by Lou Cadle
“What should I watch for?”
“Good question. It’s hard to see the transition, sometimes, especially when her eyes are already open like this.”
“I’ve been talking to her.”
“I wouldn’t count on her talking back.”
“Why not?”
“If they lose one ability, it’s generally speech.”
“Do they get it back?”
“Usually, with speech therapy. A few struggle with slurred speech, but children do far better than adults in this. The brain is still adapting in speech acquisition, so they’re set up to learn.”
“I see.”
“Don’t give up hope,” the doctor said.
“I won’t,” said Greg, and he shook the man’s hand before he left. Of course he wouldn’t give up hope. It was all he had. He’d hang on until— He stopped himself from following that thought to the worst possible outcome.
He’d hang on.
*
Three hours later, his mother came into the room, took one look at Holly, and opened her arms to Greg. “My poor boy,” she said.
Greg stood and went to her, feeling like a child himself. She wasn’t the warmest of mothers, but now, with her arms around him, she seemed so. She rocked him, patted his back, and kept saying, “Poor baby. Poor Greg.”
It felt better than he wanted to admit. How he’d love to hand over the responsibility to her. Funny, that, how even after more than five years as a parent, he didn’t feel like a parent sometimes.
Finally, they let each other go.
“Tell me what I can do for you. Anything.”
“It was nice of you to come home and cut short your vacation.”
“Of course I came back,” she said, sitting in the recliner. “And Sherryl said you lost your house, too?”
“Yeah, but that seems minor, you know.” He gestured at Holly.
“You can both stay with me as long as you’d like.”
“I think Sherryl will let us stay there, and that would be easier for my work, if you aren’t offended.”
“No. Whatever you need. Whatever’s best for you and Holly.”
She was seldom so accommodating. “I really appreciate it.”
“Tell me what happened.”
He sat back in the hard chair, turning it so he could look at either his mother or Holly, and he told her the story of the first tornado, and then the second.
He was surprised to find himself choking up when he got to the part where the roof tore off. “And then the wind. Mom, I couldn’t hang on. I should have held on. I should have never let her go.”
She came out of the chair and knelt before him, her knees popping. She took his hands. “You did what you could. That’s all any of us can ask of ourselves.”
“But—”
“Now Greg,” she said, her voice moving from sympathetic to stern. “They said on the news the winds were something like 264 miles per hour. You said yourself the wind pulled entire adult people along the floor. You can’t do everything. You’re not Superman!”
He made himself take deep breaths and get control of his emotions. “I know in my head you’re right. But I can’t stop feeling like a failure.”
“You’re not. You’re a terrific father. I wish your own father had been that good to you. And you do it all alone.”
“You did, too, after Dad left.”
“You were nearly a teenager. Different thing altogether. You took care of a baby and a toddler. You did it by yourself, and you did it well.”
“I wish I were better.”
“All good parents wish that. I wish I had been a better mother to you.”
“You were a good mother.”
“Not great. I know that.” She got back up with another crack from her knees. “Never get old,” she said, going back to ease herself into the reclining chair. “I know I was too demanding sometimes. I could have listened better. You’re a natural parent. I was not. Or maybe I was just too immature. Maybe I’m too selfish. Maybe I was resentful of your father’s freedom. I don’t know why, but I was never in danger of earning Mother of the Year honors.”
“You did fine. I turned out okay, didn’t I?”
“A testament to you, I think, more than to me.”
Greg wasn’t at all used to this version of his mother, and it was throwing him for a loop. At least it distracted him from the gnawing worry about Holly. He went to her bedside, leaned down to kiss Holly’s forehead, and said, “Your gran is here. Wake up and talk to her. I bet she’ll get you a present if you wake up.”
Holly twitched.
But she did not wake.
*
With his mother and aunt both helping out, Greg felt as if things were more under control. When Sherryl came back, his mother left to buy him more clothes and the Dopp kit. She said she’d shop for Holly too, and asked Greg for all her sizes. Sherryl mentioned her church’s clothing drive, and that there was another at the Catholic church in town. With two organized women around him, and with two of them to share the afternoon shift, Greg felt a little of the weight lift off him.
Just before he was about to organize himself to go into work, Malika came in the room, wheeled by her boyfriend Adam. “I wanted to come make sure everything was okay.”
The nurse came in. “This is a little crowded for an ICU room. Can we keep it to two people?”
Greg and his aunt stepped out for a moment so Malika could be wheeled up to Holly’s side. He could hear her talking, but not what she said. In a few minutes, she was wheeled back out. “She’ll be fine,” Malika said. “I know she will.”
It was nice to hear such simple and pure optimism from someone. “Thank you. And how about you? Are you healing?”
“I had to have one dialysis session. Bad blood chemistry because of the injury. I tell you, it makes me want to eat and exercise right. It is boring to be all tied up with tubes like that. All you can do is watch TV.”
“Don’t believe her about TV. She had me reading her printouts about her condition,” Adam said.
“It’s interesting,” Malika said. “I wouldn’t mind being a researcher on something like this. They know a lot, but there’s a lot more to learn.”
