Daniel's Gift (8 page)

Chapter Six

Dr. Lowenstein paused for so long, Jenny thought he hadn't heard her question.

Finally, he shook his head slowly, cautiously. "I don't know, Mrs. St. Claire."

"How can you not know? You're a goddamn doctor, aren't you?"

"Jenny," Merrilee said imploringly.

"Ifs all right," Dr. Lowenstein said. "I understand." He spoke slowly, picking his words carefully. "Danny's condition is critical. There was enormous trauma to the brain. We should know more within the next twenty-four to seventy-two hours. He's a strong, healthy boy. We have to hope for the best."

"Hope, that's all I can do is hope?" Jenny asked in utter bewilderment.

"You might also pray," the doctor said quietly.

"Oh God." Jenny put a hand to her mouth and swallowed hard. "He's going to die. I know he's going to die."

"Stop it, Jenny. He's not going to die," Merrilee said firmly. "He's not. We won't let him."

"I want to see him," Jenny said.

Dr. Lowenstein nodded. "Of course. He should be out of recovery by now. I'll take you to him. He's been moved into pediatric intensive care."

"Intensive care?" Jenny echoed.

"Yes." Dr. Lowenstein looked at Merrilee and Alan. "Just Mrs. St. Claire for now, please."

Merrilee looked as if she wanted to argue, but Alan put a restraining hand on her arm, and the doctor led Jenny away. They went up in the elevator, a silent, grim pair. Although Jenny had a million questions, not one word crossed her lips.

In some ways, she thought she was in a dream, that at any moment she would wake up, and Danny would be there, smiling, laughing, whole.

When they got off the elevator, they walked down a long corridor, past colorful murals of giraffes and zebras, past a child in a wheelchair and a parent hovering outside of a hospital room, past the beeping sounds of machines and the sorrowful cries of pain.

Jenny took a breath to ease the tension, but the pungent smell of antiseptic only made her lungs constrict. It reminded her of where she was, of what she was about to face. She wondered what death smelled like -- if it smelled like this.

Stop it, she told herself. Danny was alive. The doctor had said so. She had to believe. She had to think positively.

Dr. Lowenstein led her through another set of double doors. It was quieter in this hallway, but there were more people, nurses, doctors, and orderlies, all going about their tasks with quiet efficiency. There were machines with lights and beeps, oxygen tanks, bottles of blood and other unidentified substances. The smell was stronger here, the fear of death almost tangible.

Jenny paused as Dr. Lowenstein bent his head to talk to a nurse sitting at the desk. The nurse glanced up at her and smiled reassuringly, compassionately. It didn't touch Jenny.

She looked beyond the nurse to the wall of glass, behind which lay her son. Jenny saw him in the bed, a large white bandage around the front of his head, his blond hair shaved in the front but still tousled in the back, the way it always was when he slept. But he wasn't asleep. He was unconscious. He was quite possibly -- dying.

A sharp pain cut across her stomach. Nausea warred with pain. Bile rose in her throat, but she forced it back. She felt Dr. Lowenstein's hand on her arm and turned to face him.

It helped to look at the doctor instead of Danny, to focus on his square face, his bushy eyebrows, his compassionate, intelligent eyes. He was calm, and she felt calmer just having his hand on her arm.

"Are you all right?" Dr. Lowenstein asked. "If you need some time ..."

"No, I'm okay. I want to see him. All this ..." She waved her hand in front of her. "It took me by surprise."

Dr. Lowenstein nodded and led her into Danny's room. Jenny took a deep breath and walked over to the bed. She stared down at her son. There was an angry red cut over his eye, and tubes coming out of his arms, his mouth, his head. The bandage showed streaks of blood.

In the oversized hospital gown, Danny looked small and helpless. Her heart broke.

"Oh, Danny, Danny," she cried, touching his face with her hand, caressing his cheek as tears flowed down her face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Danny didn't move, didn't flinch. He was still, utterly still. His face was white, as if the life had been drained from his body. His freckles stood out in stark accusation, as if they were furious at being deprived of the sun. A respirator pushed oxygen into his lungs. It was the only sound in the room.

Jenny faced the doctor. "Is he -- is he in any pain?"

"No, he's heavily sedated."

"Was he conscious at all -- before the surgery?"

"The paramedics said he was unconscious from the time they arrived at the scene."

"I guess -- I guess that's okay," Jenny said, trying to latch on to something consoling. "At least he wasn't crying. I mean, maybe he wasn't hurting or anything."

"The mind has a way of shutting down when things get too bad," Dr. Lowenstein replied. "He has some fractured ribs. We ran a CT scan on his abdomen and pelvis as well as his head. There doesn't appear to be any internal bleeding. Right now our biggest concern is the swelling in the brain."

"What does that mean?"

"It means there's pressure on the brain, and we want to keep the pressure as low as possible, allow the wound to heal."

"How long does it usually take for the swelling to go down?"

"Every patient is different. Every head injury is different. In a trauma like this, the brain goes into a self-protective hibernation phase to allow for healing. It may be a day or two before Danny regains consciousness, perhaps longer. I wish I could offer you something more concrete, but I can't. We'll know more as time goes on."

Jenny sighed and looked at Danny. Tenderly, she plucked a strand of hair off his cheek and pushed it behind his ear. His skin felt cold to her touch. He never felt cold. In fact, he was her furnace, her blanket that she cuddled up with on winter nights. They had laughed about how hot he was, on fire for life. Now, he was icy cold.

"I think he needs another blanket," she said.

"I'll have the nurse bring one in."

"Can he hear me?"

"It wouldn't hurt to talk to him. In fact, it might help."

