by Wendy Wax
“Come on.” Serena stuffed the garment bag under one armpit. Her hands clenched around the suitcase handles. She wasted a couple of seconds wishing that hospitals had bellhops and luggage carts as they strode through the lobby.
“Should we call your father?” Mackenzie asked as they waited impatiently for the elevator.
“No.” Zoe shook her head. “I hardly see him. And I don’t think Emma . . . I don’t think my mother would want him making decisions for her.” Tears slid down her cheeks though Serena could see the girl trying to hold them back. They stepped onto the elevator, hauling their luggage in behind them.
“Well, we’re here.” Mackenzie had not let go of Zoe. She caught Serena’s eye. Serena nodded her agreement. “We’ll stay and make sure your mom is taken care of.”
Serena had no idea if anyone would or could listen to them. Back when Emma had named them Zoe’s fairy godmothers, she and Mackenzie had signed a stack of paperwork and agreed to be there should Zoe ever need them. But she had no idea where things stood in light of Emma’s grandmother’s death eight years ago, or Emma’s virtual radio silence for the last five.
“Just take us to Emma.”
“But I think only family is allowed.”
“Then we’ll be her step-sisters for the time being,” Serena said. They might have lost five years, but that didn’t mean they would leave Emma alone and unable to speak for herself.
Serena and Mackenzie piled their luggage in a corner of the family waiting room located just outside the entrance to the neurocritical ICU. Serena was practically vibrating with anxiety and could feel Mackenzie doing the same. But as they contemplated each other over Zoe’s head, a nod from Mackenzie reassured her. Both of them had to do their best to present a calm, united, and hopefully comforting front for Zoe.
“Will you take us in to see her?” Serena felt an urgent pull to get in as quickly as possible and an equally desperate fear of what they would find when they got there.
Zoe nodded carefully. She hadn’t shrugged off Mackenzie’s arm around her shoulders and didn’t look like she was about to anytime soon. Together they entered the ICU. No one stopped them as they left Zoe in the hall and slipped into the small glass-fronted room.
Serena had known it was serious. She knew they were entering a neurocritical ICU. Still she was unprepared for the sight of the woman she’d once considered her best friend.
Emma looked small in the hospital bed, dwarfed by the mass of machines and monitors she was attached to. They whooshed and beeped at regular intervals, their display panels glowing as numbers and graphs appeared and disappeared, the information no doubt feeding into the computers arranged on the other side of the plate glass windows that lined the hall.
Emma’s head was swathed in bandages. Her eyes were closed. Mackenzie saw no sign of movement behind the lids nor any sign of awareness. Her chest moved up and down with mechanical precision, no doubt due to the clear plastic tube taped inside her mouth. A heavily bandaged leg was propped on a pillow.
“Em?” Mackenzie stepped closer to the bed, no longer able to hold back the tears she’d been so careful not to shed in front of Zoe. “It’s us, Em. Mackenzie and Serena.” They held their collective breath while they waited for anything that could be considered a response. But there was no indication that Emma could hear her. No sign that Emma was even there, inside the battered and bruised face, that horribly still body.
“Zoe’s so beautiful, Em. You must be so proud of her.” Her thoughts drifted back sixteen years ago to when she and Emma had been pregnant. They’d found out within weeks of each other and both of them had married during their first trimesters. But Emma had delivered a healthy baby girl while Mackenzie . . . She reached for the corner of the sheet and tucked it closer to Emma’s side. She’d been too devastated, too jealous, too angry, too everything that first year to see Emma or Zoe. She hadn’t even been able to look at the pictures of mother and baby that had appeared in all the magazines and tabloids. It had taken a full year for Mackenzie to be happy for her friend, to agree to be one of Zoe’s fairy godmothers, a position only Emma could have thought up. Zoe had belonged to all three of them. And then five years ago Emma had stopped sharing her daughter, stopped inviting them to the lake, stopped pretty much everything except the odd holiday or birthday card. With no more explanation than she’d offered when she’d invited them this time. “You can’t leave your little girl alone. You need to wake up.”
Tears obscured her view as Serena stepped forward and took Emma’s limp hand in her own.
“This is not okay, Em. You know if I had my fan with me I’d be rapping on your hand, not holding it.”
“Good God, Serena!” Mackenzie whispered. “Have a little respect.” She said this without much hope. Serena’s worst jokes and most inappropriate statements had always occurred when she was the most worried or frightened. A fact she’d once had to explain at the funeral of a friend’s mother.
“I’m just telling Emma that she’s not allowed to give up. Not on us. And certainly not on Zoe.” Serena held Emma’s hand between her own as if she might somehow transfer some of her energy or will. “And while we’re at it,” she added, “I’d like to know what the hell happened five years ago that made you cut us off. We’re not going anywhere until you wake up and enlighten us, Emma. No kidding.”
Serena rearranged the sheet one last time, then placed Emma’s hand back on top of it. “You remember all those episodes of I Love Lucy you made us watch? The fudge factory? All Lucy’s failed attempts to get into show business? Well, as Desi would have said, ‘You got a lot of ’splainin’ to do.’”
