The War of the Roses: The Children (22 page)

“What do you think?” Josh asked the young paramedic. Victoria looked into the young man's eyes.

“The truth,” she whispered.

“Touch and go,” he answered, shaking his head.

“There's always hope,” the young woman said with obvious sympathy.

Victoria looked toward Josh.

“I wish it was me instead.”

“Not you,” Josh mumbled. “Me.”

The blare of the siren grew louder as the ambulance sped into the night. On the floor next to Michael's body she saw the plaid skirt, looking at it with horror. Then she remembered that she had wrapped the tape in it and placed it in the back of the shelf of her closet. Her eyes met Josh's.

“So it wasn't you who found it?”

He shook his head and both parents turned their gaze on their stricken son.

Victoria and Josh sat in the waiting room of the hospital, barely speaking. Two days had passed and Michael was still comatose. The prognosis was guarded, although the nurses who tended him around the clock were optimistic.

“I've seen them come out after weeks and be right as rain,” one of the nurses, a gray-haired woman with a confident air, told them. Her remarks were soothing, but unconvincing. Josh stared at his son, helpless and still, a small white apparition under the sheets, tubes inserted in his nostrils, his tiny chest rising and falling with the rhythm of a respirator attached to him. A bag of liquid hung above the boy with an IV inserted into his arm.

Neither Josh nor Victoria could look at him without tears spilling over their eyelids. Guilt and despair gnawed at them. Josh blamed himself for igniting the fuse that led to this horror. Words failed him. Besides, he was certain that Victoria believed he had orchestrated the events that had led to this tragedy. And yet, through his grief he could not grasp the idea that it was without doubt the children who had set them in motion.

Despite his innocence in that regard, Josh could not shake the idea of culpability. He felt like a murderer.

Since their house was in shambles, they had checked in to a Holiday Inn within walking distance of the hospital. Josh had arranged for three rooms, one for Victoria and Emily, another for Evie, and one for himself.

They had packed off Mrs. Stewart without further complications. The aftermath of Victoria's physical attack and his exposing her meeting with her father had, inexplicably, made only minor dents in the woman's demeanor. It was obvious to both Josh and Victoria that the bitterness over the years had atrophied her emotions. Nothing could ever change her attitude.

The reality was that Victoria and her mother were bonded together in a love-hate relationship. Even Victoria's awareness of its destructive nature was not enough to sever it.

“Were you able to get any sleep?” he asked Victoria as they had breakfast with Emily in the cafeteria on the third day of their ordeal. They were obviously in silent agreement to show no animosity in front of their daughter. For the first two days they had barely spoken, the shock of their circumstances too raw for any but the most mechanical dialogue, but their proximity as a family seemed to be comforting to Emily.

Emily, looking exhausted and pale, sat beside them, a bowl of oatmeal before her in which she was showing little interest. As on the previous two days, they had risen early. Josh was thankful that Evie was still asleep and Victoria would not have to observe her imbibing her usual hearty breakfast. Nothing, no joyful or tragic event, ever stood in the way of Evie's appetite.

Victoria answered his question with a negative shake of her head and offered no inquiry about how he had gotten through the night. Nevertheless, he volunteered.

“Me neither.”

He had checked on Michael's condition at intervals, discovering in talking to the nurse on duty that Victoria had done the same. Both Josh and Victoria had assured Emily that Michael was recovering nicely, although they each suspected that she had her doubts. By then, he had lost all faith in the possibility that he could hide the truth from his children, any truth. Children knew. It had become an axiom in his mind. He had discovered through the experience of the last few weeks that the adult world hadn't a clue about what went on inside a child's mind.

“When will Michael be all better?” Emily asked them.

“Soon,” Victoria replied.

“How soon?”

“Very soon.”

“Tomorrow, Mommy?”

“Maybe.”

“Is he still sleeping?”

Had they told her that, Josh wondered, exchanging glances with his wife?

“Yes, he is,” he said, sensing that Emily too was posing, hiding her awareness of the truth.

“When will he wake up?”

“Soon.”

“Can I be there when he wakes up?”

“If we can time it properly. Yes.”

“Promise. Cross your heart.”

Both parents crossed their hearts in tandem. Josh almost burst into tears. He crossed his heart again, looking toward Victoria, who turned away, deliberately averting his gaze.

