"He's unconscious."
"Why did you stop me? Why did you hold me back? Damn you. I should be there with him."
"I'll take you to the hospital in the patrol car. We'll be right behind them."
Jenny stared at the spot on the ground where Danny had been lying. She saw a pool of blood that must have come from some part of his body. It looked so dark. There was so much of it. She felt faint, horror-stricken.
She looked away from the highway and saw a slight figure wrapped in a blanket, crying inconsolably as he sat on the side of the road.
A woman was talking to him, but the child wasn't listening. He rocked back and forth, his arms wrapped around his body, his eyes wide and shocked.
Jenny ran across the road to Christopher. Without a word, she gathered him in her arms and held him tight.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he cried. "It's my fault. It's all my fault."
"Sh-sh," she whispered against his hair, feeling the tears streaming down her face onto the top of his head. "It will be okay. It has to be okay."
"Jenny," Alan interrupted. "Are you ready? Christopher's mom is on her way over."
"I want to go home," Christopher said, rubbing his eyes. "I want to go home."
"Your mom will be here soon."
"Danny's hurt bad," Christopher whispered.
She stared into his face and couldn't say a word. Alan pulled her away and put her in the car before she realized that her legs had moved.
They sped down the highway as fast as visibility would allow. Jenny didn't know how far they went or how long it took. She didn't know if Alan spoke to her or if she answered. She was numb, in shock. Her system shut down. The only thing that ran through her mind was that her son was hurt. He was in pain. He was probably terrified.
Not being with him hurt more than anything else in the world. Her heart felt like it was ripped in two. The pain was worse than anything she had ever experienced.
Her child. Danny, with the smile that brought her joy, with the arms that brought her warmth, with the innocence that made her believe in everything impossible. He was her life. If anything happened to him, she would die.
Alan pulled up to the emergency entrance, and Jenny jumped out of the car before he had put it in park. She was at the front window, demanding to know where her child was, when Alan came through the door.
The nurse didn't seem to understand what Jenny was saying. She was asking for insurance. She was pushing papers at her, and a pen. A goddamn pen.
Jenny picked it up and threw it back at the nurse. "Danny. Where is Danny St. Claire?" she yelled.
"Easy, honey." Alan stepped up behind her.
The badge obviously brought respect, because the nurse stopped looking at her as if she were a lunatic and straightened up.
"Daniel St. Claire," Alan said briskly. "Where is he?"
"He's in the examining room. We don't have any information yet," the nurse replied. "I do have to ask you to fill out these forms. I'm sorry," she added belatedly.
Jenny turned to Alan. "I can't."
Alan took the forms as the nurse shut the window between the waiting room and reception desk. "I'll help you. Try not to worry."
"Try not to worry? Are you crazy?" Jenny shook her head in amazement. "I'm going in there. I'm going to find Danny. She can't stop me. I'll look in every room until I find him."
Alan put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a little shake. "Stop it, Jenny. They're doing all they can. This is a good hospital. They have excellent doctors."
"He's my son. My son," she wailed. "He needs me."
"He needs medical attention more."
"I'm his mother. His mother." Her voice broke on the word. And what a horrible mother she was, letting her child get hurt. She wrapped her arms around her waist, feeling so cold she didn't think she would ever feel warm again.
Alan tried to pull her into his arms, but she resisted. She didn't want his comfort. She didn't want his arms around her. She wanted Danny's arms, only Danny's.
"What happened?" she asked finally. "Who hit him?"
Alan shook his head, his mouth a grim line. "We don't know yet. The driver didn't stop."
"A hit and run? Oh my God! How could they have left a child in the middle of the road, broken and bleeding?" Another cry broke out of her. She cut it off, trying desperately for control.
"Probably a drunk," Alan said. "I'll find him, Jenny. I promise you that. I'll find who did this to Danny."
Jenny turned away from him and stared at the solid white wall. She couldn't look at him. She couldn't look at the other people in the waiting room, who were staring at her like some object of curiosity. Her heart was breaking. Her life was ending. She had never felt so alone. So utterly alone.
