The Breakthrough (7 page)

“Willie, go that way and ask ever’body you see. Somebody had to see that car.”

“You don’t want me to stay with you, make sure you’re all right?”

“I don’t find that boy, I’ll never be all right again. And if something happened to him, I’m gon’ be killing me somebody.”

“Don’t talk like that. We’ll find ’im.”

“Go on, now. I’ll go this way, but you won’t have any trouble finding me.”

Florence soon developed the same symptoms she’d had last time she was out. Sweating, gasping, pains in her hips, knees, ankles, feet. Her heart raced, but there was no time to rest, to catch her breath. This wasn’t the heat. This was trouble. Trouble she had caused by letting it happen. What was she going to do? She couldn’t call the cops, couldn’t tell Mr. Drake she’d lost track of his boy, not with his wife in the hospital.

“Lord, help me. Help me, please.”

“It doesn’t sound like there’s much more I can do here, Boone,” Pastor Francisco Sosa said as they waited for Dr. Sarangan outside the lab. “Unless you need me to stay. Happy to do it.”

“No. Just ask everybody to pray.”

“You know I will. Keep me posted, and let me know as soon as I can see Haeley.”

“Don’t leave till we get these results.”

The doctor emerged with a printout, which he waved at Boone. “Your wife is with child.”

“Seriously?”

“No question. I need to call Dr. Fabrie.”

“She’s on vacation.”

“I know, but she should have the right to decide whether Haeley’s condition warrants an early return.”

The doctor scrolled through his contacts.

“Can they tell if it’s a boy or girl?” Boone said.

“No,” Dr. Sarangan said. “Too early by several weeks.”

He held up a finger as he put the phone to his ear and talked softly, urgently. Boone heard many of the same terms he’d heard from the woman EMT when Haeley was delivered to the ER team.

Pastor Sosa congratulated him. “Can I share this news too?”

“Haeley probably wouldn’t want you to under normal circumstances, but I guess I have to decide now, so I say yes. I want people to be able to pray specifically.”

“You’ve got it,” Sosa said. And he was gone.

“Dr. Fabrie would like to speak with you, Boone,” the doctor said, handing him the phone.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Chief. Sorry it has to be this way. I’ll book the first flight out of here and meet up with you there as soon as possible.”

“So sorry to interrupt your vacation. . . .”

“I was getting squirrelly anyway, if you want to know the truth. I’ve never been much for sitting around doing nothing.”

“I sure appreciate this. Haeley thinks the world of you.”

“Here’s how this works. Dr. Sarangan will inform the neurologist of the pregnancy and get me on the team. So you’ll have the specialist who operated on Haeley, plus Murari, who will serve as her GP—general practitioner—and me as the ob-gyn. That’s one for her brain, one for her overall health, and one for the baby. And it sounds like we all have a lot of work ahead of us.”

Florence found herself only more panicky as she confronted everybody she saw, pleading for information. A few had seen the soldier and the boy playing in the park. One said he noticed “an old Buick heading that way.” But she knew all that. Had no one seen them or the car since she had?

Florence finally headed back to the steps in front of her building, clenching and unclenching her fists. She would sit in the shade and plead with God as she waited—about to explode—for Willie and Scooter. Odds were bad that either of them would have had any more luck than she had. Florence would rather die herself than see something happen to that precious child.

Just as she was wearily situating herself on the cement steps, her cell phone chirped. “Mrs. Quigley, this is Margaret, the Drakes’ friend?”

“Yes, ma’am. I—”

“I hope you got my message. I’m on my way to your place from theirs with some clothes and other things for Max. Is that all right? Can you keep him a few more days?”

“Yes, ma’am, but I—”

“I know you’re curious about what happened to Haeley. She wasn’t feeling well and fainted. Took a terrible tumble on a concrete patio. I’m afraid she really hurt her head and may be in the hospital for some time.”

“Oh, Lord, no!”

