Ellie began to spend more and more time down at the gym also, not because she was a gymnast, but because she liked the atmosphere. She claimed it was the only place she could get coffee for a dollar with the added perk of drinking it while being able to check out the hottest twenty two year old man she had seen in long while. Charlotte's newest coach was possibly also the reason why many of her student's mothers were all of sudden hanging around to watch their sons and daughters train. While the coffee on offer was pretty good, Charlotte didn't think it was actually good enough to warrant the crowds she was suddenly entertaining.
Ellie also spent this time down at the gym planning Charlotte's wedding for her, an activity Charlotte was more than happy to pass over. Ellie was a devil for the details, and Charlotte had never been all that inclined towards the organisation of events. Anyway, Ellie knew what she was doing, she had organised her own wedding in a spectacular fashion, leaving Charlotte with no doubts whatsoever that she was in good, capable hands. The dress remained a point of contention though. Iris and Ellie both had very clear ideas on what sort of dress Charlotte should be wearing. Charlotte herself had not been taken with anything she had seen so far, but she was unconcerned; something would turn up. Eventually. Ellie, of course, was freaking out, because she refused to pick a dress for herself until Charlotte had hers sorted so they could be complementary. Iris felt the same about the dresses for the girls. None of them were old enough to be in the wedding party, but Charlotte wanted them to all still wear matching dresses. Ashley was the only one participating officially, and Toby had his suit all in hand. This was unsurprising given that the suit selection was the only task he had been given, and it would be pretty sad indeed if he had not managed to get on top of that in good time.
Charlotte ended up completely bypassing her mother and Ellie one day while out on her own doing some banking and errands. She stopped off on a whim at Vinnie's, intending on looking for some leotard castoffs to have as spares down at the gym. They were expensive new and there were enough dancing schools around to give Charlotte the impression there was a good chance she might get lucky. Dancing schools were notorious for changing their leotard colours on a whim.
She picked out half a dozen leotards and then found herself wandering to the back of the store where she'd spied a rack of wedding dresses. Some of them were hideous; where they had come from she had no idea. There were a few modern ones but they were not to her liking. And then she found it. A strapless dress with a fitted bodice and a sash that tied at the waist giving way to four layered tiers; vintage seventies, for sure. It was ivory, which suited her fine, her complexion and dark brown hair were not really suited to bright white. After trying it on and discovering that it fit her perfectly, she bought it for thirty five dollars. Charged with a renewed interest in the whole event, she drove to a dress store that she knew stocked formal wear for children. She picked out three identical dresses in a bright yellow chiffon that had a tiered skirt not dissimilar to that of her own. The irony of them costing her almost ten times more than her own dress was not lost on her.
Toby watched as the jury filed back in, their decision apparently made. Twenty five minutes it had taken for them to decide. It was either going to be very bad for his client, or very good. He was leaning towards good, but there were a couple of members of that jury that gave him cause for concern. Glancing across to the dock, he noted how terrified his client appeared. She looked positively sick. He hoped she didn't pass out before they were done.
This was a legal aid case. He made a point of accepting them regularly, the type of cases becoming more distinct as his career progressed. Toby was showing himself to be very good at getting acquittals for women who had committed crimes against men. This case was a fairly cut and dry one. Years of abuse, wife finally cracks it, husband permanently wounded, thankfully though, for the purposes of her defence, not dead. There were hospital reports, police reports, witnesses who could verify the abuse; in all truth, it should not have gotten this far. But she had done a lot of damage to her husband in the attack, years of fear transforming her in her anger. Still, she had a solid motive. And the rest was all in how you presented it. They would find out in about thirty seconds if he had presented it right.
"Not Guilty."
The woman dropped her head into her hands and started to sob. Toby squeezed the shoulder of his instructing solicitor, jubilation taking him over. Euphoric at the hand of justice. Standing and checking his watch with impatience, he bid the solicitor a hasty goodbye and left the courtroom in a hurry. He had to drive down to Innisfail to appear in the magistrates' court for a committal hearing. The barrister previously briefed could no longer attend, being held up in court on another case, so Toby had agreed to take his place. He'd tried calling Charlotte at the gym before entering court this morning, but the phone had rung out. He always told her when he had to travel, just in case something came up and she needed him; if she knew he was no longer in town, then she would know not to bother with trying to get a hold of him. Walking out of the court house now, he tried calling her mobile but that went straight to messages, so he left a brief one telling her where he was going and how long he expected to be, finishing off with his usual, "Love you", at the end.
It started to rain as he left the city, the downpour beating down heavier the further south along the highway he travelled. He spent much of the time while driving talking on his phone to the solicitor he was meeting at the courthouse, going over the circumstances of the pending case. He was hoping to arrive with enough time to properly read the brief before heading into court.
