In Her Eyes

by Sarah Alderson

  ‘Wait,’ I say, before they can leave.

  Raul pauses and turns back to look at me over his shoulder, the smile gone, a wariness descending as though he’s worried he’s stepped into a trap.

  ‘I need a favor.’

  Raul cocks an eyebrow at me and glances at James. ‘You need a favor, from us?’ he asks, an amused look on his face.

  I take a deep breath, then reach into my handbag. After paying them back what Gene owed, minus what he’d already pulled together, I’ve got seventy thousand extra dollars in my pocket. I don’t know how much it will cost, but I’m willing to pay whatever it takes.

  Chapter 45

  DAY 10

  The media camp outside the hospital has whittled down. It’s less an army now and more a scrum. I can’t help but scan the parking lot as I walk towards the doors, holding my bag close to my body and preparing to use it as a battering ram if I have to. Before, I was terrified to run the gauntlet of all those journalists and news crews but now I barely notice them.

  Elbows out, I shove my way through, tuning out the shouts and barrage of questions. There’s a blur of blue and white up ahead – a cop tunneling his way through the flailing arms and microphones to reach me – but I dig in and forge my own path forwards.

  I’m almost in the center of the scrum when someone tugs sharply on my handbag strap. I whirl around in an instant, shoving them away. It’s a woman – a reporter. She stumbles and trips over a cable snaking along the ground, dropping her microphone. But another reporter rushes in to fill the gap, thrusting her mic in my face. ‘Is it true that June’s life support is going to be turned off?’ she shouts.

  I turn to the camera. ‘No,’ I say, loud enough for them all to hear. Silence falls. It’s the first time any of them have heard me speak and so they hush, jostling to get their microphones nearer. ‘Her life support is not about to be turned off.’ I smile to the cameras. ‘She’s doing great. The doctors expect her to wake up any moment.’

  The cop materializes right then at my side and takes my elbow, ready to accompany me out of the crush. I shrug him off. I don’t need him. The media have sensed that they’ve got all they’re going to get from me anyway – their morsel, their pound of flesh – and they’re already backing away, desperate to be the first to file a report.

  The elevator is empty. I slip my hand into my bag and find my phone. It’s eleven already. There are five missed calls from Laurie, probably about the specialist she was trying to arrange to come and give a second opinion on June, but no new voicemails, which is strange. But then I remember Sam telling me my mailbox was full. I need to find the time to go through it and delete my messages. The bank manager, who I met with first thing this morning, was most understanding. It helps when you hand over twenty thousand dollars in cash. There’s debt still of course, more debt than I can wrap my head around, but it’s temporarily keeping the wolves from the door.

  I told Gene to use the money he’d raised to buy back his car, pay back Dave and then put the fifteen thousand he made from selling the photograph of June into June’s bank account for when she wakes up. I also told him to speak to his father – seeing as he’s the only one Robert will see – and update him on everything.

  When I reach the ICU I’m met by two men in Sheriff uniforms, one of whom is Jonathan. He waves me through with a nod of the head and a smile and I can see why Hannah is attracted to him. He’s a good-looking guy, and she’s always gone for the athletic, all-American types. I’m glad she has him supporting her at a time like this.

  As soon as I walk through the door into the ICU I see the hospital administrator walking out of June’s room. Today she’s wearing a tailored black pantsuit and heels, her trusty clipboard still welded to her chest. My stomach muscles contract at the sight of her, like armor locking into place, and I look around desperately for escape routes. There are none.

  ‘I was just coming to find you,’ she says, noticing me.

  ‘Oh,’ I answer, and for a brief moment hope soars in me. Is it June? Have they done another MRI?

  ‘If we could just take a seat in here,’ she says, gesturing towards the relatives’ room, and I follow her, pulse quickening.

  But if it was good news about June I’d expect the doctors to be present, and there’s no one in the room. The wind taken out of my sails, I turn back to the door. I have things to do. The specialist is due any moment and I want to check in on June first, relieve Hannah from duty.

  ‘You know what?’ I say to the woman. ‘I don’t have time for this.’

  I make to move past but she stops me. ‘This will only take a moment.’ She gestures at a seat but I stay standing.

