The View from Here

by Hannah McKinnon

  “No.” Sweat broke out in her armpits. Her mind flew to her uncle. Uncle Jake, her favorite relative in the whole family. The cool, funny one who didn’t ask too many questions and always knew how to make her laugh. Who was just having a few beers and a good time at his own engagement party. Who wouldn’t hurt a fly. Whom she’d begged to take her out on the boat. It was her fault they’d been out there to begin with. Jake hadn’t meant to put them at risk.

  Every time she closed her eyes, she replayed the crash again. The dock swerving into abrupt view. The surge of speed, and Uncle Jake’s urgent voice. And Luci. In one moment Luci was there. And then she was gone.

  Emma shielded her eyes. “Please. Not now. I feel sick.” The lights were too sharp, her father’s questions too knotty.

  “Okay, that’s enough.” Her mother rushed for the light panel, then the curtains. Instantly, her father stopped talking. “Let’s go. She needs to rest.”

  Emma curled into the blankets, hand over her face as their footsteps moved to the door. “We’ll be down in the cafeteria, honey. Try to get some sleep.” Then there was the click as the door closed behind them.

  Emma lay in the relative darkness for what seemed like a long time. Eventually her eyes got heavy, and she felt herself drifting off. She was almost asleep when a jarring ding startled her. On the bedside table her phone screen was illuminated. Her mother must have accidentally left the phone behind. She reached for it.

  There was one more message. From UJ. Uncle Jake. Eagerly she swiped it open.

  Emmy, are you okay? I want to check on you, but I’m kind of tied up in Room 103. LOL. Luci is all right, and I’m relieved to hear that you are, too.

  I’m sorry—you must have been really scared. Love you, kid.

  Emma read it through twice, a sense of relief flooding through her. She’d felt so isolated not being able to see Jake or Luci. Her parents had assured her they were okay, but hearing from her uncle was different. Now she could rest.

  She was just about to turn her phone off and return it to the bedside table when another message came through.

  One more thing… don’t say anything. Please.

  Perry

  It was the green light he’d been waiting for: Emma could come home. Despite her fat lip and the blue-green bloom of bruising that spread across her right cheek, he and Amelia could collect their baby girl and ferry her home. Where things could once again go back to normal. Perry craved normal. He hadn’t slept in the last two days. He could not remember having eaten a damn thing besides the acrid coffee in the waiting room and a stale bagel that Amelia had forced into his hand and he’d attempted to gum down. Everything about his constitution was off, and the moment they wheeled Emma out into the sunlight and up to the curb where his car idled, Perry thanked God. He did not consider himself a religious man, but knowing what he knew about accidents and probabilities, about risk and result, he knew this: the fact that two young girls were walking away from that boating accident was nothing short of a miracle.

  The night before had not been easy. Perry had stayed at the hospital after finally convincing Amelia to go home. Amelia was strong; it was something he admired most about her. She could walk into a sterile conference room and stand at the head of an all-male table and deliver a presentation without faltering. She was also direct. Whenever things concerned them during Emma’s childhood, either at school or in her social interactions with peers, Amelia had never hesitated to pick up the phone. Perry had once watched his wife in the principal’s office take down the hulking female phys ed teacher, as big in bullying as she was in physicality, for singling out and humiliating in front of the whole kindergarten class a child who couldn’t tie her shoe. But sitting beside their daughter’s hospital bed, Perry saw a fresh vulnerability in his wife that filled his chest with both sadness and deep affection. Amelia had been scared to her core. They both had. And he was relieved when she finally relented and went home to take a shower and crawl into bed.

  The nurses had been kind enough to order Perry a cot, but he was a tall man, and he tossed and turned in its narrow confines. By five a.m., when he could lie there no more, he got up and sat beside Emma while she slept. It reminded him of the hours he’d spent doing so fifteen years earlier when she’d first come home from the hospital as a newborn and he was beside himself with worry. Amelia had plucked her from her crib, put her to her breast, burped her, and changed her with such confidence. But not Perry. He was terrified of this tiny person, this person who had turned his entire world upside down and whom he loved with a biological pull so encompassing that he was almost afraid to touch her. But he could watch her, that is what he did.

