A Husband By Any Other Name

by Cheryl St. John

  “You’ve been breathing for her,” he replied. “She’ll do it on her own in a second here.”

  Dan stood and backed away, grateful to let those who knew what they were doing attend to Autumn. He ran his hand through his hair and stared at the dark heavens, praying silently.

  “There we go,” one of them said, finally.

  “She’s breathing,” Rob announced.

  Hope surged into Dan’s chest. The paramedics moved Autumn into the back of the ambulance, checking her vital signs, and placing an oxygen mask over her face. Her eyes were still closed and she still lay without moving. Dan followed the attendants, Lorraine clinging to his side, her body shaking.

  “This is my fault,” she said. “I didn’t make sure the gate was locked."

  Dan cupped her face hard and forced her to look at him. “I came through that gate, too. It could have been either of us.”

  “I didn’t finish putting things away after I cleaned the pool. I always put them away and check the gates.”

  “Enough,” he said. “Guilt isn’t going to help her.”

  Lorraine’s wide, luminous eyes were filled with fear and remorse.

  “She’s stable. We’re moving. You comin’?” Rob prepared to close the back doors of the rescue unit.

  Lorrie glanced down at her damp robe and bare feet.

  “We’re coming.” Dan turned to his brother. “Bring Lorraine some clothes, will you? Cedra, find them for him and then stay with the boys.”

  Cedra nodded.

  Tom waved them off, and Dan and Lorrie climbed into the back of the ambulance. The siren wailed and Lorrie jumped.

  “Is she all right?” Lorrie asked, studying her daughter’s pale face. A little color had returned to her blue lips.

  “Her heart rate’s good and she’s breathing on her own.”

  “I was just falling asleep and thought I heard a splash,” she said. “I didn’t think much of it. It was like part of my dream or something. I thought I heard someone call me.” She looked up at Dan and gripped her own elbows, trying to stop the shaking. “I sat up and waited a few minutes, without hearing anything. I felt like I should go turn on the deck light and look outside. When I did, I saw something in the pool and... and I realized...”

  Lorrie could hardly finish, remembering her horror at recognizing the small, still figure of her child floating on the surface.

  “... I realized it was Autumn. I fell going down the stairs.” She pulled the robe away from her shin and re-vealed a bloody scrape. “I didn’t feel this till just now.”

  With gloved hands, Rob opened an antiseptic packet and handed her the cloth. “Better clean it.”

  Lorrie sat holding the cool pad between her shaking fingers. “I’m not sure how long she was actually in the water. Can you tell... how can you tell...?” She didn’t even want to say it, but she had to know. “Will they test her at the hospital? To see if she has any brain damage?”

  “Not right away. You’ll have to wait for her to wake up.”

  Absently, Lorrie noticed that Dan had taken the cleansing pad from her hand and wiped her leg clean. “I couldn’t bear for anything to be wrong with her. I’d lose my mind if I thought—”

  “Lorraine.” Dan placed his fingers over her lips to silence her. “Hush. Please.”

  The tone of his voice reminded her of their argument. Of the things she’d said to him. Her life was a mess. She pulled her robe close around her and rode in silence the rest of the way to the hospital.

  It was the longest night of her life.

  Lorrie huddled on a padded vinyl chair and sipped lukewarm coffee. Bless Cedra for thinking to toss a sweatshirt in a bag, along with jeans, underwear, socks, shoes and her purse. Never mind the sweatshirt was Dan’s and two of her could have fit in it; she’d finally stopped shaking.

  She watched him walk to the window and stare out through the blinds for the hundredth time. The orange light of dawn bathed the hospital room in an otherworldly light, giving Dan’s dark hair a blood-red sheen. The blinds cast horizontal stripes across his sharp features and wide shoulders.

  He turned back.

  Lorrie met his night-wearied eyes.

  He looked away and paced to the side of Autumn’s bed. She looked so tiny lying beneath the white blanket, a blinking light on a monitor the only reassuring sign that her heart was strong and steady. Dan glanced at Lorrie again, and quickly away.