Another non answer. Jenny felt frustrated. Why the hell couldn't they tell her what was going to happen to her son? They were doctors. They were supposed to be the brilliant chosen ones in life, the people who had all the answers. Luke had always seemed to know everything.

Luke -- another overwhelming surge of anger flooded her body. It was his fault. He was the reason Danny was lying in the hospital bed. God, she wished she had never met him.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, she recanted. If she had never met Luke, she would never have had Danny, and at this moment, when Danny was so close to leaving her, she couldn't bear the thought of never having had him, never having known him.

"We have a room where you can stay tonight, Mrs. St. Claire," Dr. Lowenstein said.

"I want to stay here with Danny."

"That's fine. If you want to lie down -- "

"I don't."

"Okay." Dr. Lowenstein touched her arm and left.

Jenny picked up Danny's hand and squeezed it. There was no response. "Wake up, baby," she whispered as she had done so many mornings in Danny's life. "Wake up, honey. Rise and shine. It's a new day, and we've got so much to do." Her voice broke on the last word and she laid her face on Danny's bed, her cheek touching his hand, and she cried.

* * *

Danny looked over at Jacob. "She's so sad. Can't we tell her I'm okay?"

"You're not okay." Jacob pointed a bony finger at the kid in the bed. "You're barely alive."

"I'm going to get better, right?"

Jacob didn't answer.

"I'm going to get better," Danny said again, his voice rising along with his fear. What if he couldn't go back? What if he really was dead? He looked over at his mother with a heavy heart, wishing he could have the day over again, do everything differently.

"I knew this wasn't a good idea," Jacob said. "Come on. We're outta here."

"Wait, I don't want to go yet. I want to do something. I want to let her know I'm okay."

"You can't talk to her. It ain't allowed."

"Can't I do something, anything? Please." Desperation made him feel heavy, and Danny felt his body drift toward the ground.

Jacob rolled his eyes as he grabbed Danny's arm. "You're a stubborn cuss, ain't you?"

"She's my mom, and she's all alone. She needs me. I'm all she's got."

"She's got the rest of her family, her father, sister, brother."

"They don't love her like I do. Please, let me talk to her."

"Maybe later," Jacob said cryptically, and Danny felt himself being pulled from the room.

"Wait, stop!" he cried. Danny flailed his arms and legs in a desperate attempt to control his movement.

"Come on, kid. You're gonna get me in trouble."

"I'm not going anywhere until you give her some sort of a sign." Danny crossed his arms defiantly in front of his chest.

Jacob sighed loud and long. "A sign, huh?"

"Yeah. Knock over a glass of water or something."

"I'm an angel, not a ghost."

"Is there a difference?"

"Damn right there is. Oh, why not?" Jacob reached out an arm that seemed to grow longer as he extended it, until his fingers touched Jenny's arm. He did a spider crawl along her bare skin until she raised her head. It was a simple caress. It was also a game that Danny had played with his mother since the day he was born.

Danny looked over at Jacob. "How did you know?"

"I know everything, kid."

Jenny lifted her head from the bed and shivered as she looked at Danny's body. "I'm here, baby," she whispered. "I won't leave you. I'll stay right here until you wake up."

"I love you, Mom," Danny muttered, but his mother didn't hear him, because the boy on the bed hadn't moved. Danny ran the back of his hand across his eyes, feeling like crying, but there weren't any tears.

"Come on now," Jacob said.

Jacob extended his hand to Danny. Reluctantly Danny took it. The touch reassured him, comforted him in a way that no words could.

"Where are we going?" Danny asked.

"To see someone."

"God?"

"No, this time we're going to see your father."

* * *

The night was long, tormented. The minutes passed slowly, mockingly. Luke rolled over on his back and stared at the ceiling.

He had wrestled with his pillow for hours, trying to get comfortable. He had counted sheep, counted money, counted the days since he had last seen Jenny. Nothing worked. He kept thinking about her and the boys on the porch.

After the party he had asked Denise about the blond kid, about what she had said to him, and what the boy had said to her. Denise had simply repeated that the boys were selling candy.

Luke wanted to believe her. The only children who ever came to his door were usually selling something. Why should those boys have been different? But there was something about the child's face, something familiar. Then later -- to have Jenny stop by -- after thirteen years of nothing, no letters, no calls, no contact of any sort. Why would she suddenly show up at his door without warning?

It didn't make sense, and he was used to things making sense. One plus one always equaled two. Two halves made a whole. Logic ruled his life. He saw everything in concrete, countable terms. As a scientist, it was the only way he allowed himself to think. There was no room for maybe, if, or perhaps. Which was why there hadn't been room for Jenny in the first place.

She had always been unpredictable. Being with her had been like riding on the tail of a kite. Sometimes they soared. Sometimes they crashed. But he had to admit every day had been exhilarating.

Luke turned his head and looked at Denise. His wife was sleeping on her side, her face turned toward the wall. She looked unapproachable. There was no way he could pull her into his arms, make love to her, without drawing a cross look.

Denise was predictable. She made love in the evening, never in the middle of the night, once in a great while in the morning. She preferred the seduction of evening clothes, dim lights, and perfume, not the rustle and tustle of sweaty bodies with hair that had been slept on and teeth that needed brushing.

Luke closed his eyes. Maybe Denise was right. Maybe he was having an identity crisis, wanting to change everything, wanting to have kids. He sighed and tried to clear his mind.

Right now, he just wanted peace, a good night's sleep, a chance to wake up to a new day and forget about everything that had happened in the past twelve hours.

"Dad."

Luke twitched when he heard the voice. He opened one eye and blinked. There was no one there. He buried his face in the pillow and tried to let go of reality.