“That’s my Meek,” Adam said. “Mind always at work.” He looked at the back of her head with affection.
“Is your mom here?” Greg asked her.
“You know her. She’s more freaked out about it than I am. So I sent her home to take care of the house and sis. Honestly, I was tired of calming her down. I think it’s supposed to be the other way around, right?”
“My mom is helping,” Adam said.
Malika nodded. “But I won’t be able to babysit for a while.”
Greg smiled at her. “Thank you, but I think I have that covered. You just worry about getting better. Will you be here long? I’ll make sure I drop by to visit.”
“They said three weeks, then three weeks in a rehab facility, which I think is doctor-talk for nursing home. But they said in six months, I won’t even know it happened.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll always remember it happened. But by the time I’m in college, I’ll be able to walk across campus on my own.”
Greg watched her go, feeling oddly cheered by her energy.
“Seems like a special young woman,” said Sherryl.
“She is. I was lucky to have her taking care of Holly this past year.”
“You know your mother and I will do whatever it takes, right? And your insurance may cover home health care workers, physical therapy visits, and all that.”
“I hadn’t even thought of that.” Greg’s mood dimmed. “I am not looking forward to insurance hassles. That’s the last thing I want to think of, trying to convince those blood-suckers to cover Holly’s care.”
“Shh, don’t worry about that now,” Sherryl said. “We’ll help with that, too. And if they deny anything, we’ll just sic your mother on them. She could wear down Gibraltar by bossing it around.”
“She could,” Greg sai
d. “I’m going to say goodbye to Holly, and then get to work. Thank you so much for staying.”
She shook her head. “It’s my privilege to.”
Greg went to kiss Holly goodbye. Her hair was looking dank and greasy.
*
Work was calmer, and finally the street lights were back on. He had another hour and a half to go in his shift when he got the call.
Chapter 17
“Greg.” It was his aunt Sherryl. “Holly’s awake.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He was alone, downtown, patrolling on foot, trying to discourage looting of the damaged stores that still stood, many with plywood instead of windows. He leaned his hand on a piece of plywood and tried to still his whirling thoughts.
Call in to Dispatch first.
He hated having to take the time, but there was no choice. He radioed in. “I need relief,” he said. “I have to get to the hospital.”
The dispatcher put him on hold. He was surprised when Rosemary came on the line. He repeated the brief words.
“Your daughter?”
“Yes. I really need to go, Chief.” He was braced for her sigh, and for an argument.
“Go.”
“Nobody else is out here.”
“The stores can be unguarded for ten minutes. Just go do what you have to.”
Greg was surprised. “Really?” he said, thinking he must be dreaming this.
“Look, I know I wasn’t sympathetic before, and that was probably my screw-up. I was stressing from the enormity of what was happening, and frustrated as hell that I was trapped where I couldn’t do any good. But I’m not a total bitch. Go, be with your kid. I’ll cover it.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll be back for my shift tomorrow.”
She said, “Call in tomorrow, mid-day. We’ll talk about it.”
“Thank you,” he said again. “Thank you.”
“Go.”
He went, sprinting for his car, which he’d left parked on the south side of town, halfway between Sherryl’s place and downtown.
He sped out of town. Just south of town, a car pulled out ahead of him, and he had to slam on his brakes, and when the bumper of the car came even closer, had to steer onto the shoulder in a spray of gravel.
He stopped there, shoved the gear lever into park, took a deep breath, and willed himself to be calmer. Dying in an accident on the way there wouldn’t help Holly. He pulled out and stayed to the speed limit from then on, all the way to the hospital.
But his hands were in a death grip on the steering wheel.
*
It was after visiting hours, and a security person stopped him. He showed his badge and explained, grateful once again for how the badge got things done quicker for him. Up the elevator, and then speedwalking down the hall, which seemed endless, though it was only a couple dozen feet long. Into PICU, past a nurse, to Holly’s room.
His aunt was there—her shift, not his mother’s. She backed away from the bed and he found himself stuck at the door, unable to cross the last few feet. He looked at his aunt.
“She hasn’t said anything yet,” she said.
He crossed to the bed, leaned over, and looked down at his daughter, her pale face, her half-shaved head, the greasy hair. Her eyes were open and she was staring up. It didn’t look any different to him, just the same distant stare. He brushed her hair off her face. “Holly? It’s Daddy.”
Her head turned, and he saw something different, then, a spark of something in her eyes. She was there, behind them.
Her mouth worked, but nothing came out. Her hand pushed at her covers, futilely. He freed it. She moved the arm, but he could see she was having trouble guiding it. He held out his hand. “Take my hand, sweetie. Hold Daddy’s hand.”
She flung the arm around and hit his wrist, then her hand fell back to the bed.
“That’s my girl. Try again.”
The arm came up again, and this time, he caught it. She didn’t seem to be able to open her fist, so he gently pried it open and held her hand. “I’m here. Do you feel my hand?”
“Unn,” she said.
Torn between relief and horror, he made himself smile, and focus on the fact that she was awake. Awake was better than in a coma. Awake was better than dead.
His aunt said, “The nurse said the doctor will be back in. I think he was home already.”