  To his dismay, Emma had not rested easily last night either. At first she groaned and tossed, until he couldn’t stand to watch. Thankfully, the nurses gave her something to help her sleep. Perry wondered if she were experiencing the beginnings of PTSD.

  To be honest, he wondered if he were, too. Because earlier that evening Perry had done something he’d not yet told his wife about. He’d snuck off to the scene of the accident.

  As soon as Emma was admitted and settled safely under her mother’s watch, Perry had excused himself to get a coffee. Instead, Perry took the elevator down to the parking garage and drove back to Lenox. Perry needed to see it for himself. It was something he had to do alone.

  He’d gotten the exact location from the police officers who’d stopped by earlier to file their report. Perry had known the general area of the scene from the calls his father had made to the lake authority and a report from a neighbor who’d called to check on the family. But when the officers appeared at the hospital later that afternoon, Perry had been able to nail it down. To Amelia he’d said, “I’m going to go out for a coffee. I can’t stand the cafeteria stuff they’re passing off. Can I get you one?”

  She had barely looked up. “No, thanks.”

  Alone in the car, Perry had turned the radio off and input the address to his GPS. It was a private property just north of their Candlewood Cove Clubhouse on the New Fairfield town side. Since he wasn’t accessing it by lake, he’d have to go to the property owner’s house and ask permission. That could be dicey. But Perry hoped they’d understand, and he was right. The owner, Mr. George Dunlap, met him in the driveway, and told him how sorry he was. He didn’t say a word about damages or insurance. He would later, Perry knew. They always did.

  Mr. Dunlap walked him down the rear hillside to the water’s edge. When they got to the dock, he kindly left Perry alone. Perry took it all in. The splintered pilings jutting out of the inky water. The stray boards, torn from their footings where the bow of the boat had struck. Pieces of wood floated like shrapnel in the shallow water. A single white slice of fiberglass from the boat floated in a tangle of cattails like a lone snowflake against pavement. Perry stood at the shore and cursed. What would have brought them in so close to shore at such a speed? And caused the dock to be ripped apart like this? And thrown Jake from the boat altogether? They could’ve all been killed.

  Sickened, he’d turned to a scrubby patch of bushes and bent over. Perry vomited twice, hands on his knees.

  * * *

  Back at the hospital, when Amelia had gone home and he was sure Emma was still ensconced in the dreamless sleep of the sedative, he walked out. He turned left, passing the nurse’s station. Past the darkened rooms of other sleeping patients, to the row of elevators at the end of the hall. Perry rode up to the third floor and stepped out onto the bright white light of the surgical unit. A male nurse standing in the hall looked up. “I’m sorry, sir. Visiting hours don’t start until eight a.m.”

  “I’m staying downstairs with my daughter, in the observation unit. She and my brother, Jake Goodwin, were brought in from an accident yesterday. I’m looking for my brother.”

  The nurse glanced at his clipboard and flipped through. “Jake Goodwin. Our compound distal femur fracture.” He looked up at Perry. “Tough guy.”

  “They were in a boati
ng accident. I haven’t seen him yet.”

  The nurse let out a breath. “All right, I guess I can give you a few minutes. But if he’s sleeping, please don’t wake him.”

  “Thank you,” Perry said.

  The nurse led him to the doorway of Jake’s room.

  Jake lay on his back beneath a dimmed overhead light. His gown was open at the chest, and from the waist up he looked as young and strong as he had to Perry that day on his boat. But his right leg was ensconced in an enormous white cast, elevated in a sling. The rest of his lower body was covered in a thin white blanket. Perry approached the bed and looked at his little brother. Tears pressed at the corners of his eyes, and angrily he swiped them away.

  “What happened out there?” he whispered.

