I walked slowly to the elevator. It seemed to me I could hear Michael singing somewhere. He was singing that love song he had sung when we had had our first private lesson. I began to hum along softly. I stepped into the elevator and went down to the lobby where the sound of Michael's singing was even louder. The doorman opened the door for me and stood back.
"Do you hear him?" I asked. "Isn't it beautiful?"
"Huh? Hear who?"
He watched me step into the snowfall. The flakes struck my cheeks and eyes, but I welcomed the coolness which to me were as soft as Michael's kisses. He was just down the corner, singing. How romantic. I smiled and walked on, his voice drawing me, his promises of love growing stronger and stronger as I moved forward. But when I reached the corner, I found he was singing from another corner, again, just ahead of me.
Car horns blared as I walked on, ignoring everything but Michael.
"I'm coming, my love," I whispered, and then, I began to sing along, just as I had that first day. Soon I would be in his arms as I had been and he would kiss me again.
The snow was blinding, but I didn't need to see where I was going. Michael's voice kept me in the right direction. I could barely make out the traffic lights. Were they red or green? It didn't matter. Everyone in the world was watching us now, waiting and watching. The world was our audience. In moments there would be enormous applause, just the way I had always dreamt there would be.
I raised my voice and sang louder. He was only a few feet away now. I could see him standing there, his arms extended toward me.
"Oh Michael," I cried.
And then I heard the sound of a car horn. It seemed right on top of me.
There was the squeal of brakes and something brushed across my right leg. It sent me spinning, but I felt as if I were rising, floating up into the snow storm, whirling around and around, going higher and higher.
Until all went black.
11
NOWHERE TO TURN
I was falling through a great white tunnel, and as I fell, I spun around and around. Each time I turned, I saw another familiar face. There was Momma Longchamp looking so sad and tired; there was Daddy Longchamp with his eyes down looking ashamed; there was Jimmy holding back his tears in anger, and then there was baby Fern smiling and extending her arms toward me.
I dropped farther and farther down the tunnel and slipped past Grandmother Cutler who scowled. I saw Randolph looking distracted and busy, and I saw my mother, her face all pink, her head resting comfortably on a white silk pillow. Right below her was Clara Sue smiling gleefully at my helpless descent. Then Philip emerged, his eyes full of lust.
Finally, there was Michael, smiling at first, and then his smile evaporated and he became smaller and smaller and smaller as he fell below me, disappearing.
"Michael!" I cried. "Michael, don't leave me! Michael!"
I heard voices around me.
"Look at the monitor. Something's happening."
"She's coming out of it."
"Call Doctor Stevens."
"Dawn," I heard someone say. "Dawn, open your eyes. Come on, Dawn. Open your eyes."
My eyelids fluttered.
"Dawn."
Slowly, the whiteness around me began to take shape. I saw a milk-white wall and a large window, the tan curtain drawn closed. My eyes moved to what was nearer to me and I saw a metal pole holding an I.V. bottle. I followed the tube from it to my arm. When I turned my head, I saw a nurse looking down at me. She smiled. She had soft blue eyes and light brown hair and she looked like she was no older than twenty-five.
"Hi," she said. "How are you feeling?"
"Where am I?" I asked. "How did I get here?"
"You're in a hospital, Dawn. You were in an accident," she said calmly.
"An accident? I don't remember any accident," I said. I tried to move and did feel very stiff.
"Take it easy at first," she said. "The doctor will be here in a moment to tell you more." She brushed back my hair with the palm of her hand and fixed my pillow so I would be more comfortable.
"But what kind of an accident was I in?" I asked.
"You were hit by a car. Luckily, the car wasn't going too fast at the time, and you were just grazed really, but you were thrown back and knocked unconscious by the fall. You've been in a coma."
"A coma?" I looked around again. I could hear other nurses and doctors talking in the hallway just outside my door. "How long have I been here?"
"Today is the fourth day," she said.
