“Mom, it’s okay,” Iris said, reaching for the picture.
But Millie hurled the frame across the room, where it struck the wall and fell to the floor in a tiny splintering crash.
“He almost killed her!” she screamed.
Iris turned to the bed, for a crazy moment fearful her mother would awaken Leah. Then instantly hopeful that she would. Her gaze turned to her father, whose pallid face filled with anguish, the sorrow spilling from behind his glasses. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean . . .”
“Dad,” she said, but Bill lifted one hand and went out into the hall.
“He’s only trying to help,” Iris told her mother, who’d already resumed her watch at Leah’s side, returning to her own coma of singular concentration and grief.
Iris swept up the glass and tucked the photo into her pants pocket without looking at it. Out in the corridor, she found her father slumped in a chair. “Come on, Daddy. We need to eat something.” As they descended in the elevator, Iris kept one hand pressed to her pocket, feeling the folded edge of the picture within. A gesture that came too late, as if she could somehow protect the torn remnants of what remained.
• • •
She had no cell service, but a young nurse had shown her to a private phone in the ICU waiting area. A corner room with carpet and curtains, and real upholstered furniture. Iris wondered at its plushness; as if it could somehow cushion its occupants from their pain, or at least muffle the sound of their suffering to those outside.
“The kids are doing okay,” Paul reassured her on the phone. “They woke up a little bit ago. They want to see Leah.”
“They can’t,” Iris said. “Not yet.”
This morning she was grateful for Paul. For taking care of the kids, for the natural way their conversation flowed back and forth. Free of strife, focused instead on logistics. She realized with a pang that she still needed him. And he was there.
“I almost forgot,” he added. “Trish called. Said she’s got a ton of food to bring over to the house.” Iris had a vague recollection of Trish and Wayne bundling the distraught kids and Paul into their car last night, insisting that Iris go ahead with the others to the hospital.
“So, what’s the latest word over there?” Paul asked now.
Over there. The sterile land of hospital monitors and plastic tubes. All morning, Iris had watched nurses come in and out, hovering around various machines, making notes in charts. When the doctor, a man who seemed far too young to deal with so much, arrived on morning rounds, she and her parents had huddled, speechless, as he spoke. Holding their collective breath for the good news. Or the bad. But neither had come.
“The doctor said it’s still too early to know anything for sure. The good news is that they don’t think she was in the water very long. But her system was full of sedatives. They pumped her stomach twice last night, once they’d stabilized her,” she told Paul.
Paul paused. “So, it was an overdose?”
Iris nodded stiffly, and though there was no way he could see this, her silence was affirmation enough.
The doctor had told them Leah had suffered a lack of oxygen, and that they weren’t sure what effect that would have on her neurological functioning. There were no hard-and-fast rules with brain injuries. And that’s when Iris realized it. Her sister was not going to die from an overdose. Or drowning. Or even a broken heart. In fact, there was hope that she would come out of the coma. But what state she’d be in when she awoke, well, that was a very different story. After listening to the worst-case scenario of possible side effects from lack of oxygen, she could not help but think that perhaps it was still a death of sorts.
“Paul. It’s not just the coma. She’s really sick.”
The words flashed in Iris’s brain, the same words that the doctors had used when they met with her family this morning: Suicide attempt. Overdose. Depression. A doctor from the psychiatric unit had been invited to join them. Her words were like scissors, slashing through the summer and all of the silence, a visceral cut that felled them all, but somehow also freed them from their helpless inertia. Finally.
“Even when she wakes up, she’s going to be hospitalized for a while.”
Paul sighed deeply on the other end. “I’m sorry, Iris. What about you?” he asked. “What can I bring you from home?”
Iris couldn’t say. She was still in her heels and rumpled dress from last night. Her toes were covered in blisters, and her back ached. But aside from Leah, all she could think about was everyone else back at the house. The kids, sequestered on the farm. The confused relatives and guests stuck at the inn, probably scrambling to find flights out a day early. And the cast here; Millie, hunched over the bed. Her father, wandering aimlessly through the hospital corridors. But mostly, Leah.