  She couldn’t blame him for looking away. She wouldn’t blame him for never wanting to look at her or talk to her again. She wouldn’t blame him if he hated her.

  The doctor said he’d saved Autumn’s life.

  She’d sat there blubbering and he’d breathed life into their baby. At the moment, Lorrie couldn’t even stand her own company. She bit her knuckle and refused to cry.

  Dan said it wasn’t her fault, but she was responsible. Maybe it was just a mother’s lot to experience guilt. She’d gone over it and over it. If only she'd thought to check the gates before they’d gone in. If only she’d gone back out after their bath. If only she’d checked on Autumn.

  Why hadn’t she had the sense to do exactly what Dan had done? Each time she relived the scene, pictured him kneeling over Autumn, efficiently filling her lungs with air, making her heart beat, she wanted to throw herself at his feet in gratitude and beg him to forgive her.

  To think she’d used that very child against him! The memory of how she’d bullied him by threatening to take his children away filled her with such self-disgust that she wanted to bury her head.

  And for what? To save face in this town? She’d gladly go down to the Country Mart right now—march into Mercer’s Hardware—or run into the American Legion Hall and announce to everyone within hearing distance that she’d married Dan Beckett, thinking he was Tom—if only it would assure her that her child would be all right.

  Lorrie cupped her hand over her mouth and held back the groan of regret and misery that threatened to tear from her heart and throat.

  Dan stared down at Autumn’s pale face. He’d never seen her so still, so inanimate. Even in sleep, she smiled and sighed and flung her arms and legs in all directions. The lump on her head had turned a vivid purple, and the doctor assured them swelling on the outside was better than swelling on the inside, even though it looked scary.

  She was breathing on her own. Her heart was beating steadily. All they could do was wait for her to wake up. He’d only been this scared once before in his life, and that had been when Lorraine had given birth to this child. It had been touch and go for a while, and Dan had been terrified at the thought of losing Lorraine.

  Losing her had always been a distinct possibility, now that he thought back on their relationship. But now he realized something for the first time. As long as she and the children were alive and well, as long as he knew they were safe and cared for, he could bear anything.

  A tap sounded on the door and Lorraine’s mother and sister entered the room.

  “The nurse said it was all right to come in.” Ruby’s attention wavered to the child in the bed and she hurried over.

  At the sound of soft crying, Dan turned. Lorna had knelt in front of Lorraine and taken her in her arms. Good. Someone strong to comfort her. Someone who wouldn’t terrify her more by breaking down and crying harder than she did.

  “Do you have any idea how this happened?” Ruby asked.

  Dan turned back to the bed and shook his head.

  With age-speckled hands, she stroked the hair away from Autumn’s bruised forehead. “She must have fallen.”

  He nodded. “Must have. She’s a good swimmer.”

  “Has she ever sleepwalked? Lorna used to do that. Scared the daylights out of me.”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Maybe she’d be better off in an Omaha hospital,” Ruby said.

  “I asked about that,” Dan replied. “They’d be doing the same things there that they are here. There’s really no reason to move her. Unless they decide l
ater that she needs a specialist or something.”

  They looked at one another over Autumn’s still form. Ruby lifted the little girl’s hand and held it tenderly. “She just needs some rest. She’ll be just fine after she rests. After we visit, I’m going out to the house to help with the children.”

  “Thanks, Ruby. I know Lorraine will feel better knowing you’re with them.”

  “I’ll feel better, too. Like I’m doing something to help.”

  He understood that need only too well. This helplessness was hell.

  “You’re going to have to sleep,” Dan said to Lorraine late the next evening. She’d eaten a few bites of the sandwich he’d brought her and hadn’t said more than a word or two since her mother and sister had been there that morning.

  “What about you?”

  “We’ll take turns. The nurse said she’d have a cot sent up for us.”

  “You go first,” she said.

  He saw no point in arguing with her. She was an adult. They both needed to get some rest, and he wasn’t foolish enough to think standing here hovering over Autumn was going to help her recover any faster. “All right.”

