Palomino

by Danielle Steel

  Charlie looked at him then, realizing something. “If she … if she lives, how long will she be here? Before we can take her back to New York?”

  “Ohh …” The doctor exhaled slowly, staring at the ground as he thought, and then looked back into Charlie's face. “That really is hard to say. I would say though that if she does exceptionally well we could move her in an air ambulance sometime in the next three or four months.”

  Three or four months? “And then?” He dared to say the words.

  “It really is too soon to even think about all this,” the doctor chided, “but you're looking at at least a year in the hospital, Mr. Peterson. If not more. She's going to have to make a lot of readjustments.” Charlie shook his head slowly, only beginning to comprehend what lay in store for Sam. “But first, let's just get her through tonight.” He left Charlie then, sitting alone in a corner of the waiting room, waiting for the others to arrive from Steamboat Springs.

  They got there at three thirty in the morning, found Charlie asleep, hunched over with his head on his chest and snoring softly, and they woke him to hear the news. He told them what he knew, and there was sober silence among the others, and then quietly they left together to find a hotel. When they got there, Charlie sat staring in agony out the window at Denver, and it was only when Henry and his friend came to sit with him, that at last he let it all go, all the pain and the terror and the worry and the guilt and the confusion and the sorrow, and he sobbed for over an hour as Henry held him in his arms. And from that moment on, as they sat with him through the night and brought him solace, they were his friends. It was the darkest night that Charlie could ever remember, but when they called the hospital in the morning, it was Henry who dropped his face in his hands and cried. Samantha was still alive.

  The day after Sam's accident the entire crew disbanded, but after several long phone conversations with Harvey, Charlie opted to stay. He didn't know how long he'd have to be there, and he couldn't leave Mellie alone with four kids forever, but right now he knew he wasn't leaving. She was alone in a strange city, and she was almost half dead. Harvey had been stunned when he had heard the news. It had been easy for Charlie to convince him to let him stay. But Harvey had also suggested that Charlie at least try to contact Sam's mother in Atlanta. She was, after all, Sam's only living relative, and she had a right to know that her only child was in intensive care in Denver with a broken back. But when Charlie called her, he discovered that she and her husband were on vacation for a month in Europe, so there was nothing more he could do. He knew anyway that Sam wasn't overly fond of her mother, thought her stepfather was a horse's ass, and her father had been dead for years. There was no one else to call. By then of course, though, he had called Mellie, and she had cried like a baby at the news. “Oh, poor Sam … oh, Charlie … how will she do it… in a wheelchair … and all alone …?” They had cried for a few moments together, and then Charlie had gotten off the phone. He wanted to put another call in to Harvey, because he had wanted him to check on the doctor who did the operation, even though by now it was more than a little late. But he was relieved when he got back to Harvey. Harvey had called every bone man he knew in Boston, New York, and Chicago, he had even called a friend who was the chief orthopedic surgeon for the Mets.

  “Thank God for your social connections, Harvey. Anyway, what did he say?”

  “He says the guy's tops.” Charlie let out a long sigh and a few minutes later he put down the phone. Now all he could do was go back to his waiting game. They let him see her for five minutes every hour. But there wasn't much he could do really. She hadn't regained consciousness yet, and she didn't all that day.

  It was the next day around six o'clock in the evening, when he looked in on her for the eighth time that day. He expected only to stand there for a few minutes, as he had every hour on the hour since that morning, to watch her still, now bandaged face, and then, at the signal from the nurse, to close the door and walk away. But this time as he watched her he thought that something was different. The position of her arms had shifted slightly and her color looked better. As he stood there he began gently to run a hand down the long sun-streaked blond hair and softly say her name. He talked to her as though she could hear him, telling her that he was right there with her, that they all loved her, and that she'd be okay. And this time, before the nurse came to beckon him from her, Sam opened her eyes, saw Charlie, and whispered “Hi.”

  “What?” He looked astonished as he stood there, and his own word had sounded like an explosion in the highly monitored room. “What did you say?”