"Four days!" I tried to sit up, but I got dizzy quickly and left my head on the pillow..
"Well, well, well," the doctor said, entering with another nurse, one who looked older and not as friendly. "Welcome back to the world," he said, coming to my side. "I'm Doctor Stevens."
"Hello," I said in a small voice.
"Hello, yourself," he replied. He looked like a man in his late fifties. He had dark brown hair, his temples a distinguished-looking gray. But his light brown eyes twinkled like the eye of a much younger man. He had a round face, even a bit pudgy. There was a dimple in his chin. He was stout with a neck like a wrestler and probably only about five feet eight or nine, but he touched me gently and smiled at me kindly.
"What happened to me?" I asked.
"I told her about the accident," the younger nurse said.
"That's what happened to you," the doctor said. "You were caught in a snow storm and were hit by a car just hard enough to spin you around and send you flying backwards. You must have struck your head on some hard-packed snow. The blow was sufficient to render you unconscious and you haven't been eager to regain consciousness since," he said, his eyes more inquisitive and curious now as he peered down at me. "All your vital signs are good and you have no fractures.
"However," he continued, his voice lower and even softer now as he brought his face closer to mine and took my hand into his, "I'm sure you are aware that you're pregnant."
The words brought tears to my eyes, for it reminded me quickly of Michael and his desertion of me. I swallowed back my tears and nodded.
"You were trying to hide it?" he asked. "That's why your family wasn't aware?"
"Yes," I said, barely audible. I expected a frown and a reprimand, but he simply closed and opened his eyes gently and smiled.
"The baby is a resilient one, for sure," he said. "Ordinarily, a mother would be in danger of losing her child as a result of such an accident, but everything is fine in that department."
A lump came to choke my throat and my eyes filled with tears.
"We'll start giving you some real food and get you off the I.V. In a day or so, you should be up and around. After that, our observation of you will be complete and you can go. I don't foresee any other complications," he added, smiling. "Any questions?"
"Does anyone know I'm here?" I asked quickly.
"Oh, yes. In fact," he said, "there's a young lady out in the lobby. She's been waiting hours and hours, coming back each day to see how you are. She's a very good friend and she's been very worried. Ready for a little company?" he asked.
"Oh yes, please. It must be Trisha," I said.
"Okay. We'll remove the I.V. and I'll have them bring you some soft foods and liquids. You'll be a little dizzy for a while until you regain your equilibrium and your strength, but that will pass. And your right thigh will be sore for a week or so more. That's where the car struck you. The main thing is that you eat whatever you are given to eat and don't try to do too much at one time. Okay?" he said, patting my hand.
"Yes. Thank you."
He nodded at the nurse and she began to remove the I.V. He made some notations on my chart at the foot of the bed. Then he smiled at me again and left with the older nurse. The young nurse turned a lever and raised the bed so I was in more of a sitting position. Even that little movement made me dizzy for a moment and I had to keep my eyes closed until it was over.
"I'll be right back with something for you to eat and drink," she said. "And I'll
send your friend in."
"Thank you," I said. I took some deep breaths and tried to recall what had happened, but everything was a blur. I couldn't even remember going to Michael's apartment. All I was able to summon up were scattered images—an older man's face, Michael's bedroom looking different, and the little Christmas tree in the corner in the living room. Recalling it brought tears back to my eyes.
"Hi," Trisha said, stepping through the doorway. She had her dark blue wool jacket open and wore a white scarf. She had a small, gift-wrapped box in her left hand. Her hair was brushed back and tied in a ponytail. Her cheeks were still flushed from the cold weather, but she looked so fresh and bright, it was cheerful just looking at her within this white, bland hospital world.
"Hi," I replied and held out my hand. She took it quickly.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"Tired, confused and a little sore. I get dizzy every time I lift my head from the pillow, but the doctor just told me that would soon go away as I eat and get stronger."
"I brought you some candy," she said, placing the box on the table beside my bed. "So you can get fat and ugly."