  A young male hospital employee in green pants and a loose white jacket wheeled in a folding bed and snapped it open. Dan thanked him. He couldn’t tell the difference between doctors and nurses and aides any more. They all dressed casually and wore tennis shoes. He pulled his boots off and laid down, arranging the sterile-smelling white sheet and closing his eyes.

  At first, at the sounds of the nurses in the hall and the intercom system, he feared he wouldn’t be able to sleep. But what seemed like hours later, voices drifted to him and he came alert.

  “We thought it’d be best if we send the boys to school in the morning.” His brother’s voice, though soft, carried to Dan. “You know, try to keep things as normal for them as we can.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” Lorraine replied. “Are they okay?"

  “They’re fine. Bram and Jori haven’t been bickering. I guess that shows they’re upset. Thad helped me with a few chores today.”

  “And Gil?”

  “I’m making him rest. Your mom fusses over him and he’s eating up the attention.”

  “That’s Mom.”

  “She’s great.” A pause. “How about Dan, is he okay?"

  The silence reverberated with Lorraine’s shock over Tom’s use of Dan’s name. Dan lay silent, waiting for one of them to say something.

  “Yeah. I know,” Tom said finally.

  A minute passed. “He told you?”

  “He told me. But I already knew. I remembered on my own.”

  “So, you—you know who you are? You’ve got your memory back?”

  Tom must have nodded.

  “Oh, Tom, that’s wonderful. I mean, I’m happy for you, that you’re all right.” A minute later, she said, “He told you what he did?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Were you mad?”

  Dan listened, wondering if he should let them know he was awake.

  “Mad? No. It would be pretty small of me to have any bad feelings for Dan.”

  “But he used your name—your identity. Don’t you have any feelings about that?”

  Dan should have put a stop to their conversation, but he wanted to hear Tom’s reply.

  “I think I know why he did it. And I’m sorry I placed him in that position. But I understand why you’re mad, Lorrie.”

  “I resent this whole damned mess we’re in because of it,” she said.

  “What about me?” Tom asked. “Don’t you resent me?"

  Down the hall, a door closed. The sound of shoes squeaked past the doorway and disappeared.

  “I should, shouldn’t I?” she asked thoughtfully.

  “Yeah, you should.”

  Dan’s heart thudded in his chest as if it was going to explode.

  “While we’re putting all this crap on the table,” Tom said, “I want to say I’m sorry. I couldn’t see anything past my own need to get away from here. My leaving was nothing at all against you, Lorrie. It was just me.”

  “It’s years too late to get upset about being jilted,” Lorraine said. “I’ve got a bit much on my mind to care about that.”

  So she forgave Tom for leaving her. Just like that. Not a whimper. Not a recrimination. Apparently Dan was the only bad guy in this whole stinking mess.

  “Actually, Lorrie, I did you a favor. I hope you know that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve seen how crazy in love with you my brother is. Why would he have done something so nuts if he wasn’t? And for all your resentment, you have it pretty bad for him, too."

  Dan waited for her to deny Tom’s words. Or confirm them. Several minutes passed. Finally, she said, “Don’t do me any more favors, okay?”

  A nurse came in shortly after that, and Dan used the opportunity to act as though she’d awakened him.

  Lorrie watched the nurse take Autumn’s blood pressure, check the monitor and her IV. “Any change?”

  “None.”

  “I’m going to grab a cup of coffee,” Dan said. He and Tom disappeared into the hall.

  After the nurse left, Lorrie stood beside the bed for several minutes, watching, praying. Finally she lay down on the narrow bed, still warm from Dan’s body, and tried to relax her weary limbs.

  If only Autumn would wake up. If only she could go back to before this had happened and do it all over again, differently. If only she could go back fourteen years and curtail this whole miserable situation before it got out of hand.

  What if Dan had told her the truth that night? What would have happened? Would they have ended up together anyway? Or would she have married someone else? Those were questions that would never have answers.

