by Minick, Jim;
He lifted his head and stared into her face, but her features just blurred. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to help you. But you have to stay awake. Keep talking.”
“What did you have for breakfast this morning?” Aunt Amanda asked.
“Wheaties.” The one word stretched his mouth into pain.
“What day of the week is it?”
“Tuesday. I think.” He could hardly breathe. His tongue, like a jellyfish, filled his mouth.
The man brought ice. They poured it into a towel and rested Will’s arm in the cubes.
“More,” he mumbled. “More.”
For a moment, the ice cleared his head. He saw the cut on Ada’s ear. With his good hand, he touched it. She stopped moving over his arm. “Sorry,” he mumbled. She kissed his fingers. He wanted to say more but couldn’t form the words. Aunt Amanda said, “Talk, Will. Stay with us.” Instead, he closed his eyes.
The ambulance siren brought him back. Two medics pulled out the gurney and eased Will from the chair. He held Ada’s hand as he lay down, clutched her fingers as the men lifted and rolled him into the vehicle.
Ada stepped onto the bumper, but one of the medics touched her shoulder. “Sorry, ma’am. No one else can ride.” She had to let go.
The door shut and Ada disappeared; the fire, the men, the whole station vanished behind curtains. Aunt Amanda yelled something he couldn’t understand as the ambulance started to move. Will lay his head back. Curtains? In an ambulance? Then he understood—he was riding in the local hearse, because the ambulance driver was the town’s mortician. Shitfire. Will tried to breathe. I’m riding to my death in a goddamn black Cadillac. They bumped over seams in the concrete; he felt every jolt. The car slid over loose gravel; he moaned. A hearse with no fucking shocks. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity, the thought of cadavers riding to their graves, noses slamming against coffin lids, but the car hit a pothole and the blow made him scream.
The older medic crouched beside Will. He shouted to the driver, “Code 3,” and the ambulance accelerated even more, the siren filling his head. Twenty miles of this shit. Back roads in a hearse with a red light slapped on its roof.
“What’s your name?” the medic asked, forcing Will back, his answer only a whisper. “Where are you from?” “When were you born?” More questions about work and family. I can’t breathe, he wanted to yell, but the effort was too much. The medic slid a bucket under Will and poured cool water over his arm and face. He emptied the jug, picked up another, and Will began to shake, his whole body freezing, except for the burns. He didn’t care that he was in shock. Just end this fucking pain. End it now. The medic covered him with blankets, everywhere but his face and arm. He talked the whole time and poured cool water. The blankets did little, and Will’s body went rigid with cold. He couldn’t stop his teeth chattering or the moans. His breaths came shallow and short, and he wondered about his mother—what had she thought right before she died? What was the last thing she’d heard?
Cicero
I tried to warn him, tried to drive him back from that truck. He just shuffled on, picking up his hat and shooing me away. I circled, but my tongue couldn’t speak. Even with all the words I had learned, I still couldn’t say, “Stop. Not OK.” Still couldn’t pronounce that one word, “Fire.”
The boom lifted me high into the air, the heat smothering. I had to land, but my balance was off and I couldn’t hear well. Sounds came all muffled like I had a towel over my head. I could soar and flap, but lighting on a branch—by god of all ripped and ruddled flesh, I about broke a wing. That explosion went deep.
I sat in the pine and watched a black car pull up and take him away. I wanted to follow but knew I couldn’t. So I paced that branch until the bark came off. Then I set to preening, trying to clean off all the soot and hurt.
I said every word Will ever taught me. “OK, OK, OK,” I repeated. “Ada is a purty girl.” And “Damn it, Cicero. Damn it.”
I tried out newer phrases—
“Fill’r up.”
“Hello. Goodbye.”
“I’ll fly away.”
“Never, never, nevermore.”
Nothing brought him back.
42
At the entrance to the emergency room, the snatch of sky disappeared, became a hallway of lights and faces peering down. The gurney had a squeaky wheel, and someone rested a hand on Will’s shoulder. The hall gave way to a large room where nurses asked more questions. His tongue plugged his throat so much he couldn’t close his mouth, couldn’t touch teeth to teeth. And he could barely breathe.