Ten minutes passed, then twenty, thirty, forty-five, sixty. Every minute on the clock ticked off with interminable slowness. An hour of incredible pain, broken only by the arrival of a doctor who came to tell her that Danny needed surgery to remove a blood clot from his brain, and Jenny had to sign a release form so they could proceed. Jenny barely heard the explanation, the risks described that all seemed to end with one word, death.
In the end she signed the paper, knowing she had no other choice. Danny was in critical condition.
At some point, Jenny sat down in a chair. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe. Alan paced between her and the pay phone at the end of the room. Nurses and doctors walked in and out. People were called in. People came out. Some were bleeding. Some were crying, but Jenny didn't care. Her thoughts were only for Danny.
Her child was somewhere behind the double doors. He was being cut into. All she could think of was how much Danny hated getting a shot. A big baby, he was, and the thought made her cry.
The tears streamed down her face, but not a sound passed her lips. She didn't know her face was wet until Alan handed her a handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and handed it back.
It was nine o'clock when Merrilee arrived at the hospital. She rushed over to Jenny and threw her arms around her. Jenny stiffened under her embrace.
"How is he?" Merrilee asked.
Jenny stared back at her, unable to speak. Merrilee looked at Alan.
He shrugged. "We don't know anything except they rushed him into surgery."
"Surgery? Oh God. You didn't say it was that bad." Merrilee caught herself. "Of course it isn't that bad. Danny will be fine. You'll see, Jennifer." She squeezed Jenny's hands for reassurance.
"You don't know that." The words burst out of Jenny. "You didn't see him. You didn't see all that blood on the ground."
Merrilee looked taken aback, as if Jenny had struck her with her fists instead of her words. "No, I didn't, but I have faith, Jenny. God wouldn't take Danny, not yet. Danny's a child. He'll be all right. Next week, he'll be sitting at the table on Thanksgiving, laughing and licking the whipped cream off the top of his pumpkin pie."
Jenny closed her eyes, hoping her sister would go away. She didn't want to listen to Merrilee's silly talk about holidays. She didn't want to think about anything but Danny. If she concentrated on his face, if she could remember every freckle on his cheeks, if she could hear his laugh again, if she could will him to live, he would have to live.
* * *
Danny felt a pain in his head and his chest. There was a feeling of incredible heaviness in his stomach, contrasted by nothingness in his arms and legs, as if they were no longer attached to his body. He tried to take a breath, but it hurt, so he stopped. He felt something being pushed down his nose. All around him came the sound of voices, but nothing was familiar.
He wanted to call out for help, but he couldn't open his mouth. His next attempt was to open his eyes. Nothing happened. The effort only made the pain worse, so bad he couldn't even cry. And he wanted to cry. He wanted to scream for his mother. He wanted her arms around him.
A sense of terror filled his soul. Was he going to die?
A light came in front of his eyes, growing stronger, pulling him in
to it with so much power that he couldn't resist going along. For some reason, his fear eased. He was more curious than afraid.
He wanted to go with the light. It beckoned him. It danced in front of his eyes like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. There were shapes in the light, figures, floating, flying, and he had the incredible sense that he was going with them to a place that was far away from everything he knew.
The pain in his head vanished. The heaviness in his stomach lifted. The frustration of not being able to open his eyes or take a breath completely faded away.
His body was as light as a feather, and he was above it all.
Suddenly Danny could see, and what he saw shocked him.
It was his body lying on a table. Surrounding him were men and women wearing baggy green pants and shirts. They had masks over their faces and plastic gloves on their hands. There were bright lights everywhere, and there seemed to be a lot of blood. They were fixing something in his head. His eyes were closed, and there was a long tube coming out of his mouth.
How strange that he felt nothing, that his body was being worked on, and he wasn't in it anymore. Was he dead? Where was his mom? Where was Christopher? A feeling of intense sadness filled him. What if he never saw them again?
