A Dog's Perfect Christmas

by W. Bruce Cameron

  On the way to school, Ello’s phone buzzed at her. “It’s Dad, doing Skype.” She answered. “Hi, Dad.”

  Sander felt himself take in a breath and hold it. This was what he dreaded most: a call from his son at the hospital.

  “Can you guys pull over for a minute?” Hunter requested.

  Ello turned to her grandfather with a gaze full of fear and pleading. Sander couldn’t think of anything to say to help. He flashed back to how he felt when his wife exhaled her last breath, how the desperation broke over him and he wanted just one more moment, just one more second, but she was gone.

  His heart thudding, Sander steered over to the curb. The boys, in back, remained oblivious. Sander put the van in park and Ello angled her phone so they both could be on the call. Their father’s face filled the screen. “There’s something I want you to see,” Hunter told them.

  The image on the phone bounced and then settled on Juliana. She was still hooked up to all the tubes and all the wires.

  But her eyes were open.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Juliana’s throat hurt from the back of her tongue all the way down into her lungs. She could not remember ever feeling anything so awful as trying to swallow past her tortured tracheal passage.

  And she really couldn’t. Swallow, that was, because it seemed all her muscles were paralyzed. Was this what had happened to her? Was she a quadriplegic? She could move her eyes and she did so, taking in her husband as he sat at her bedside. He was crying, which led Juliana to conclude her fears were exactly right. Something horrible had happened, and she’d never walk again. Car accident? Had she severed her spine in a wreck so horrible she couldn’t remember it?

  What happened to me?

  After a moment’s thought, that didn’t seem right. Aside from the pain in her throat, she could feel an ache in her back and cramps in her calves. That’s good, right? That I can still experience pain?

  Okay, she couldn’t move, but she had feeling in her limbs, which maybe meant she could recover from this after all.

  Because she had to recover. The twins needed her. The whole house would collapse into chaos. Help, she wanted to scream. Help me.

  A short, heavy, Hispanic man stood behind Hunter, wearing a white coat like a doctor on television. He even carried a clipboard, although the wardrobe department had failed to supply him with a stethoscope. He was looking down at her with a benign, tolerant expression. Juliana had never seen him before, and he didn’t bother introducing himself.

  “Hi, honey. How do you feel?” Hunter asked.

  Juliana couldn’t reply. She decided against blinking an answer, because that seemed ridiculous. I should be able to talk! Even paralyzed people could talk.

  “You can’t talk,” the doctor advised her. “But the fact that you can breathe on your own already is a really beautiful sign.”

  Juliana pondered his use of the word “beautiful.”

  “You’re really weak,” Hunter informed her.

  Juliana wished they would stop mansplaining what she could discern perfectly well on her own! Hunter was patting her hand, and she could feel that, too.

  “You had pyelonephritis, which put you in renal failure,” the doctor continued dispassionately. “After your seizure, we put you in a coma.”

  She’d had a seizure?

  “Unfortunately, you’re currently experiencing the results of critical illness myopathy,” he told her.

  Juliana looked to Hunter.

  “You can’t move your muscles,” her husband elaborated. “But you’re going to get better, honey.”

  “Well,” the doctor said, “I’ll let the two of you talk.”

  Apparently only Juliana saw the irony in his statement. I can’t talk. In fact, she couldn’t even move her tongue.

  Hunter leaned down, his face full of concern. “I know this must be confusing,” he told her. “So, what happened was, you were sick. Do you remember that?” He watched her until it seemed to register that she could not nod. So he did it for her. “Right, so you were sick, and then it seemed like you were better, even though you were pretty weak. And then you got really bad. You were completely unresponsive, so we had an ambulance bring you here. Then you were in a coma for eleven days.”

  Had she been able, Juliana would have widened her eyes in shock. Eleven days?

  “It’s affecting all your muscles. That’s why you can’t move much.”

  Juliana processed this.

