by J. L. Perry
“Not too good, mum,” I say. I don’t know what else to say. I put my head in my hands, as the tears fall from my eyes again. My mum puts her arm around me.
A few minutes later, one of the police officers walks into the room. “Mr Cavanagh,” he says hesitantly. “I am sorry to disturb you again, but we need somebody to identify Mr. Brown’s body. His mother is in no position to do it.”
Before I get a chance to answer him, my father stands up. “I will do it,” he says. “My son has been through enough today.” I give him a small smile. I am grateful that I don’t have to do it. Facing that right now will definitely send me over the edge. My emotions are already hanging by a thread.
I ask the officer how Chris’ mother took the news. “Not too good at first,” he answers. “Fortunately for her, having dementia at a time like this is a godsend. After a few minutes, she had forgotten who we were and what we had just told her.” That gives me a small amount of peace. I hate the thought of her being all alone, dealing with something as horrific as the death of her only child.
Once my father follows the officer out of the room, I stand up. “I’m going to go and see my daughter,” I say. I hate the thought of her being all alone. Michelle stands up and offers to come with me. She grabs hold of my hand as we walk towards the Maternity ward. Neither one of us say a word. She just holds my hand tightly and walks along beside me. I am thankful for the silence. I’m not ready to talk yet. Of course, I know she will be here for me when I am ready. We have always been there for each other.
We walk into Maternity and I ask the nurse at the desk where I can find my daughter. She asks me my name, then she directs us down the hall to the nursery. The nurse watching the babies asks us what baby we are here to see.
“Baby Cavanagh,” I answer.
“Are you the father?” she asks.
I nod. “My wife is in Intensive Care and I would like to take my daughter to see her.”
She smiled slightly. “Okay, just wait here a second while I clear it with the doctor.”
Michelle and I walk over to the tiny bed that my sweet girl is lying in. She is still asleep. My heart tightens as I looked down on her. She is so small and helpless. Thankfully, she is too little to understand that her mother is fighting for her life.
Once the nurse comes back into the room, she informs us that we will need to bathe and change her before we can take her out of the ward. “Do you have any other children, Mr. Cavanagh?” I shake my head. “Okay, well, the doctor explained that your wife will be in Intensive Care for a while,” the nurse says, “so I will need to teach you how to bathe and change your daughter. Will you be the one looking after her?” I nod. “That’s good to hear,” she adds with a smile. “There aren’t enough hands-on fathers, as far as I am concerned.”
She asks if we have a name picked out yet. I clear my throat. “I was going to wait for my wife to wake up before we name her.” She smiles at me sympathetically.
The nurse tells me to pick her up, reminding me to support her head, before instructing me to lay her down on the changing table. “Now unwrap the blanket.” She turns on a heat lamp that is positioned above the changing table. This is the first time I have seen my daughter’s tiny little arms and legs, and I feel a lump rise in my throat as I look over her little body. She has ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes. I know because I count them. She is just perfect.
“She is so small and fragile,” I say in awe.
“That’s because she was born two weeks early. Babies usually put on a lot of body fat in the last two weeks before their birth.”
“Is she going to be okay?” I ask, worried. The nurse smiles and assures me that she will be.
She shows me how to undress my daughter without hurting her. Then she tells me to carry her over to the sink, which she has already filled with warm water. She advises me to always check the temperature before placing the baby in it.
“You don’t want the bath water too hot or too cold,” she says. She tells me what the perfect temperature should be and I make a mental note of it.
Fuck, I wish I had read up on all of this before the birth. There is so much to learn. I just took it for granted that Brooke would be here to guide me through it. Seeing the confused look on my face, Michelle tells me that Brooke received a bath thermomotor as a gift at her baby shower. I am happy to hear that.
The baby starts to cry when I put her in the water, and I panic. “Did I hurt her?” I ask, concerned.
The nurse and Michelle both laugh. “She probably just got a fright,” the nurse assures me. “This is her first bath, but she will get used to it.” It breaks my heart to see her cry, and I am relieved when she stops.
Michelle reaches over and grabs my phone out of my pocket, snapping a few photos. “Something to show Brooke when she wakes up,” she says sadly. I am glad she thought of it because my mind is clogged up with too much other shit. It saddens me to think of what Brooke is missing out on.
Bathing babies is harder than I thought it would be. The water makes them slippery, and it is tricky to hold and wash them at the same time. My nerves are frazzled the whole time. Once she is dried off, I get a crash course on how to properly put on a nappy. God, I have fucking degree from the university, but this shit is so much harder.
Unfortunately, we have to put her back in the hospital clothes. Michelle says she will stop at the penthouse later and pick up some of her own clothes. Brooke had already packed a bag in anticipation of the birth, but things have changed. The thought of my beautiful wife lying in Intensive Care and fighting for her life makes my chest ache again. I need to get back to her.
Once the baby is dressed and wrapped back up in her blanket, I pick her up and kiss her cute little cheek. She smells so good. The nurse asks me to put her back in the baby bed. It is more of a trolley with wheels so you can push her around in it, but I do as she asks. Underneath it is all the things I will need for her…baby wipes, nappies, and cream. There are also spare clothes and a blanket.