  She sighs. ‘As you know we’re sorry there was a lapse in security that allowed what happened to happen.’

  I open my mouth to tell her it wasn’t so much a lapse in security as a total fucking fuck-up but she keeps going, obviously rattling off a pre-prepared statement that she must have learned by heart.

  ‘While we recognize our limited role . . .’

  ‘Limited?’ I hiss, eyes bugging.

  A muscle by her eye twitches in response. ‘In respect of the situation the hospital board has drafted the following contract, which we would appreciate you looking over.’

  She hands me a sheaf of paperwork and I take it, bewildered. I scan the pages, the words bouncing nonsensically in front of my eyes. Concentrating hard, I’m able to put together the gist of it and after a few minutes I look up. ‘You’re trying to buy us off?’

  The muscle starts to ping by her eye again as though someone’s tugging on it. She gives me a polite but pained smile. ‘I wouldn’t call it that. We are aware of what our liabilities might be and we also know what your liabilities are, as regards the health insurance situation. If you sign this contract all those liabilities go away. You won’t have to pay a single dollar for June’s care, retrospectively or going forwards.’

  ‘If we agree not to sue the hospital.’

  She nods.

  I look at the number with six zeroes after it, and the dotted line where I’m supposed to sign. When I glance up she’s holding out a pen. On seeing my expression she quickly withdraws it. ‘Of course, take your time, speak to a lawyer.’ She stands up. ‘But the offer is only on the table for twenty-four hours.’ She crosses to the door and starts to open it.

  ‘I can give you your answer now,’ I say. I slowly rip the contract in two and then drop the pieces to the floor. Stepping over them I walk towards her, stopping when I’m just a few inches away. ‘The thing is, my husband is innocent. And when he’s released from prison our insurance will pay out and cover all our medical bills. And then,’ I say, reaching for the door handle, ‘we’ll take great pleasure in suing your asses into the ground. Here.’ I pull a card from my pocket and give it to her.

  She looks down at it, frowning.

  ‘If you have anything else to say to me you can say it through my lawyer.’

  I got the business card from Raul. It’s their lawyer. The woman in the thousand-dollar suit. Now, happily, our lawyer too. And it turns out I didn’t even have to pay her a retainer. I just offered her a percentage of the payout.

  I don’t bother to wait for the woman’s reaction. I stride past her and out the door, slamming it behind me. Let her stew in that.

  I find Gene asleep in a chair beside June’s bed. He wakes with a start when the door closes behind me and leaps to his feet, disorientated.

  ‘Where’s Hannah?’ I ask him, looking around.

  He shakes his head. ‘She wasn’t here when I got here.’

  ‘What?’ She was meant to be here, watching June. Where did she go?

  ‘The nurse said she left about midnight, just after Laurie.’

  ‘Laurie was here?’ I ask, even more confused.

  Gene shrugs again. ‘That’s what they said. I didn’t see either of them. But I only got here an hour ago. It took me a while to arrange a time to visit Dad.’

  I nod, pulling
out my phone. ‘Did you try calling her?’ I ask.

  ‘I couldn’t. I can’t make a call from here and I didn’t want to leave the room. You told me not to.’

  I nod. Damn. ‘OK, I’ll be back in a minute,’ I say, casting a quick glance at June. I head back out of the ICU to find Jonathan.

  ‘Have you seen Hannah?’ I ask him.

  He shakes his head. ‘No. Why?’

  I glance at him, wondering if he and Hannah are still seeing each other. She hasn’t said anything about it and I haven’t asked as I’ve been too preoccupied. ‘Are you two . . . dating?’ I blurt.

  He blanches. ‘No,’ he says, shaking his head furiously and blushing. ‘We’re just friends.’

  Friends. I suppose that’s the lingo these days. No one dates anymore. Hannah did try to tell me that once. They hook up or hang out or Netflix and chill. They don’t date.

  ‘If I see her I’ll tell her you’re worried about her,’ he says.

  I nod and hurry off into the stairwell, propping the door open with my foot. I try Hannah’s phone. It rings through to voicemail. I hang up and try again. This time it doesn’t even ring. She’s switched it off. Strange.

