Cross Drop

by Elizabeth Hartey

  “Yup.” Dr. Hensley acknowledges my introduction but doesn’t take his assessing eyes off Nikki to take my hand.

  “Thank you for coming, Dr. Hensley. I appreciate you traveling all this way.”

  “With the generous donation your brother gave my research foundation, Mr. Walker, there’s no need to thank me.” He runs his hand down Nikki’s left leg through the covers.

  “Whatever it takes. Money is no object. Just bring Nikki back to me.”

  “How long has Ms. Dixon been out of surgery?” He turns to the nurse without commenting on my offer.

  “Fifteen hours, doctor.”

  He glances over to me. “Give me a chance to evaluate Ms. Dixon, then I can give you my prognosis.”

  “Yes. Thank you, sir.” Something about his no-nonsense demeanor tells me if anyone can help Nikki, this is the man to do it. My optimism rekindles.

  Dr. Hensley turns to me for the first time since entering the room. “But I have to be honest with you. Money isn’t the issue here, son. There’s no amount of money that will bring Nikki back to who she was before if there’s too much brain trauma.”

  I had almost forgotten Rose was standing there until she lets out a little gasp. Dr. Hensley’s words succeed in extinguishing my hope.

  He must read the despair on my face and hear the sound of Rose’s distress because he adds, “But let’s not put the cart before the horse here. Give me some time and I can give you a better idea as to what we’re dealing with.”

  “How long before you have some idea, doctor?” Rose asks in a weak voice.

  “I’ve already read Nikki’s charts and I’ve spoken to the attending physician. If you can give me some time to do my own evaluation, I can better answer some of your questions. Ms. Blanchard, will you stay and assist me, please?”

  “Of course, doctor,” the nurse replies. “Mr. Walker, if you and Mrs. Dixon will have a seat in the guest area, I’ll call you in when Dr. Hensley is finished with his evaluation.”

  I don’t want to leave Nikki even for a minute but I brought Hensley here because he’s one of the best in the country. I have to follow his instructions and let him do whatever it is he needs to do to help her.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-ONE

  Dalt

  I pace the floor of the lounge area outside the intensive care unit for traumatic injury. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, I note the seconds ticking by in slow, methodical clicks. It’s only six a.m. It feels like it’s been a lifetime since I heard the news about Nikki’s accident.

  I wonder what it feels like to Nik, cocooned all alone inside her own head. Does she remember what happened, where she is? Is she scared? I want to be in the room with her, holding her, telling her everything will be okay. Will she even know I’m here and how much I love her? Does she hear me when I tell her I’ll never leave her? Ha. Yeah right. Will she ever believe me again when I make the bullshit promise I reneged on after one day?

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Rose’s voice pulls me out of my restless thoughts.

  “Uh…thanks, no. Can I get you something?” I should be the one trying to comfort her. She looks like she’s on the verge of needing to climb into a hospital bed herself.

  “No. Thank you. Matt will be here soon. He said he packed some food. Even though I told him I wasn’t hungry, he insisted.” A slight smile tips the corner of her lips but disappears almost as fast.

  “Is he bringing Chloe with him?”

  I can’t wait to hold my baby girl. But I’m not sure she should see Nikki like this. All the tubes, lines, and machines hooked to her mama might frighten her too much.

  “No. I want to wait until Nikki wakes up in the next day or two for Chloe to see her.” She says it with such conviction, like there’s no doubt in her mind Nikki will be awake by tomorrow or the next day. “My friend Ellen is coming to stay with her. Chloe knows her. We’ve been friends since we were girls and Chloe thinks of her as another grandma.” She stares at the wall in front of her as she speaks. Her voice sounds hollow as she distractedly answers my question. “Do you need Matt to pick anything up for you?” She glances at me for the first time.

  “Well…yes, actually.” The thought occurs to me it may be the only way I have to get these items without having to leave the hospital. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to get these.” I pull a pen from my pocket and click it open. Looking around the room for something to write on, I spot a roll of paper towels hanging on the wall. I tear one off to use as makeshift notepaper. After scribbling my list, I hand it to Rose.

  “Can you ask him to find somewhere to pick these up?”

  Rose reads over the list, giving me a puzzled look. “Nikki has most of these at home in her room.”

  “Perfect. Can you ask him to bring them, please?”

  “Yes. I…I’ll give him a call right now before he leaves.”

