“It’s all a little confusing, darling.”
“But she’s all right, isn’t she?”
“Everything will be okay.”
Emma tugged on the whistle hanging from her lanyard. “Does she have to stay there?”
“We’ll find out when we get to the hospital. I’m sure it will be okay.” Grandma’s voice shook. Emma didn’t know what else to ask.
Her grandmother reached into the pocket of her denim skirt and gave Emma a pile of wet naps. “Wipe your face, you’ll feel better. Give some to Caleb and Gracie. Everyone should cool off.”
Emma handed one to each of the kids. They opened the square foil packets in unison and wiped the alcohol-saturated squares over their faces. Grandma started up the car.
• • •
Children younger than twelve weren’t allowed in the surgical waiting room, so Emma had to watch Caleb and Gracie in the main lobby. For hours. At eight that night they were still huddled on a hard bench. Sick-looking people hunched against their pain kept appearing through the revolving hospital doors. Others came from the elevators, heading over toward the nearby cafeteria or going outside.
Some were too scary to look at, dragging bags of fluid hanging from poles or with faces so swollen they looked about to burst. Why were they going outside? To smoke? Get air?
Other people, healthy-looking people, carried in bright gift bags, plants, and piles of magazines, but they were also frightening, with their faces all pinched with worry.
The wooden benches and chairs afforded no comfort. Caleb’s head lay in Emma’s lap; Gracie leaned against Emma’s other side. Daddy wanted her, Gracie, and Caleb to go home with Aunt Vanessa. When Aunt Vanessa wouldn’t leave the hospital, he suggested that Kath or Olivia pick them up, but Emma refused to go anywhere.
What if her mother died?
No one told Emma what was going on.
Daddy said he was fine and it was nothing, but he’d walked all bent over when they’d seen him. Bandages wrapped his chest so thickly that he couldn’t button the middle part of his shirt. How could it be nothing?
She didn’t want him to make her leave, so she just stayed quiet, taking care of Caleb and Gracie and waiting for news.
“Is Mommy going to die?” Caleb’s thumb in his mouth muffled his words.
“Of course not. Don’t even think that.” Emma smoothed his hair.
“But she could, right?” he insisted. “It’s possible.”
Gracie sat up. Red marks from Emma’s shirt seams lined her face. “Could Mommy die?”
Hours of crying had left her sister’s eyes red and swollen. Finally, frightened that Gracie’s loud sobs would attract attention and their father would be called, Emma warned her that Daddy would send them home if Gracie didn’t stop. The effort of not crying contorted Gracie’s face until it looked as though pain twisted her features.
“She’s not going to die,” Emma said. “We just have to be good. And pray.” Emma didn’t know why she said that—praying was a foreign concept—but she had nothing else to offer.
Gracie laced her fingers and pressed her palms together. Her mouth moved silently as she clasped her hands. Caleb picked at his sad grimy bandages. None of them had received anything resembling religious training, unless you counted going to the bar mitzvahs of second cousins, or having Passover at her mother’s parents’ house and Easter at her father’s. Christmas and Chanukah meant no more than food and presents.
Should she pray to the God of Jews or Catholics? Emma made secret little crosses on her chest, imitating Gracie, trying to make deals with God. She’d obey her parents for the rest of her life if God kept her mother alive. She’d take care of everyone and never be mean. Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha’Olam, she chanted in her head. Emma didn’t know what the words meant, but Grandma Anne said them each year as she lit the Chanukah candles. Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha’Olam, please keep my mother alive.
“But she could die,” Caleb repeated. “Mommy could die.”
“Shut up, Caleb, or I’ll send you to Aunt Vanessa’s house.”
“You can’t do that. Aunt Vanessa’s not leaving.”
“Yes, I can. Uncle Sean is there. I’ll put you in a cab and send you right this second.”
“You’re not the boss.”
“Yes, I am,” Emma said. “I’m the boss until Daddy or Grandma comes back. And imagine what Daddy will do if I tell him you’re saying scary things about Mommy.”