Before we leave, the nurse explains the baby’s feeding time to me. “Just come back to the desk down the hall when it is time, and we will make you up a bottle.” I could have sworn the nurse batted her eyes at me, but I choose to ignore it.
As we are walking down the hall, Michelle whispers, “The nerve of her flirting with you. I felt like slapping her,” she snaps. I smile. I know she is just protecting her best friend.
We walk back to ICU. My uncle is still in with Brooke. Michelle asks if she can see her for a few minutes. I know how close they are and how much they love each other.
When my uncle comes out of the room, his eyes are all red and swollen, and I can tell he has been crying. It is hard to see because I know exactly how he is feeling. Apart from the ache in my chest, I am numb and empty inside. He looks down at his granddaughter and smiles. “She is so beautiful. Can I hold her?”
“Of course,” I reply. I think the baby is the only one keeping us all from completely falling apart.
He picks her up and holds her tight to him. He leans down and kisses her chubby cheeks. “Your poppy loves you,” he whispers, a tear rolling down his face. I feel a lump rise in my throat just watching him. He had missed all those years of Brooke growing up, and I am happy that he will get to experience it all through his granddaughter.
When Michelle comes out of the room, she is a mess. I try not to let it affect me, but it is hard. She wraps her arms around me and sobs into my chest. I feel the tears rolling down my face again. I am trying to stay strong, but my heart is in a million fucking pieces. The only thing that can heal it is seeing my beautiful wife unhooked from those machines and out of that bed.
My uncle takes Michelle and leads her down the corridor. I wheel our baby into the room and place her next to Brooke’s bed. She is still lying there, and I feel my heart break all over again. I put my hand under the sheets and hold her hand again.
****
The next forty-eight hours are a blur. I haven’t
left her side. The nurses have started bringing the baby’s bottles down to me, for which I am thankful. I have hardly slept or eaten. Everyone is worried about me, but I don’t care. Brooke is the one fighting for her life, not me. The nurses want to take the baby back to the nursery at night so I can rest, but I don’t want them to. I need her here with me. She is the only thing stopping me from completely losing my mind. I am aching to touch my wife, see her smile, and hear her tell me that she loves me.
The doctors are happy that she has survived the first forty-eight hours. It is just a waiting game now. Tomorrow they are going to give her another brain scan to see if the swelling has gone down.
A few hours later, the nurse comes into the room to tell me that my parents are outside and they want to see me. I get up from beside Brooke’s bed and go into the corridor. My mum pleads with me to go home and get some rest.
“Please, son,” she begs. “You are no good to Brooke or your daughter if you don’t look after yourself.” The doctor says that Brooke would stay in an induced coma for at least another week, maybe more. I still don’t want to leave her, though.
“I am going to sit with Brooke and keep the baby here with me,” she orders, “while your father takes you home to shower, eat and, hopefully, get a few hours’ sleep.” She has that look on her face, the one she used to give me when I was a little boy. I know that look well, and I also know she won’t take no for an answer. So I relent and nod.
With a heavy heart, I walk back into the room to kiss Brooke. I run my hand gently down the side of her face and tell her that I love her. I kiss my daughter on the cheek, telling her I will be back soon. I hate the fact that she doesn’t have a name yet, but I refuse to name her without Brooke having a say.
My mum kisses me on the cheek when I get back out. “I will call you straight away if there is any change,” she assures me. I thank her and walk away, my dad following close behind me.
My dad doesn’t say much on the way to the penthouse, but I’m not surprised. He isn’t a man of many words. I am kind of glad for that today, though, because I don’t feel like talking. The thought of going home knowing Brooke isn’t going to be there is hard to swallow.
I feel completely empty inside as I step off the elevator. Jill is in the kitchen, and immediately walks over and hugs me. “I am so sorry,” she sobs. I don’t say anything. I just stand there. I feel rude because I know she cares for Chris and Brooke, but I feel dead inside.
After a few minutes, my dad clears his throat. “Can you make him something to eat while he takes a shower?”
Jill lets go of me and looks into my eyes. “What would you like?” I shrug my shoulders. I don’t feel like eating, but I know I need to.
I walk upstairs and into the bedroom. There are so many memories in this room. When I sit down on the bed to remove my shoes, I look over at Brooke’s side of the bed and the tears start to fall again. I reach over to pick up her pillow and hug it. It smells just like her.
Fuck, I shouldn’t have come back here.
I eventually get up and walk to the bathroom. Once I am in the shower, I let the hot water cascade down my body. I just want the pain to stop.
After washing my body and hair, I step out of the shower. I shave and brush my teeth, then go back into the bedroom to dress. I feel like I am on autopilot again, just going through the motions.
My dad is sitting at the table drinking coffee and reading the paper when I get back downstairs. He looks up at me and smiles. “You look much better, son.”
I sit down at the table and Jill brings me over a plate. I look down. Jill made me my favourite seafood pasta dish, but the thought of actually eating it turns my stomach.
“Thanks, Jill,” I mumble. She puts her arm on my shoulder and rubs my back. I hear her start to cry again as she turns and walks away.
