The View from Here

by Hannah McKinnon

  “They’re going to keep Emma overnight, just as a precaution. We’re lucky. It seems she just has a concussion.”

  “How is she feeling?” Edward wanted to know. “Is she in much pain?”

  Perry realized that they had not yet seen their granddaughter, and he wished there were some way to steel them for it. “She has some contusions, and she’s nursing quite a headache. But she’ll be glad to see you once they get her settled in a room.”

  “Let us know as soon as they do, son.” Edward excused himself for coffee.

  “What about Jake?” Perry asked Jane. “Any updates?”

  His mother sat, placing her hands in her lap. Perry had never seen her look so small. She had so many loved ones in the emergency room, he couldn’t imagine what it was like for his parents to be out here waiting all that time. “The orthopedic surgeon came out, ten minutes ago. He said they are finishing up his surgery, and he thought it went really well. But they did have to do a blood transfusion.” She looked up at Perry with watery eyes. “He has a compound fracture,” she said, her voice breaking. “You know how active your brother is. I don’t know what this will mean for him.”

  Perry sat down and wrapped an arm around his mother.

  “And poor Olivia,” Jane went on, reaching into her purse for a tissue. “She’s got her fiancé in one room and her little girl with a broken arm in another. I just can’t imagine.”

  “So Luci’s arm is broken?”

  Jane dabbed at her eyes, nodding. “What I want to know is what happened out there. I just don’t understand it. There was no other boat involved, from what Dad learned from the lake authority.”

  The brush fire in Perry’s chest surged, once more.

  Behind them, the ER doors slid open. “Perry,” his mother said. When Perry turned around, Amelia was standing in the doorway, motioning for him.

  Amelia waved over his shoulder at Jane and Edward, as though everything was okay. But Perry could tell it wasn’t. The doors slid closed behind them. “Is Emma okay?” he asked, a bloom of fresh worry burgeoning.

  Amelia thrust a paper at him. “The doctor just came back with this report.”

  Perry blinked. Had they found bleeding? “And?”

  “The lab work,” Amelia sputtered.

  Perry stared at the report, but the codes and numbers blurred.

  “They ran blood alcohol tests,” she said.

  Perry prickled. “Why would they do that? I don’t understand. She’s just a kid.” Then his confusion gave way to understanding. “You mean for Jake.” Again, the angry surge in his chest.

  Amelia jabbed her finger to the last line on the sheet. “Look at the results, Perry.”

  Perry stared at the bottom line. “It says point-one-two.” He looked up at Amelia. “Jake was intoxicated?”

  “Not Jake. Emma.” Her eyes flashed. “Perry, our child was drunk.”

  Olivia

  Aside from the Goodwins, she was all alone. Since her mother passed away when she was just five years old, it had always been just Pierre and her. And the restaurant. Which supplied them with a colorful if changing flow of people in and out of their lives over the years. But all through her life, whether she was at her highest or lowest, a winner of an art grant or suddenly single and pregnant in the city, there was one person she turned to: her father. And now, with Pierre away in Europe for the summer, Olivia felt the depth of her aloneness set in.

  Luci’s arm was broken; she had a fractured radius in the forearm. Olivia had gone with her for the X-rays, during which Luci was stoic and calm. Alarmingly calm, Olivia thought. The good news was that it was a clean break, common in children, the doctor assured her. “Children’s bones are still growing. They heal much faster than us adults.”

  When Luci had been told she could choose her cast color, Olivia asked the nurse to recite the color choices like a menu. When they got to pink, Luci put her good thumb up. In the end they did a beautiful job, and Luci was a trouper. But looking at the plaster cast on her five-year-old’s arm, Olivia had never hated anything like she hated the color pink in that moment.

  Worn out by the events of the day, Luci drifted off as soon as she was back in her hospital bed. Olivia watched her little girl, imagining all the scary things that must’ve run through her five-year-old head. The boat had collided with a dock hard enough to send Jake out of the watercraft. How long had Luci and Emma waited for help to arrive? Did they ever fear Jake was dead? And what had Luci thought of the rescuers descending on the accident scene?