Dr. Roberts greeted him with “I remember you.” The mask covered the doctor’s face, but Will remembered the high forehead and thick, black eyebrows. Five years ago, he’d dislocated his elbow during a football scrimmage. Again there had been a long ambulance ride to the hospital, where this ex-navy doctor had greeted him with too much cheer. Back then, after looking at the X-rays, Dr. Roberts had grabbed bicep and forearm and set Will’s dislocated elbow in one brutal pull and twist—with no warning and no painkillers. Will had almost fainted. The nurse who’d cleaned up said Dr. Roberts was rough but good, and full of crazy stories.
The doctor looked into Will’s mouth and shouted, “We need to intubate. Now.” A nurse handed him a tube. “You’re not going to like this, but better this tube down your throat than the whole thing swelling shut.” The doctor slid the tube through Will’s charred lips, past his swollen tongue, and down his throat. Will gagged and attempted to move his good hand, but a nurse pinned it to the gurney.
“There,” Dr. Roberts said, and he stepped back as nurses pulled off Will’s shoes and cut off his shirt and pants. The scissors slid along his legs and good arm like a cold zipper. One nurse hovered over his arm and face, cleaning grit from his burns. On his shoulder, she pried off loose bits of shirt the fire had burned into his flesh. Another nurse covered the unburned parts with layers of wool, but Will couldn’t stop shaking.
“We need that IV in him yesterday, and those blood tests,” the doctor ordered. A nurse prepped the needle and searched for a vein. She pinched and slapped his skin, but he was so cold she couldn’t find a blood vessel. Twice she poked the needle into his foot and twice more into the big vein inside his groin. Every time, Will flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. Finally, she located what she needed and drew blood. The IV was next. She stabbed the needle into his good arm three times before finding the vein. In a low voice Dr. Roberts said, “Good God, woman. Help the boy, don’t kill him.”
Stop the pain, Will wanted to say, but the tube prevented speech. The doctor understood. “You hold on, young man. We need to X-ray those lungs first. Then we’ll give you some morphine.” They rolled him down more hallways on the squeaky wheel. In another room a different stranger worked over him, aligning the massive machine. He apologized as he shifted Will’s body. The machine clicked and hummed, and Will wondered about his lungs, this shortness of breath—how much fire did I breathe? The bright lights hurt his eyes. Just breathe, he repeated and felt the fire in each particle of air. Just breathe.
The nurses wheeled him to the operating room, where the anesthesiologist instructed him to count backward from one hundred. Will made it to ninety-five.
THE farms slipped by, but Ada didn’t notice as they sped toward the hospital. In the garage, right after the explosion, she’d seen his face first, the lips cracked and seeping, his eyelids blistered and swelling, his cheeks and neck red and raw. Beside her she’d felt Aunt Amanda gasp and turn, but Ada hadn’t looked away.
Will looked down at his right arm, and Ada saw the charred skin, the flesh not red like his neck and face but gray like cooked meat. He moaned and swiveled in the chair, closed his eyes, and breathed in gasps.
Ada knelt and grabbed his good hand. Will squeezed, and immediately she felt her hands tingle. They warmed and buzzed like they used to. She didn’t hesitate. She began chanting, reciting the powwow for taking out fire.
Fa
r away Ada heard men yelling, the boom of tires, the low rumble. She heard Aunt Amanda’s prayer and Will’s raspy moans. A man brought ice, and they swaddled the arm in a towel full of cubes. For a moment, Will’s eyes cleared. He touched her ear and whispered, “Sorry.” She felt tears then as she kissed his good palm. But just as quickly he faded, so she chanted, over and over. And she held that hand, those long fingers, that calloused palm.
Then the ambulance arrived. The attendants laid Will on the gurney, and Ada held tight, his fingers gripping hers. She walked alongside as they rolled him across the pavement. She had her foot on the bumper, her shoulder already inside when the driver told her no, she couldn’t ride. Ada let go, shocked, silent. They stood there and watched Will disappear. Her hands still tingled.
Aunt Amanda spoke as they entered the city, but Ada didn’t hear; she couldn’t register the words. She had to pursue this one thought, had to understand. Her healing had returned, she was sure. Yet at what cost? Will’s death? She shivered at the idea of this. She wanted to hold that hand, feel his tight grip, and this was what troubled her most—she wanted Will alive more than she wanted to heal. Was this a sin?