“That’s good of him.” Without looking back, he said, “Has she been any better than this? Any movement? Any words?”
“Not yet,” Sherryl said. “But the nurse said it can be like a slow waking.” She didn’t say, or this may be as much of your daughter as you’ll ever get back.
If it was, he’d find a way to be grateful. He’d make her life as good as it could be. What else could a parent do?
“Here, sit,” his aunt said, and he felt the hard chair hit the back of his knees.
“In a minute,” he said. He wanted to be as close to Holly as he could be. He smiled at his girl. “I’m so happy you’re awake.”
She made another grunting noise. Then her face screwed up. She was frustrated, he thought. She wanted to be able to talk.
Or he was telling himself tales to make himself feel better.
The wait for the doctor seemed interminable. But as much as he’d wanted the man to arrive and check Holly out, when the time came, Greg had a hard time relinquishing her hand.
The doctor ran through his tests again. About halfway through, he began to nod, seemingly unconscious of it.
Greg’s hopes rose at the small sign. He pressed his lips together to keep himself from asking for reassurance. It’d come, or it wouldn’t.
The doctor finally turned to him. “This is good.” He checked his watch. “Another day in a coma, and I’d have been less optimistic.”
“Will she get better?”
“Almost certainly she’ll improve on her own these next twenty-four hours. But I’m getting PT in first thing in the morning, as well. We’ll push her, and she’ll improve faster. Get those neurons firing again. Or rerouting, if they need to.”
“Is there permanent brain damage?”
“There’s no way to say yet. Let her get all the way to alertness, and we’ll see what we have.”
Greg imagined the dark ocean again, the one she’d been swimming in. She was not quite at the surface. She was out of breath, straining for it. But the light was around her, sparkling off the waves just beyond her reach. If he could reach into it and pull her up, he would.
“Can she understand me, do you think?” he asked the doctor.
“Probably, yes.”
“Good.”
The doctor turned back to Holly one last time and said, slowly and with careful enunciation, “I’m Doctor Bill, Holly. I’m glad you’re awake. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Greg stood by Holly’s bedside, vaguely aware of his aunt saying something to the doctor. He didn’t want to take his eyes off Holly. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it.
She tugged at it, and he realized he had squeezed it too hard and loosened his grip. “I’m sorry, baby.” He leaned in and kissed the hand. “Daddy’s just so happy to see you.”
Despite his exhaustion, he stayed up another two hours, even after it seemed Holly had fallen back to sleep, eyes closed. He asked Sherryl to get the nurse, and he asked her if that’s what it was, or if she’d gone back into a coma.
“Normal sleep, definitely,” said the nurse.
“Thank you.” He smiled at her, and she smiled back.
“Sit down,” said his aunt.
“Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I’ve been entirely ignoring you.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course you have.” She laughed. “I’m so happy, Greg. For you and Holly.” When he had sat in the recliner, she handed him a sandwich wrapped in plastic wrap. “It’s a Reuben, from Izzy’s. Courtesy of your mother.”
“She remembered.” He loved those sandwiches.
“Of course she did.”
“I shou
ld call her about Holly.”
“I did already. She said she wouldn’t crowd the room tonight, but she’ll be here first thing in the morning.”
“I’m sure you’re tired. Thank you for helping. You can go home and get some rest.”
“I’ll stay. You need to sleep.”
Greg checked his watch. It was nearly 1:00. “I’m sure if she makes a sound, it’ll wake me right up.”
“Exactly. I’ll stay and keep an eye on her, and then you can sleep better.”
He smiled. “I think I’d wake up anyway.”
He could see she was torn.
“Really. You need to sleep, and to catch up on your own life tomorrow.” He remembered Jim. “When’s the funeral?”
“Five days away, still.”
“Are you doing okay with that? With everything?”
“I am. Better, at least. I’ll always miss him. But I hope he’s in a better place now.” She kissed his cheek, gathered her things, and left, waving off his thanks as she did.
Greg devoured the sandwich, thinking, if there is a Heaven, I sure hope they serve a Reuben this good. He pushed the chair back to fully reclined, and fell into a light sleep.
*
The sound of a nurse doing her morning routine woke him. When she had left, he checked on Holly—eyes still closed—took his Dopp kit, and went down the hall to the restroom. He grabbed a cup of coffee, which the nurses kept brewed for parents in the waiting area, and went back to his vigil.
When Holly woke, it was almost a normal waking. Normally, she came to slowly, and grumpily for the first ten minutes. Only after she’d been up a half-hour was she her typical sunny self. Watching her stretch and yawn and rub her eyes with her free hand, he could almost pretend it was any normal morning.
“Good morning!” he said to her. Her eyes drifted to him. “Aa,” she said.
“That’s right, honey. It’s Daddy. And it’s morning. How are you feeling?”
She frowned and yanked at the arm that was strapped to the bed. The IV, he realized, was out now. His heart lifted at the sight.
“I don’t know why your arm is still tied up like that. I’ll ask if we can get it free. Would you like that?”
Her frown smoothed out.
“Okay, I’ll buzz for the nurse.”