  “The doctors say that’s not unheard of, even though I never heard of it before. So now what’s going to happen is, you’re going to gradually get stronger. Soon you’ll be able to chew food and move your arms and all that. Meanwhile, you’re on daily dialysis. They’ve got you on an IV, but they say as early as tomorrow or the next day I’ll be able to feed you liquids.” Hunter leaned even closer. “I’ll be here for you, darling. I’ll take care of you.”

  Tears began flowing from her unblinking eyes. Hunter grabbed a tissue and dabbed them away.

  “Hey,” he said hoarsely. “I really thought I was going to lose you, Juliana. We all did.”

  * * *

  The first helping of thin chicken broth Hunter spooned into Juliana’s mouth a few days later burned her throat. It felt wonderful. She’d never considered that food could be more than just taste; it was an all-body sensation, igniting every cell.

  Juliana could tell she’d lost considerable weight. She wondered if she should write a weight-loss book: How to Lose Twenty Pounds, in a Coma.

  She was still largely helpless. She couldn’t talk; for some reason, the words just didn’t form into sounds that could crawl out. Instead, they were getting stuck somewhere between her brain and her mouth. But the doctor told her that now that she was swallowing, speech could come at any moment.

  Hunter was taking the physical therapist’s instructions seriously and had spent many hours massaging her hands and arms. He would lift one leg, put it down, lift the other, put it down, over and over and over. Juliana watched him in wonder. This was the man she’d thought wouldn’t lift a finger to help her? Now, when lifting a finger was literally something she could not accomplish on her own, he was doing it all.

  “Hunter,” she rasped.

  They both looked startled that she had said something. He grinned delightedly. “See? Just like the doctor said. You’ll be back to making lists and talking to yourself in no time.”

  Was that how he saw her? The list-master general?

  “Hunter,” she repeated in the barest of whispers. “Hunter.”

  * * *

  Moments later, her eyes flicked once and shut. Hunter shuddered, because that brought it all back: the persistent conviction that he was losing her forever. Then the gratitude flowed through him like a drug. He was not losing her. He let himself believe it, feel it. The woman he loved was not going to die.

  Hunter watched his sleeping wife for a long time.

  Would it be considered lying to his spouse, he wondered, if he failed to mention that he’d be out of a job after the first of the year?

  * * *

  When Juliana opened her eyes, Ello was looking down at her. She felt her heart skip at the sight of her daughter, who cleared the wet from her cheeks with a battered tissue.

  “Mom,” Ello whispered. “Oh my God, I was so scared. I just…”

  More than anything, Juliana wanted to reach out and hug her daughter, assure her she was fine, but her arms still refused to respond to the signals from her brain, her muscles absolutely slack and worthless. “Ello, it’s okay. I’m going to be fine. I get better every day. Come hug me,” she slurred.

  Ello crawled onto the bed like a little girl, wrapped her arms around her mother, pushed her face into Juliana’s chest, and began sobbing. Juliana closed her eyes. “It’s okay,” she repeated, knowing it was the truth because it simply had to be.

  Ello had recovered and moved off the bed by the time Sander strolled in. Juliana stared in shock: the man’s hair was cut, his face
was shaved, there was a color besides parchment-white to his cheeks, and he was wearing a nice sweater.

  How long had she really been unconscious?

  “You had us really worried, honey,” Sander told her. He bent down and kissed her forehead, and she caught a whiff of the aftershave he’d worn back when his wife was alive. Juliana turned a bewildered stare at her daughter, who simply shrugged.

  “Grandpa and I run the house now,” Ello explained. “Dad still has some sort of huge crisis at work, and so we have to do everything.”

  “Don’t worry, the twins are still alive.” Sander chuckled. “They tell me we can bring them in to visit you once you’re out of ICU and able to defend yourself against their onslaught.”

  “We cook and everything,” Ello boasted.

  Sander nodded. “Last night we had chicken lasagna. Pretty good. It was Ello’s idea. The twins had hamburgers. They gave most of them to the dogs.” Ello’s eyes widened and she stared in alarm at her grandfather.

