Heart of the Night: A Novel

by Barbara Delinsky

  The flight was an uneasy one. The plane had to plow its way through rain clouds that thickened the night. But they landed safely, and an unmarked police car was waiting to drive them directly to the hospital, where a doctor apprised Sam of his mother’s condition.

  She was in the intensive care unit. Having suffered multiple fractures, the most severe to her skull, she was unconscious. The prognosis was bleak.

  Walking down the hall with Sam toward the ICU, Susan could feel his anguish radiating through the fingers that held hers so tightly. She was close enough to him to know what he was feeling far more than fear for his mother’s life. He hadn’t seen the woman in fifteen years. At that moment, he was deeply regretting the separation.

  Susan paused at the door to the glass-enclosed unit. When Sam glanced quickly at her, she whispered, “You go in. She doesn’t know me.”

  But he tugged on her hand. His eyes were wide, pleading in the way of a man not accustomed to pleading.

  Susan didn’t hesitate any longer. She’d made a decision back in Providence, when she’d put away the scotch, that she wanted to be there for Sam. He needed her now.

  Janet Craig looked pale and fragile against the pristine white sheets. A small woman, she’d reached her midfifties with a minimum of wear. Only the finest of lines, sprinkled at the corners of her eyes and mouth, marred the softness of her skin. Her hair was the same natural brown shade as Sam’s.

  While Susan saw all that, Sam only saw the bandages that swept diagonally around her head, the tube that was taped to her mouth, the machines by her bed, the needles that forged entry to her veins. She was his mother. He knew what she was supposed to look like, and it wasn’t this.

  “Mom,” he whispered. Dropping Susan’s hand, he bent over the still figure on the bed. “Mom?” He cleared his throat and forced himself to speak louder. “Mom? It’s Sam.”

  His voice cracked at his name. Afraid she would cry, Susan pressed a fist to her mouth. Her throat was so tight that she doubted she’d have been able to say a word. But Sam either had greater strength than she, greater determination, or both.

  “I’m here, Mom. Just got in a little while ago. The doctors are taking really good care of you. You’ll be fine. Just fine.” He paused. “Can you hear me, Mom?”

  His mother showed no sign of awareness.

  Sam wore a look of raw fear when he glanced up at Susan, but there was little she could say to ease his grief. The doctor hadn’t left much room for hope.

  With the lightest of hands, Sam touched his mother’s cheek. His fingers trembled on her hair, then on her arm. Taking care around the intravenous needle, he slipped his fingers through hers.

  “When I was little,” he murmured, moving his thumb over her pale skin, “she used to hold my hand. I always thought it was because she was afraid I’d run off and get lost, and she probably was, but I liked it when she did it. She wasn’t an openly loving person, but when she held my hand I felt safe. Loved.”

  He leaned close again. “I’m here, Mom. I’m going to take care of you. Just open your eyes and look at me. Know I’m here.”

  Susan pressed her fist harder against her mouth.

  “It’s Sam. Can you hear me, Mom? It’s Sam.” He held his breath, watching in vain for a response that didn’t come. After an interminable minute, he let that breath escape. “I’m going to see Dad now.” His voice broke again, but he forced himself on. “I’ll be back, Mom. You work on getting better for me. Okay?”

  Tears were pooling on his lower lids when he turned to face Susan. He took her hand again, then, as though knowing that he needed more, drew her close and held her tight. His voice was a ragged whisper by her ear. “It shouldn’t have happened this way. Not this way.”

  Susan didn’t know whether he was talking about the accident or his reunion with his family. Neither should have happened that way, she knew. “Don’t give up hope,” she whispered. “Modern medicine can do wonders.”

  “They think she’s already brain-dead.”

  “Wait till they know it. Don’t assume the worst until then.”

  Dragging in a ragged breath, Sam straightened. He glanced back at his mother, called, “I’ll be back, Mom,” then took Susan’s hand again and led her out to the hall, where he looked down at her. “Do you want to go somewhere to wait?”