He should have been driving slower. In that split second of realisation, this was apparent, but at one hundred and thirty five kilometres an hour, it is impossible to slow or swerve to avoid a truck crossing over into the wrong lane. It is impossible to do anything because the time between recognition and ramification is seamless, the impact a devastation beyond comprehension, where one individual is able to get out and thank God for his life that has just been spared, while the other remains buried within the wreck of a vehicle not made for coming to blows with a truck.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Charlotte had not long been home when Jake knocked at the door. "What are you doing knocking?" She grinned at him and stepped aside so he could come in, but he remained in the doorway, and she looked at him, standing there in his uniform, not such an unusual sight, to be sure, but then she became aware of the other officer beside him, and she knew then, why he had knocked instead of just walking in like he usually did. There was a brief sensation of feeling as though she might vomit, right before the coldness stole over her, the shivering setting in, rattling her bones and prickling her skin. She put her hands out in front of her, shaking her head and backing away from him.
"No! Don't you do this! You just keep your mouth closed and don't say it." Charlotte put her hands up over her ears and Jake advanced on her, pulling her arms down, encircling her with his own. She continued to shake her head, the sobs rising up and out of her, and she pushed against Jake, as though by preventing him from telling her, stopping him from saying those words, she could make it all disappear.
"Charlotte! He's not dead! But he's critical. He's being transported at the moment by ambulance. If we go now, we can meet him as he gets into the hospital. Ellie is coming to help your mum. Come on." He urged her gently, directing her to get her handbag while he informed Iris on what little he knew. "I know all of our rego numbers; that's how I knew it was him. I've only gotten the barest of details across the radio. I don't know much at all." Jake's face was white and his hands were shaking, despite his professional demeanour.
Critical. The word bounced around Charlotte's head all the way to hospital. What did that even mean? She had missed Toby's call earlier in the day, busy trying on the wedding dress she had ended up buying. She let her mind dwell on that dress now, the thought of it, hanging in their wardrobe, waiting; it made her weep all the more. She had wasted so much time, always t
hinking there was no rush. "Later," she always said to him, "we'll do it later." What if there was no more later for them? What if this was it? What if critical was just another word for almost dead? Charlotte folded in on herself and cried even harder. It was a useless effort but she was beyond being able to control the heaving sobs that were wracking through her, hurting her chest and stealing the breath from her body.
Jake helped her out of the car, supporting her weight as they raced through the main doors of emergency. His uniform helped their situation greatly; he was entitled to ask questions and there was an expectation that they be answered. Despite this, no one yet knew anything because they had beaten Toby to the hospital. If they waited right where they were, they were instructed, then they would be able to see him as he came in. Charlotte turned into Jake, burying her face against his chest, no longer crying, but unable to bear any scrutiny. If he were alright, wouldn't they know? The hospital staff would have been told that a non-urgent patient was coming in from the scene of a crash and they would not be standing there looking at her the way they were right now. With that heavy, loaded sympathy that said so much without words.
"What happened?" She realised then that she had not even asked that most basic question yet.
"A truck ran into his lane. It was a high speed head on; wet conditions."
"And the truck driver?"
"Is unharmed. He will most likely be charged."
Charlotte pulled back and looked up at Jake. "He's not charged yet because you all don't know what to charge him with! Because Toby could still die! He could be dead in the ambulance!" She lost all composure once more, disintegrating in his arms.
"Charlotte!" Jake's voice cut through her hysteria as he pinched her lightly on the arm in a bid to get her attention. "Stop it! Pull yourself together, for fuck's sake! Just stop jumping to conclusions!" There were tears in his eyes now and he pulled away from her, pressing the heels of hands hard against his eye sockets, grounding into them with a groan of frustration and angst that further derailed Charlotte. If Jake was losing it also, then everything was going to shit.
There was a general commotion behind them and Charlotte registered a change in the atmosphere, turning to see Toby being wheeled through emergency at a fast pace, ambulance officers shrouding him and a doctor running alongside the gurney. Sucking in a deep breath, she held onto it, unwilling to let it go, not game to exhale in case everything she was trying to hold in came tumbling out in a rush once again. Jake's hands came to rest on her shoulders, strong and firm, pulling her back against his chest, support for him just as much as for her, she could not help but think.
Charlotte had no idea where they had taken Toby, but she supposed it was into one of the many divided area's that seemed to function as examination rooms. Standing in the middle of the entry to emergency, she felt adrift and useless, not sure if she should remain in place right where she was or try and find out where they had taken him.
"Here we go." Jake let go of her to meet up with an approaching doctor who looked completely harassed, his hurried movement suggesting an urgency that propelled them both forward.
"You're here for the patient that just came in? Vehicle trauma?" His tone was clipped, as though even speaking to them was a waste of precious minutes.
Charlotte nodded. "Is he alright?"
"No. I need you to sign some surgical consent forms. He has multiple injuries, both internal and external, that need immediate attention. I can't elaborate at this stage until I take him into theatre and see the full extent. Do you consent to any surgeries that are deemed necessary for his survival?" The doctor glanced at her with impatience, his fingers beating out a tempo against his own leg as he waited on a response.