While forcing my food down, my dad tells me that there is a story in the paper about the accident. “It made the front page. I kept it for you,” he says. “You can read it when you are ready.” He looks up from the paper and takes a deep breath when I ask him what it says.
“Are you sure you are ready to hear this?” he asks. I put down my fork and nod. “They were hit by a drunk driver, son,” he explains with a sigh. “He ran a red light before smashing into the driver’s side of the car. Unfortunately, Chris wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.” He was just looking at me, waiting for my reaction. Then he adds, “The other driver was killed, also.”
I shove my plate across the table and it smashes to the floor. I get up and run my fingers through my hair as I pace the room. Furious isn’t even close to how I am feeling. I am glad that other fucker died. Otherwise, I would have killed him myself.
My dear friend is dead and my wife is fighting for her life all because of a fucking drunk driver! My dad gets up from the table and walks over to me. I stop pacing and just look at him. He looks sad, even a little tortured.
He puts his hand on my shoulder. “I know this is hard for you, son,” he says. “I can only imagine what you are feeling right now.”
I hear the sob escape me before I even feel it. Before I know it, my dad is holding me in his arms. This is the first time in my life that he has ever embraced me. When I was a boy, I would have killed for him to hold me like this. He just holds me tight against him as I cry on his shoulder.
“You don’t deserve this kind of heartache,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry, son. I may have never said this to you before, but I am proud of you and the man you have become.”
Did I just hear that correctly?
I am shocked. The father I had grown up with would have said something like, “Men don’t cry” or “Grow up and be a man”. He has never given me any kind of praise or comfort, and certainly has never told me he is proud of me. I have waited to hear him say those words to me my whole life. Unfortunately, I am too numb to truly appreciate them right now. When I finally calm down, he lets go of me.
“Why don’t you try and get a few hours’ sleep?” he says, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Then I will take you back to the hospital. Your mother and I are worried about you, son.” Again, he shocks me. I have never felt any kind of love from this man before. Honestly, when I was growing up, I thought my old man didn’t give two shits about me. I am starting to wonder if maybe I’ve been wrong.
I just nod and walk up to my room. I know I won’t be able to sleep, but I am going to try.
Once I am in the room, I sit on the side of the bed and think about what my dad said about the accident. It’s strange that Chris wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. He was a fanatic about safety. The whole time he had been my driver, I’d never seen him drive without his seatbelt on. I wonder if he had been wearing one, would he still be here with us? It is just too much to process right now. My head is thumping.
As soon as I rest my head in my hands, I hear a knock on my door. It is my dad with a glass of straight scotch in his hand. “I thought this might help you relax a bit,” he says. “So you can get some sleep.” The glass is nearly full. If it is going to block out some of the pain, I welcome it. I take it and drink it down in one gulp. It burns on the way down, but does nothing to numb the pain. After I give him back the glass, he puts his hand on my shoulder again.
“Try and get some sleep, son.” He gets up off the bed and walks towards the door.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say. He doesn’t answer me, but he stops. He stands there like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. He just nods as he closes the door behind him.
My mind is spinning as I lay back on the bed. I pick up Brooke’s pillow again and inhale her scent. What I wouldn’t give to be holding her in my arms right now. Before I know it, exhaustion overtakes me and I fall asleep.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Logan
When I wake, I see sunlight streaming into the room. My hand instinctively reaches over to Brooke’s side of the bed. Empty. I quickly sit up and look around. Then the last few days come flooding back. My hear
t drops into the pit of my stomach, and my chest starts to ache again.
I get out of bed and slip on a pair of shoes before making my way downstairs. I need to get back to the hospital. My dad is still downstairs, but he is sitting on the lounge now. He stands up when he hears me coming.
“How are you feeling, son?” he asks. “Did you get some sleep?”
“I did. Can we go back to the hospital now?”
“Of course.”
On the way down to the car, he tells me that my mother called. I stop and spin around to him. “What did she say?!”
“There’s no change, son. Your mother has just fed the baby and she is asleep.”
When we get into the car, I say, “Can we take a detour on the way? I would like to call in and see Chris’ mum quickly, if that’s okay. I just want to make sure she is alright.”
“Of course,” he says. I give him the address, and we head in that direction.
When we arrive, the nurse at the desk directs us to her room. She tells us that she is having a bad day today, dementia-wise. She says that she won’t remember us, and that she’s already forgotten about Chris’ accident. In a way, I am glad about that. I don’t know how I would have been able to deal with her breaking down today. I only met her once. She seemed like a sweet old thing, so seeing her crying and upset is something I can’t deal with right now. Honestly, with the way I am feeling, being here is the last thing I want, but I need to do this for Chris. I know how much he loved his mother.
She’s sitting on a small lounge chair when we enter the room. She looks up at us and smiles. “Do you two work here?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, we don’t. We’re friends of yours.”
She smiles. “Aren’t I lucky to have such handsome friends?” she says with a giggle. “Please, won’t you sit down?”
I look over at my dad and he is smiling. He has really blown my mind lately. The new and improved version of him is so much better than the arrogant arsehole I once knew. I suppose being around normal people and away from his toxic sister is starting to rub off on him.
