wondering if Mom had come home early, but her purse wasn’t in its usual spot on the chair in her dressing room. Walking upstairs, Abby saw the light of a television from under the guest room door and could hear the loud gargle of Jerome’s snoring. She smiled and gave him a virtual gold star for tucking Dad in before bed.
Before she went to her room, Abby felt curiosity killing her. She’d heard a multitude of stories today from the patients talking about the horrific accident at the farmer’s market as they’d come into the trauma unit. She needed to see the media’s take on the incident, so she schlepped down the stairs and stepped into Dad’s office to glance at the latest local news on the computer.
It was pretty much what the patients had told her. A woman in a vehicle lost control while using her cell phone, plowing into several stalls and over a sidewalk. Abby didn’t bother reading most of the details. She’d seen it in person.
She put the computer in to sleep mode and leaned back in the chair. Dad had been in his office. She could see the marks of his wheelchair streaked along the rich carpet. He’d been coming in more and more often, and Abby credited Jerome’s positive influence on his progression - as well as Abby’s insistence that he contact several of his friends in the legislature about certain facets of the medical industry which she felt needed attention.
She glanced from the wheel marks in the carpet, to the paperwork on the desk, to the scotch glasses on the end table. There were two. One glass was two fingers full, untouched by the drinker.
Keeping up appearances.
Abby felt every bit of exhaustion that had previously taken residence in her body scatter as confusion, rage, and hope flowed through her. She raced to Dad’s room and slapped at his arm to wake him up.
“Dad! Who was here? In the office. Who was it?”
Dad’s eyes opened slowly, and he squinted several times, trying to grasp the words of the crazy woman that stood in front of him. Abby held up the communication iPad, shoving it in front of his fingers. “Who was it, Dad. Tell me now.”
Dad waved her off and turned his head back into the pillow, clearly conveying that he had no interest in her inquisition.
Given New Worlds Page 27