  “I said hi.” It was barely more than a whisper, and as she said it he wanted to give a war whoop of glee. Instead he bent low so that she could hear him and he whispered too.

  “Hey, kiddo, you're doing great.”

  “Am I? … What… happened …?” Her voice was fading and he didn't want to answer, but her eyes wouldn't let go of his.

  “You kicked the hell out of some horse.”

  “Black Beauty?” She looked vague and groggy and he wondered if she was fading out again, but then the eyelids fluttered open. “No … now I remember … the gray stallion… there was a ditch… a river… something…” Something, all right. A something that had changed her whole life.

  “Yeah. Anyway, it doesn't matter. That's all over.”

  “Why am I here?”

  “So I can recover.” They were still whispering, and he smiled at her and ever so gently took her hand. He had never been so happy to see her as he was right now.

  “Can I go home?” She sounded sleepy and childlike as she closed her eyes again.

  “Not just yet.”

  “When? Tomorrow?”

  “We'll see.” Tomorrow … it would be several hundred tomorrows, but Charlie couldn't bring himself to feel sorry. He was just so damn glad that she had made it. She was alive, and she was conscious—that had to be a good sign.

  “You didn't call my mother, did you?” She eyed him suspiciously and he quickly shook his head.

  “Of course not.” He lied.

  “Good. Her husband is an ass.”

  Charlie grinned at her, thrilled with the soft patter of conversation, and then the nurse appeared at the window and gave him the sign.

  “I have to go now, Sam. But I'll come back tomorrow. Okay, babe?”

  “Okay.” She smiled sweetly at him, closed her eyes, and went back to sleep. And when Charlie went back to the hotel, he called Mellie and told her that Sam had regained consciousness at last.

  “What does that mean?” She still sounded desperately worried, but he was buoyant with the news.

  “I don't know, love. But right now it sure feels good. I thought… I thought maybe we had lost her.”

  Mellie nodded at her end. “So did I.”

  He stayed in Denver with her for another two weeks, and then both Mellie and Harvey started making noises about his coming home. He knew he had to, and he missed Mellie and the kids terribly, but he just hated to leave Sam. Still he knew he couldn't stay in Denver for another three months. But that night, as he tried to force himself to make a plane reservation for that weekend, he had an idea. And the next morning he waited for the doctor outside his office and nervously put forward his plan.

  “What do you think, Doctor?”

  “That it's very risky. Is it worth it? Why is it so important to take her back to New York?”

  “Because she has her friends there. She has absolutely no one here.”

  “What about your parents? Couldn't they come out?” Charlie looked at the doctor blankly for a moment and then remembered that he was still masquerading as Sam's brother, and then shook his head.

  “No. They're traveling in Europe, and I don't think that I'll be able to reach them for another month.” By now he knew that if he had to reach her family Sam's stepfather's office could find him, but she had been adamant about it. She didn't want her mother called. “I just don't want to leave her alone out here, and I really
should get back.”

  “I can understand that.” The doctor looked pensive. “You know she would be in good hands.”

  “I know that.” Charlie looked at him warmly. “But… right now … once she figures out what she's up against, Doctor, she's going to need everyone she's got.”

  He nodded slowly. “I can't argue with that. Right now she's really not in any danger, as long as we keep everything pretty constant for her and make sure she doesn't get pneumonia.” That was still the greatest danger, and suspended on a great machine as she was in the giant plaster body cast—her “barbecue spit,” as she called it—they turned her over, like a roast chicken, several times a day. But she still hadn't figured out the implications of what had happened, and the doctor didn't want to tell her until she was stronger. He felt that for the moment there was no need. “You do have a point, Peterson. Once she knows, and that day will come fairly soon, she's going to need all of you. I can't keep it from her forever. It's only been two weeks. But she's less groggy now, she's more alert, eventually she'll put two and two together, and when she figures out that she'll never walk again, it's going to be very traumatic for her. I'd like to have you here.”

