Murphy's Child

by Judith Duncan

  Watching her, knowing this was leading up to something significant, he nodded. “I remember.”

  “And Cora had to decide. What was strongest—her fear, or her want of the surprise. Remember how excited she was after she put her face in the water—after she mastered her fear—and got the prize? This is what Jordan has to decide now—which is strongest. Her fear or her want for the prize.”

  It was almost as if she had physically lifted a huge weight off his back. And he took his first deep breath in days.

  She grinned at him, flashing her dimples. “So I help her to figure it out. I bring the baby to you. Because she wants you to come for the baby.” She started crocheting again. “And I go to her, too, because she is alone and she is going to make herself sick. So I will be mother now.”

  It was as if Baba’s insight had shifted some gears, and he could finally get with a program. But before they agreed on a plan, Murphy had it out with his grandmother about her galloping all over the city on a damned bus. After some heavy-duty negotiating, they reached an agreement.

  It was an agreement that made Marco’s sister’s husband’s cousin’s son damned happy. Murphy hired Roberto, who was starting his first year of university, and whose name clearly ended in a vowel, to drive Baba.

  The plan worked. Sort of. Murphy wasn’t sure how long they could keep it up. But at least twice a week after class, sometimes more, Roberto would pick up Baba and drive her to Jordan’s, and Baba would bring J.J. back to Murphy’s. And Murphy always had him one full day on the weekend, but he could never bring himself to keep his son overnight. He just couldn’t do that to her.

  When Jessica found out what was going on, she brought over the crib that Sarah had outgrown and helped him fix up the empty room down the hall for J.J. But if she had any advice, she kept it to herself. And if she had any opinions, she kept those to herself, as well.

  Baba remained the middleman, and sometimes Murphy got the feeling that she was maybe playing both ends against the middle. Baba didn’t keep anything to herself. She didn’t interfere, but she did offer all kinds of unasked-for opinions. That Jordan was too thin. That she didn’t think Jordan was eating right. That Jordan was worrying herself sick about going back to work. Which was too much information as far as he was concerned. Yeah, he got the gist of Baba’s story about Cora and the ruby-red ring, but Cora had wanted that ring. He wasn’t going to kid himself. The same couldn’t be said for Jordan.

  And he got to the point where he wished that Baba would just damned well stop with the opinions. He didn’t want to hear anything about Jordan; he didn’t want to see Jordan; he just wanted to somehow pick up the pieces and get on with his life.

  But that was easier said than done. Because there would be nights where he would lie in bed remembering all the things he didn’t want to remember. And night after night his own body would betray him, and he would be forced out into the night. But it didn’t matter how far or how fast he ran; he couldn’t outrun old ghosts.

  But little by little, the big hole in his chest started to scab over, and he even had a couple of nights where he managed to do something productive, rather than feel sorry for himself. He told himself that he was on the road to recovery. Yeah. Right. Sure, he was.

  One day marched into another. And the long autumn finally slid into winter. But even in spite of all the work that had piled up, Murphy wasn’t all that sorry to see that first blanket of snow. Ever since he’d been a kid, there had been something about that first real show of winter that set off a kind of expectation. It was almost as if winter were a brand-new beginning.

  He stood in the open doorway that led onto the veranda, a mug of coffee in his hand, watching the white stuff filter through the naked branches. The cold, crisp air penetrated his heavy sweater, and he inhaled, liking the feel of the clean coldness in his lungs.

  Fat, fluffy flakes continued to spiral through the halo of the streetlamp across the street, and the thickening dusting on the ground created the kind of hush that seemed to muffle an entire city. It was truly a beautiful night, and he remembered what it was like when they were all kids. There was something about that first snowfall that heralded adventure. Excitement. New challenges.

  His phone rang, and he glanced at his watch as he turned to enter the house. Eight o’clock. Probably Mitch, wanting to kill some time.

  He pushed the door shut and entered the living room, picking up the portable phone from the coffee table and pushing the connect button. “Hello.”

