A Long Way Home

by Becky Doughty

  “Mr. Clark?” One of the nurses from the triage poked her head through the half-open door and the room fell silent, as though someone had hit the mute button. “I’m Carmen. I’ll be your wife’s nurse tonight.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Dr. Carlson will be in to speak with you shortly, but I wanted to let you know your wife is on her way here.” Carmen had a rich, mellow voice, and I thought how perfect it was for a night-shift nurse. “You’ll be able to see her as soon as we get her settled into her room, okay?”

  We were all awake and anxious with anticipation by the time Dr. Carlson entered the room, his hair still covered in a surgical cap, but other than that, no one would ever know he’d just spent almost five hours operating on my mother. He looked to be in his mid-forties, a tall man with graying hair at his temples and long, elegant fingers with extremely clean nails. This must be what they mean when they say someone has ‘surgeon’s hands’ I thought to myself, my eyes drawn to them as he spoke.

  In so many words, along with some significant damage to the left side of her face from hitting the window hard enough to shatter the glass, Mom had suffered major trauma to her neck. “We fused three vertebrae together, but the surrounding tissue was grossly affected as well, making it necessary for us to put her in what’s called a cervical halo. The brace is affixed with titanium screws to four different locations on her skull.” Everyone in the room, except Dr. Carlson, of course, cringed. Tish covered her mouth as if she might be feeling a little sick. “It’s attached by metal bars to a fleece-lined, hard-shell vest for support and stability. But all in all, she’s doing quite well. Her other injuries are insignificant enough that unless she has complications, we’re looking at releasing her from the hospital in a few days. You do have post-hospital care options; you can discuss those in more detail with your nurse and case manager.”

  A physical therapist would work with her to get her mobile enough to go home with a boot for her leg, but because of her sprained ankle and broken arm, dealing with the halo brace would be extremely challenging. “She’ll need help with just about everything except feeding herself and clicking the remote control,” Carmen told us after Dr. Carlson had left. We were still waiting for the transport team to bring Mom to her room, and the nurse spent some time with us to field questions. “Will there be someone at home with her? We always encourage our patients to go home as soon as possible, but in the case of Mrs. Clark, if she normally spends much of her time alone, you might want to consider having her stay at a rehabilitation center until her ankle is healed enough that she can walk comfortably on it.” She fixed Dad with serious look. “She’ll be wearing the halo for about three months, maybe longer. It will get easier, but for the first couple of weeks, she’ll need help with everything,” she reiterated, her dark eyes wide with intensity.

  “I’ll be home with her,” Dad said decisively. It occurred to me that he probably hadn’t thought about much of anything beyond getting through tonight, and he had made the decision to take time off right there on the spot.

  “And I’ll be home most evenings,” Sebastian added. “Although I don’t know how much help I’ll be with… um… personal stuff.”

  Like using the bathroom, bathing, getting in and out of bed, dressing and undressing. The thoughts were like a tornado in my head.

  “And, of course, we’ll help in any way we can,” Mrs. Ransome interjected, her arm around her daughter. I could see by her expression that she was thinking along the same line I was.

  I desperately wanted to add my name to the list, but I knew I needed to talk to Marek first. There was no way he’d let me go for three months, but maybe, just maybe, I could convince him to give me a week off after she was released from the hospital, so I could at least help her get settled at home. He’d be livid after the stunt I pulled tonight, but surely, he’d let me come back for my mom’s sake. I kept silent in the meantime, my gaze down, not wanting to see the expectancy in the eyes of those around me.

  Several minutes later, we were finally allowed into Mom’s room. “She’s going to be extremely groggy for the next couple of hours and will most likely be in and out for another hour or two. She’s on some strong pain medication, and it sometimes takes people a long time for the anesthesia to completely wear off. Give her your love, but please be careful not to overtax her. She needs all her energy focused on healing right now, and sleep is a good thing, okay?” The Ransomes and Sebastian stayed in the waiting room while Dad and I followed Carmen down the hall. Carmen hovered in the room for a while, just to make certain we were going to be compliant, then excused herself and left us alone. I thanked her as she passed by me, and she touched my arm gently and nodded.