  Jake did not stir. Perry stared at the IV bag, momentarily lulled by the slow, precise drip of fluid. Unlike Emma’s, Jake’s face was miraculously clear of any trauma. But then Perry noticed his hands. They were scabbed over and swollen, his knuckles purple and scratched. They rested at his sides, palms up, in a repose that struck Perry as uncharacteristically vulnerable. As if asking for forgiveness. Perry was half tempted to touch them, but he could not bring himself to.

  Instead a wave of anger overcame him, and he felt his face flush with it. Jake was an avid boater, a skilled captain who knew the lake better than any of them. He was the only adult on the boat. He should’ve known better. He should’ve kept those girls safe.

  If there had been another boat, Perry could have made sense of it. In his life he’d passed too many inexperienced boaters out on the water. Teens going too fast. Large parties of adults having imbibed too much. Water-skiers who swung out too far and too wide on turns, crossing dangerously into his path. It was the thing Perry hated most about the lake he loved: people were so damn irresponsible, putting others and themselves in harm’s way.

  But not Jake—even carefree, jovial Jake would never let that happen. Perry shook his head. It didn’t make sense.

  But how to explain the alcohol in Emma’s bloodstream? Perry remembered that Jake had been holding a beer. He couldn’t say for sure how many he’d had that day; they’d all had a drink or two during the clambake. But Jake was different with Emma. She’d always called him her “favorite uncle,” even though he was her only one. It wouldn’t have mattered if there’d been five more, Perry knew Emma would have preferred Jake to anyone. Because Jake was fun. Jake bent the rules. He understood her. If Emma had pressed, would he have given her a sip of his beer? Clearly more than a sip had been had; her blood tests were evidence of that. Perry’s fingers curled around the cold steel of the bed railing.

  Jake was out of surgery. He was out of the woods. And so help him, he had questions he needed to answer.

  * * *

  Now, with Emma about to be discharged, Perry needed answers. But Emma was too upset and Amelia was glaring at him like he was some kind of monster. Perry needed to step out. “Discharge will probably take a while. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said. Neither asked where he was going.

  Without thinking, he found himself heading briskly down the hall to Luci’s room. But he faltered in the doorway. There, resting in the corner chair was Olivia, her head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed. He was about to turn when her eyelids fluttered. She glanced first at Luci, who was curled on her side beneath the blankets. Then at him. Wordlessly, she stood and followed him into the hall.

  Olivia rubbed her eyes. “I’ve been going back and forth between them all night.”

  Perry knew she meant Jake and Luci. She looked exhausted, her eyes clouded with red. “How is he doing?” he asked.

  “He was gray with pain when he woke up in recovery last night. They seem to have controlled it, since he’s finally able to sleep. But you know Jake. He wouldn’t complain anyway.” She sighed. “He’s so upset about the girls, I doubt he’s gotten much rest.” She checked her watch. “Would you mind sitting with her while I check on him again?”

  Perry nodded. “Take as long as you need.” But there was something else on his mind. The anger had not dissipated on the elevator ride down. Nor in the dark, cool recesses of Luci’s room. Not even standing by Olivia, who seemed to have that strange effect on him. “Have you been able to talk to him? Has he said anything at all about what happened?”

  Olivia’s eyes softened. “No. He was really out of it after surgery. His pain levels were so high they gave him medication that pretty much knocked him out. I barely had time to tell him I loved him and that the girls were okay.”

  Perry flinched. He had not said any such thing to Jake. The image of the shattered dock flashed in his mind. The police tape. The Candlewood Lake Authority boats. What kind of big brother felt ire for his sibling, who’d narrowly escaped death?

  Perry flexed his fingers, then uncoiled them consciously from the balled fists that hung at his side. He forced the words out. “If he wakes, tell him I send my best.”

  Phoebe

  She was losing her mind. She knew it the second she signed into the hospital for her visitor’s pass and stepped out of the elevators onto the wing where Emma and Luci had been admitted. How lucky they are, she’d thought.