  Susan knew where he was going. He had to identify the bodies of his father, sister, and brother-in-law. It promised to be a heartrending task. He was giving her an out.

  But she shook her head. “I’d rather stay with you.”

  “You don’t have to. I’m okay.”

  “I want to.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded.

  He didn’t smile; she doubted he was capable of it just then. But the way he held her hand, keeping her close by his side as they walked toward the elevator, told her that he appreciated what she was doing, and as long as that was the case, she knew she’d do whatever she could to ease his pain, even if it meant increasing her own.

  The elevator opened. They entered it and began the short trip to hell.

  Fifteen minutes later, the same elevator returned them to the ICU floor. They were both paler and more drawn. Heads down, they started down the dim corridor toward Janet Craig’s room, only to stop at the sound of Sam’s name and look up.

  A policewoman stood by the nurse’s station holding the hand of a tousle-haired little girl who looked to be no more than five. The child was wearing a light jacket and sneakers over flannel pajamas. Her eyes were large and frightened.

  For a minute, Sam didn’t breathe. Then he whispered, “My God. Oh my God.” Slowly, he approached the little girl. Though his voice had risen above a whisper, it was hoarse. “Courtney?” He reached out to touch her face, but she shrank back against her custodian.

  “She was with a sitter,” the policewoman explained softly. “It’s better that she be with family.”

  Bewildered, Sam looked from the woman to the child and back. “Where’s John’s family?” He’d thought for sure that his brother-in-law had parents or siblings in the area.

  But the policewoman silently shook her head.

  The look Sam sent Susan verged on panic. She was feeling a little of it herself. If Sam’s mother died, Sam would inherit a daughter. He didn’t know what to do with a child. Neither did she.

  Someone had to do something, though. The policewoman couldn’t stand there forever holding the child’s hand, and the child was obviously scared.

  Trying to recall what people had said to her when she was six and had been separated from her mother and Savannah in Saks, Susan came forward and squatted before the little girl. “Courtney’s a beautiful name,” she said gently. “Do you have a middle one?”

  The child nodded.

  Susan waited. When the name wasn’t forthcoming, she said, “I bet it’s Jane.”

  The child shook her head.

  “Alice?” Susan asked.

  Another headshake.

  Susan tried again. “Dawn?”

  “It’s Marie,” Sam told her without taking his eyes from his niece.

  Susan gave him a quick glance of thanks, then turned back to Courtney. “He knows that because he’s your uncle. His name’s Sam. Samuel John Craig.”

  “I don’t know him,” the child said in a small, high voice.

  “That’s because he lives way off in Rhode Island. But he’s your mommy’s brother.”

  “Where is my mommy? She was supposed to bring me a Kit Kat, but it wasn’t there when I woke up.”

  Susan tossed a helpless glance in Sam’s direction. At her silent bidding, he, too, hunkered down. “It’s still the middle of the night,” he said. “Are you tired?”

  The child shook her head. Her eyes were wary, her tiny lips pressed together as though she might cry.

  Susan didn’t want that to happen. Nor did she want another question about Courtney’s mom. Eventually the answer would have to come, but now wasn’t the time. Insti
nct told her that it was critical to establish rapport with the child.

  So she exclaimed softly, “Oh my, what’s this?” The tip of something promising was peeking from the child’s jacket pocket. Very carefully pulling on a furry white ear, she extricated a small stuffed bunny.

  “That’s Peter,” Courtney told her.

  “Peter Rabbit?” Susan cradled the miniature creature in her hand. “He’s adorable!”

  “The Easter bunny brought him. They’re cousins.”

  “Peter and the Easter bunny? You must be very special for the Easter bunny to give you one of his cousins.”

  One shoulder moved in a half-pint shrug, while she pinched in the corner of her mouth.

  Sam spoke then. “Do you have any cousins of your own? Any people cousins?” He was having trouble grasping the fact that he might be the child’s only living relative.

  Courtney went silent again and shook her head.

  Susan knew what Sam was getting at. In an attempt to help, she said, “You must have had quite some Easter to get a bunny like this. Did your grandma make dinner?”