  ‘Hannah?’ I say, when her voicemail kicks in again. ‘It’s me. Call me back as soon as you get this.’

  Where could she have gone? And why did she leave June – she knows the rules about not leaving her alone, not even for a minute. I fumble through the buttons to my own voicemail and start playing old messages, not even listening to them all the way through before hitting delete on each one, trying to clear space. They’re mostly from journalists anyway, a few from friends sending love and best wishes for a speedy recovery. Delete. Delete. Delete.

  The phone rings in my hand. Hoping it’s Hannah, I’m disappointed to see it’s Dave. ‘Ava, is Laurie with you?’ he barks, the moment I pick up.

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘She hasn’t been home all night. I’ve tried calling but she’s not picking up. And now her phone’s switched off. Do you know where she might be?’

  ‘Gene says she was at the hospital yesterday evening and left around midnight.’

  ‘OK,’ he mumbles.

  ‘I know about you and Gene being in business together,’ I snap.

  There’s a silent hum on the end of the line and I wonder if he’s hung up but then he stammers. ‘Oh God, Ava, I’m so sorry.’ He pauses, then adds, ‘You didn’t tell Laurie, did you?’

  ‘No,’ I tell him, ‘but you need to.’

  ‘I know,’ he half sobs. ‘I just . . . she’ll leave me . . .’

  ‘You need to tell the truth,’ I say, though a part of me wonders at the irony of me saying that.

  ‘I can’t,’ he cries.

  I close my eyes. ‘I know,’ I whisper.

  Chapter 46

  Still worrying about Hannah, I hunt down Dr Warier in the ER. His scrubs are blood-spattered and his face is no longer smooth and clean-shaven but darkened by a day’s worth of stubble. ‘Dr Warier?’ I say, chasing after him.

  He turns. ‘Mrs Walker,’ he says, surprised to see me outside of the ICU. ‘How are you?’

  I shrug. How am I meant to answer that question?

  ‘Has the specialist been?’ he asks, pulling off his latex gloves and ditching them into a nearby medical-waste container.

  ‘He’s on his way from the airport,’ I tell him. ‘My friend Laurie knew him in college, that’s why he agreed to come at such short notice.’ And without payment, I think to myself, though perhaps now I can at least offer him something.

  Mentioning Laurie reminds me of my call with Dave. I wonder where she is. Perhaps she’s gone to the airport to meet the specialist? He was meant to land at eleven this morning and spend the afternoon running tests on June.

  ‘Well,’ Dr Warier says, ‘I hope he finds something we couldn’t. He’s one of the finest neurologists in the country, so if anyone can give you hope it will be him.’

  I nod my gratitude. Dr Warier is the only person who didn’t take offence to our insistence on a second opinion about June, who actually seemed to welcome it. A nurse comes over with some paperwork for Dr Warier and when he’s done signing whatever needs signing he looks up and sees me still hovering by his side.

  ‘Is there something I can help you with?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Yes, there is actually.’

  We exit the elevator together and hurry towards June’s room. In my absence the specialist has arrived and is standing over June’s bed, alongside Gene and a nurse. There’s no sign of Laurie though.

  ‘Dr Philips,’ I say to the specialist, a man in his early fifties with salt and pepper hair and an intimidating air of authority, ‘this is Dr Warier. He’s the ICU physician who took care of June and me when we were first brought in.’ I turn to Dr Warier. ‘Dr Warier, this is Dr Philips.’

  ‘I know,’ says Dr Warier, shaking the older man’s hand vigorously. ‘It’s a pleasure, sir. I’ve read most of your papers.’

  ‘Is Laurie with you?’ I ask.

  He shakes his head. ‘No, she was meant to meet me at the airport but didn’t show up. I thought we’d had crossed wires and that I was meant to meet her here.’

  That’s strange. I give an anxious smile. ‘I’m sure she’ll turn up.’

  He nods and turns back to June. ‘I’ve just been looking through all her notes,’ he says, flicking through the papers he’s holding. ‘I’ve ordered an MRI, a CT and a PET scan as well as new lab tests. I think we’re about to take her up for the MRI.’

