When he turned away from the window, Hope was at the door. She didn’t say anything, just hung on the knob and looked at him.
“Are you sensing things?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Me, too.” He ran his hands through his hair. So maybe they were both going mad, wanting something so much that it became real in their minds. The only thing he knew for sure was that he wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep. “Wanna take a drive?”
HOPE was belted sideways into the backseat. Samantha was in front, with an elbow against the door and a fist to her chin. Her eyes were closed. Jack kept both hands on the wheel and an even foot on the gas.
The rain had slowed to a drizzle. It was nearly thirty minutes past sunrise on a gray day. Traffic was light. No one spoke.
Jack pulled into what they had come to think of as their normal place in the parking lot, then backed out and picked another spot. The old one hadn’t worked. This one might. He looked at the girls, daring them to ask. Neither did.
As they left the car and entered the hospital, he tried to stay calm, but he didn’t have the patience to wait for the elevator. He found the stairs and took them two at a time, while the girls trotted close behind. They swung onto Rachel’s floor, strode quickly down the hall, and turned into her room—and so help him, despite all cautionary thoughts, he expected to see Rachel propped higher, with her eyes open and alert, and a smile in the works.
He stopped just inside the room. Samantha was on his left, Hope on his right. Rachel was on her back, her eyes that same little bit open that they had been the night before.
“Mom?” Hope called.
Samantha wailed a soft “No change!”
Jack swallowed. His body drained of energy and felt like rubber. Disappointment lay thick in his throat.
He approached the bed. Sitting by Rachel’s hip, he put an arm on either side of her and gave her the lightest, softest kiss on the mouth.
“What happened, Daddy?” Hope asked.
“I don’t know, honey. I guess we got ourselves wound up with wanting.”
“This is getting old,” Samantha complained.
He let out a breath, then spoke with angry force. “You’re toying with us, Rachel. That is not fair. It is not nice.” He pushed off from the bed and went to the window, but seconds later he was back at the bed, arms straddling Rachel again.
This time he stared. He looked at her long and hard, willing her to open those barely open eyes. Her lips were pink, her freckles mauve, her hair gold. The rest of her was paler than pale, and thin.
He continued to stare. Something was going on in there. Her eyes were darting around. He saw a pinch between her brows at the very same spot where the worry line was on his own face. It happened a second time, a tiny frown.
He poured himself into it this time, digging deep, cursing her for punishing them with this unbearable waiting game, willing her finally, finally, finally awake. He heard one of the girls call, but he didn’t respond. Everything he had was focused on Rachel.
Another frown came. Her eyes began moving more slowly. He caught his breath when she did. Again one of the girls spoke. Again he ignored it.
Come on, Rachel, come on, come on, Rachel.
Her lids fluttered. They shut, then pressed together. Slowly they rose.
Jack was afraid to breathe. After initial gasps from behind him, there was no sound at all. Rachel’s eyes stayed on his face, stayed there so long that he half feared she was still comatose. Then her eyes broke from his and moved past to Hope.
“Mommy?” Hope cried.
Her eyes shifted to Samantha, who said a breathless “Omigod.”
When those eyes returned to him, they were confused. Slowly she moved her fingers into a loose fist with the thumb inside. Puzzled eyes went to Hope, to Samantha, and back to him. Jack was beginning to think she might have amnesia when she looked at the girls again and smiled. In a voice that was weak but very Rachel, she asked, “What’s doing?”
He gave a shout of relief, and suddenly the girls were crowding in, hugging Rachel, talking and laughing at the same time, and though Jack felt the same exuberance they did and wanted to hug her, too, he gave them room. This was the most important thing, after all, Rachel and her girls. She was awake. She was back. With another shout of relief, he left to tell the doctors the news.
KATHERINE was in bed when Jack called. She bolted upright, ecstatic. “Wide awake?” she asked.
“Wide awake!”
“Speaking? Remembering?”