  But Juliana didn’t catch the plural—“dogs.” She was picturing being in her kitchen, her sons eating hamburger pieces, and it made her so homesick she felt ready to cry. She held it together, though, until Sander and Ello waved goodbye. Then the tears flowed, pooling up and sliding down her face because she couldn’t wipe them away.

  * * *

  Sander accepted Lucille’s invitation to dinner without realizing that she was taking him to a restaurant. His imagination had led him to picture them dining in her large home—a candlelit meal, perhaps. She was an excellent cook, of course, but there might have been other reasons he was looking forward to being alone with her in her house. His visits there thus far had been—well, successful.

  A woman asking a man out to a restaurant was a fairly new experience for him, but Sander was evolving. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

  On his way back from the men’s room, their salad course having just been cleared from the table, Sander saw Lucille on her cell phone. He pulled up short. What was the etiquette in this situation, he wondered?

  Lucille had worn her blond hair high off her neck, like a woman going to the Oscars or something. Her black wool skirt looked good with her boots, and he liked the way her white sweater fit her under the short jacket. Her overcoat had been a long cashmere item, the fourth expensive-looking coat he recalled her wearing. Lucille, he reflected ruefully, was a woman of sophisticated but costly tastes.

  She caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye and waved him over, so he weaved around the small tables and slid down into his chair.

  “I’m just saying, dear, that there’s nothing wrong with making a man feel appreciated,” Lucille explained into the phone. She gave Sander a wink, which baffled him. “It’s not a ‘tactic,’ as you say.” She pulled the phone slightly away and mouthed, “Allison.”

  Sander wondered if Allison called Lucille as often as she called him.

  “I am so sorry you feel that way, but as far as I am concerned, we can all be friends. Nothing has changed,” Lucille soothed. “Do you want to talk to him?”

  Sander started shaking his head, then twitched in surprise when Lucille extended the telephone to him and he saw that it was his. He locked eyes with Lucille for a moment and her expression turned mischievous.

  “I saw who was calling,” she whispered with a shrug.

  “Hello?” Sander greeted cautiously.

  “Sorry to interrupt your date,” Allison grumbled.

  “Oh. Well…” Sander replied inadequately.

  “I suppose there’s nothing for us to talk about.”

  Sander agreed with this statement so absolutely, he didn’t reply.

  “I cut my hair yesterday, but now you’ll never see it,” Allison griped. “You really led me on, Sander.”

  Had he? Sander was bewildered. How did listening to complaints constitute leading a woman on?

  “Have fun. With Lucille,” Allison sneered, breaking the connection. Sander held the phone out, gazing at it in wonder, then looked to Lucille.

  “That girl wouldn’t know happiness if it got down on one knee and proposed marriage,” Lucille observed wryly. “So, Sander … I made us dinner reservations for February fourteenth.”

  Sander blinked at her. “February?”

  Lucille threw back her head and laughed. “My, it has been a long time for you, hasn’t it?”

  “A long time…” Sander repeated dumbly.

  “Sander. February fourteenth is Valentine’s Day. Surely you’ve heard of it.”

  “Yes, right, of course.”

  “My favorite restaurant. Bobby’s Beef and Crab.”

  “Don’t believe I’ve ever eaten there.”

  Lucille leaned forward, her eyes meeting his. “That’s because it’s in Florida. I made us reservations because I want you to come stay with me at my place in Fort Myers. It’s right on the beach.” She sat back, a satisfied smile on her face. “Do you think we should have another glass of wine?”

  * * *

  Ello was sitting on her bed, with Ruby sprawled, exhausted, at her feet. Periodically she moved her toes along the puppy’s back. She was texting with some friends from outside Brittne’s orbit, listening to music, and idly reflecting on the fact that she had taken care of Garrett and Ewan, shoving dinner at them and cramming them into bed, and it had all been fine. The screaming resentment she’d always felt when asked to watch her brothers, back when Life Had Been Perfect Before They Were Born, hadn’t made an appearance. Sander was on a date, Dad was late coming home from the hospital, Mom was still sick, and Ello Was Handling It, an important and productive member of the family. It made Brittne and Mourgen and their crowd seem like children.