  ‘OK,’ I say.

  Two orderlies in green scrubs wheel June’s bed out into the hallway. There’s a nurse in charge of her ventilator and heart monitor, and both the doctors, and Gene and me. We flank the bed on all sides, June’s own Praetorian guard. I stroke her hair out of her face. It’s looking lank and greasy and I wonder when it was last washed or if she’ll ever be able to do something as mundane as shower ever again. I can’t go there so I push the thought away.

  ‘We’re taking her up for an MRI,’ Dr Philips explains to Jonathan, who is still guarding the door. He looks at me. I nod at him to reassure him.

  ‘OK,’ he says tentatively.

  ‘You don’t need to come,’ I add when he looks like he might be about to follow us down the hallway towards the elevators.

  He pauses, looking troubled. ‘Oh . . . um . . . I think—’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Dr Warier says in his usual soothing manner, ‘she won’t be let out of our sight.’

  Jonathan backs off.

  We crowd into the elevator, squashed around the bed, and I glance over at Gene, who is chewing his already bloody lip.

  The MRI takes an hour. June is in a separate room to us, visible through a thick glass window. Gene and I sit with Dr Philips as he watches the computer screen in front of him in silence. I do too, mesmerized by the rainbow color segments of June’s brain.

  I bite my tongue to stop myself from asking how it looks. He’ll tell us if he finds anything. Instead I twist my fingers around and around, playing with a loose thread on my bag, watching through the glass as the machine haloing June’s head does its work, and I pray, I pray that this doctor sees something the others don’t, that the colors bursting on the screen speak to him in a language the others can’t understand.

  When I was pregnant with June I went for an ultrasound. A part of me was hoping that perhaps it was all a mistake, that the little blue lines on the pregnancy test were a trick and that the scan would reveal a big black void. Instead a perfectly formed baby materialized on screen. There was her head, the brain a dark mushroom blooming inside the skull; there were her arms and her legs. And in that moment joy swept through me, dissolving all the doubts I’d had. Robert and I looked at each other, grins spreading over our faces. We were so caught up in the shock of seeing a baby on the screen that we missed the silence that crept through the room as the ultrasound technician swiped the wand across my belly in increasingly desperate strokes,
poking and prodding at me with a frown.

  ‘What is it?’ Robert asked, the first to notice that something wasn’t right.

  The technician gave us a bright smile and got to her feet. ‘I’ll be right back,’ she said and hurried out the door before we could ask her any more questions.

  I looked at Robert. ‘What is it, do you think?’

  He said nothing and we waited, holding hands, barely speaking, until twenty minutes later a consultant breezed through the door. He introduced himself and then picked up the wand and laid it against my stomach, studying the pixelated image on the screen with a frown. I held my breath the whole time as Robert squeezed my hand. It was punishment, I was sure of it, punishment for not wanting her. I’d come into this room with a sense of dread, only to have that dread wiped out, replaced by sheer wonder and joy, and now that I’d been given a taste of it, it was about to be seized from me. It was so obvious. I should have wanted her more.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ Robert asked.

  ‘We’re just having trouble finding a heartbeat.’

  I pressed my lips together to contain the sob.

  The seconds ticked by and the dread I’d been feeling took hold again, only this time a thousand times worse because it came laced with guilt and shame. But then, just as I was about to jump off the bed and run away, the thundering beat of a tiny heart filled the room.

  The consultant turned to us, grinning. ‘Congratulations,’ he said. ‘You’re having a girl.’

  I let out the sob I’d been holding in. ‘And she’s OK?’ I cried.

  ‘Yes, ten fingers, ten toes, everything where it should be, heartbeat’s normal.’

  ‘Oh, thank God,’ I said, falling against Robert, shaking and laughing and crying all at once. ‘Thank God.’

  But what if God was just hitting pause, I wonder now. What if this is his punishment – and he was just waiting to deliver it? The cancer was the warning shot across the bow. That’s what I can’t help but think as I sit here watching another consultant scan June for signs of life.

  Beside me Gene is sitting with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight, his gaze fixed on the screen.