Four
The sun was coming up over the East River the next morning when Mackenzie entered the family lounge bearing two cups of coffee, and a bottle of orange juice for Zoe. Straightening slowly in the plastic chair in which she’d slept, Serena yawned and stretched, attempting to work out the kinks in her neck, her back, her . . . there were way too many locations to tally. “Bodies are not designed to mold to plastic. It’s supposed to work the other way around.” She spoke softly so as not to wake Zoe.
“Tell me about it.” Mackenzie set the drinks down on the faux-wood table and rubbed the back of her neck. Her hair stood up in multiple directions and large dark smudges, which had once been eyeliner and/or mascara, had been rubbed beneath each eye.
“Wow, I hate to insult a gift horse,” Serena said, reaching for the coffee. “But you look like shit.”
“You too.”
“Ah, well. I don’t think I have enough energy to be insulted.” Serena raised her coffee cup to Mackenzie’s. “And I am grateful for the coffee.”
Zoe burrowed deeper into her chair, but didn’t open her eyes. She was curled into a fetal position, her knees to her chest. Her arms were wrapped tightly around the pillow she’d crammed between her face and the chair back. The blanket covered one thigh. Her red-gold hair covered most of the other.
“Have you been in to see Em?”
Mackenzie nodded. “I was in and out of there all night. At the moment, everything’s status quo, though I’m not sure exactly what that means. There’s a shift change at seven a.m. and the head of Neurocritical Care will be here to see Emma shortly after that. We need to be ready to talk to him.”
They stepped out into the hallway. Serena closed the heavy door softly behind her. With her free hand she dug at the sleep in the corners of her eyes and blinked in the artificial light. Her teeth felt furry. Soon she’d have to grab her cosmetics case and head to the bathroom. For now, she leaned against the wall and sipped her coffee.
“I’ve been thinking,” Mackenzie said.
“Good. Because I haven’t had enough coffee yet to do that.” Serena took another long sip and willed the caffeine into her bloodstream.
“You’ve got Emma’s phone.”
“Right.”
“I was
thinking about all that paperwork we signed when Zoe was a baby, right after Emma’s divorce. Her agent or manager might have paperwork or at least be able to put us in touch with her attorneys.”
“Right.” Serena swirled the coffee in her cup. “It’s possible not everything applied to Zoe.” She winced. “In fact I vaguely remember telling her she might want to reconsider because if she didn’t behave herself I’d be pulling the plug faster than a hound on the scent of a fox.”
“Jeez.” Mackenzie shot Serena a disbelieving look. “Do you ever stop and think before you speak?”
Serena downed a long swig of coffee. “I wish I could say yes, but that would be a lie. I seem to have this Pavlovian response to fear. My mouth just starts running and most of the time I’m going for laughs.”
Mackenzie rolled her eyes. “Well, I have no doubt she’s got paperwork on file somewhere to protect herself and Zoe in case of emergency. Adam and I did all that after we turned forty. Just in case.” She didn’t quite meet Serena’s eye. “And it’s just the two of us.”
“Makes sense,” Serena said, pulling Emma’s phone out of her pocket, even though she had done none of those things. She was single and had never even thought about who’d make decisions if anything happened to her. How pathetic was it that she was rounding on fifty and her parents were still her only permanent connections? “We signed those papers a lifetime ago. Way before Gran died and Emma pulled away from us. I assume she’s made other choices.” Serena began to scroll through Emma’s contacts. “We just have to figure out who knows who she named and where the paperwork is.” Serena continued to scroll. After five years, she wasn’t even sure she’d recognize important names in Emma’s life.
“If we can’t find the right people on her phone, Zoe will at least know her agent and manager. I was too freaked out yesterday to think to ask her. Do you want me to wake her up?” Mackenzie asked.
“No.” Serena tapped the screen. “Here’s Daniel Mills, her agent.” Serena scrolled further. “And here’s her manager. I think I met her once. I’ll call them both right now. But it’s four a.m. on the West Coast. I doubt anyone’s going to answer.”
While Mackenzie sipped her coffee, Serena left voice mails for Emma’s agent and manager. Then she spotted a Beverly Hills law firm and left one there, too.
“God, I feel so helpless.” Mackenzie leaned against the wall.
“I know.”
They continued to suck down their coffees while the hospital geared up around them. Through a window that overlooked a parking garage, they saw a steady line of cars entering while the city streets began to fill with morning traffic and pedestrians. The nearby elevator chimed with increasing frequency. Snippets of conversation reached them. Footsteps sounded down the hall.
“So what’s our next move?” Serena asked. “We can’t just sit here and hope for the best.”
“I guess we talk to the head of the department when he gets in and ask him that. If he doesn’t feel cutting edge enough, we should look for referrals and find out who is,” Mackenzie said.
“Well, I want him to be good and geeky with horn-rimmed glasses and chalky white skin from staying inside all day saving people and reading medical research,” Serena said. “And I’d really like him to have medical degrees from both Harvard and Yale.”
“I don’t think people transfer back and forth between those institutions all that regularly,” Mackenzie pointed out.
“And not to be too politically incorrect, but I’d kind of like him to be Jewish. You know, with a Jewish mother who pushed him to be at the top of his medical class at Harvard and Yale.” Serena pulled the lid off her coffee cup in hopes of finding a few more drops.