“Boone is with her, and he wants you to know how much he appreciates—”

“That’s all right, but ma’am, how soon will you be here?”

“Just a few minutes—maybe ten.”

“’Cause I need to talk to you right away.”

“Of course. What is it, Florence?”

“I need to talk to you face-to-face, ma’am.”

Boone sat in a coffee shop with Dr. Sarangan, waiting for Haeley to be moved to ICU. “I know this wasn’t how you expected to spend your Saturday,” Boone said. “You get back to your family as soon as you can.”

“I will, but you know, they understand. What I do is a calling, Boone. It is what I was created to do. God blessed me with opportunities that few people enjoy. My parents were able to provide me with a good pre-med education in Delhi, and I came to the States on a scholarship. I promised God that I would devote myself 100 percent to my studies and then serve people—and him in the process—with all that I had learned. My wife and I are determined that I not neglect the family. Aside from emergencies like this, I am highly regimented, and the kids see me a lot. But when emergencies arise, they must be seen as opportunities, privileges. I am glad I can be here for you today.”

Boone just sat shaking his head, wanting to remember every word of that. He too had been blessed in his career and believed he was doing what he was meant to do. He wanted to be a father like Murari was, making his family a priority while also giving himself wholly to serving.

The doctor’s phone buzzed. “She’s been moved,” he said, rising. “We can go.”

On the way Boone asked if there was someplace for him to stay overnight.

“Actually, there is. ICU can bring a cot into her room for you. You simply have to agree to follow all their rules and stay out of the way. You can store your things in one of the drawers, and you may use the bathroom when it’s available. In Haeley’s case, they will not be taking her to the facilities as long as she is in a coma. You will be tempted to assist them in their care for her, but refrain. There are all kinds of reasons—insurance and medical—for their restrictions against that, so just comply. That you can stay with her at all is a major development just in the last several years.”

They stopped at the ICU nurses’ station, where Dr. Sarangan asked for Haeley’s chart and introduced Boone to the head nurse—a compact, short-haired blonde of about fifty who wore no makeup and didn’t seem to need any. Her name badge read
CHAZ CILANO, RN
.

“You know she is entirely noncognitive and unresponsive, correct?” Ms. Cilano said.

“I know.”

“She will not know you’re here.”

“Got it.”

Dr. Sarangan asked for a cot for Boone and informed her that he would be staying.

“Suit yourself,” she said, “but I’m telling you that you would be more comfortable in a hotel and certainly more comfortable at home. We would be happy to keep you informed—”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I’ve decided.”

Nurse Cilano squinted at him. “Aren’t you the sweetest thing? If my first husband had been like you, I wouldn’t be referring to him in the past tense.”

“She’s my life,” Boone said.

“Don’t hear enough of that anymore. But listen, you’re gonna get bored, and my staff won’t have time to entertain you, so—”

“So stipulated.”

“Just so we understand each other.”

“And may I call you Chaz?”

“I hope that’s the worst you call me, Mr. Drake.”

Dr. Sarangan whispered to her.

“Oh,” she said. “Sorry, Chief Drake.”

“I go by Boone.”

“One more thing, Boone. Take and make all your cell calls out here. Cell phones wreak havoc with our machines in the rooms. In fact, it’s best if you just leave yours with us while you’re in there.”

“I don’t know what I’m gon’ do, Willie,” Florence said when the doorman returned, having told her he struck out. “Their friend is coming with Max’s clothes, and I got to tell her.”

“No way around it, ma’am.”

“They’re gonna kill me. And they should.”

“Don’t be saying that, ma’am. We’ll find that boy.”

“His uncle’s got some answering to do.”

“If he
is
his uncle,” Willie said. “That’s what scares me.”

Florence lurched as if pierced and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, no, no! Willie, you don’t think—”

“I don’t wanna think anything, ma’am. I’m hoping they just come cruising right back here with a story of fun and losing track of the time. I don’t wanna think that soldier boy played you. Here come Scooter, but he ain’t in no hurry.”