“Dad brought some stuff for Leah, but Mom’s the one I’m starting to worry about. Could you maybe pull together a bag for her? Trish or Naomi can help.”
“Of course. But what about you? Tell me where I can find your flip-flops and some fresh clothes. And what you feel like eating.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Iris doubled over. She didn’t deserve comfy shoes or fresh clothes, or even Trish’s homemade food. While Leah had had a deft hand in the fallout, it was she, Iris, who had dealt the final blow. Pressing Leah to tell Stephen at the eleventh hour as, unbeknownst to them, the man stood in the doorway behind them. Now, leaning against the ICU phone cubicle, she covered her face. “Why didn’t I just stay out of it?” she cried.
Paul would not know what she was talking about. But it didn’t stop him. “That’s it, I’m coming,” he said.
“Okay.” Her voice was small, but her relief was not. Paul was coming to take care of her, and for the first time in a long time, she realized she wanted him to.
Thirty-Four
The plate of food beside Millie was untouched. She’d frowned at Bill, who’d eagerly finished off one of the sandwiches that Paul had delivered from Trish, along with fruit salad and fresh coffee. Millie had acknowledged them only once, turning to scowl as Bill wiped the crumbs from his button-down shirt. As if his appetite was some form of weakness. As though her refusal of nourishment and comfort was a purer vigil, her self-sacrifice evidence of the depth of her devotion to their daughter.
“She’s so angry,” Iris whispered to Paul as they convened in the hallway, out of earshot.
“Wouldn’t we be?” His question caught her off guard, both in the use of we and in its context. Thus far she’d viewed Leah’s hospitalization from the lens of sister and daughter. It had not yet occurred to her to imagine what it would be like as a mother.
“You need to eat, too.” Paul held up the uneaten half of her sandwich, which he’d carried into the hall for her. He held it to her mouth, a gesture too intimate. But one that she accepted timidly. “Good girl. Have another bite.”
The egg salad on her tongue was so reminiscent of her childhood lunches that tears sprang to Iris’s eyes.
“Oh, Paul. When is she going to wake up?”
He wrapped his arms around her, and without thought, Iris fell against him. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and breathed. There it was. His familiar smell. The way she fit, just so; a hug like an old glove stretched to her size. “I’m here,” he whispered. “We’re going to get through this.”
This was not the Paul who’d served her divorce papers, not the same man she’d spent the last few weeks hating. It would be so easy to surrender, to let him take her home with the kids. Who would blame her? Given the confusion swirling around them in the harsh glare of the hospital corridor: The beeping of monitors in the room behind them. The anguish of her parents. And Leah, laid out before them like a portrait of all the grief and wonder they’d shared as a family all these years.
Iris did not know how long she cried in Paul’s embrace. But suddenly she
sensed him there. Her awareness of Cooper Woods was visceral, even with her eyes still closed. She recognized the purposeful strikes of his footsteps coming down the hall, louder even than the pounding of her heart. Then, a sudden pause. Her skin prickled. She looked up just in time to see Cooper standing at the nurses’ station, a large bouquet of yellow flowers in his hand. And the way that hand fell to his side when he saw them together, like a soft exhale.
“Cooper.” Instantly Iris pulled away from Paul, a stab of guilt overcoming her. “You’re here.”
“I don’t want to disturb your family,” he said, approaching uncertainly. “I just wanted to bring these.”
He came closer, holding the flowers stiffly between them. “For Leah.”
“Thank you, they’re beautiful.” Their hands brushed as Iris relieved him of the bouquet. “I’m glad you came.” He was like sunlight in the hospital hallway, a reminder of how long she’d been cramped inside. How desperately she wanted to touch him, to follow him back outside, into the green summer day.
“How is she?” His eyes were full of concern. And something else.