“She’s confused about what happened and what day it is, and she’s weak, but awake!”
“Oh, Jack, that is the best news! Has Steve been by?”
“He’s on his way.”
“So am I,” she said and hurried into the shower. It was only when she was under the spray and surrounded by steam that she remembered Jack’s dilemma. She was rooting for him. She planned to tell Rachel that.
She turned off the shower and stepped out, letting the steam fill the room. With her back to the mirror, she rubbed skin cream all over her body. By then, the mirror was fully fogged. She worked on her hair by feel, using the humidity to enhance the curls.
Wrapping a towel around her, she returned to the bedroom. The clothes she had chosen weren’t right. There would be celebrating today, even, perhaps, if she could work appointments around it, a special lunch. In any event, she would see him. So she picked an outfit she loved, soft pants and a two-tiered top, and returned to the bathroom.
Hooking the clothes hanger over the door, she reached for her bra, thought twice, and exchanged it for panty hose. She pulled them up carefully, flexed her ankles, slipped a hand inside along her hip to even the stretch. Then she reached for the bra again.
She held it, turned it. It was black, one of Victoria’s Secret’s sleekest numbers. She looked wonderful with it on. She looked sexy with it on. Steve would like it.
And with it off? Her plastic surgeon said her breasts looked good. So did Rachel, who was the only other person in the world she had trusted enough to show. She trusted Steve. At least, she thought she did. He knew what he faced. He had surely seen worse. She didn’t think he would run from her, screaming and limp.
It was time she showed the same courage.
The mirror was to her right, and clear now. Drawing herself tall with a deep, deep breath, she stepped before it, and for the first time in months and months, took a good long look.
EXCITEMENT spread down the hall. Doctors came and did their tests. Nurses came and helped. Families of other patients, framed in envy, stood outside looking in.
Jack didn’t know what to do. He watched it all from beside the bed, from a spot just behind Rachel’s head. He was there, but he wasn’t. He felt relief and worry, happiness and fear. He was the ex-husband, relegated to silence again.
chapter twenty-three
RACHEL EMERGED from her coma thinking it was just another day of waking up with Jack on her mind, until she found him there in the flesh, inches from her face, looking worried and involved. Her first thought was that something had happened to one of the girls, but she saw them in her periphery, as alive and intense as Jack. So she went on to thinking that she had imagined Big Sur and six years of life without him. When she looked directly at the girls, though, she saw that they were too old, too tall. Jack’s hair was less pecan and more beige, his jaw was rougher, his brow more creased. Oh yes, those six years had passed. With Jack? In San Francisco, with Big Sur wishful thinking?
No. Big Sur was too clear in her mind and heart. She couldn’t have dreamed the woods, the cabin, the coast any more than she could have dreamed the aloneness. She was definitely divorced. But there was a wedding band on her finger. It was bigger than it had been last time she had put it on, which was as odd as the way her body felt—tired, heavy, weak.
She was clearly in a hospital. How else to explain coarse white sheets and a medicinal smell? So now she was frightened as well as confused. But the pe
ople she loved were all there and alive. Jack must have been the one who brought the girls. He wouldn’t stay. He never stayed.
Thinking that mothers had to be strong, she mustered a smile for Samantha and Hope. “What’s doing?”
Suddenly, like a paused video starting to play, the two of them came to life. Displacing Jack, they began hugging her, laughing, chattering about an accident she didn’t remember, a coma she didn’t remember, a broken leg, a blood clot, twitching, moaning, gross half-opened eyes.
She didn’t remember any of it. She couldn’t grasp the fact that she had been lying there for sixteen days—though the doctors and nurses who came in to look and prod confirmed it. It did explain her weakness and the thinness of her fingers. She had lost weight. Sixteen days without solid food would do that. Other than soreness from intravenous needles, though, she felt no pain. Apparently she had slept through that.