Danny looked around. He wanted to move his arms, to fly like a bird, but he couldn't see his arms. The only thing he saw was the light.
It beckoned him in a new way. He could hear singing, soft, lovely voices. He wondered if the voices belonged to the angels in heaven. He wondered if that's where he was going now.
Because he was moving. Without any conscious thought, without hitting walls or doors, he left the hospital. Now, he was surrounded by whiteness, by puffy clouds that bounced beneath him like a trampoline. He couldn't resist trying to jump. He went up high, then down low. He tried a somersault in midair. He twirled around. Then a voice spoke, deep, dark, and stern.
Danny whirled around. There was a man sitting on what appeared to be a chair made out of a cloud. He was an old guy, at least fifty. His hair was black and white, his beard rough and tinged with gray. In the center of his face was a huge, red nose.
As Danny stared, the man reached up and touched his nose. "What? You think I asked for this big kazoo?"
"No. No, sir," Danny stammered. "Who -- who are you?"
The man moved his hand down and pointed at his clothes. Danny suddenly realized that the man was wearing an old baseball uniform, the kind that Babe Ruth had worn.
"Don't you know?" the man asked.
"Babe Ruth?"
The man laughed, long and hard. He grabbed his side as if the laughter had given him a cramp. "My name's Jacob. And I was a great ballplayer. But not the Babe."
Danny eyed him doubtfully. "Then how come I never heard of you before?"
"Cause I died on my way to tryouts. I was so impatient, I ran in front of a bus. Didn't even see the damn thing. Smashed me flat as a penny, I tell you. I think there were tire tracks on my back."
"That's too bad," Danny said, unsure of how he was supposed to respond. He looked around him, but it was just him and Jacob sitting on a cloud. "Am I dead?"
"Not officially."
"What does that mean?"
"They're still working on you down there. 'Course, they don't know what the Big Guy has in store for you."
"The Big Guy?"
"Yeah, you know the Big Kahuna, the Big Buckarooney, the Big Boy upstairs."
"You mean God?"
"Some people call Him that."
"Am I going to meet Him?"
"That depends on you, Danny boy." Jacob shook his head. "You know, I thought that mother of yours should have called you Jake. Much better name than Danny. But she wouldn't listen to me."
"You know my mom?"
" 'Course I do."
"Are you -- are you an angel?"
"I sure ain't the devil. He's a mean son of a bitch." Jacob crossed his legs and picked at what looked like dirt on his spike shoes.
Danny crossed his arms in front of his chest. For some reason his body seemed to be with him again, right down to the blue jeans, sweatshirt, and baseball cap he'd been wearing when he was hit by the car. "You don't look like an angel. I thought angels were supposed to be blond and pretty."
"What? I'm not good-looking enough for you?" Jacob asked, patting down his wild, fly-away hair. "You're a choosy boy, ain't you?"
Danny shrugged. "What happens now?"
"Now? Well, that's kind of up to you. See, that car took me by surprise. I was watching an old replay of the '89 series between the Giants and Cubs, and I missed you by just a split second. The Big Guy isn't too happy."
"You mean I'm not supposed to be dead? You're my guardian angel, and you blew it?"
The old man straightened up, a look of indignation on his face. "You ain't dead. You just ain't quite alive. We've got some work to do, boy."
"What kind of work?"
"First off, we gotta see what your mother's up to."
"My mom?" Danny suddenly felt heavy again. In fact, he started to sink into the cloud.
"Now, now, don't be doing that," Jacob said, grabbing him by the arm. "There are things to be learned, choices to be made, son, and I'm going to help you make the right ones for everyone concerned. Stick with me, kid."
"Like I'm going anywhere else," Danny said as he looked around him.
Jacob laughed. "That's better. Now you got your guts back. Thought we'd left 'em on the operating table."
"Where is my mom?"
"At the hospital. Want to see her?"
Danny nodded, and suddenly they were flying again.
* * *
Alan walked over to the coffee machine and bought two cups of coffee. Juggling them carefully, he handed one to Merrilee.