  “Or her there. What do you think?”

  “Can your firm charter a plane? Would they do it?”

  “Yes.” He had called Harvey that morning and Harvey had told him to spare no expense. “A nurse, a doctor, any kind of machinery you want. You run the show, we'll pay the bills.”

  “All right,” the doctor said thoughtfully, “all right, if her condition stays stable for the next few days, I'll make the arrangements for you and we'll fly her to New York this weekend.”

  “You'll come too?” Charlie crossed his fingers and the doctor nodded. “Hallelujah! Thank you, Doctor!” The doctor grinned, and Charlie hurried to tell Sam.

  “You're going home, kid.”

  “I am? I can leave?” She looked both startled and thrilled. “But what about my barbecue? Won't they charge us a lot for excess baggage?” Although she was joking, he saw that she looked nervous at the prospect of leaving. She was beginning to understand just how much danger she had been in and that she wasn't totally out of the woods yet. The only thing she really didn't understand was about her legs. But she would. Charlie still cringed at the thought. As long as she was still in the cast, she wouldn't figure it out.

  “No sweat—you should pardon the pun,” he said, grinning. “We're taking the barbecue with us. Harvey says we can charter our own plane.”

  “But, Charlie, that's crazy. Qn't they just set me up with crutches or something, or if worse comes to worst, stick me in a wheelchair with my stupid body cast and let me fly home on the plane?”

  “Only if you want to give me heart failure. Look, Sam, the truth is you kicked the shit out of yourself, so now why take chances? Why not go home in style? I mean, if you're going to do it, baby, do it!”

  “A chartered plane?” She looked hesitant but he nodded with a grin.

  “Of course we'll have to see how you do in the next couple of days.”

  “I'll do fine. I want to get out of here.” She smiled wanly at him. “I just want to go home to my own bed.” He realized then with a jolt that by “home,” she had understood her apartment, when all he had meant was New York. He mentioned it later to the doctor, who reassured him.

  “I'm afraid you're going to see a lot of that, Mr. Peterson. The human mind is a wonderful thing. It only accepts what it can handle. The rest it just kind of puts away somewhere, until it can deal with it. Somewhere, deep in her psyche, she knows that she is still too sick to go home, but she's not ready yet to accept that. When she is, she will, you don't have to say anything. Not yet at least. We can discuss that little matter at the New York airport if we have to. But she'll deal with it when she's ready to, just like she'll deal with the fact that she can't walk anymore. One day all the information she already has will fall into place and she'll know.”

  Charlie exhaled softly. “How can you be so sure she'll understand?”

  There was a moment's pause before the doctor answered. “She doesn't have any choice.”

  Charlie nodded slowly. “Do you think we'll be able to take her back there?”

  “Sooner or later.” The doctor answered calmly.

  “I mean this weekend.”

  “We'll just have to see, won't we?” He smiled then and disappeared to make his rounds.

  The next few days seemed to take forever, and Sam was suddenly impatient and nervous and jumpy too. She wanted to go home, but she was having problems. The body cast was chafing, she was coughing slightly, she had a rash on her arms from some of the medication, and her face itched terribly now that all the scabs were healing and dropping off.

  “Christ, Charlie, I look like a goddamn monster!” She sounded irritated for the first time since she'd been there, and when he came into the room, he thought her eyes looked red.

  “I don't think so. I think you look gorgeous. So what else is new?”

  “Nothing.” But she sounded sullen, and he watched her carefully as he toured casually around the room. She was no longer in intensive care, but had a small room, almost entirely swallowed up by the bed, and in the corner was a table covered with flowers, from Henry and his lover, Jack, the rest of the crew, another bunch from Harvey, and still more from Mellie and him.

  “Want to hear some of the office dirt?”

  “No.” She lay in her cast and closed her eyes, and he watched her, praying that she wasn't getting sick. It seemed a long time before she opened them again. And when she did, she looked angry, and he saw that there were tears in her eyes again.