“We’re still waiting for her to wake up.” Iris’s voice cracked, telling him this, after their summer together. He’d been through so much with her family; he understood her fears better than anyone. Certainly better than Paul.
“Will you let me know when she does?” He glanced briefly over her shoulder at Paul, whom Iris could feel standing his ground behind them. But it was Cooper she wanted to reassure.
“Yes! Of course. Do you want to come in?”
Cooper nodded toward the nurses’ station. “They said family only. Besides, I don’t want to intrude.”
Iris shook her head. “Not at all. You’re like family.” She meant it, and she wanted him to believe her. But Cooper turned to go.
“Please give your folks my best, okay?”
Iris had to fight herself to keep from reaching for him.
“Tell your dad I’ll keep an eye on things at the farm. Whatever he needs, just let me know.”
Iris heard the implication. Whatever her father needed; not she.
“Cooper, wait.” There was so much she wanted to say. Oh, why was Paul still standing there?
Cooper turned back to look at her one last time, and his eyes, so like the shoals of the lake, filled her with sadness. She could follow him down the hallway. There were so many things she needed to tell him. But whether it was the pull of her family, in the room behind her, or Paul, still watching them, something held her back. As she stood facing Cooper under the fluorescent glow of the hospital lights, Iris could feel their summer seeping away as surely as if a rainstorm had opened up overhead and was washing them clean. Clean of their lust and their happiness and all that they’d shared, which suddenly, given the context, seemed very small and selfish. Maybe Millie was right; family was all that mattered.
And Cooper Woods was not family.
Cooper broke her silence. “Take care, okay?” And then he turned and headed down the hall, taking the light and the breath out of her chest.
Helplessly, she watched him go, her eyes fixed on the back of his checkered shirt. Looking past the young nurse who was rushing toward her. Then the other. Followed by an orderly, pushing some kind of cart. Iris moved to the side as they brushed past, her eyes still locked on Cooper’s retreating figure.
There was a scuffle in the doorway behind her. Then she realized.
“Iris.” It was Paul.
Then Millie, whose voice reached her, rising over the sudden din in the hallway. “Where’s the doctor? We need him now!”
Sprinting to Leah’s door, Iris froze on the threshold. Her parents had been pushed aside. And through the group of nurses and orderlies who swept efficiently around the bed, Iris saw Leah.
Sitting up. Blinking. Holding out her hands, as if to shield herself from all the commotion.
Thirty-Five
Lily galloped down the corridor, a pink homemade card flapping in her hand. Sadie, Jack, and Paul followed quickly behind.
“Aunty Leah’s awake!” Lily sang, hopping from one foot to the other. Iris swept her into a hug, breathing her in, feeling the life rolling back into her limbs.
It had been two days since Leah had regained consciousness. Remarkably, she was doing well, the doctors insisted. Though to Iris, it seemed they were being generous. Mostly, Leah had slept. Each time filled Iris with fear that she would not awaken again. But she did, for longer periods each time. And she’d begun to speak, though her speech was somewhat garbled and inconsistent. What was most relieving to Iris was that she seemed to understand everything they said to her. She followed commands, could identify everyone in her family, and knew the date. What she did not seem to remember was the night of her “accident,” as Millie insisted they call it. It was as though she’d awakened unsure of how she’d gotten there, but had accepted it. She was even beginning to eat and drink on her own. The “accident” was something she would recover from in time. Though time was exactly what they were looking at.
“Yes, baby, Leah’s awake,” Iris told Lily happily. “Though she’s still pretty tired.”
They approached Leah’s bed hand in hand. Leah was resting on her side, eyes closed.
“Is she sleeping again?” Lily wondered loudly.
Leah’s eyelids fluttered. She looked around, her gaze finding them. “Kids,” she whispered. Her voice was rough and unused, and Lily leaned hard against Iris.
“It’s okay. Leah, the kids are here to see you. They wanted to say hi.”