They pulled into the hospital and hurried inside.
THE air hung stale and hot in the waiting room, even with the windows open. People sat fanning themselves, solemn faced, silent. They looked up when Ada and Aunt Amanda entered before going back to reading or staring at the floor. The stark lights and sterile smell made Ada want to go back outside, but she followed Aunt Amanda. They settled in two chairs in a corner, side by side. Aunt Amanda rested her purse on her lap and her hands on top of it, and then she didn’t move. Ada flipped through a magazine. She shifted in her chair, glanced at the other people, noticed that the magazine had a cover story on the war, grabbed a different one. Her fingers ran through the pages.
Then Aunt Amanda placed her hand on top of hers. Ada stopped. Aunt Amanda leaned over and whispered, “Let’s pray.” Ada relaxed and turned her hand to hold Aunt Amanda’s. “Lord, watch over Will, help him now. Be with the doctors and nurses. Help them too. And Lord, be with us. Help us . . .” Her voice faltered, and Ada tightened her fingers. “Just help us,” she whispered. Ada said a soft, “Amen.” Aunt Amanda squeezed, and Ada felt the smoothness of her palm, the strength of her fingers.
THREE hours later, a doctor in scrubs appeared at the door and asked for Mrs. Wingert. He introduced himself as Dr. Roberts and asked, “Are you family?”
Before Ada could answer, Aunt Amanda said yes. She introduced herself as Will’s aunt. “This is Will’s sister, Ada.”
When the doctor turned to lead them out of the waiting room, Aunt Amanda gave her a nod, and they smiled briefly.
They sat at a table in a small room. Dr. Roberts clasped his hands and looked at each of them before speaking. “Will is going to live, but he’ll be in critical care for a very long time. His arm and face have second- and third-degree burns. Some of the fire went into his lungs, which is what we’re most concerned about at present. That and loss of fluids. The X-rays show some lung damage, but it’s too soon to tell how much. Right now he’s breathing through a tube, and he’ll do so until the swelling diminishes, which means he won’t be able to talk for several days. A week, even.” The doctor paused.
Ada was too stunned to ask any questions.
Aunt Amanda asked, “Can we see him?”
“Yes, but only briefly. He’s asleep and heavily sedated.” Dr. Roberts looked at them both. “Mrs. Wingert, Ms. Burk, you need to know that burns are one of the worst and most painful things to go through. And one of the slowest to heal. He may regain full use of his arm and face and lungs, or he may not. He will be permanently scarred, that’s for certain. Once the burns have healed, we’ll begin grafting new skin, but that, too, is very painful, maybe even more than the burn itself. But we have a long way to go before then.”
The doctor placed his hands on the edge of the table. “Any other questions?”
“Can one of us stay with him?” Aunt Amanda asked.
Dr. Roberts stood. “Not in his room. Not yet, anyway. You’re welcome to spend the night in the waiting room. I’ll ask a nurse to bring you blankets after she takes you to see Will. For the next few days, please keep your visits brief. He needs all the rest he can get.” The doctor left.
A minute later, Nurse Peters appeared. The nurse led them down white halls, around carts and food trays, nurses and other families. Ada glanced behind curtains, afraid of what she might see.
What she saw startled her. Bandages covered Will’s whole head and neck, with only slits for his eyes and nose and a tube coming out of his mouth. Over the rest of his body sat an arched frame layered with wool blankets.
“This tent keeps the blankets from touching his burns,” Nurse Peters explained. She scanned his monitors and lifted the blankets to check his IV. When she closed the door, she said, “Only a few minutes, now.”
Ada moved to his left side. She reached under the blankets and placed her hand inside of his. It was moist and hot, and her own hand grew warm. When she squeezed, he didn’t respond.
On the other side of the bed, Aunt Amanda said softly, “Hello, Will.” She lifted the blankets. “You’re in good care here. The doctors and nurses have you all wrapped up. They said that, young as you are, you’ll heal real quick.”
They watched Will’s chest rise and fall.