  It was clearly a cell-phone call with all kinds of weird background noises and voices, and Murphy thought he heard something that sounded like road noise. Finally a single voice separated itself from the rest. “Mr. Munroe?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name’s Jim Kaiser, and I’m a paramedic with Emergency Medical Services. Your wife is very anxious that I call you. She was just in an MVA—sorry, a motor vehicle accident—and she has suffered some injuries. Your son was with her, but he appears to be okay. We have them both on board and we’re on our way to the trauma unit at the Foothills Hospital. She wants you to meet us there.”

  Murphy’s insides knotted up into one cold, hard ball, and he stiffened, his voice sharp with alarm. “What happened to her? How bad is she? Is it serious?”

  “No, sir. It doesn’t appear so. She lost a bit of blood and has some contusions on her head and a possible concussion, but she appears to be fine. She put up a bit of a fight when we tried to start an IV. She was pretty insistent that we get in touch with you, so I figured it best if we did. But she’s alert and stable. And your son is A-okay—he was properly restrained and he checks out fine.”

  The cold shock abruptly gave way to the shakes, and Murphy had to close his eyes and lock his knees.

  “Sir? Are you there?”

  Lifting his head and forcing away the awful feeling, Murphy glanced at the table by the door to make sure his truck keys and cell phone were there. “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Um, sir, we don’t normally make calls en route—we usually leave that up to the hospital staff to notify family. But, well, as I said, she put up a bit of a fight, and she’s worried about what will happen to the little guy.”

  A weak smile appeared. “I got it, Mr. Kaiser. You never made this call.”

  “No, sir.”

  He checked his watch. “Tell her I’ll be there in ten minutes. And Kaiser?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Thanks for breaking the rules.”

  “You’re welcome, sir. Now, take care driving—with this snow, the roads are pretty treacherous. And there’s no hurry. They’re both doing just fine.”

  Concluding the call, Murphy tossed the phone on the sofa as he headed toward the door, snatching up his cell phone and keys on the way out, not even taking the time to grab a jacket. His heart slamming against his chest, he vaulted over the railing on the veranda on his way to the truck. If Jordan was being transported by ambulance to the trauma center, she was not fine. But he wasn’t going to think about that. He was just going to get his butt over there as fast as he could and was not going to think about anything else. He didn’t dare. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to know how close he’d come to losing them both.

  Murphy was never really sure how he got from point A to point B. But he got to the hospital, nevertheless. Not really giving a damn about parking regulations, he was prepared to leave his truck in the middle of the road, but fortunately there was a vacant space in emergency parking. An ambulance was in the bay, and his heart nearly went into full arrest when he saw someone carry a car seat inside.

  He caught up to them as they were wheeling Jordan through to the ER. She was on a spine board, restraining straps across her chest and thighs and a cervical collar around her neck, a bright orange block keeping her head stabilized. Blue webbing was strapped across her forehead to further immobilize her, and there was blood everywhere. A dressing covered her left temple, and he could see particles of tempered glass in her blood-soak
ed hair. She had her eyes closed, and beneath the streaks of blood, she was frighteningly pale. Identifying himself to the EMS crew, he moved to the side opposite her IV, then fell in alongside the gurney. His attention riveted on her, he reached down and grasped her hand.

  She opened her eyes and gazed up at him, a terrible distress in her eyes as she gripped his hand back. Her bottom lip swollen and split, she whispered his name, then tried to turn her head. “J.J.?”

  The awful anxiety in his middle let go, and he was able to give her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, babe. They’ve got him, and they’re just taking him into an examining area now. And he’s fine. Everything is okay.” She closed her eyes again, hanging on to his hand for dear life.

  They rolled her into the space next to J.J., and a nurse looked up at him. Her tone was businesslike when she spoke. “You’ll have to stand back, sir.”

  Jordan opened her eyes and tried to smile at him, but she got a glazed look and went even whiter. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m going to be sick.”