  “Mommy did,” the little girl told her.

  “Were your grandma and grandpa there?”

  Courtney nodded.

  “Who else was there?”

  “Just my daddy.”

  “Any aunts and uncles?”

  Courtney shook her head, then said in that small, high voice, “I don’t have any of those. Betsy Winters says I can have some of hers. She hates them.”

  Sam remembered all the times he’d tried to send things to his niece, and he felt a sudden urge to take the child in his arms. But she’d made it clear that he frightened her, so, instead, he said, “You have an uncle now, Courtney. I’ll take good care of you.”

  “I want my mommy.”

  “Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?”

  “I want my mommy.”

  “How about a Kit Kat? I’ll bet we could find one somewhere in a machine.”

  “I don’t want your Kit Kat,” she said. Her chin was beginning to tremble. “I want my mommy’s.”

  Susan’s heart was breaking, not only for the child but for Sam. He was doing his best to put the little girl at ease, but he hadn’t had much practice with children. And even if he’d been an expert, he wasn’t at his best. The family he hadn’t seen for fifteen years, but had held in his heart far longer than that, had suddenly been tom from him. He was in mild shock.

  Susan shot a beseechful glance at the policewoman, thinking that maybe she’d know something brilliant to say. But the woman was younger than Susan, wore no wedding band, and had “I’m only the courier” stamped on her face. Even as Susan looked at her, she glanced at her watch.

  Courtney continued to stare at Sam. “Is he a boy or a girl?” she asked no one in particular.

  Grateful for the diversion, Susan answered. “Sam? He’s a boy.”

  “But he’s got long hair. Only girls have long hair.”

  “Boys do sometimes. Sam’s is only long in back. I kinda like it.”

  “I don’t. I don’t like him. I don’t want him for my uncle.”

  The policewoman did speak then, showing more insight than Susan would have credited her with moments before. “I think you’re being used as a scapegoat, Mr. Craig.”

  Sam could understand that. It didn’t make things any easier for him, though. Nor did thinking how much better things would have been if the child had known him. That was water over the dam.

  But something had to be done. Marshaling his thoughts, Sam reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his badge and identification. “My name’s Sam,” he told Courtney, “just like Susan said. I’m a detective with the police department.” He offered the leather folder that held the badge and ID to the child. “Want to hold it?”

  Courtney was still looking wary, but she did raise one small hand to take the folder.

  “I don’t wear a uniform,” Sam went on, “because that scares people off sometimes. I try to look like just anybody on the street.” As he said it, he realized that wouldn’t make any sense to the child. If she’d never seen a man with long hair, she wasn’t going to believe that he looked like just anybody on the street, and he wasn’t about to tell her about rapists, pushers, and pimps. “Do you really think my hair’s too long?”

  Courtney nodded.

  “I could cut it if that would make you feel better.”

  She moved her head and shoulder in a way that said she didn’t know whether that would make her feel better or not.

  “Maybe you’ll think about it and let me know,” he said.

  Without giving an answer, Courtney looked at Susan. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  Susan swallowed, then stood. “Okay.” She slid her damp palms down the sides of her jeans and held out her hand.

  Courtney looked up at the policewoman, who said, “You go ahead. I’ll bet Susan’s even better at pajama snaps than I am.” She held her hand, to which Courtney still clung, out to Susan.

  “I’m great at pajama snaps,” Susan said as she took the child’s hand. Knowing that the policewoman would be gone before she returned, she mouthed a quick “Thank you,” then turned to Sam, who had risen also. “Why don’t you go down the hall?” she suggested softly, cocking her head in the direction of his mother’s room. “Courtney and I will take our time. We’ll go exploring. Maybe we’ll even find some hot chocolate and doughnuts.” She gave the child’s hand a playful tug. “How does that sound?”

  Courtney made the same I-don’t-know gesture with her head and shoulder, but the neutrality of the response didn’t bother Susan at all. She was feeling an odd sense of control. And she was helping Sam.