“His eyes are flickering,” the gray-haired nurse said, smiling. She had come out of Michael's room to summon them and they rushed to his bedside.

“Please, Michael. Look at us,” Victoria begged. Josh's hand touched Victoria's shoulder. She did not shake it away.

They sat by his bedside for the next few hours, concentrating on every movement the child made, rarely speaking, except to point out changes in him they had perceived or imagined.

“Come on, Michael, wake up,” Josh pleaded, his mouth next to his son's ear. “You can do it. Mom and Dad are here beside you, waiting for you to greet us. Come on, Michael.”

“Do you think he can hear us?” Victoria asked.

“Sure he can,” Josh said, suspecting that he was probably wrong.

“Michael,” Victoria said. She was bent next to the boy with her mouth placed, as Josh had done, as close to his ear as possible.

“Please, Michael. Mom needs you. Dad needs you. Emily needs you most of all. I told her you were sleeping. She wants to be here with us when you wake up. God, there's so much that we're going to do when you get better. We love you.”

There was no improvement in his response, although some fluttering continued behind the eyelids. Josh gripped Michael's hand and squeezed. Both of them had done this repeatedly and each time he had responded. He did so again.

“He must know we're here,” Victoria said.

“Sure he knows.”

Shortly after midnight, a nurse suggested that they leave and get some sleep. They rose reluctantly and went back to the motel. Emily was sleeping in her mother's motel room, and Evie was sitting in the one good chair reading a cookbook.

“Is he awake yet?” Evie asked, closing her book.

“Not yet,” Josh said. “But he is showing signs. He'll be fine. You'll see.”

Josh kissed his sister goodnight. Victoria pointedly ignored her. After she had gone, Josh bent down and kissed Emily's head and caressed it for a moment.

“Sleep well, love.”

He stood up suddenly, feeling awkward. Victoria and Josh briefly exchanged glances. Neither spoke. For a brief moment, he thought she was going to say something. He toyed with the idea that she was going to ask him to stay, but her blank and stony expression told him otherwise. Then the moment passed and he turned away.

“See you in the morning,” he said.

“If you hear anything, let me know.”

“Of course.”

He let himself out of the room and into his adjoining room. He called his office to pick up his voicemail. He went through message after message, trying to become engaged, but without success. He decided to try again in the morning. Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice on the line and he froze. It was Angela.

“This is good-bye, Josh. You'll probably never hear from me again,” the message began. His heart thumped. In the brief pause that followed, suicide was the first thing that came to his mind. “I have left my family and am off to Italy to devote my life to my talent. I have a job in Milan and I'll paint on the side.” He was both stunned and relieved. “You see, I have discovered that I am a true romantic. I'll never forget you for believing in my artistic talent. So, I'll always owe you for that. I'll pour all my passion into this undertaking. I hope you will forgive me. I fully recognize that I am solely to blame for the terrible pain I have caused to everyone around me. Dominic and my mother will take wonderful care of my children. I'm at ease on that score. You were wonderful and I loved every minute of our adventure. Good luck and good-bye, my sweet love.”

“And good luck to you,” he mused aloud, tears rolling down his cheeks.

He lay down in bed and tried to reconcile what he had just heard with his memories of her. She had thanked him for the adventure and he silently returned her thanks. Now that it was over, he could acknowledge that it was the joyride of his life. He felt a lingering sense of possession remembering Angela in orgasmic fury, knuckles in her mouth to stifle her sounds of release. Angela, the sexual acrobat, the wild mistress, his whore.

He chased such images from his mind, but another took its place. Victoria and Tatum. He hadn't even thought about the revelation in a sexual context. Tatum's demands reverberated in his mind. The bastard! It was rape, pure and simple. He had abused a mother's love. For Victoria it wasn't sex. It was sacrifice.

He tried to sleep but couldn't. His mind continued to be a cauldron for his thoughts, mostly fantasies of doom. Images assailed him of Michael laid out in a white coffin being lowered into the ground, of his mother-in-law laughing hysterically, of Angela Bocci in a traditional nun's habit being repeatedly beaten by her husband, of Evie blowing up like a balloon, exploding, of Victoria chopping off Tweedledee's head with an axe.

Then he was running as fast as he could into his burning house, Victoria chasing him, screaming epithets. These were waking nightmares. His eyes were open.

The phone rang. Before it could complete another ring, he picked it up.