Caleb rose and went to a mud-colored bench away from Emma and Gracie. He crossed his arms and started kicking the wooden slats with his heels. If her father saw, he’d kill her. “Stop or they’ll throw us out.” Her brother looked up; his dark-brown eyes reminded Emma of war orphans in Time. “Come back here.”
He shook his head, not looking at her, using his dirty camp T-shirt to wipe underneath his eyes.
“Come on.” Emma patted the seat next to her. “I’ll get you a candy bar.”
Caleb shuffled back, climbed next to Emma, and put his head back on her lap. “Reese’s Pieces?” He snuck his right thumb near his mouth and rubbed it against his lower lip.
“Sure. Reese’s Pieces.”
Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha’Olam, please keep my mother alive.
When her father finally showed up, it seemed like they’d been waiting for a year.
“I can’t stay.” Daddy sat next to Gracie and kissed the top of her head. “I need to get back upstairs, baby cakes.”
He handed Emma a twenty-dollar bill. “You know where the cafeteria is, right?” He pointed left. “You can see it from here.”
Why wasn’t he telling them more?
“Grandma already took us, but—”
“Are you hurt, Daddy?” Gracie interrupted, gently touching the blood spotting his shirt.
“Don’t worry, cookie—I’m fine,” he said. “And Mommy will be fine. Be good and listen to Emma. You too, Caleb.” He gave them each a stiff hug, holding them away from his chest.
“What happened, Daddy?” Emma asked.
“It was an accident—just like Grandma said. I don’t have time to explain now.”
“Can we see Mommy?” Gracie asked.
“She’s in surgery. Then she’ll be in a special recovery room for a long time.”
Emma put her hand on her father’s arm. “Why is she being operated on?”
“She has some head injuries. It’s too complicated to describe—we’ll talk later, I promise, honey. Mommy will be fine,” he repeated.
“Are they operating on her head?” Caleb asked her when their father left. “How do they do that?”
Emma reached over and pulled Caleb on her lap, pressing her cheek to his thin back. “Mommy will be fine. Like Daddy said.”
Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha’Olam, please keep my mother alive.
CHAPTER 8
Ben
Ben sat in the surgical waiting room, his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. The position killed him, digging the tightly wrapped tape deeper into the skin around his chest, but it kept him from having to look at his mother-in-law or sister-in-law. Pain spread with every breath and move. He didn’t tell Anne, certain she’d drag him back to the emergency room. He didn’t want painkillers or his mother-in-law’s sympathy. Most of all, he didn’t want Vanessa’s suspicious looks. He drew up his shoulders and took the shallowest breaths possible.
The waiting room had to be fifty degrees, if that. Vanessa had gone to his house, his being the closest to the hospital, and grabbed a pile of sweatshirts. Anne wore Ben’s gray Red Sox pullover; it hung to midthigh, her cotton skirt fanning out below. Vanessa had Maddy’s orange fleece zipped up to her chin.
“Why do they keep this room so damn cold?” Vanessa asked.
“Because of the surgery, I think,” Anne answered. “The temperature needs to be low when they operate.”
That made no sense. They weren’t operating in the fucking waiting room. The operating room had to be on a se
parate circuit, right?
He didn’t correct her. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. A wave of pain and nausea passed through him. He tucked his hands under his armpits.
“Don’t you want a sweatshirt?” Anne reached for the bag.
“No. Don’t.” He held his hand out to stop the coming parade of clothes she’d offer. “I’m fine.”
“You’re shivering, for goodness’ sake. Look at you.”
Dirt and dried blood from Ben’s torn lip streaked his white shirt. A slash on the right side of the fabric mapped a bandaged gash. “I’m fine, Anne.”
“When’s Daddy getting here?” Vanessa wrapped her arms around herself. “What’s taking so long?”
“He’s at police headquarters.” Anne took Vanessa’s hand. “He wanted to see what’s what. What the report said. He’s meeting Arnie.”
Ben said nothing. His father-in-law probably had everything the cops had by now, courtesy of Arnie. Yet another one of his connections, no doubt. The city, the whole fucking state, was nothing but a collection of who knew whom. Photos from the scene. Close-ups of where Maddy had landed. Blowups of Ben’s car. All of them were no doubt clutched in his father-in-law’s fist.
