Come Back To Me (23 page)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Alice sat in a padded wooden chair next to Tess’s bed, wondering how she’d carry on without Tess in her life. She was the closest thing Alice had to a best friend. They’d had an odd relationship, that was true. Alice knew she’d been off-putting at times, perhaps exuding an aura of snootiness, but she had to believe that Tess had seen through that, of course she had.

Alice had been in the hospital room since six A.M., having woken up at five A.M. with thoughts of Tess careening through her mind. The nurses didn’t seem to mind. Alice supposed that traditional visiting hours didn’t come into play when a person wasn’t conscious.

She’d finally notified Top Staffing Consultants’ clients of Tess’s condition, which explained the multitude of bouquets that lined the counters and windowsill in Tess’s room. Alice had even begun to get back on track with running the business. She was driven by the belief that she was making Tess proud. Tess had worked too hard to build the business. Alice owed it to her to carry on. Today, though, something within her had guided her to Tess’s bedside.

The room brightened with the rising sun. The bandages had been removed from Tess’s face, exposing angry red stitches and fading multi-colored bruises.
Why her and not me?
Alice wondered. 
Why did I live through my attack, and she didn’t even see hers coming?
She tucked stray strands of hair behind her ear and leaned forward, her fingers lightly touching Tess’s arm.

“Tess?” she whispered. “I’m sorry for everything.”
Everything?
What did that really mean? She leaned forward and tried again. “I’m sorry that I was such a bitch. I’m sorry that I acted like I was better than everyone else, when really…” She looked behind her. She was alone.

Alice turned back to Tess and whispered, “When I was really scared.” She closed her eyes and thought about what she really wanted to tell Tess. Tess had pulled Alice through the most difficult times in her life. She’d accepted Alice as she was without question or judgment. Tess’s support had helped Alice to maintain her confidence. She needed her, plain and simple. Alice leaned back in the chair, disappointed in herself—again. She didn’t know how to climb out of her internal pain and tell Tess what she felt. It would expose her own vulnerability.
To whom?
she wondered.
A woman who would never wake up? Selfish bitch.

Alice knew her own limitations. Sure, she had been able to push past them for a short period, with Kevin, but he’d only proven to her that it was dangerous to let anyone see who she really was. She looked down at her perfectly-pressed linen suit, the three-inch taupe heels that she knew made her look elegant. She smoothed the expensive fabric that covered her thin thighs. Her eyes moved to Tess, a lonely thread weaved its way through her heart. The clothes, the stature, it wasn’t what made her feel strong. It was merely a costume. She was the female version of Batman, and she needed her Robin. She needed Tess. With Tess by her side, building her up, believing in her in a way that no one ever had, looking at her in that way that said,
Sure, you’re beautiful, but you’re even more beautiful inside
. In her disguise, she was untouchable. Alice covered her eyes.
Without you, I’m right back at square one—that little girl that Daddy hurt.

 “Alice?” Kevin’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

Alice tensed.

“I’m sorry,” Kevin approached her from behind. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Alice looked away, “It’s okay. I was just leaving.” She rose to her feet.

Kevin reached out and touched her arm, “Al, can’t we talk? I miss you.”

She looked from him to Tess, the lonely tug in her gut hard to ignore.

Beau kicked the pavement outside the hospital. He was stalling. He took a few steps closer to the automatic doors.
Just go in,
he told himself.

 “Mr. Johnson?”

Beau turned to face Susan, the nurse he’d seen weeks before. The one he’d almost forgotten.

“It’s nice to see you.” She fell in step with him, walking toward the elevator. “Here to see Baby A?”

He looked at her sideways.

She blushed. “That’s what we call your baby girl.”

Beau nodded, slipping his hands into his jeans pockets. “A?”

“Oh, don’t worry, we’re not allowed to name her. We call her A because it’s first in line, you know, like the first letter in the alphabet? She turns toward you when you walk in the room now, like she’s saying, ‘Hey, here I am!’” Susan waved her hand in the air with a smile. “Like she wants to be seen first.”

An unfamiliar sensation swelled in his chest. They arrived at the NICU and went directly to the viewing window. Beau didn’t recognize Baby A. He looked over the four babies in their incubators.

Susan pointed to the largest of the babies, the only one not in an incubator.  “There she is. Isn’t she fantastic?”

He touched the glass between them. She’d grown so much, he couldn’t believe it was the same baby.

“She’s had a few bowel issues, but I guess you know that.”

Beau startled. “Bowel issues? Is she alright?”