“This is the night nurse,” a voice said. “He's coming out of it.”

“I'll be right there.”

His mind cleared and he called Victoria's room.

“Come quick. He's waking up.”

“Thank God,” Victoria said.

“Bring Emily.”

In a few moments, they were dressed and ready and running as fast as they could to the hospital. Then they were by Michael's bed. He was blinking his eyes.

“We're here, sweetheart,” Victoria said.

Josh lifted Emily so that Michael could get a better view of her.

“It's Emily, Michael. See?”

The boy's eyes flickered, and then closed again.

“Mikey, it's me, Emmie. Wake up, Mikey.”

The sound of her voice seemed to trigger more of a response. His eyes flickered again, then stayed opened. He seemed to be squinting, getting his vision accustomed to the light.

“Here I am, Mikey,” Emily said.

He stared at her as she moved her arms in a flaying motion.

“Here I am,” Emily said again.

Then she made funny faces and used her hands to draw her cheeks down, forcing her eyes upward so that the pupils didn't show.

Michael smiled, tentatively at first, then broadly.

“It's us,” Josh said, putting an arm around Victoria's shoulder. He felt her stiffen under his touch, but he did not remove his arm. “Your family.”

Michael nodded, then closed his eyes again, and the smile disappeared. When his eyes closed, she shook free of Josh's arm.

“Is he off again?” Victoria asked. She reached out and took Michael's hand. He squeezed back without prompting. His lips moved. He was trying to speak. Josh bent down and put his ear close to his son's mouth.

“I'm sorry,” Michael whispered.

“What?”

Josh had heard it the first time, but he wanted to hear him speak again.

“I'm sorry,” Michael repeated.

“What did he say?” Victoria asked.

“It's okay, son,” Josh said rising. He turned to Victoria. “He said he was sorry.”

“Sorry?” Victoria bit her lip and shook her head.

“I wanted us to be family again. I didn't expect the fire,” he whispered.

“I know, darling,” she replied. “Just rest now.”

He sucked in a deep breath and, with effort, spoke again.

“The other.” He could barely speak the words. “It was all my idea. I'm so sorry.”

“I don't understand.” She replied.

“We hid those things, Emmy and me.”

They turned toward Emmy, who averted her eyes and nodded.

“And the tape, Mom. With yours and Mr. Tatum's voices. I found it in your closet. I… I wanted Dad to know what you did for me, that you were a good person.”

Victoria turned ashen. She turned toward Josh, her lips quivering, her eyes moistened. She looked troubled and confused, but said nothing.

“Never mind, darling. Forget all about it.”

She knew better. No one would ever forget.

“Will you forgive me, Mom?”

He was losing energy. He closed his eyes.

“Forgive you? I was hoping you would forgive me.”

A doctor came rushing in, bent over the bed, and checked Michael, whispering questions.

“What is your name?”

“Michael Rose,” the boy replied, his response weak, his words barely audible.

“Where do you live?”

He gave his address, opened his eyes again, and smiled.

“Who do you see?”

“My mother, Dad, and my little sister, Emmie.”

Emily giggled. She grabbed Josh's hand and kissed it.

“Thank God,” Victoria said.

The doctor checked the monitors at the side of the bed.

“We'll keep the IV in and the oxygen going,” the doctor said. “He's not totally out of the woods yet. He's also very tired. Why don't you folks let him rest?” He looked at Josh and Victoria. “I'd say it's up to him now.”

They kissed Michael in turn, then left his bedside and sat in the waiting room.

“He'll be fine now,” Josh said. “I'm sure of it.”

“I hope so,” Said the doctor.

“When can we go home?” Emily asked.

“Home?” Josh laughed. Not having laughed for a long time, his reaction surprised him. He hadn't been thinking about the house at all during the past two days.

“It's probably not a very pretty sight,” Victoria sighed. “It is insured, though. And the policy will pay for a housing elsewhere until the damage is repaired.”

“Will I have to go to school tomorrow?” Emily asked.

“Absolutely,” Victoria replied, looking at Josh.

Later, after they had brought Emily back to the motel, Josh went into Evie's room. She had been a good soldier, taking care of Emily, carpooling her to her various activities and keeping the girl amused and content during the long hours her parents spent with Michael. Victoria had not objected. It was a time of need and she gave herself permission to be practical.