  “What's up, babe? Come on, tell Papa.” He sat down in a chair next to the bed and took her hand.

  “The night nurse … the one with the funny red wig…” The tears slowly spilled over. “She said that when I go home …” Sam gulped down a sob and squeezed his hand, and as she did it Charlie was grateful that she could. “She said I'm not going home … that I'm just going to another hospital… in New York … oh, Charlie,” she wailed like a small child, “is that true?” He looked at her, wanting to hug her, like one of his children, but there was no way to put one's arms around the huge plaster cast or her surrounding machine, all he could do was hold her hand and gently touch her face. He knew he had to tell her the truth.

  “Yeah, babe, that's true.”

  “Oh, Charlie, I want to go home.” She sobbed in anguish and then winced at the pain.

  “Don't do that, silly, you'll hurt yourself, but it's all right to cry. Just keep it down.” He tried to tease her, but inside he was sad at what was happening. For Sam, it was the beginning of a long, difficult road she had only just begun to travel. Her old life had ended in the flash of an instant, at the feet of a gray horse. “Come on, Sam, just getting back to New York would be a step in the right direction, wouldn't it?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Sure it would.”

  “Yeah, but I want to go home. I don't want to go to a hospital.”

  “Well”—he grinned at her lopsidedly—“at least we know you're not crazy. But okay, so you have to go to a hospital for a while, so what? I'll be able to visit you, and Mellie and Harvey and whomever else you want.…”

  “Not my mother!” Sam rolled her eyes and laughed through her tears. “Oh, shit, Charlie, why did this have to happen to me?” The smile faded, and the tears began in earnest again. For a long time he just sat there and held her hand, and then he said the only thing he knew to tell her.

  “I love you, Sam. We all do. And we're right here with you.”

  “You're such a good friend, and I love you too.” It made her cry more, but the nurse arrived then with her lunch.

  “I hear you're leaving us, Miss Taylor. Is that true?”

  “I'm trying to.” She smiled at Charlie. “But I'll be back. Under my own steam next time, just to visit!”

  “I sure hope so.” The nurse smiled and left the room, as
inwardly Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment he had been terrified that the nurse would give something away when Sam said “under my own steam.”

  “So,” she looked at Charlie, sipping at some soup, “when are we going home?”

  “Does Saturday suit you, or do you have other plans?” He grinned at her, immensely pleased. She was trying. Oh, God, she was trying.

  “No, Saturday sounds okay to me.” She was smiling as she looked at him, and he couldn't, help thinking that the doctor had been right. When she was ready to know something, she would. He just wondered when she would be ready to face the rest. “Yeah, Saturday sounds just fine. What hospital am I going to, Charlie?”

  “I don't know. Do you care?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “I'll find out.”

  “Try for Lenox Hill. It's in a nice neighborhood, and it's near the subway. That way everyone I want to see will be able to come visit.” She smiled softly. “Maybe even Mellie.” And then, “Do you think she could bring the baby?”

  There were tears in Charlie's eyes when he nodded. “I'll sneak her in under my coat and tell them she's yours.”

  “She kind of is, you know.…” She looked embarrassed. “Kind of … after all, she's got my name.” He bent over and kissed her forehead then, there was nothing more he could have said in answer without bursting into tears.

  Charlie held his breath when the plane left the Denver airport on Saturday morning. They had Sam's orthopedic surgeon with them, as well as a young resident, two nurses, a life-support unit, and enough oxygen to blow them all the way to South America, but Samantha was slightly sedated, seemed very relaxed, and was excited to be going home. The doctor seemed pleased with her condition and had made all the necessary arrangements both at Lenox Hill Hospital and with an ambulance unit that would be waiting for them at the airport when they arrived. In addition they were getting special clearance all along their route and were making themselves known to air-traffic control from sector to sector. If Sam had suddenly needed help they couldn't provide in the air, they could have come down almost anywhere along the way at a moment's notice. Everything that could have been thought of had been, and all that remained now was to fly safely back to New York.