“Oh, yes,” she waved the comment away. “She’s shaping right up, breathing on her own pretty well. This is all pretty standard for a preemie. She was on a vent for a week or so, but she’s doing well now. They’re monitoring her for sleep apnea, but the doctor said she’d probably be out of the hospital very soon.”

A vent? Bowel issues?
His mind was tangled in knots, and Susan was pulling the ends of his strings even tighter. He feared he’d never unravel the mess he was in.

“Your mom’s been here every day.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Susan turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s okay, you know. You’re not the only parent who hasn’t been able to face your child’s weakness.”

Her voice was kind, her eyes gentle. So why did Beau feel as though he’d just been slapped in the face?

Chapter Forty

Carol had scrubbed the bathroom and kitchen until her fingers were raw. She’d dusted, vacuumed, and prepared and frozen enough dinners to last for weeks. It was no use. She couldn’t ignore the pull to see her son. He was drowning and every lifeline she threw fell short. It had been almost two months since Tess’s accident, and Beau still wasn’t answering most of her phone calls, and when he did, he was short and distant. She’d lost him once, and she couldn’t bear to lose him again.

She couldn’t listen to Robert’s passive advice for one more second. “He’ll come around. Let him be, when he’s ready, he’ll see the baby.” Carol pushed herself out of the kitchen chair. She’d minded her business for forty-something years. She’d had enough. Robert could take his children-move-naturally theory and put it where the sun doesn’t shine. Carol was Beau’s mother. It was time she acted like it.

“I’m going to the library,” she called to Robert and headed out the front door. She’d never before lied to Robert, and it didn’t sit well now.
It’s for a good reason
, she rationalized.

Carol parked in the empty driveway, remembering the day Beau and Tess had purchased their little bungalow.
The perfect house for the perfect couple,
she’d said. Sadness gripped her by the shoulders. She slumped against the door of her car and waited for Beau to arrive.

Beau pulled up ten minutes later.

Their eyes met through the car window. Carol met him on the sidewalk.

“Mom, what are you doing here?”

“I missed you, honey. I figured you could use—”

“I’m fine, Mom.” He brushed past her, heading for the front door.

Carol hurried behind him, the pull of a mother guiding her.

Beau pushed the door open, tossed his keys on the table next to the front door, and walked into the kitchen, his mother stopped in the living room.

Stark.
That was the only word Carol could come up with to describe the feel of Beau’s house. The house that had once exuded warmth, solicited smiles, was now cold and barren.

Beau grabbed a beer from the fridge and leaned against the door jamb between the kitchen and the living room. He took a long swig.

“You okay, Mom?”

His voice brought her out of her dumbstruck state, “Uh, yeah, sure, honey.” She moved around the room, picking up Beau’s dirty socks, unable to stop her eyes from hovering over the empty sections of the wooden shelves, where pictures of Beau and Tess used to stare happily back at her. Beau’s books sat stacked in a half-open box on the floor.

“Are you moving?” she tried to quell the alarm in her voice.

“Nope,” he said and trudged upstairs, taking another long pull on his beer.

Carol stood with a bundle of dirty laundry in her hands, unsure if she should follow. She bit her lower lip, wishing the world would have been kinder to her only son. She took a deep breath and marched up the stairs, tossing the socks into a hamper in Beau’s cluttered bedroom. The closet doors were shut, half-full boxes of Beau’s clothes leaned against the dresser, Tess’s clothes strewn across the floor.

“How do you live like this?” she asked.

Beau flopped on the bed, leaned back against the headboard, and watched his mother with disinterest. He lifted his beer—and his eyebrows—in response.

Carol set her hands on her hips, suddenly thrown back to being the mother of a rebellious teenager. “I didn’t raise a pig,” she said and began to straighten up the room.

Beau didn’t move.

“Beau Mitchell Johnson, you put that bottle down and clean up your room. What would Tess think of this?” She turned her back, knowing the mention of Tess’s name might cause a stir.

Beau pushed himself to his feet. “You know what, Ma? She wouldn’t think anything of it. She can’t think, remember?” His anger stung Carol.

She closed her mouth, swallowing her body’s desire to coddle his sadness and anger away.
You can do this. You have to
. She crossed her arms, more of a stabling of her body than a meaningful gesture.

Beau set the beer bottle on the dresser with a loud
clunk.

Coaster? sailed through Carol’s mind.

“That’s right, Mom. She’s gone. Oh, her body is here, and her goddamn baby, but she’s nothing but a vegetable.” He threw open the closet doors. “She’d already moved me out. All my shit,” he spread his arms like Vanna White presenting a prize, “gone. She was all ready for that other guy to move right in and take over.” He pulled open his sparse dresser drawers. “Whaddaya say to that?” He set his jaw in a smirk. His eyes glazed over.