  Suddenly, a text from Sean O’Brien flashed on her screen.

  SOB: Can you talk? URGENT!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Ello anxiously waited for Sean’s call, not sure what to expect. What did it mean that it was urgent? She reached down to stroke Ruby. “Maybe he has to move back to Detroit,” she fretted. “Or maybe he’s got a girlfriend.”

  Brittne.

  Ello sucked in a breath. If Brittne decided she wanted him, then Sean would be Brittne’s.

  Why wasn’t he calling? It was “urgent,” and He Was Taking Forever.

  Ruby lifted her head and looked at Ello, clearly picking up on her distress.

  Finally, her phone rang.

  “Hi!” Sean greeted her cheerfully, as if he hadn’t pre-burdened the call.

  “Hey,” Ello replied cautiously.

  “How’s everything?”

  OMG. Ello wondered if Sean had ever had a bad day or dark thought in his entire dimpled life. “Okay. My mom’s getting better every day. They’re hopefully going to send her home soon.”

  “That’s great!”

  Ello’s heart was still pounding. “So, what’s up?”

  “Oh. So I mentioned to my mom that I’d like to have you come over after school for a study date. Like, I’m finishing up your biography, and I have a few questions.”

  Ello gripped the phone more tightly. Study date? He hadn’t mentioned this to her.

  “Oh?”

  “Right. And she went rage mode.”

  Ello was still processing “study date.” She pictured the two of them sitting side by side on the couch, the music on, a fire in the fireplace.… She frowned. “Rage mode? What do you mean? Why?”

  “Exactly.” Sean lowered his voice. “So, you know your dad works for my mom? She’s like the CEO of the company.”

  “Right. But his job is important too, I mean, he runs all the departments in the building,” Ello responded defensively, if inaccurately.

  Sean was silent.

  “What is it, Sean?”

  “Just, my mom said that a relationship between us would be very awkward for her. Like it’s any of her business, right?”

  Ello held her breath. A Relationship Between Us? Then she shook her head wildly. “Are you saying your mom told you we can’t b
e friends?” she demanded, her voice a lamentable squeak.

  Sean went quiet again.

  “Sean?”

  “Look, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but my mom said that after the first of the year, your dad’s going to be fired.”

  Ello gasped.

  “I’m really sorry,” Sean babbled in a rush, “but I thought I should tell you. Like, if your dad gets weird, or maybe needs your support.”

  “Okay,” Ello agreed numbly. Fired.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Sure.”

  “Should I have told you? I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”

  “No, Sean,” she assured him faintly. “I’m glad you did.”

  They said goodbye. Ello curled up on her bed, clutching her stomach as if crumpled over from a biting cramp. Ruby roused herself and licked her face.

  Ello had an awful, awful secret. There were other implications to her call with Sean, but this was all she could focus on. She buried her face in Ruby’s fur for a moment, then suddenly pulled back. “Oh my God…” she breathed.

  No wonder her parents seemed so strained with each other. No wonder they were talking about getting divorced. Ello felt a flash of pure fury at her mother. Dad needed help and support and Mom said she’d leave him if he didn’t make enough money? That’s the kind of person she was?

  Except … that wasn’t the kind of person her mom was. Ello shook her head, the anger draining out. Juliana cared a lot, about a whole lot of things—whole lists of things—but Mom wasn’t what you would call a material girl.

  Ello’s eyes widened as another thought occurred.

  What if Dad doesn’t know?

  * * *

  Sander sat comfortably under the gray Michigan sky, Claire on the bench next to him. They were watching her grandchildren and the twins play a complicated game that was mostly about falling backward in the snow as if shot by a sniper.