“Anything?” Florence called out, as soon as Scooter was within range.

“Didn’t see those boys,” he said. “But I found that car.”

Florence leapt to her feet, in a manner of speaking. “Blue Buick?”

“Yep. Parked in a alley ’bout three blocks up.”

“They’re close by! Show me! Take me!”

“I ain’t walkin’ all that way agin’, and you owe me twenty.”

“Ten. You didn’t find ’em.”

“Whatever. I want it now.”

“I told you, tomorrow. Now where do I find that car?”

He told her the cross streets and described the alley. “But that car got no South Carolina tags on it. Got no tags at all.”

“Give me just a moment with her,” Dr. Sarangan said. “I want to check all the lines and readouts; then I’ll be out of your way.”

Boone waited down the hall, watching an orderly follow the doctor into Haeley’s room. He was rolling a cot topped by a pillow and a stack of bedding. Boone heard him set it up before he hurried away.

When Dr. Sarangan emerged, Boone was excited. It hadn’t been that long since he had seen Haeley, but he had wondered whether he would ever see her alive again.

The doctor finished making his notes on the metal clipboard, then gave his full attention to Boone. “She’s presentable,” he said, “and everything is as expected. But her face was covered during emergency surgery, so I was unaware how much discoloration had occurred. How did she look in the ambulance?”

“Pale with blue lips.”

“She does not look that way anymore, so be prepared for that. And the swelling of the head is normal. Remember that the surgeon is keeping the fracture open to prevent internal edema.”

Boone nodded. And suddenly he was alone in the corridor.

As he approached Haeley’s compact chamber, Boone decided to consider this a new beginning. A long road may lie ahead, he told himself, but he was prepared for every step, regardless how arduous.
Whatever it takes.

He hesitated at the door. Haeley lay on her side facing him. Her face was swollen, deep purple with yellow blotches. Her eyelids were puffy. Her head was wrapped completely, covering her ears, and it appeared the size of a basketball.

From beneath the gauze came a dozen wires that apparently monitored her brain waves. A tube ran from the back of her head into a drain bubble. A pulse-oxygen monitor was attached to her index finger, an IV line dug into the back of her hand, and two other sets of lines ran from her, one from a vein in the crook of her elbow and the other from her middle to an elimination container.

Boone pulled a chair close, unable to stop the tears. Haeley’s free hand, so delicate, lay open on the bed, palm up. Soft and precious, it was the only part of her he recognized.

Boone placed his hand gently over hers, expecting and receiving no response.

“Oh, Haeley,” he rasped.

As he sat there, realizing that this could be his lot for days, Boone suddenly realized how bone weary he was. Why would that be? It was his day off. He had enjoyed sleeping in, then meeting with friends, dropping Max off, chatting with dear Florence. He rehearsed in his mind the conversation in the car when Jack had playfully pestered Haeley.

Then the barbeque with Fletch and Dorothy had been so relaxing and fun. And he had stuffed himself. He found the chat with Margaret enlightening, and while it had been beastly hot, all he had done was sit.

Boone chastised himself as Haeley’s fall played itself again in his mind’s eye. Why couldn’t he get to her, catch her, at least break her fall?

There was no future in that kind of thinking, but neither was there anyone to blame but himself. He should have rushed to her as soon as she had come out of the house, but how could he have known?

The only explanation for his fatigue was the crash from his adrenaline rush. From the instant Haeley’s skull had slammed into the concrete, Boone had been on high alert, scared to death of losing her and doing everything in his power to get her here.

Boone lay his head on the bed rail, and while it was anything but comfortable, he felt his body shutting down. The pressure was off his back, and he was content to sit there, Haeley’s hand under his, until she came back to him.

Boone heard footsteps tiptoe behind him and a hand on his back. “I’ll be here another couple of hours,” Dr. Sarangan said. “If she’s still stable, I will feel more confident leaving her until morning. If you need me or have any questions . . .”