"Thank you." My smile faded. When we stared at each other. "You know what happened to me?" I asked. She nodded and looked down, still holding my hand. "I went to his apartment, but he was gone; he deserted me," I said.
She looked up sharply.
"He's a horrible person to do this, horrible. I wish I had known it was Michael Sutton all the time. I would have warned you to stay away from him. Not that you would have listened to me, I guess," she added.
"Maybe he's just afraid of losing his career," I said.
"No. He's just selfish." She looked toward the doorway and then leaned closer to me. "Is the baby all right?"
"Yes." Using the doctor's words, I said, "Everything is fine in that department."
"What are you going to do about it now?" she asked quickly.
"I don't know. It's too late to do anything but have it. Anyway, I want it," I said firmly.
"You do?"
"I don't care what Michael is like now. I loved him and he must have loved me a little. The baby is a result of the good things, the nice things," I added, remembering. "The little Christmas tree is still there. We were going to have such a wonderful Christmas and New Year's together," I moaned.
"Don't," Trisha said sternly. "You will get yourself very sick and be in here longer."
I bit down on my lower lip and nodded. The nurse returned with a tray of juice and Jell-O.
"Start with this," she said, placing the bed table over me and setting the tray on it. She fit the straw into the container of juice. My fingers trembled as I brought it to my lips.
"I'll help her," Trisha offered.
"Thank you," the nurse said, smiling, and left us. Trisha held the straw for me while I drank. It seemed like ages and ages since my mouth and throat had experienced any food, and not just three days or so. I never thought it would be so great an effort to sip juice.
"What's going on back at the house?" I asked after taking a breath. "Agnes must be fit to be tied."
"Oh, don't ask. When the police came and told her, she went racing through the apartment house, wringing her hands and telling everyone that she thought we were on a ship that was going down. Mrs. Liddy had her hands full calming her. All she kept chanting was, 'Nothing like this has ever happened before. It's not my fault.' Finally, she changed into one of her mourning outfits and paraded about like a bereaved person. It got on my nerves because it was as if you had died. Whenever she spoke about you, it was always in the past tense, telling us what a shame it was. You had so much talent and you were such a pretty girl, but you were too spoiled.
"Finally, I lost my temper and screamed at her. 'She's not dead, Agnes. Stop talking like that!' I cried. But it didn't do much good. She looked at me sadly and shook her head as if I were the one who was crazy and not her. All I could do was walk away. I came up here every free moment I had and waited for you to wake up."
"I know. They told me. Thank you for caring so much, Trisha," I said.
"You don't have to thank me for that, silly face. Look at you lying here like this. Just get yourself better and stronger and get out of here. I don't like hospitals. They're too full of sick people," she said and we laughed. It hurt to laugh. My stomach muscles were so sore, but I didn't mind.
"I'm sure she's called my family," I said. "You can see how much they care. No one's here."
Trisha nodded.
"I don't care anyway," I said.
"You better eat some Jell-O now," Trisha advised and spoon-fed me.
Just being up and eating that small amount exhausted me. I could barely keep my eyes open to listen to Trisha's description of events at school. Finally, the nurse returned to take away the tray and advised her to leave.
"The next time you come, she will be much more alert," she promised. "She needs to rest now. That's all."
"I'll be back tomorrow," Trisha said. She squeezed my hand. "I'll tell Agnes how well you're doing and maybe she will change from a black dress to a blue one and put on some makeup."
I was too weak and tried to laugh. I barely smiled. Trisha kissed me on the cheek, but I didn't hear or see her leave. I was already in a deep sleep again.
When I awoke that evening, I was given hot cereal and tea. I tried to stay awake as long as I could and listened to the sounds coming from the hallway as the nurses and doctors went about their business seeing to other patients. But I dozed off and on.
The next morning I did feel stronger and a lot hungrier. I was given soft boiled eggs and toast. Doctor Stevens stopped by and took my pulse, listened to my heart and checked my eyes.
"You're coming along fast now," he said. "Maybe just a day or so more."