  ***

  While waiting for an excruciating hour and a half for Dr. Hensley to finish his evaluation, I use my phone to do a search for his credentials. The guy may appear eccentric but he’s a rock star when it comes to brain injury, neurosurgery research, and acute care. The list of studies he’s participated in is as long as my arm. Which is the reason why when Nurse Blanchard comes into the lounge to tell us Dr. Hensley is ready for us, I stop breathing for a moment. I know whatever he tells us about Nik’s condition and prognosis, good or bad, is the most accurate information we’re going to get.

  Rose’s apprehensive expression is mirroring my own. Matt, who arrived about an hour ago, has his arm around Rose’s shoulder and has somewhat pulled himself together since I saw him at the farm. It’s obvious he’s trying his best to remain stoic for Rose’s sake. But when he glowers back at me, the stoicism is replaced by pure hatred. He can’t be thinking anything worse about me I haven’t already thought myself.

  As we follow Ms. Blanchard down the corridor to Nikki’s room, Rose reaches out and takes my hand, interlacing her fingers in mine. Matt grunts behind us but I’m grateful for Rose’s support, even though I don’t deserve it.

  Dr. Hensley wastes no time taking us aside, away from Nikki’s bed, and firing off his findings. He tells us after consulting with Nik’s physician they agreed the tracheal tube could be removed since it had been long enough for the surgical sedative to wear off and Nikki was breathing on her own. Without the hindrance of the tube and effects of the sedative, he was able to get a more accurate assessment of Nikki’s condition.

  “Her Glasgow score is borderline. She’s ranging somewhere around a ten, which means there is some motor withdrawal response to pain stimulation and some incoherent verbal response. However, she hasn’t opened her eyes. I reviewed her CT scan and MRI. There doesn’t appear to be any intracranial pressure or severe injury, although there is some slight bruising on the cerebellum. It appears to be minimal, which is good. But it may cause some problems with balance and coordination in the future. It’s hard to say at this time.”

  “But she’s a soccer player,” I blurt out like a mindless ass. The man is telling us whether or not Nikki will live or die or have permanent disabilities and I’m worried about soccer.

  “Soccer is very important to Nikki. Her father taught her to play when she was only three and she’s been playing ever since,” Rose interjects and squeezes my hand to assure me my concern for soccer would be a priority to Nikki as well.

  “It’s too soon to know anything regarding coordination issues, but with the severity of the leg injury, soccer may not be in her future, regardless of the cerebellar issue,” he whispers.

  “Can she hear us?” I glance over at Nik. How would I feel if I opened my eyes one morning and someone told me I’d never be able to play hockey again?

  “Yes. In all likelihood she can. Most moderately comatose patients I’ve treated in the past have said they could hear voices in the room though they couldn’t always discern what was being said.”

  “But you’re saying she will wake up?” M
att asks, the most important question of all. “Matt Grisham. Nikki’s stepfather,” Matt declares his recent promotion to fatherly status and extends his hand to Dr. Hensley. Rose looks up at him in wide-eyed astonishment then smiles when Matt gives her a return once-over which seems to say ‘that’s right, you heard me.’

  “When it comes to brain injury and healing, it is as diversified as there are people with brains. We can never be one hundred percent certain of anything. Since Nikki is still unconscious and not completely responsive, a prognosis at this time can be difficult.” Dr. Hensley takes a deep breath. “At this point I’m cautiously optimistic about Nikki’s prognosis. I will report it as fair to her physician.”

  “How long before she wakes up?” I ask.

  “I understand you want a definitive timeline. But with head trauma and coma patients, it’s impossible to give a decisive answer. As I said, Ms. Dixon’s score is borderline. It’s not low enough to be considered severe but it’s not high enough to be considered mild. Perhaps in a few days she can be reevaluated to get a more positive answer, but for right now I’ve given you the best information I can.”

  That’s it? She’s not too bad but she’s not too good either? What does that even mean? There must be something more we can do.

  “What should we do for her in the meantime? To help her, I mean.”

  “The doctors and nurses here are giving Nikki the best care possible. Ms. Blanchard will keep a watchful eye on her to assess any changes. The best all of you can do is take turns staying with her. Talk to her. Touch her. Reassure her. Provide stimulus. She’ll know you’re here. It can help to pull her out of the darkness.”

  Darkness.

  I hate this. It’s like we’re trapped in a bad episode of Stranger Things and Nikki has been sucked into the other world.

  Then I remember the bag Matt brought in with him. I run back to the lounge to get it.

  When I get back to Nikki’s room, Dr. Hensley is in front of the nurses’ station with Rose and Matt. They’re shaking hands and thanking him for coming.

  “Yes. Thank you again for coming all this way on such short notice.” I offer my hand. This time he accepts it.