  Her child had ridden in an ambulance all by herself to the hospital, unable to speak or reply to any of the paramedics’ questions. Worst of all, she couldn’t have asked anyone for her mother. When Olivia imagined this, tears streamed down her cheeks.

  There was so much Olivia wanted to ask. She wondered if the sirens had been turned on for the ambulance ride to the hospital, something she was certain would have scared her little girl even more. But Olivia could not ask Luci any of these pressing questions. Luci wasn’t speaking. She was silent and fearful, regressing right before Olivia’s eyes. And so Olivia waited until the nurse came back before leaving to check on Jake. “You’ll stay with her the whole time, yes?”

  Reluctantly, Olivia left Luci for the first time since arriving at the hospital. The nurse had directed her to an orderly seated at a cubicle. “I’m Jake Goodwin’s fiancée,” she said, breathlessly. “Can you please tell me where he is?”

  The orderly looked up at her sympathetically. “He should be coming into recovery shortly,” she assured her. “You’ll be the first to find out.”

  It was six hours ahead in Toulouse, and stubborn as he was, Olivia was certain that Pierre was traveling with a cheap cell phone with limited range and even less reliability. She tried her aunt Celeste’s house phone, but it rang and rang until the answering machine finally picked up. Hesitantly, Olivia left a message: Luci had been in a boating accident. She was okay. They hoped to leave the hospital soon, but she didn’t want her father or aunt to worry. They could call her in the morning.

  Unsure of what to do next, she dialed Marge. As soon as she heard her warm voice, Olivia broke down.

  “Oh, honey,” Marge said, her voice rich with comfort. “I can be there in fifteen minutes. Let me get Ben.”

  “No,” Olivia insisted. “Please don’t bother him. He’s got the show deadline. This will upset him.” Ben was crazy about Luci. But there was nothing any of them could do now, and Olivia had no idea when Luci would be discharged. The last thing she wanted was to stir Ben and Marge into action, only to leave them waiting around in the over-air-conditioned waiting room.

  “Are you kidding? Ben will have both our heads if he finds out I didn’t tell him!”

  “Please,” Olivia pleaded. “I’m here with the Goodwins, and there are plenty of hands to go around. You can tell him, but promise you won’t come. Not yet. I just wanted you to know where we were, so you didn’t worry.”

  “Well, now I am worried,” Marge told her. “Is everyone else okay?”

  Olivia had had every intention of telling her about Jake, but as soon as Marge asked, Olivia’s throat constricted. “I’m afraid I have to go, but I’ll call you as soon as I know more.”

  She couldn’t fall apart yet. She checked on the nurse sitting with Luci. “Do I have another minute?”

  “She’s still sleeping,” she assured Olivia. “Go get yourself some coffee or food—whatever you need.”

  What Olivia needed was to see Jane and Edward. Ignoring the god-awful receptionist from before, she headed back into the ER waiting area. The moment they saw her, both hurried over.

  “How is Luci?” Edward asked.

  “She’s doing okay. Resting now.” Olivia blinked back tears. “Is there any word about Jake?” Out in the bright light of the waiting room it hit her. She could step away from everything happening on the other side of the double doors, but Jake could not. He was alone back there, lying on an operating table. She had
n’t been able to kiss him before he went into surgery. Hadn’t been able to tell him she loved him. “I haven’t even seen Jake yet.”

  Edward opened his arms and Olivia stepped into them. “They should be wrapping surgery up soon,” he told her. “We’ll be able to see him in recovery, the nurse promised.”

  Olivia nodded gratefully. “It’s a bit chaotic back there. Will you send word, as soon as you hear?”

  “Of course, honey.” Jane looked weathered but calm, and Olivia tried to channel the older woman’s energy. “Phoebe ran home to pick up some things for Emma. Can one of us run over to your place and get anything for you or Luci? Does she have a favorite doll or blankie?” Her expression was as reassuring and soft as her voice. This was what it was like to be in a big family.

  Olivia wiped her nose. “I have her stuffed elephant in my purse, but thank you.”