  She fell asleep and dreamed she and Autumn were being swept along by a swiftly moving current. Lorrie’s feet were so cold she couldn’t feel them. She and Autumn became separated and Lorrie made a futile attempt to reach her in the river that had grown as thick and slippery as grease.

  “Mommy! Mommy!” Autumn cried, the black substance sucking her down.

  Lorrie grabbed a branch overhead and struggled to pull herself out of the mire.

  “Mommy! Mommy!”

  Lorrie woke with a start. She jerked herself up on the edge of the cot and gazed around, completely disoriented. Her scratchy eyes focused on Autumn in the bed and Dan slumped in the chair beside her.

  “Is she...?”

  Dan shook his head. “No change.”

  Lorrie ran a hand through her hair. “How long did I sleep?”

  “Hours. It’s daytime.”

  A glimpse at the window confirmed that.

  “The doctor came by.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That maybe we should be at home seeing to our other children.”

  Lorrie tried to comprehend. “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning that it’s been two days, and maybe we should see to the boys.”

  “But she could wake up any minute!”

  “She could.”

  Lorrie stood and smoothed her wrinkled clothing. “You don’t sound very convinced.”

  “It’s just that we don’t know how long it could be.”

  She fumbled with her purse. Pulling out her brush, she ran it through her tangled hair. “It could be today.”

  Dan didn’t say anything.

  “It could be this very minute.” She walked to the bed and gripped the side rail, with her brush forgotten in one hand. “Autumn, wake up," she said sternly “Wake up, do you hear me, you’re scaring Mommy.”

  Dan shared her desperation, felt it to his very bones He got up and stretched his legs, moving beside her and slipping his arms around her waist. Both parents contemplated Autumn’s face hopefully. The blinking red light on the monitor mocked them.

  “I’ll go,” Dan said. “When the boys get home from school, I'll be there to answer their questions and have supper with them. Whe
n they go to bed, I’ll shower and come back.”

  It was what she should have done. She should have thought of it. Of course the boys were scared and their life had been disrupted. They needed reassurance. They needed their parents. Dan would know what to say. He’d know how to handle everything. Feeling woefully inadequate, Lorrie reassured herself with the fact that Dan was taking care of things. “I’ll call if there’s any change.”

  He merely nodded. Of course she would call if there was a change. That’s what this vigil was all about, wasn’t it? She’d really wanted to say, “Thank you. I’m sorry.”

  Instead, she watched him go.

  Dan stood in the shower, hands braced against the tiles, steaming water piercing his face and shoulders. Spending the evening with the boys had been good for all of them. Tom and Cedra had slipped off and left them alone for an hour or so. Bram and Jori had needed reassurance and hugs. Thad, seeming far older than his thirteen years, had done his best to reassure Dan.

  At bedtime Dan had sat with each of them individually, had told them he loved them. No matter how many times he said it to them, it would never be enough.

  When was the last time he’d told Autumn he loved her? The morning of her accident? The night before? He’d tell her when he got back to the hospital. Maybe she could hear everything they were saying. Or was that just for patients in comas?

  Against his will, Dan’s mind wandered back over the events of the past days, back to the first moment when he’d seen Autumn’s lifeless body on the deck, back to Lorraine’s terrified screams.

  It came to him then, while the water pounded on his skin, while he dared not cry for fear he’d never stop, that it had been his name Lorraine had cried in her panic. His own name. Dan.

  He twisted the faucet handle to Off and sluiced water from his hair with his hands. Opening the glass door, he grabbed a towel and stepped out into the steam-filled room. With two swipes, he wiped the wide mirror and stared at his dripping reflection.

  Dan.

  In her mind, he was Dan now.

  From the other room, the phone rang. He wrapped the towel around his waist and grabbed the receiver on the second ring. “Hello.”

  “It’s me.” Ordinarily when he heard Lorraine’s voice over the phone, it was him making a quick check in while he was at the university for a hybrid project or her calling to ask where he’d put something. Now she sounded strangely quiet.