  Dad had eyes only for Mom. He went straight to her left side and took her good hand. I thought I saw her fingers curl around his.

  I stayed back, unsure if I could contain the emotions wreaking havoc inside me. I didn’t want her to see how terrified I felt, about the might-haves, the could-haves, and the what-ifs that kept playing in my mind. She looked awful, even in the dim glow of the one light over her bed. Between the cuts and bruises covering her face and neck, the yellowish stains from the pre-surgical Betadine wash, the frightening-looking brace—it really was screwed directly into two places just below her hairline on her forehead and in two spots behind her ears—holding her head and neck in midair, keeping it stable and perfectly aligned, her arm in a fresh white cast, she looked like something right out of Dr. Frankenstein’s lab.

  “Bumblebee?” It was my dad’s pet name for my mother, and it made me smile to hear it again. “I’m here, sweetheart. You’re going to be all right.” She was propped in an almost upright position, her casted arm on a pile of pillows, and one foot elevated on more pillows. Dad lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. “Savannah is here to see you, too.” He straightened and reached for me, drawing me close to his side.

  I leaned over the bed so she could see me. Mom’s eyes opened slowly, shifted just enough to locate me, and one side of her mouth lifted. She didn’t seem surprised to see me. She didn’t speak—I wasn’t even sure if she could with the trauma to her neck—but she pursed her lips like she was blowing me a kiss before closing her eyes again. Her brow twitched a little and a soft moan escaped her lips. Carmen said she was on some intense painkillers—the multiple IV lines were evidence of that—but there was no way she wasn’t feeling anything. I reached down and touched the back of her hand where it rested in Dad’s, cringing at the sight of the dried blood between her fingers and under her nails. What must she have endured before the paramedics arrived? Before she made it to the hospital? Before they hooked her up to the good stuff?

  “I’m here, too, Mom. I love you.”

  One corner of her mouth lifted again, but she didn’t open her eyes.

  I stayed with Dad a little longer, but we didn’t say much, both of us a bit overwhelmed by Mom’s condition. Finally, he suggested I go let the rest of the group know how she was. “And would you mind sending Jim and Stella in?”

  I slipped out into the hallway and found a seat just in time, my knees giving out. Carmen was by my side in a heartbeat, her hand on my back, pushing me forward. “Head down, sugar. Slow, easy breaths.” She sounded like Jordan had in the car. I felt nauseated, not faint, but I did as she said anyway, thinking at least if I did hurl, it wouldn’t have as far to go. Another nurse offered me a plastic cup of water. I straightened and took a careful sip. Carmen crouched down in front of me. “Your mama is going to be just fine. It looks pretty darn scary, I know. But she’s in good hands here. We’ll take good care of her, I promise.” Her sentences were short and comforting, the way I spoke to Killian to soothe him, and in that moment, it was exactly what I needed.

  “Thank you.” I rose, and Carmen, bless her heart, offered to walk with me. At that moment, Jordan stepped out into the hall, saw us, and hurried to my side.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  Carmen smiled knowingly and patted
his arm. “You look out for this one, you hear? She’s a little weak in the knees right now.”

  I let Jordan tuck my hand into his arm, and we made it back to the waiting room without me making a fool of myself. Jim and Stella Ransome headed down the hall when I told them my dad had asked for them, and I sat down again, Jordan beside me, our shoulders touching. Killian was on Sebastian’s lap now, but he was awake and telling Tish about a pirate—we had friends in a couple of pirate guilds and Killian was a big fan—and Tish was clearly charmed, whether she understood a word he said or not. I was a little surprised he hadn’t panicked when he’d awakened without me, but clearly, this group of people made him feel right at home.

  Home. There was that word again.

  “I need to call Marek,” I said, quietly, so only Jordan could hear.

  “Do you want me to call him?”