The girls jabbered on about Jack staying at Big Sur, Jack driving them to school, Jack being at the hospital every single day. Jack didn’t say anything. He had backed off to the side somewhere. She closed her eyes. Too much too soon. He had come through as a father. She was grateful for that.
She rested a bit. Life was hazy. Sixteen days were a long time to have missed. There were things she was supposed to have done. One by one, those thoughts began to congeal.
When she opened her eyes to ask, Samantha and Hope were sitting on the bed on either side of her, looking at her with wide, frightened eyes. She guessed a sixteen-day coma would do that, too. “I’m here,” she said, smiling, when their features abruptly relaxed. But she was still feeling confused. She asked what day of the week it was and what time. She asked why the girls weren’t in school.
“We’ve waited too long for this,” Samantha told her. “Dad said we could skip.”
Rachel wondered what else he had said they could do. Sunday fathers had a way of indulging. Jack usually did it with money. He would have other means, if he was seeing the girls every day. It sounded like he had scored points. The two of them were pushing his virtues awfully hard, which was especially not like Samantha.
A sweet nurse—Cindy, the girls informed her; she’s been helping Dad take care of you; she’s wonderful—cranked up her head a little, then a little more. She was dizzy, but it passed, and the girls began again. Samantha listed off all of the people who had come to visit. Hope told her about the flowers and the cards, the lingerie and the perfume. Samantha told her about Faye’s brisket and Eliza’s pecan rolls. Hope told her about Katherine’s crush on the doctor.
When Samantha told her about the prom, Rachel was heartsick. When Hope told her about Guinevere, Rachel cried.
Jack went off somewhere, which was fine. This was the life she was used to now, just the girls and her. But as soon as he disappeared, the girls started talking about him again.
“He drove down in the middle of the night right after the accident.”
“He loves the woods. He takes us for walks.”
“He dug around for the recipe and made your favorite dip for my louse of a prom date, Teague.”
“He even made a coffin for Guinevere.”
“He bought you a new car, Mom. You’ll love it.”
“He framed your pictures, so the show’s going on.”
“He hasn’t worked in two weeks. I think he’s changed.”
Rachel smiled and nodded, then dozed off, which was a wonderful way of escaping what she didn’t want to hear. When she woke up, the girls were staring at her again, frozen, scared.
“Come on, you guys,” she said, with a laugh this time. “You can’t panic every time I fall asleep.”
“But you don’t know how awful it was,” Samantha cried, and the two of them proceeded to tell her again, until she couldn’t help but get their drift.
“Tell me about the show,” she said. “You said that your father framed my pictures?”
“Framed them and delivered them,” Hope said.
Samantha added, “Ben’s setting things up. We haven’t seen much of him lately. Dad’s the one who’s been here most.”
Before Rachel could ask about the less-than-subtle lobbying, Katherine arrived—dear Katherine, who would have kept an eye on the girls even if Jack hadn’t shown up—suave Katherine, who actually blushed when the doctor who had earlier introduced himself as Steve returned to the room. The crush Hope had mentioned? Katherine? Rachel was overwhelmed. But that wasn’t the first thing she asked when she and Katherine finally got a minute alone.
She wiggled her ring finger. “What’s with this?”
“Did you ask him?”
“No. Katherine, did you call him after the accident?”
“I did,” she said, looking defiant. “I figured you’d want him here.”
“Want him here? He shut down on me. You know it still hurts.”
“You still love him. That’s why it hurts. That’s why I called.”
“It hurts to see him.”
“You don’t think he feels that, too? You think he’s been here for sixteen days for his health?”
“He’s here for the girls.”
“And you.”
“He feels obligated.”
“He cares.”
“Caring isn’t love, and even if it was, you can love someone and still shut them out.” Worn out, Rachel closed her eyes and said a muddled “We’ve been through this, Katherine. You know how I feel.”
“So take the ring off,” Katherine said.