  Hospitals were like an alternate universe. Time stopped, the normal push and pull of everyday life ceased. Here you did not worry about the onslaught of news, the mortgage bill you had to pay, the baths you had to give your kids, and the farmhouse sink you’ve always coveted for its deep recess but realize, come to think of it, the uncanny volume of dirty dishes it can contain might just prove cruel. Such concerns vanished, if temporarily, when you were admitted to the hospital. Here, people took care of you. Nurses strode purposefully between rooms administering to their patients. Trays of steaming food were plucked off carts and delivered. To one’s bed! There was staff who mopped, changed your sheets, inquired about your vitals. They even helped you shower if you needed it! As Phoebe walked down the corridor, even the views were intoxicating: the verdant hills of Litchfield rolled between window frames. She could stay here, like one stayed at a spa retreat. Suddenly, she desperately wanted a bed. Yes, she was losing her mind.

  Focus, she chastised herself. This is not about you.

  It was the first time she’d been allowed back to see any of them since the accident. The previous day, she’d felt useless. Only Amelia, Perry, and Olivia had been allowed back in the ER, and eventually her parents. Unable to loiter in the waiting room fielding construction texts from Dave and alerts from the bank, she’d tried to help instead, by running errands. It also gave her good reason to avoid the pressing matter of renovation issues, and she texted Dave just that: Sorry, but I can’t be reached today. She was needed here! This was her family. And this was what family did when crisis hit.

  First, she’d gone back to her parents’ house to update Rob and say good night to the boys. Then she’d gone to Perry and Amelia’s to collect some things for Emma. She’d just been heading to the hospital when her mother called.

  “Where are you?” Jane asked.

  Phoebe had initially prickled. She was going as fast as she could. But then she understood why Jane was calling. “Olivia has her hands full here. I know it’s a bit of a drive, but might you head over to her place and pick up a few things? I think she could use our help.”

  Twenty minutes later, Phoebe found herself sailing over the wooded hills of Washington’s Route 109 before being deposited into the cozy hamlet of the town center. She slowed as she drove through, soaking in its Norman Rockwell vibe: white clapboard churches, historic farmhouses, rustic red barns. When she pulled into the long gravel driveway of the address Jane had given her, Phoebe was met immediately by a kind-faced older woman in front of the main house. Marge was tall and elegant, her silver hair pulled back in a chignon. But she was dressed unassumingly in a peasant blouse and faded blue jeans. “You must be the sister,” she said, leaning into Phoebe’s window. “You and Jake have the same mischievous twinkle in your eyes.”

  Phoebe
was pleasantly taken aback. When she’d first heard that Olivia shared the property with an older couple and worked as an apprentice in the barn, she’d immediately felt sorry for Olivia. Not only was the money likely minimal for a single parent, but Phoebe had wondered at the close quarters and how dreadful it must be to live with the person for whom you worked. Like some kind of indentured servant!

  But as she looked around, Phoebe was positively envious. Between the large barn and the farmhouse was a sprawling stretch of cultivated yard dotted with flower beds in full bloom. A fieldstone patio hugged one side of the house, and to the other side lay a wooded grove of pine trees. The place was right out of a storybook.

  Behind the barn, Phoebe could make out a small cottage, matching the farmhouse in its white clapboard siding and cedar shake roof. A winding stone path led the way to its front door. Phoebe figured if she sat here long enough, Red Riding Hood would poke her head out.

  As Marge handed her a carefully packed bag of Olivia’s things and asked worriedly about everyone back at the hospital, Phoebe realized her misjudgment. On the way over, she’d imagined the awkward formality of her mission. Having to knock on the door and explain who she was. Having to ask permission to be let into Olivia’s cottage, where she imagined herself rummaging through the rooms as Marge looked on proprietorially. How wrong she’d been.

  These people were Olivia’s Connecticut family just as much as Phoebe’s family was hers. “I packed pajamas and fresh clothes for both girls, their toothbrushes, and a couple of Luci’s dolls. I figured the poor little thing could use some cheering up.”

  “Thank you so much,” Phoebe said. If Marge hadn’t been leaning into the car, she’d have opened the door and gotten out to hug her.

  “Oh, and please tell Olivia not to worry about Buster. I fed him dinner and Ben is out now taking him on a walk. We’ll keep him in the house with us tonight so he doesn’t get lonely.”