"Thanks." She looked over at Jenny, who was sitting across from them, leaning against the wall with her eyes closed. "Can you tell me what happened?"
"I wish I could." Alan sat down in the chair next to Merrilee. "Danny's friend Christopher was with him. He said they got off the bus and were walking home. The fog was so thick, they couldn't see. Danny stopped to tie his shoe or something. When he stood up, a car ran him down. Christopher said he didn't see the car, and it didn't stop."
"Oh, Lord." Merrilee took a sip of coffee, drawing strength from the hot liquid. "I'll have to call my father and let him know."
Alan shook his head. "I don't think Jenny can handle seeing John right now."
"Danny is his grandchild. He'll want to know."
"Your father doesn't give a damn about Jenny or Danny."
"Of course he does," Merrilee said, shocked to the core. "We're a family. We support each other. They've had their differences in the past, but this is serious."
"Don't call him yet, okay? Not till we know more."
"I suppose. What about Matt?"
"He's probably too drunk to be of any use to Jenny."
Merrilee bit back a sharp retort. There was really nothing she could say to combat Alan's comment, and it irritated the hell out of her. She didn't take criticism of her family from anyone. But as Merrilee glanced over at Jenny, Alan's comment faded away. Jenny looked terrible, and Merrilee didn't know what to do.
She was supposed to be the leader in the family, the one who always knew the right thing to say. But she couldn't even bring herself to attempt a word of solace. Jenny wouldn't hear her. She was locked inside of herself.
"What I can't figure out is what Danny was doing on that road in the first place," Alan said. "I'll have to talk to Christopher again."
"He was probably coming back from seeing his father."
Alan choked on his coffee. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Jenny came by my house earlier this evening, looking for Danny. Apparently, he left her a note saying he'd gone to see Luke."
"Luke? Is that his name?"
Merrilee sensed the anger building in the man next to her, but at the moment she was more concerned about Jenny than Alan. "L
uke Sheridan. He's come back to town."
"Goddammit. So he's the reason Danny's hurt."
"I don't think he ran him down," Merrilee said with a sigh. "I don't even know if Danny saw him."
The doors in front of them opened. Alan stood up. Merrilee set down her coffee cup, and Jenny opened her eyes, as if sensing the moment of truth.
"Mrs. St. Claire?" Dr. Lowenstein, the physician who had handed her a release form several hours earlier walked over to her. He was still wearing surgical scrubs, and his face was grim.
Jenny nodded dully, not even bothering to correct him about her married state. "Danny?" she whispered.
"He's alive," the doctor said, his eyes softening as if he wished he could share some of her pain. "We were able to remove the blood clot and your son is holding his own. We've done everything we can for now. We have to wait and see what Danny can do for himself."
"Is he going to die?" Jenny asked. She stood up and grabbed the doctor's sleeve, twisting it through anxious fingers. "Is my baby going to die? Tell me the truth. I have to know."
Chapter Six
Dr. Lowenstein paused for so long, Jenny thought he hadn't heard her question.
Finally, he shook his head slowly, cautiously. "I don't know, Mrs. St. Claire."
"How can you not know? You're a goddamn doctor, aren't you?"
"Jenny," Merrilee said imploringly.
"Ifs all right," Dr. Lowenstein said. "I understand." He spoke slowly, picking his words carefully. "Danny's condition is critical. There was enormous trauma to the brain. We should know more within the next twenty-four to seventy-two hours. He's a strong, healthy boy. We have to hope for the best."
"Hope, that's all I can do is hope?" Jenny asked in utter bewilderment.
"You might also pray," the doctor said quietly.
"Oh God." Jenny put a hand to her mouth and swallowed hard. "He's going to die. I know he's going to die."
"Stop it, Jenny. He's not going to die," Merrilee said firmly. "He's not. We won't let him."
"I want to see him," Jenny said.
Dr. Lowenstein nodded. "Of course. He should be out of recovery by now. I'll take you to him. He's been moved into pediatric intensive care."
Daniel's Gift Page 5