“He should be here.” Vanessa brought her knees up to her chest. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’m not alone. You’re here. Ben’s here. Daddy would be going crazy with nothing to do. You know Daddy.”
They all knew Daddy. Waiting rooms and Jake Greene weren’t a match. Anne was right about her husband. He’d break in and try to oversee the operation. He’d be on the phone calling his real estate clients, seeing if one was a brain specialist or could recommend one. The best. The top guy. His daughter needed the top guy. Everyone in Jake’s family needed the top guy.
“He’ll have the whole thing figured out by the time he gets here,” Vanessa said.
The idea that Jake could figure it all out sickened Ben. As his postaccident fog lifted degree by degree, details stood out. His speed. Pushing the traction-control button for all the wrong reasons. Overriding the car’s brain to put in his own, increasing his ability to accelerate. Competitive driving functions weren’t designed for idiots racing other idiots in the rain.
“Mr. Illica?” The surgeon’s grizzled beard, thinning salt-and-pepper hair, and ashy skin were studies in gray. Ben had entrusted Maddy to this old man? “She’s out of surgery. The operation went well. She’s in intensive care now—she’ll be there for quite a while.”
Ben struggled to his feet, trying to stand straight, arms crossed over his taped ribs. “How is she?”
“We’ll have to wait before we know much.” The doctor placed a hand on Ben’s arm. “These are touch-and-go hours. She came through—that’s the important thing. The nurse will come in periodically and—”
Ben shook off the doctor’s hand. “If it’s touch-and-go, then what? The surgery went well, but my wife may not make it? What are we looking at?”
“Shh.” Anne put her hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Please, excuse us. You can imagine how shaken my son-in-law is. We all are. Thank you, Dr. Gordon. When can we see her?”
“The nurse will tell you the moment it’s possible. Have something to eat. You’re facing a long road ahead.” He backed away with an expression somewhere between concern and relief, appearing grateful that his time with the family was over.
The inner-sanctum door closed behind the doctor, and Anne again touched Ben. Lightly. As though he might flame up and burn her. “Bennie.”
“What, Anne?” He heard his own impatience, his search for an enemy to smack around, but he couldn’t bear to apologize once more.
“Go easy, sweetheart. We’re not looking to make enemies.”
“Did you hear him? Maddy is just hanging on?” Ben’s voice rose with each word. “He doesn’t know how she is and he’s telling me the operation went well? This is his idea of—”
“Enough,” Vanessa interrupted. “We can’t know what we can’t know. All that matters now is Maddy, not us.”
Ben opened his mouth to continue arguing and then sank back in his chair.
“I’m going to check on the kids,” Vanessa said. She flung her bag over her shoulder. “Should I tell them anything?”
Ben looked up. “Take them home. Please.”
“I can’t leave; I’ll call Sean and have him pick them up.”
“Go with them. Maddy would want you to be with them. She’d hate thinking of them scared.” Ben watched Vanessa’s shoulders sag with defeat when he played his trump card.
“He’s right,” Anne said. “Take them to your house. They shouldn’t be here. We’ll call if there’s any news. I promise.”
Vanessa glared at Ben. She took Anne’s hands in hers. She held them to her lips for a moment and then let go. “What do you need, Mom? I’ll have Sean run it right back to you.”
Anne smoothed back strands from Vanessa’s unkempt blond ponytail. “I’m fine. Get some rest.” She turned to Ben. “Do you need anything?”
He shook his head.
“A clean shirt would look better.” Anne ran her hands over her chest, as though drawing his attention to the blood he wore. “For when Maddy wakes up.”
“Maybe later.” Fighting with Anne was like punching a down pillow. It kept coming up somewhere else, offering yet another soft spot.
“Want to come with me—say good-bye to the kids?” Vanessa cocked her head with her obvious message.
Ben bought time with a sip of cold vegetable soup. The Styrofoam cup had sat on the table for too many hours, and cold sliminess coated his tongue. Pain radiated across his chest each time he moved. “I’ll see them later.”
“Later when?” Vanessa took off the sweatshirt and tied it around her waist. Her arms looked overly tanned next to her yellow sundress. Her healthy skin seemed an affront to the hospital.