  Knowing he had to give them room and feeling a little sick himself, Murphy turned away, watching them take J.J. out of the car seat in the adjacent area, his kid acting all cute as he gave them big smiles. Murphy closed his eyes, a sudden jolt of relief making him go weak, compounding the roil in his stomach. God, they were lucky, so lucky.

  The paramedic, who had just finished rattling off the report and medical information to the doctors, came over. “Mr. Munroe?”

  Murphy turned to face him.

  He handed Jordan’s handbag to Murphy. “This is your wife’s. Figured you might want to hang on to it for now.”

  Murphy glanced down at the name tag, which identified the paramedic as Jim Kaiser. Murphy took the bag and extended his other hand, managing a wry smile. “I believe we didn’t talk on the phone.”

  The paramedic grinned and took his hand, his eyes clear blue. He was maybe twenty-five years old and looked as if he should be out chasing girls instead of standing there in ER. Releasing Murphy’s hand, he rested his hands on his hips and glanced back at his patient. “Well, there was no way she was going to let us touch her until I promised I’d call you. She was pretty worried about the little guy. I thought it was just better to put her mind at ease.”

  “I appreciate it.” Aware that his hands were shaking, Murphy set Jordan’s bag on an empty stretcher and shoved them in the back pockets of his jeans. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  The paramedic looked back at Murphy. “Well, you might want to check out the accident report, but it looked like a Suburban ran a red light and T-boned her just behind the driver’s door. It was lucky she was driving what she was, or the outcome might have been a whole lot worse.” Jim Kaiser glanced at his partner, who was rolling up the straps attached to their stretcher, then he tipped his chin toward J.J. “I doubt if he’ll even have a bruise on him.”

  He glanced back at Murphy, his gaze somber. “It makes it a whole lot easier for us when people take responsibility for their kids. Especially when they get good safety equipment like that car seat of yours, and make sure that it’s installed properly. You’d be surprised how many we see that aren’t.” His partner flashed him a thumbs-up sign, and Jim Kaiser nodded, then gave Murphy a two-finger salute and turned to go. “You take care now.”

  Knowing he was incapable of speaking right then, Murphy nodded and returned the salute, his legs suddenly shaky all over again. Thank God he’d gotten the truck for her. Thank God.

  A short time later, a woman from admitting came for Murphy, asking him if he would go with her to sign some forms. Knowing they would need Jordan’s Alberta Health Care card, Murphy took her handbag with him. There was a bottle inside, as well as two disposable diapers, and for the first time, he wondered where they’d been headed at that time of night.

  J.J. was released into his care as soon as he returned to the trauma area, and he walked his son up and down the wide corridor, an anxious flutter in his belly. They had taken Jordan away for a CAT scan, and for some reason, that shook him up as much as the initial phone call had. Jordan had thrown up two more times before she’d been wheeled away, which pretty much assured that they’d keep her in overnight. It was going on nine-thirty now, and he had no intention of leaving her here alone. His parents were away, but he knew Mitch was at home. And J.J. was starting to fuss and rub at his eyes.

  Knowing cell-phone use was forbidden in the hospital, he went out into the waiting room, fishing a quarter out of his pocket while juggling his son. Then clamping the receiver between his shoulder and ear, he dialed his brother, watching as J.J. tried to grab the phone.

  Mitch answered and Murphy shifted the mouthpiece closer, and as briefly as possible, he told Mitch what had happened and where he was. Then he looked across the crowded waiting room. “I need you to do me a favor, bro. Could you give Baba a call? I’d like her to come get J.J., then maybe you could take her either to my place or Jordan’s. Wherever she figures is best.”

  “I’ll get right on it. You’re sure Jordan’s okay?”

  His gaze sober, Murphy watched his son. “They’ve taken her for a CAT scan, so unless that turns up something, yeah, I think she’s going to be okay.”

  Mitch responded, “Right. I’m on it. We should be there in about twenty minutes.”