Carol moved around the room, closing the drawers, and folding his clothes, “I think she was a grieving woman, a woman who had just lost her husband.” She stared at her son’s disheveled hair, tension emanating from his every muscle. Her heart ached for him. She knew her words hurt, but she pressed on—she had to. “I think she was a woman doing all she could to remain sane. Losing someone you love is not easy.” She realized what she’d said, and softened her tone, “You, of all people, should know this.”

“She had another man’s baby.”

Carol did not mistake the hurt in his voice for anger. “Maybe.” She lowered herself to sit on the bed. Carol ached to tell him what Louie had said, but worry stopped her. It might seem a betrayal to her son that she’d held this knowledge that Louie had confided in her and had somehow done so behind Beau’s back. Beau’s love for Tess, his faith in her, had to prevail.

“No maybe, Mom. The doc said the baby was twenty-six weeks.”

“The doctors told me that I’d never have a baby. Then they told me that I’d never carry you to full term.” She recalled the memory as if it were yesterday. She smiled, remembering the joy of holding Beau for the first time. “Doctors can be wrong, Beau.”

Beau turned away.

“That baby did not ask for this. She didn’t ask to be unwanted.”

Beau flushed.

“You’re a smart man, Beau. If you’re so inclined to believe the baby isn’t yours, then do a paternity test. They do it all the time.”

“And say what?” his eyes filled with tears. “Excuse me, but I think my dying wife screwed around behind my back, and before I claim this baby, I wanna know for sure?”

Carol pushed to her feet. “Yes! If that’s what it takes, then yes, sure, why not?” She paused, waiting for Beau to respond. No words left his lips. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“What would Dad have done?”

Carol stopped and thought about the question, finally answering in a meek voice, “I have no idea what your father would have done, but it doesn’t matter. This is your life, Beau. That may be your baby, and in any case, she’s Tess’s baby. Doesn’t that mean
anything
to you?”

Beau made a grumbling noise and stomped downstairs.

Carol followed.

Beau stood in the living room, staring out the window into the side yard, his back to his mother. He turned and said to his mother, curtly, “I’ll order the test.”

Chapter Forty-One

“Mr. Johnson, may I speak with you?” Dr. Kelly held a folder in her hands, and led Beau to her office. “Have a seat,” she motioned toward a blue tweed chair.

Beau eyes were drawn to the photos of twin girls on the desk.

Dr. Kelly smiled. “Those are my girls, Dot and Lorna.”

“Cute,” Beau said, feeling stupid.

“Mr. Johnson, I know you’ve been going through a very difficult time.” She withdrew a bundle of papers from the folder. “I took the liberty of copying these articles for you.” She handed him the stack.

He leafed through them: “Loved Ones and Brain Injuries”, “Dealing with Death”, “Living with Life Support”, “The Grieving Process”. Beau handed the stack back to her. “I appreciate your time, but I don’t need these.”

“Don’t need them or don’t want them?” she asked.

Beau hesitated.

“Mr. Johnson, we can keep your wife on life support for as long as you wish, but that’s not going to bring her out of the vegetative state.”

Beau pushed to his feet. If he sat there one more minute his head would explode.

“Mr. Johnson,” she pleaded, “I would like to talk to you about a few things that perhaps you haven’t considered.”

Reluctantly, he lowered himself into the chair, clenching and unclenching his jaw, sure his teeth would crack.

“When a person is in the state that Tess is in, oftentimes family members will hold out hope that the injured person will somehow bounce back or wake up. I can assure you, in Tess’s case, that isn’t a possibility.” Her eyes did not waver, her words remained confident. “The longer you wait, the more difficult it will be.”

The light from the window dimmed as a cloud passed overhead, mirroring the dark thoughts running through Beau’s mind. He couldn’t find his voice. Every breath took tremendous effort to push from his lungs.

“There’s more to consider,” she continued.

Shut up. Shut up!

“I know this seems like a lot. I’m sorry for what you’re going through. It’s difficult for loved ones to move on when a relative is in this state. I’ve seen it a thousand times. People become trapped, stilled. They take three steps forward, only to visit the patient and be sent four steps back.”

Tears formed in Beau’s eyes. He didn’t want to listen. He wanted to bolt from the room, but his feet were glued to the floor.

“Think about it, Mr. Johnson.”

That’s all Beau had been able to do since the car had flown over the crest of the hill and shattered his life.