“Just send our love,” Anne said.
Vanessa’s face pinched inward. Bright cold fluorescence highlighted where her tan flaked, pink skin showing through the brown. “Fine.” She stood and bent to kiss Anne on the cheek. “I love you,” she said, then turned and walked out.
“Take care of them,” he called after her. His eyes stung.
“How did this happen?” Flint replaced Anne’s usual soft tone. “Was there a problem?”
Problem had an italicized tone. Ben stared at his mother-in-law. She gripped the edge of his sleeve, rolling the hem with such force he thought it might fray.
Ben took a shallow breath. “I feel sick. I shouldn’t have had that old soup.”
Anne grabbed a wastepaper bucket from the corner and held it out. “Here. Now tell me. Before Jake comes. Were you speeding when it happened?”
He straightened as best he could and looked right at Anne. “It was an accident. A horrible accident.”
“You drive like a lunatic. Everyone knows. How fast were you going?”
Ben inched over to the window, tugging at the wood in a fool’s errand, knowing it wouldn’t open but needing to get away from her.
He turned back to face Anne. “You don’t think I’d ever hurt her, do you? Jesus, I love Maddy so much.”
“Of course I don’t think you tried to hurt her.” Anne sank back, deflated. “It’s just—”
As Anne spoke, the door opened, letting a momentary wash of warmer air into the room. His father-in-law stood in the doorway.
“I saw the skid marks. Pictures,” Jake said. “Did you think you were in a rocket, you fucking putz?”
“Jake, stay calm.” Anne stood and tried to embrace him, and when that failed, she reached up to put a hand on his shoulder. Jake’s chest rose and fell as though banded by a blood pressure cuff. He tore off his suit jacket, handed it to Anne, and then rolled up his sleeves.
Ben lowered his head and raked his fingers through his thick hair. “Do you think I did it on purpose?” He looked up at his father-in-law. “Don’t you think I wish I were the one on that operating table?”
�
��I guarantee you, no one wishes that more than me.” Jake shrugged off his wife’s hand. At sixty-seven, he still carried the build of the amateur boxer he’d once been. He fisted his thick hands; ropes of tangled veins and muscles tensed beneath his rolled shirtsleeves. Anne kneaded the empty shoulders of her husband’s suit jacket after hanging it over a chair.
“What? What was so important you had to drive like that? In the rain, for God’s sake. I don’t care what they find—I know it was your fault.”
“The guy behind me. He jammed me up so—”
“Goddamned son of a bitch.” Jake flung words like garbage at Ben’s feet. “Momzer.” Jake jutted his chin, and then translated the Yiddish for Ben. “Bastard.”
CHAPTER 9
Emma
Quiet streets flew by as they made their way to Aunt Vanessa’s house. No stores lined the road; nobody walked; it was just shrubs and flowers and big lawns. Aunt Vanessa made a sharp left and screeched to a stop when she reached the end of her long driveway.
She drove like Emma’s father.
“We’re here.” Her aunt waited a moment before taking the key out of the ignition. She turned to face Caleb and Gracie, putting her hand on Emma’s arm. “Mom will be okay. I just know it.” She opened the car door. “Let’s go.”
Emma, Gracie, and Caleb scrambled to keep up as their aunt rushed down the brick path lined with pink and white hollyhocks. They followed her through the open door and a foyer that was larger than Emma’s bedroom to the living room.
“Did my mother or Ben call?” Vanessa yelled as they entered the house.
“No one’s called. Sorry, love,” Uncle Sean answered from the couch.
Aunt Vanessa slammed her oversized shoulder bag on a leather club chair. “Jesus, Sean, couldn’t you have at least picked up the house?”
Uncle Sean gave her aunt a look that managed to be both reproving and mild. “I know you’re worried. But hush.” Baby Melody was limp in his arms, clutching a bottle, sweaty, her hair lying in damp flat strands like an old man’s. Three-year-old Ursula curled against him, sucking her thumb, wearing only flowered underpants. Yellow and red plastic blocks, stuffed animals, and dolls were strewn around the room. Cloudy glasses and blue bowls caked with spaghetti remains littered the coffee table.
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