Mackenzie stared at Serena. “Did you just hear yourself? That’s completely ridiculous. And definitely offensive.”
A male voice sounded behind them. “Could you settle for a Tiger Mom and Harvard and Columbia?”
They turned slowly, both of them wincing.
“And you are . . . ?” Mackenzie asked.
“Kai Brennan.” The white-coated doctor extended his hand. He was tall and slim with glossy black hair and bright blue eyes that were not framed by glasses, horn-rimmed or otherwise. “Head of Neurocritical Care. Half Irish, half Chinese. My mother has been known to fry our Boxty in a wok on occasion.”
He allowed them to squirm briefly as he looked them up and down. “So you are both Emma Michaels’s sisters.”
They nodded.
“I’m a huge Michaels fan. I always understood Rex and Eve had only three children. And one of them is male.”
Mackenzie cleared her throat. “Yes, well, we’re her half sisters, actually. Our mother . . .”
“. . . had a brief affair with Rex and . . .” Even as Serena took over, she chastised herself for not insisting they rehearse or at least talk through their explanation.
“A brief and extremely secret affair,” he commented drily. “Somehow I think the gossip magazines would have mentioned Georgia Goodbody’s connection to the Michaels family by now. If in fact there was one.”
“Well, we’re like her sisters,” Serena clarified, hoping she hadn’t turned as red in the face as Mackenzie. Once they had been exactly that close.
“Unfortunately, that’s not going to work legally,” the doctor said. “I can’t share privileged medical information or consult with unrelated or undesignated parties.” He shook his head. “We need some real adult family members or a legally designated health care surrogate here pronto.”
“We’ve put in calls to her agent and her manager and a law firm we found listed in her phone, looking for a health care directive or a living will or anything that will make sure Emma has the right representation and her wishes are followed. Believe me, no one wants to see her up and out of here more than we do. It’s just that her immediate family is not only temporarily unreachable they’re, well, if you’re a fan I’m sure you know about Emma’s ‘emancipation’ from them when she was a teenager.”
The doctor nodded, but made no comment.
“We are Zoe’s godmothers,” Serena said. Or at least they had been. A fact she left out just as carefully as she did the “fairy” part. “Obviously, we would never leave her here alone.”
The doctor considered them for several long moments. “The first forty-eight hours after a brain injury are the most critical. Our first directive is always to protect the brain and we are doing everything medically possible to achieve this.”
Mackenzie’s grip on Serena’s hand tightened.
“We understand,” Serena said. “I’ve left messages but we’re dealing with a three-hour time difference. We haven’t been able to get anyone on the West Coast to pick up yet.”
Kai Brennan nodded briskly. “Once we’ve determined who’s legally authorized to speak for Miss Michaels, we will share information with that person or persons.”
After Dr. Brennan left them Serena went to the ladies’ room, where she splashed cold water on her face, brushed her teeth, and ran a comb through her hair. Out of habit, she pulled out her makeup bag and attempted to camouflage the ravages of the night before. In the cafeteria she bought another round of coffee and egg-and-cheese sandwiches, which she carried up to the family waiting room, relieved to see that they still had the space to themselves. They settled around the faux-wood table and chairs to eat. A morning talk show played on the television suspended from the wall, the images bright and jarring and largely incomprehensible with the audio turned low. But the pictures of the crowd of paparazzi that had gathered in front of the hospital where Emma Michaels was now “in a coma and fighting for her life” couldn’t have been clearer. The same images from slightly different angles filled the screens on all of the channels. She aimed the remote at the television and zapped it off.
Zoe sipped at her orange juice and picked at the sandwich, her eyes on her food.
&nbs
p; The eggs were far chewier than eggs should be, the English muffin that held them, soggy. Serena tried not to make a face as she swallowed each bite.
“Do you have any idea where your mother might have kept . . . keeps . . . her important papers and documents?” Mackenzie asked gently.
Zoe shook her head, her eyes still on her food.
“Did she ever mention what should happen if anything ever happened to her? Or if you needed help of any kind?” Serena asked.
Another shake of the head as she met Serena’s gaze. Tears pooled in her eyes.
“We’re going to do everything we can to help make sure your mom gets better,” Serena promised. “The three of us are going to be joined at the hip until we wheel her ass out of here.”
A hint of a smile tugged at Zoe’s lips. “Are Rex and Eve coming?” She asked this tentatively.
“I’m sure they will once they can pick up messages or someone from their ranch reaches them.” Serena studied Zoe’s face, but couldn’t tell whether her grandparents’ arrival would be a positive or a negative. “Our priority right now is to find out how your mother would like things handled and make sure the right adult can speak for her until she can speak for herself.”
“Can’t you do that?” Zoe asked, looking at both of them.
“Not without Emma’s permission or written authorization,” Mackenzie said gently.
A tear fell on Zoe’s sandwich wrapper that now served as a plate. Another landed on the napkin beside it.
“We don’t want to assume the worst,” Mackenzie said. “Your mother’s a strong woman and she has a lot, especially you, to come back to.”