I ate a good lunch and even opened the box of candy Trisha had brought and ate two pieces. I gave some to the nurses, too. A nurse's aide brought me some magazines and I was able to read for nearly an hour. Late in the afternoon, Trisha returned with school news and a description of what was happening at the house.
"It's weird," she said. "I told Agnes how well you were doing, but she didn't seem to hear a word I said. She talks about you as if you were gone, as if you were one of her memories. At least she's wearing makeup and bright clothing and back to her dramatic self."
"I'm going to try to finish school," I said. "It's still very important to me."
She nodded and described Michael's replacement.
"He's tall and thin and wears these bifocals that keep slipping down the bridge of his nose. The girls tell me he's very mechanical. They're already walking around the school imitating him: 'A one and a two and a one and a two, and . . ."
I started to laugh. "Quite a change from the glamorous Michael Sutton, huh?" I said.
"Glamorous," she repeated, making it sound dirty. "I've got to shoot off," she said. "I have dance practice. Oh, I almost forgot," she said, reaching into her coat pocket to produce a letter. "This came for you yesterday and I got to it before Agnes did. She's been sending all your mail back."
"Why?"
Trisha shrugged.
"Who can explain why Agnes does anything. I thought you would want this one. It's from Jimmy."
"Jimmy!" I took it from her quickly. "Oh, thank you, Trisha."
"It's no big deal. Well, I hope the doctor releases you tomorrow, but if he doesn't, I'll stop by again in the afternoon." She kissed me on the cheek.
"Thank you, Trisha. Thank you for being my best friend in all the world," I said, tears flooding my eyelids.
"Don't worry," she replied. "I'll make you pay for it somehow. Maybe you will have to take my turn serving and cleaning up the dinner dishes for the rest of the term."
"Gladly," I said.
"See you," she cried and was gone. I sat there staring after her a moment. It was wonderful having a friend like Trisha during these horrible and trying times. But it was times like this when you found out who were your real friends
. Out of all the good things that had happened to me in New York City, my work with Madame Steichen, my being chosen for Michael's class, the compliments I received from the other teachers, the shows and trips and all the excitement, nothing was more important than my friendship with Trisha. I realized that now and hoped and prayed we would always stay close.
I ground away my tears with my small fists and turned my attention to Jimmy's letter. How good it was to have it, I thought, even though I didn't deserve it. Not after the way I had betrayed him and his love. I would have to tell him soon now, I thought, and that would be one of the hardest things I had ever done.
I tore open the envelope gently and pulled out his letter. Then I sat back and began to read.
Dear Dawn,
Winter here has been very hard. We've had one blizzard after another, but the army doesn't pay much attention to weather. We have to go out and do what we're supposed to do no matter what.
You'll be happy to know I've been promoted to Private First Class. I'm part of a motor pool of mechanics who service tanks. Pretty impressive, huh?
Anyway, I couldn't help but notice how your letters continue to get shorter and far between. I suppose this means you've been very busy with your career, so I'm happy for you. I tell everyone I have a girlfriend who is studying to be a singing star.
I have one bit of news from the home front. Daddy's new wife is pregnant. I'm having a little trouble getting used to the idea of a new brother or sister, especially with Momma gone. It all seems so strange.
But he sounds happy about it. I think he's hoping for another daughter, one just like you.
I didn't tell him, but there can be only one you.
Love,
Jimmy
I put the letter down and closed my eyes. How my heart ached. Poor Jimmy, I thought, so far away and so trusting and loving. How would I begin to tell him what I had done and what had happened to me?
When the nurse came to look in on me again, I asked her for some paper and a pen to write a letter, but I never got to write it. Before I had a chance, I heard the sounds of sharp footsteps in the corridor outside my room, footsteps accompanied by the tap, tap, tap of a cane. I gazed curiously through my doorway and a few moments later, Grandmother Cutler appeared.
Cutler 2 - Secrets of the Morning Page 22