  The hospital room was dark except for the muted night-light above Jordan’s bed, and Murphy sat slouched in the chair between the window and bed, his feet propped on the safety rail, a cup of stale coffee in his hand. His attention was fixed on the sleeping woman.

  They had her raised in a semireclining position, a clamp attached to one finger, the monitoring equipment blinking away on the other side of the bed. And she definitely looked as if she’d been in a wreck.

  The CAT scan had turned up a hairline fracture in her left cheek and confirmed the paramedic’s original diagnosis. It had taken twenty stitches to close the gash in her head. Although the air bag had restrained her, the force of the side impact had snapped her from side to side, slamming her head against the driver’s-side window. She had a concussion, there was soft-tissue damage in her neck, her left shoulder had been jammed into the socket and was badly bruised, as was her right hip from the housing of the seat belt. The doctor, who was big and gruff and amiable, announced that she was “damned lucky” and that she was going to be “damned sore.” And since she’d had quite a “conk” on the head, he wanted to keep her in overnight to be on the safe side.

  Resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, Murphy cradled the foam cup in his hands. She was a mess. The jagged line of stitches ran along her hairline down to her ear, her face and bottom lip were swollen, and he could see the beginnings of what was going to be one hell of a black eye. Although the hospital staff had tried to clean her up, there was still dried blood crusted in her hair and on her hands, and there was a large, angry-looking scrape on one collarbone. They had given her something for the pain right after they moved her to the ward, and she’d been out cold pretty much ever since. Murphy twisted his wrist and looked at his watch. They’d been waking her every couple of hours, which meant they were due in ten minutes.

  Leaning back against the chair, he closed his eyes. Baba had elected to take J.J. to Jordan’s, but she had wanted Murphy to take her over so he could show her where everything was. Mitch had stayed at the hospital, promising to call Murphy’s cell-phone number if anything came up.

  By the time Murphy got back, they had moved Jordan to the ward and she had gone to sleep, and Mitch had sacked out in an easy chair in the sunroom at the end of the hall. Murphy had told him to go home, but his brother had totally ignored him, giving Murphy his how-about-those-Cannons routine.

  His legs started to go numb, and Murphy shifted, hooking one ankle across his knee. He continued to study her, a whole swarm of feelings filling up his chest.

  When he had signed her in at admitting, he had made arrangements for her to be moved to a private room. Partly because he k
new Jordan—and sharing a room with a stranger would have been a real strain on her—and partly because he knew they wouldn’t kick him out if she was in a private room. In spite of how their affair had ended, there was no way he was leaving her alone tonight.

  In the faint, muted light coming from the closed-in fixture above her bed, he could see that the past few weeks hadn’t been easy on her, either. He could see for himself the things that Baba had told him about. She had obviously lost weight, and there were dark smudges under her eyes, as if she wasn’t getting enough sleep. For the first time since he’d walked out on her, he experienced a stab of guilt. It had been a rotten thing to do, taking off like that. But after he’d laid everything on the table, there was no way he could have stayed. Not exactly a win-win situation.

  A nurse entered and smiled at Murphy, then checked the monitoring equipment. She rested her fingers on Jordan’s pulse point. “So how’s our girl?”

  “She’s been pretty quiet.”

  The nurse nodded and leaned over her patient, gently shaking her uninjured shoulder. “Mrs. Munroe. Mrs. Munroe. You need to wake up and answer some questions for me.”

  Still slouched in the chair, Murphy watched her, a flicker of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. Here was a good example of a paper bureaucracy gone awry. Because he carried extended medical benefits on his policy for both Jordan and J.J., somehow his name had ended up on her file. He’d told them. But the red tape remained snarled. Although, he had to admit, the Mrs. Munroe hadn’t bothered him as much as he thought it might. In fact it sounded damned fine.

  The nurse shook Jordan’s shoulder again, and Jordan stirred and wet her lips, her eyes remaining closed. “Mrs. Munroe, open your eyes, dear.”

  Jordan did as she was told, then let them drift shut again, just as she had during the past three checks. It was as if even the faint light was too much for her eyes.