  “Well, if there’s anything else you need. Food? A drink?” She riffled through her purse and handed Olivia a tissue.

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  But Edward was already heading to the coffee station. “Cream or sugar?” he called. And she realized it was exactly what she needed.

  “Both, please.”

  “Come sit.” Jane guided Olivia over to the chairs. “We can’t stop thinking about Luci. Has she told you anything?”

  Olivia shook her head, fresh tears springing to her eyes. “She can’t get a word out, even to me. She’s mostly all right on the outside, but on the inside, I can tell she isn’t.”

  “Give her time,” Jane said, rubbing Olivia’s back. “It must have been very frightening for her. I just don’t understand what could’ve happened out there.”

  If only Olivia had gone with them on the boat, this might not have happened. At the very least she would know what had.

  When she returned to Luci’s bay, the curtains were slightly ajar. Oliva peered inside, hoping to find her still sleeping beside the nurse. But Luci was awake, sitting up in bed. And it was not the nurse who was sitting with her. It was Perry.

  “Here you are,” he said, standing. It was then Olivia saw the book in his hand. He held it up, sheepishly. If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.

  Olivia glanced between the two and hurried to Luci. “Sorry, ma chérie. I just went to call Grand-Père. Did you just wake up?”

  Perry stepped aside to make room for her. “When I stopped in to check on you both, the nurse said you’d stepped out. I figured Luci would be bored when she woke up, so I went to the gift shop and found this book. It used to be one of Emma’s favorites.” He looked at Luci. “I think she likes it.”

  To Olivia’s relief Luci didn’t seem as upset. In fact, she appeared more relaxed and alert. “Thank you, Perry. That was terribly thoughtful.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Perry looked large and out of sorts standing beside the bed with the mouse book. She almost regretted interrupting them. “Did you finish the story?” Olivia asked.

  He held up the open book. The illustrated page showed the mouse drawing with a green crayon. “Not quite.”

  “That’s my favorite part! Keep going.” Olivia gestured to the chair.

  Perry sat back down, and in his deep voice picked up where he’d left off.

  Olivia settled onto the bed beside Luci, her mind a tangle of details. She tried to focus on what was happening in front of her: Luci tucked against her side, alert and safe. The clock ticking on the wall, every second bringing her closer to seeing Jake.

  As Perry read on about the little mouse who wanted more and more, Olivia leaned back against the pillows. Luci snuggled in. Perry’s voice was melodic. Olivia was taken aback by the gusto with which he narrated; never would she have guessed he had it in him. When he got to the part about the mouse asking for a glass of milk, Luci giggled aloud. Against the buzzing and hum of the emergency room backdrop, it was the smallest sound. So faint that if Olivia hadn’t been able to feel the laughter course through her daughter, she wouldn’t have known. She looked up. Perry had heard it, too. He smiled at Olivia over the book. Then he went on.

  Page after page, the little mouse asked for more. And each time the boy gave it to him. That is love, Olivia thought, just before she closed her eyes.

  Emma

  I hope you’re okay. What happened 2U?

  It was the first message she saw on her phone after the accident. Emma gasped, and set it down. Then she picked it up and reread it, to be sure she wasn’t seeing things.

  It was from Sully, sent around ten o’clock the night before. Her mother had brought her phone to the hospital that morning, along with a ham and cheese croissant, her favorite thing from Starbucks.

  “Where did you find my phone?” Emma asked.

  “Grandma brought it over. It was left at her house.” Amelia stared at her hands in her lap, something she did whenever the accident came up.

  “Grandma?” And then Emma remembered. She had set it on her grandparents’ patio table, right before she went out in the boat with Jake and Luci. Normally she’d have brought it with her, stuffed in the back of her shorts pocket, but her dad had noticed her holding it. “Why don’t you leave your phone?” he’d suggested. “You don’t want it getting wet or falling overboard.” Always the risk analyst. Now she realized it had been a stroke of good fortune. If she’d had the phone with her, it would probably be at the bottom of Candlewood Lake right now.