  I shook my head. It had to be me. I didn’t want to give him any reason to be angrier than he already was. I knew I’d pay for this when we went back, and I was sure Marek knew what I was doing. He’d obviously found my phone, so he must have read Jordan’s texts to me and maybe even listened to the messages from him. I kept nothing else on there that might be incriminating, not even my parents’ phone numbers—I knew them by heart and I never called them from my cell phone anyway—and I had no friends beyond the Faire borders, so to speak. Even with them, I didn’t exchange numbers. Phones were still a necessary evil to many who embraced the nomadic lifestyle, and we were all pretty content to just compare schedules and connect when our paths crossed at the next site. My phone was really for emergencies because I had Killian… and so Marek could keep tabs on me at all times.

  I wasn’t sure either of us had ever taken into account what would happen if I left the phone behind.

  I wasn’t sure either of us had ever considered that I might leave at all.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Jordan held his phone out toward me but didn’t let go when I tried to take it from him. “Maybe you should wait. His last voice message was pretty intense.”

  Tish glanced over at us. “Are you coming home with us tonight, Savannah? I mean, back to your place?”

  I hadn’t thought that far ahead. In that moment, I wasn’t quite sure how to answer her. Killian needed to go to bed, and soon, or I’d have a crazy, crabby toddler on my hands tomorrow. With everything on its end right now, I needed Killian on his best behavior. But I couldn’t expect him to spend the night with me at the hospital, even if I wanted to stay with Dad, and I couldn’t ask anyone to keep him overnight, even if they offered. Killian and I had a morning routine that rarely wavered, and I clung to it religiously, knowing he needed all the stability and continuity I could give him in our topsy-turvy world, even if it was just the little things. “I’m not sure what we’re doing,” I acceded, pushing the phone away. I’d definitely call Marek later; I had more immediate things to think about. Like where I would sleep tonight.

  “Your room is actually ready for you,” Tish said. “After Jordan told her he was going to get you, Mom went over there to put fresh sheets on your bed and everything.” Jordan chuckled beside me, and Tish rolled her eyes. “Seriously,” she quipped in her throaty rock-and-roll voice. “Knowing Stella Jean Ransome, she even put chocolates on your pillow and a vase of flowers on your nightstand.”

  I smiled at the thought of Mrs. Ransome busying herself, trying to make me feel welcome. Some things never changed—it was exactly the same kind of thing she would have done three years ago. No one ever left the Ransome home feeling unwelcome, that was for sure. I eyed Sebastian, suddenly feeling a little awkward about the situation. I knew my parents would never have allowed him to live with them if they thought he was dangerous. But I also didn’t know how they would feel about us spending the night alone in the house together.

  Then again, tonight, my parents probably weren’t thinking about their reputations.

  “Fresh sheets, hm? Sounds wonderful,” I said. I could call Marek in the privacy of my own room after Killian was asleep.

  The Ransomes returned with Dad a few minutes later, and my father urged us all to go home and get some sleep. “She’s stable and is resting as comfortably as possible. I think we’re in for a couple of rough days ahead for her, but she’s in good hands. They’re setting me up with a pillow and blanket, so I can stay here. I know she’ll be so grateful to all of you for being here for us—for me—so depending on how she’s doing in the morning, maybe she’ll appreciate some visitors.”

  “Do you need me here—?” I almost said ‘Dad’ but the word still felt unfamiliar and clumsy in my throat, so I swallowed it back.

  “No, no, Savvy-girl.” Clearly, he had no hang-ups about old endearments. “You take Killian home so both of you can get some rest. Mom will probably be out the remainder of the night, and tomorrow will be soon enough to try to visit with her. Just knowing you’re here has already made her so happy.”

  Mom didn’t know about Killian, though.

  We all headed to Maple Avenue in our respective vehicles, Killian and I riding with Jordan, much to my son’s disappointment. He’d really taken to Sebastian and Tish and wanted to go with them. He was tired enough, however, that after his initial outburst, he settled into his car seat and was sound asleep by the time we pulled onto the familiar street.