  He knew it and was grateful. After fifteen long years, he wanted to spend some time with his mother. There were things he wanted to say to her, whether she heard him or not, before she died.

  Seeking a bit of Susan’s warmth, he curved his hand around the back of her neck. His eyes showed the thanks that he couldn’t put into either a smile or words. He did manage a small smile for Courtney because he knew how much she needed it. Then, with a knot in his throat, he watched the two of them head off down the hall.

  His mother died late that afternoon. He’d been with her through most of the day and was holding her hand when her heart finally stilled. Aware of what had to be done, he forced himself through the business of arranging for the funerals. He spent a sad hour walking through the house he’d grown up in, then joined Susan and Courtney at his sister’s house, less than a mile away.

  Late Thursday night, Susan reached Savannah at Jared’s. “I didn’t want you to worry,” she said after she’d explained where she was and why, but that was only one of the reasons she’d called. She felt as though her own life had taken a drastic turn. She needed Savannah’s levelheadedness and encouragement.

  “I feel so badly for Sam. He’s crushed.”

  Savannah, who loved Sam in her own platonic way, grieved for him, too. “How’s he handling it?”

  “He hasn’t broken down and torn at his clothes, if that’s what you mean, but he’s in awful pain. It’s there in his eyes. Who wouldn’t be? He’s just lost both of his parents and his only sibling. And he’s become the father of a child who’s as upset as he is.”

  “Does the little girl know the truth?”

  “Sam told her tonight. He figured he had to, but I’m wondering whether it would have been better to have a priest do it. Courtney’s decided that Sam’s the bad guy in all this. She doesn’t like him very much, which doesn’t bode well, considering that she’s going to be living with him for the next thirteen years.”

  “Then he’ll be bringing her back to Providence?”

  “There’s no one else at all. He has some distant cousins; there are some on his brother-in-law’s side. But none of them know Courtney. None are even close enough to know what’s happened. And even if some one of them offered to take her, I doubt Sam would let her go. An
d he shouldn’t. She’s his sister’s child.”

  Twirling the telephone cord around her fingers, Susan spoke in a loud, desperate whisper. “What am I going to do, Savvy? I’m not ready to be a mother. I have enough trouble wondering whether I can be what Sam wants, and now all of a sudden this little girl comes along. She’s adorable. I really like her, and she’s taken to me more than she has to Sam, for what it’s worth. But she’s a child, Savvy. She’s little more than a baby. I’m lousy with kids. What am I going to do?”

  “First off,” Savannah said, “you’re going to calm down. You won’t be any good to anyone unless you do.”

  “You don’t understand,” Susan went on in that same frantic half-whisper. “She has to be taken care of. I’m talking the most basic needs. While Sam was at the hospital this morning, Courtney and I came back here. I had to help her get dressed. I had to make her lunch. I had to figure out something to do to keep her busy. She needs help taking a bath and brushing her teeth and combing her hair. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Sam may not be thinking about it yet; he’s still trying to deal with the shock of the deaths. But I’m thinking about it. Courtney needs a room to sleep in. She needs clothes. She has to be enrolled in school. She has to be looked after while Sam’s at work, and you know what his schedule’s like.”

  She paused to take a breath. “I mean, talk about putting pressure on a relationship. I’m not sure where I stand with Sam. He’s never mentioned marriage. I’m his lover. That’s it. His lover. So what happens to that, now that he’s an instant father? What am I doing, Savvy?”

  Savannah used the silence that followed as a buffer between emotion and reason. “What you’re doing,” she said slowly and gently, “is helping Sam cope with an incredibly frightening situation.”

  “I’m scared to death myself. How can I possibly help him?”

  “You did it today. You took care of Courtney. You might not know what to do with a child, but you managed today. She survived, didn’t she?”

  “Barely.”

  “Barely is better than not at all. The poor child must be feeling lost and lonely.”

  “So am I. Sam’s sound asleep. We were up all last night, and today’s been a nightmare. But he sleeps while I sit here and worry.” She moaned, then muttered, “God, I need a drink.”