  So, Sully had heard about the accident. News on their narrow strip of lake traveled faster than sound across the water. Despite the pain that radiated through her cheeks every time she moved any part of her face, Emma smiled. Sully was checking up on her. She put a hand to her cracked lip. God, she was glad he couldn’t see her right now.

  There was only one other text, and it was from Alicia. From the night before. “Want to meet at the beach tomorrow?” Apparently, Alicia had not yet heard about the accident. Emma felt terrible. She hadn’t hung out much with Alicia, having been so distracted with Sully and the others. She started to text Alicia back, then stopped. Where should she begin? With Uncle Jake driving them out to the cove, or the part where Luci sat on her lap and waved at the water-skiers?

  Luci. Sweet little Luci who didn’t talk but whose big brown eyes said everything for her. Emma had been pointing out some of the big fancy houses along the shore before the accident, and Luci had seemed so excited. She’d even laughed, out loud. It was the first time Emma had heard her actual voice, and it sounded like what Emma imagined a fairy’s voice to be.

  She groaned at the memory and put her hand to her head.

  Her mother hopped up. “Honey, is the phone screen giving you a headache? Oh God. The nurse said that electronics should be limited. Here, why don’t you let me take that for you.”

  “Mom.”

  “Are you texting a friend? Because I could type for you, if that helps. I won’t even read them, I promise.” Emma could see the need in her mother’s eyes to do something. Anything. This was one of the worst parts of the accident, aside from the obvious: her busted-up face and the pain. And of course, the worry about Luci and Uncle Jake.

  Her stomach turned, and she set down her croissant. “I can’t eat,” she said. “I feel nauseous.”

  Her mother swept away the offending breakfast sandwich, and took the phone from her hands, too. What difference did it make? It wasn’t like Sully McMahon would ever come here to visit her in the hospital. Would he? Her heart skipped at the mere notion. But oh my God, if he saw her face. Now, that would kill her.

  Her mom was looking at her with that expression again. That dreadful mix of fear and feigned hope. She dug around in the bag from home and produced a tube of Aquaphor. “Here. For your poor lips.” Before Emma could object, her mother was smearing some on her finger and dabbing it on. Her mouth hurt, but her mom’s fingers were tender and light, and Emma felt just the slightest bit of relief. Besides, her mother seemed possessed by some visceral maternal urge to fix everything. If a tube of Aquaphor did it for her, who was
Emma to deny her mother that?

  Her father, however, was not calm. At the foot of her bed, he maintained his slow, methodical pacing. Per usual, he was in what the family jokingly dubbed his “home uniform” of pressed khakis and French-blue button-down shirt. “My dad is so chill, he takes his tie off at home,” Emma used to tease him. Now his hands were jammed in the pockets of his khakis as he made slow, steady rotations around the foot of her bed, his eyes trained on the floor. A few more days of this and he would wear a track through the linoleum.

  “Honey, please.” Her mother motioned for her father to sit down. Apparently, it was starting to get to her, too.

  But Emma could tell it took a lot out of him to still his arms and legs. To just sit. He leaned forward and rubbed his eyes. “Emma, we got some blood tests back that we need to talk about.”

  Immediately her mother shot him a look, but her father seemed to ignore it.

  Emma swallowed hard, sinking into the blankets. She did not want to talk about any of it. Already there had been so much talk. There were the nurses, who’d taken her vitals and asked her if she remembered what had happened. Followed by the doctor, who examined her and asked more questions. She’d been wheeled in and out of radiology, where she’d lain on cold steel surfaces as the technician asked her to move this way, then that way, then not at all. At least the cute young orderly had given her a warm blanket. “Franco,” his nametag said. He was nice. A couple of times he tried to make her laugh, but each time it made her lip split, and then she cried, and poor Franco had looked like he might, too.

  Since the tests were complete and rest had been ordered, the doctors and nurses had come in less and less frequently. Her father, however, remained. As did his overwhelming worry. She could almost see it rippling beneath the surface of his skin as he sat there, chin in his hands in the hard plastic chair. “Do you know what blood tests I’m talking about?” he pressed.