  It was the middle of the night, but I would have recognized it anywhere. There was the pink eyesore where Nan Winkie and her husband Wee Willie lived—as far as I knew, Willie was his real name, but I couldn’t imagine any mother turning her son into bully bait like that. On the other hand, Willie was anything but “wee” so perhaps he’d embraced the nursery rhyme name and risen above it. On the other side of the street lived the Mitchells. They had seven children when I left three years ago, but by the evidence scattered around their front lawn, there was a good chance they’d added to that number. Jordan confirmed it as we passed; he must have seen me looking.

  “Mom said they had a set of twins right before Christmas. What is that? Nine? Ten now?”

  When I was younger, the idea of having a house full of siblings sounded like heaven to me. Although I wasn’t really the kind of person to be lonely, I spent a lot of time alone, and I’d always thought it would be nice to have the noise of a large family bustling around me. Having lived with a traveling group for three years, I now cherished the times when I had a few moments alone, just listening to silence. Maybe that came with motherhood, but it didn’t explain people like Mrs. Mitchell, or even Mrs. Ransome, for that matter. She had birthed five children, one of whom—Tish—had a rock band that practiced out of their converted garage. And now there was a growing bevy of Ransome grandchildren in and out of her home. Did she ever long for silence?

  I’d seen my tree the moment we turned onto the street, but the closer we drew to its towering presence, the harder my heart pounded in anticipation. How many hours of my life had I spent perched in those branches, watching life go by on Maple Avenue? How many afternoons had I pined for the man sitting in the driver’s seat beside me, plucking leaves to the cadence of ‘He loves me, he loves me not’ while he passed by without even noticing me?

  Except he had noticed me. That summer we finally talked, he told me he looked for me in my tree every day when he came home from school, that it was how he knew all was well with the world, at least on Maple Avenue. “On the rare occasion you weren’t there, I always felt unsettled, like things were a little off-kilter the rest of the day.” I knew he said it to flatter me, but I relished the idea of him looking for me while I secretly watched for him. My love may have been one-sided in those early years, but Jordan Ransome noticed me. He had seen me.

  The fairy boat was gone, no longer hanging from the widespread branches, but I hadn’t really expected it to still be there waiting for me. I hoped it was simply being stored somewhere—that my parents hadn’t gotten rid of it.

  We passed the Ransome house where Jordan’s folks were just getting out of their car. They waved
as we drove by. Ahead of us, Sebastian and Tish already stood in the driveway in front of my parents’ house, waiting for us to pull up. All of a sudden, I was intensely glad I wasn’t coming home alone tonight.

  Sebastian let us in with his key—it really was an adjustment to think of this guy sharing my old home with my parents—and we were met by an exuberantly barking dog who ran circles around us, sniffing, whimpering, and wagging his tail to beat the band. Or to beat us, at any rate. A dog—in the Clark home! Who knew?

  Tish and Sebastian corralled the animal in the living room with them. I led the way to my room, Jordan following behind me with a passed-out Killian in his arms. The line of my school pictures still hung along one wall beneath the family photo of the three of us, doctored up to look like it had been hand-painted. I’d been sixteen. At the time, I’d thought myself so wise and mature, with my brown hair blow-dried straight, and my eye makeup a little heavy, but carefully applied. I wore a grass-green V-neck sweater over a pale blue tank with my favorite black woven choker around my neck, complete with the Harry Potter Deathly Hallows charm. What a difference a few years made.

  Now I wore a long, multi-colored skirt with a slit up to the middle of my thigh, a low-cut black tank top so thin the lace pattern of my bra showed right through it, and a baggie hoodie to hide bruises that wouldn’t have time to fade before I got a new batch. Between my multiple ear piercings and the tiny ring in one nostril, the beads braided into my hair, and the wide swath of bangles I never bothered taking off my left arm—they hid evidence of my early means of dealing with the stress of living with Marek—I had on more jewelry at the moment than my ballerina music box still sitting on my dresser could hold. My hair, bleached the color of dirty straw, was wild and untamed on a good day. I’d pulled back the sides and knotted them into a loose bun at the back of my head, but I hadn’t used a brush on it all day, and it needed a good washing, too. I felt grimy, unkempt, and completely out of place in what had once been my own home.