Leah smiled slowly, her lips cracked at the edges.
“Hi,” Lily said in a small voice.
Leah mouthed “hi” back to her.
Jack only stared. Sadie took a step closer. “How do you feel?” she asked shyly.
Leah looked dreamily at all three of them, as if wondering herself. “Tired,” she whispered. She tried sitting up, and Iris reached to help her, adjusting the pillows behind her head.
“That’s better, now you can see everyone.” Iris turned to the kids expectantly. “Want to show Aunty Leah the special picture you made?”
They stared back, unsure. Sadie elbowed Lily. “Show her.”
“Here. This is for you.” Lily dropped the card lightly on Leah’s chest, taking a quick step back.
Leah blinked at it before reaching gingerly to pick it up. Her movements were cumbersome and slow, and Iris could see her tiring already.
“Oh,” she said as Iris held it up before her. “Beautiful.”
“How about I hang this up for you?” Iris offered cheerfully. Her voice sounded false and loud in the small room, and she realized she was making too much effort for all of them. “I’ll get some tape from the nurses’ station.”
She left the kids for a moment, nodding encouragingly at them.
When she came back with the tape, they were in the same position, shoulder to shoulder, staring at Leah. Who had already fallen back into a quiet slumber, her face relaxed on the pillow.
“She’s sleeping again!” Lily said worriedly.
“It’s okay, honey.” Iris handed her the picture and helped her tape it to Leah’s bedside table, where she’d see it when she awoke. Hopeful she’d remember the kids’ visit when she did. “She’s probably going to rest a lot the next few days. She’ll get better, though.”
Lily glanced back at the doorway. “Can we go home now?”
• • •
“How’d they do?” Paul asked as they followed the kids to the elevator.
“Good, considering. But it’s scary for them. She’s not the Leah they’re used to.”
“She will be,” Paul said, punching the down button. Instead of finding his take-charge attitude reassuring, Iris found herself prickling.
“Well, yes. We hope. But you heard the doctor last night. She’s goin
g to need rehabilitation. The specialists have to come in and do their assessments—there’s still so much we don’t know.”
“Iris.” Paul put his hands on her shoulders, as if he were trying to calm a small child. “We know. But try to be positive, okay?”
He punched the button impatiently again, and Iris felt herself deflating in the old way she used to. She was positive. She was just realistic, too. This was her sister. Who could blame her?
The doors opened. While they waited for the elevator to empty, it was not lost on Iris that this was the same elevator Cooper had entered alone days before. And here they were, crowding into it now. The five of them, looking like the perfect family again.
• • •
Back at the farm, Iris awoke from a nap on the couch to find Paul standing in front of her, holding out a plate of spaghetti. “Why don’t you go to bed, after you eat something?” he said. “You look awful.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“No, you know what I mean. You need sleep.”
She’d slept little to none in the last couple of days. Right now her bed sounded so good. She wrapped the afghan blanket more tightly around herself and sat up. “Okay. I think I will.” She accepted the plate gratefully. “But what about the kids?”
“I’ll put them to bed before I head back to the B and B. I called work and told them I’d be staying a few more days. If that’s okay with you.”
Was it? Sure, things were crazy right now, and Iris could use help. The kids needed their father, too. But what did it mean if she let him stay longer, if she let him continue to take care of them all? “I don’t know what’s going to happen next with Leah, or how long it’ll take.”
“I know. Which is why I’ll stay. And when things settle, I figured I’d bring the kids home. You can stay up here as long as you feel you need to.” He looked at her meaningfully. “And come home whenever you’re ready.”
At the mention of home, her insides fluttered. What was home, for any of them, anymore? She looked around her childhood family room now, wondering when Leah would be able to return to the farm. No matter how hard Iris tried, she couldn’t picture Leah staying here through fall, alone on the farm. Trying to recover, sitting on this couch where Iris now sat. Looking out at the lake, waiting for her life to start again.
The Lake Season Page 32