Charlotte looked at him with confusion. What was he going on about? Why was he just standing and staring at her right now? What was she supposed to say? Who in the world would even say no! The very idea that this doctor was standing in front of her instead of saving Toby's life was maddening, ridiculous. "Just save him for me! What is wrong with you?!" Charlotte bellowed.
The doctor nodded and a look came over his face then, a look so human and sensitive that she was immediately halted in her rage against him. "Yes," she added, her tone more controlled this time. "Do whatever you need to do." She had no idea what she was consenting to; she could not even care. If Toby survived, he could come back to her in any condition; just as long as he survived. That was all she cared about.
Jake talked to Ellie several times over the course of the next few hours. At one stage, Ellie brought Danielle into Charlotte so that she could feed her. At six months of age, she was less dependent than a newborn, but she still fed from Charlotte several times a day. They sat in silence, no words available to do justice to the fear that had embedded itself deep within each of them. Ellie took Danielle as soon as she was done feeding, kissing Charlotte wordlessly on the cheek before leaving with the sleeping baby, Jake walking her out to the car. He was gone for a long time.
The doctor returned while Jake was still absent, seating himself beside her, his manner much less hurried now than it had been hours earlier. She looked at him, but could of course not ask the most obvious question. The doctor seemed to know this though, years of experience, or maybe intuition, giving him an edge in this situation Charlotte was gravely lacking.
"He has survived the surgery. Before I let you see him, there are few things you need to know about his injuries. He has four fractured ribs on the left side of his body; as a result of this impact his spleen was ruptured and we needed to remove it. He can live without a spleen, but there are risk factors associated with doing so, and he now has a greater likelihood of infection while he's healing. His left arm is broken in two places. His left shoulder was dislocated but not fractured. He has quite a lot of lacerations, particularly to his face; you should prepare yourself for that; he doesn't look good, but these are all superficial wounds that will heal rapidly and leave no scarring."
Charlotte stared at the doctor, his image swimming in front of her as the tears began to well again. "All of the damage is to his left side," she noted. "That's odd, since he was driving."
The doctor shrugged. "Not necessarily when it involves a truck. His car could have turned before full impact. The police may be able to shed some light on the specifics of the accident for you."
"Can I see him?" She was desperate to see him, to see for herself that he was still alive.
"Yes, but I just have a few more things I want to inform you of. He's still unconscious at the moment, so we have some time to talk this through." The doctor paused, looking at Charlotte for a long moment. He reached out and took a hold of her hand, which seemed to surprise both of them, yet he did not let go, his grip at once sure and comforting to her.
"All of these injuries I have just outlined will heal; with time they'll mend and he'll be fine. There will be pain in the short term, lots of pain, and the risk of infection on account of not having a spleen is very serious and will need careful monitoring." He paused, giving her hand a light squeeze. "He also sustained a serious injury to his left leg. It was crushed beyond repair, from mid shin right down through the ankle. There are some injuries too grave to repair; to leave them is to risk losing the patient altogether. I had to amputate his leg below the knee; there was no avoiding it."
They hung there, those words he had just spoken. Charlotte stared at him, not sure what she was supposed to say in response. She was numb, too much information all at once on top of being shocked already. "So he won't ever be able to walk again?"
The doctor shook his head. "No, he can walk. He will be fitted with a prosthetic limb and will be able to walk just like he used to. After the wound has healed. When you lose a limb due to trauma, as opposed to a clean elective removal, the wound usually takes longer to heal. It's not as much of a neat site and the residual trauma causes more pain." The doctor was gentle with his explanation, a reverent tone to his voice that spoke volumes about the seriousness of what he
was outlining to her.
Charlotte sat silently beside him, her hand still held loosely within his. What had felt natural moments ago now felt awkward, so she withdrew her hand in favour of wedging it under her thighs along with the other one.
"He'll recover from the amputation sooner than he will from his broken arm and ribs. But it's the amputation that will be the injury that holds him back the most. He's going to wake up soon, very disoriented about where he is and what's happened to him, with little likelihood of being able to remember the accident at all. He'll go through the motions of identifying his injuries by location of pain and will ask you to tell him about them, because the pain will be so widespread that he won't necessarily be able to separate it all. He's going to feel pain down at the site of the amputation, not only from the surgical wound, but from what is commonly called, 'phantom pain'. It can be quite intense at times, not to mention completely bewildering. Finding out he has had his leg amputated is going to be a huge shock to him. You need to be prepared for him to be angry and this is a normal response to losing a limb; I've not yet come across one patient who hasn't had at least one meltdown within the first twenty four hours of enlightenment. Despite all of his other injuries he has to recover from, the leg will be what he focuses on initially."
While Charlotte knew all of this information was important for her to consider, she was unable absorb it fully, could not process it fast enough to ask the questions she probably should be seeking answers for in this situation. The type of answers Toby would expect her to seek. There was only one question pressing its way forward, one answer she wanted to hear. "Will he still die or is he going to be alright?"
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