“We’re here for you, Will,” Aunt Amanda said a little louder. “We’ll be nearby, and we’ll come check on you every time we can. You’ll get through this, Will. We’ll all get through this.”
Aunt Amanda tried to touch him, but her hand hovered, unsure. His whole body was swollen, even where he wasn’t burned. She traced his knee cap before she repeated, “We’ll get through this, Will.” She turned to leave.
Ada stayed behind, her hand burning. The nurse entered, looked sharply at her, and said, “Time to leave. He needs his rest.” Ada squeezed his hand and again had to let go.
THAT evening, Ada’s parents entered the waiting room, along with Uncle Mark and Aunt Rebecca. Ada introduced them to Aunt Amanda.
Her mother asked, “How is he?”
Aunt Amanda repeated the doctor’s words, that he would recover, but he would be in a lot of pain for a long time. “And it’s too early to tell about his lungs.”
When her father asked what happened, Ada was thankful Aunt Amanda kept talking.
Later, as they readied to leave, her parents invited her to come home with them, to rest, and Aunt Amanda nudged her, saying that sounded like a good idea. Ada shook her head. “No, I’m staying here.” None of them questioned her.
But she wanted to talk with Uncle Mark alone, so she grabbed his arm, and the two of them lagged behind as the others walked the hallway.
“Sounds pretty bad, Ady.”
“It is.” She was quiet, unsure.
“How are you doing?”
“OK.” The word made her remember Cicero. “Remember when Jesse shot Cicero?
“Will and I went looking for him, and after a while, Will wanted to go on alone. When I came back through the orchard, I found Cicero. I could tell he was hurt. I said his name, and right away, my hands tingled, like they used to. So I said the chant for stopping blood. He wouldn’t let me get close, but pretty soon after, he flew away.
“And then today, right after the explosion, when I held Will’s good hand, mine started tingling again. I said the powwow for taking out fire. I think it was working, but his burns are so severe . . .” Her voice trailed off. “How do you know if it’s working?”
Uncle Mark put both hands on her shoulders. “This is good, Ady. Good, good news.” He dropped his hands but looked at her closely. “Tell me something. Today, when you and Aunt Amanda went to Will, did you have to run by that fire?”
“Yes.”
“How close?”
“Too close.”
“But you did it, Ady. You went past that fire.”
Ada looked ou
t the window. “But how do I know it’s working? I mean, Cicero flew away, but he might’ve done that anyway. And Will’s pain didn’t seem to ease.”
“You know the answer. You just have to have faith. Will’s pain would be far worse if you hadn’t been there. Believe that, Ady.”
She hugged and thanked him before turning back with Aunt Amanda to sit and wait.
43
A muffled voice called his name, but Will kept his eyes closed. He was flying, black wings bright, Cicero chortling beside him, the wind gusting in great waves.
The stranger’s voice called again, louder, the words muddled and far away, pinched in a Boston accent. Will slit one eye open far enough to see harsh sunlight and the silhouette of a large woman. He moved his left arm to scratch whatever covered his face, but something held his wrist. He moved his right arm, but the slight shift jolted his whole body. And then he remembered.
“We have to change your bandages,” the nurse shouted, the voice strange. He cracked open his eyes to the edges of gauze. His eyelids felt like giant pillows, his lips, too, and he couldn’t speak because of the damn tube in his mouth. Will tried to lift his left hand to his mouth, but the nurse touched his wrist, pressed it down. “No you don’t, Mr. Burk. We’ve put a restraint on your wrist. That tube will come out soon as your swelling goes down, but if you take it out now, you might not be able to breathe. You cannot take it out, you understand?” Her blonde curls dangled in front of her white cap, big cheeks rouged red, lipstick bright.
Will relaxed his hand.
“Good. I’m glad we’ve come to an agreement on that. I’m Nurse Hallett, and this is Nurse Young. We need to change your bandages.” The other nurse, younger, a brunette and not nearly as wide, wheeled in a cart. Nurse Hallett pulled off Will’s blankets.
Nurse Young came to his other side. “Before we get started,” she said, leaning close with her full lips, “we need to give you some pain medicine. I know you can’t talk, so use your fingers and tell me. On a scale of one to five, five being the most, how much pain do you feel?”