Rachel didn’t, because she was too tired, and a fresh round of medical people were there when she woke up, which would have meant making a public thing of it. Besides, she figured the ring might be a charm. She had been wearing it when she had come out of the coma. She figured she would wear it until she got home.
LEAVING RACHEL’S room, Katherine saw Steve from a distance and, stopping where she was, watched him talk with a nurse, lean down to study a computer, straighten, turn, and smile when a colleague approached. She found such pleasure in watching.
Why him? Because he was skilled, smart, kind, and sensitive? Because he was the right age for her? Because he was the right height, the right weight, the right everything, physically?
When he looked down the hall and saw her, he grinned, said something to his colleague, and started toward her with that lean-limbed walk. He was grinning broadly when he arrived.
“You owe me lunch,” he said.
She grinned back. How not to? His pleasure was infectious. She felt its warmth at the same time that she felt a contradictory chill, deep inside, in a spot she couldn’t place. “I know.”
He gave her a once-over that raised both the warmth and the chill. “You look great.” He glanced at his watch, then said in a coaxing way, “I can buy a couple of free hours this afternoon. Can you?”
Katherine made a show of looking at her own watch. That chilly spot inside was growing worse. She grimaced. “I don’t know. Thursdays are packed.”
“Forget hours, plural. Try one hour. Any chance?”
She winced. “I’m already starting off late, being here now. How about Monday?”
His face went through changes—disappointment to doubt to caution—which was another thing about him that worked for her. She could see what he felt. He was definitely suspicious when he said, “Isn’t that restaurant closed on Mondays?”
“Only off-season. It’s open now.”
“Then it’s a date?”
“Uh-huh,” she said, grateful for the reprieve. “The shop’s closed Mondays. I’m free.”
“I’ll make reservations, say at one o’clock?”
She nodded vigorously.
He smiled again. His lids lowered a hair, gaze dropped to her lips. He mouthed the kind of tiny kiss that no one could see but her, and set off back down the hall leaving her hotter than ever—but only from her knees up. As she headed for the elevator, she located the chill. It was lower.
She had cold feet.
BY THURSDAY afternoon, word ha
d spread that Rachel was awake. By evening, friends were coming by to see for themselves.
Jack had felt awkward enough when just the girls and Katherine were talking with Rachel. It was worse now. He had come to respect her friends and they him, but hearing them sing his praises felt like … charity. Rachel didn’t do more than glance at him every once in a while, and then, without giving a clue as to what she felt.
So he idled in the hall on the phone, calling his lawyer at home, calling Tina Cianni at home. He intercepted a man delivering a huge bouquet of balloons from Victoria—incredible! appropriate!—and with Hope’s gleeful help, tied them to Rachel’s IV pole. Superfluous once again, he ambled to the door, then leaned against the wall just beyond it. When Steve returned for a last evening look, he caught him before he entered the room.
“What happens now? Is she out of the coma free and clear?” He shared the same fear the girls did every time Rachel closed her eyes. “I read a newspaper story once about a guy who came out of a coma and was talking with his family, as lucid as Rachel. He lapsed back into a coma the next day and later died.”
Steve said, “As I recall, that fellow had been comatose for several years. Rachel’s case is more logical. Her head was injured. It took sixteen days for it to heal enough for her to regain consciousness. We’ll do scans in the morning, but I don’t expect to see anything wrong. She’ll be on meds for a while to minimize chance of the swelling returning, maybe a lightweight anticoagulant for six months to make sure there isn’t another clotting problem, but that’s it.”
“When can she go home?” It would be a moment of truth. He had been sleeping in Rachel’s bed.
“The IV will come out later,” Steve explained. “We’ll start her on a liquid diet and move on to soft solids when she’s up to it. We’ll monitor her oxygenation level for another day, get her out of bed in the morning. We want her eating and walking. Once that’s done and she’s regained full bladder tone, she’s yours.”
Coast Road Page 35