  “Well, I’m not sure I told you anything more than her doctors here could have told you, but I’m very grateful for the generous donation. I assure you we’ll put it to good use. There’s so much more we need to learn about brain injury and treatment.” His voice takes on a note of sadness.

  I’d fund his research for the next twenty years if he would stay here and take care of Nikki until she opens her eyes, but he already explained he has critical patients he has to get back to. As I make arrangements for his return flight back to the airport and then to Maryland, he asks me to keep him informed of any changes and says if we need him to come back he will.

  Meanwhile, as I take the seat next to Nikki’s bed and pull one of her books from the bag Matt brought, I pray she’ll wake up before Dr. Hensley has a chance to even board his return flight.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-TWO

  Nikki

  Lovely memories float through my mind. The Bernard Arena is packed. Dalt receives the perfect short outside pass from Dak right out of the faceoff. The crowd goes wild when Dalt hits a scorcher and the puck sails to the back of the net. The vision of Dalt and I at the quad having a one on one soccer game fades into view. It’s a blustery autumn day, and the weather is crisp and clear. Fallen leaves crunch under our feet as we crisscross the field. I giggle at Dalt’s amused frustration when I manage to use some fast scissor cuts to tease him with the ball, fake the direction I’m going, and then sail the ball into the goal. I want to smile now, remembering how he tackled me to the ground, laughing at how he was going to punish me when we got home for tricking him. I can’t make myself smile. I’m stuck in this tunnel of thick darkness, unable to move. My mind sweeps toward another memory of Dalt and I swaying in each other’s arms to the lilting warmth of Perfect. Dalt’s whispering in my ear. I can almost feel the warmth of his breath on my face.

  I hear his voice somewhere in the distance. It sounds methodical, like he’s reciting something. What? Poetry? I can’t make it out. I can’t move toward his voice to hear him better. Instead I float away. Dalt calls to me. I understand his words this time.

  “Nik, baby. Open your eyes. Come back to me, please.”

  I try to move toward him. I have to tell him what I set out to tell him before he leaves for California. He can’t leave me. I won’t let him leave. We love each other. We belong together.

  I can’t move. The darkness is too thick and heavy.

  I feel the soothing stroke of a hand moving down my arm. My skin tingles in response. It’s Dalt. I know it’s Dalt. I force my fingers to move to catch his hand as it moves down.

  “Nikki! Can you hear me?” He sounds panicked.

  I can hear you! I want to scream, but my lips won’t move. A twinge of pain shoots down my leg and I jerk in response.

  “Just wiggle your finger again if you can hear me, sweetheart.”

  Wiggle my finger. How hard can that be? I can do that.

  “That’s it, baby. You’re doing it. Rachel, I think she’s waking up!” Dalt’s voice gets louder. Who the hell is Rachel? And why is she waking up here? I struggle to force my eyes open. I need to see Dalt, talk to him. I get my eyes open.

  “Nik, open your eyes. You can do it,” Dalt pleads with me. I hear his words clearly now. I feel the warmth of his fingers on my face. I want to turn my face into his hand, touch my lips to his fingertips, but my head throbs when I try to move it.

  Dalt’s soft breath tickles my ear. “Do it again, baby. Open those beautiful blue eyes for me.”

  I have to do this. Dalt is begging me and he sounds so concerned. I blink and slowly push my eyelids open. There’s not much light. I can see the blurred silhouette of someone. I can’t focus. It’s too difficult. I close my eyes again.

  “No, baby. Don’t close your eyes. Please look at me, Nik. I need you to open your eyes.”

  Dalt needs me to open my eyes. I can do this. I push my lids open and force my vision to adapt to the blurry dim light. I see his beautiful face. I try to reach for him but I can’t move my arms.

  “Where…” I want to ask where we are but my throat is too dry. It hurts to talk or even swallow.

  “We’re at Maine Coast Memorial,” Dalt says. “You were in an accident. Your truck skidded on the wet road.”

  I remember. “I was coming to you.” My words are raspy. I don’t recognize my own voice.

  “Yes. You were coming to me because I was stupid enough to leave you. I’m so sorry, Nik.”

  “I won’t let you leave. You can’t leave.” I close my eyes. It’s exhausting trying to express what I need to say to him.

  “Nik, please keep your eyes open. Listen to me. I’m not leaving you. I promise I’ll never leave you again. Never. And you have to promise to stay with me. I love you with all my heart. You’re my reason for living. Chloe and I need you.”

  Chloe.

  I try to sit up. My head pounds and a sharp pain shoots down my leg.

  “Wait, Nik. You can’t get up.”

  “Chloe?” I ask, dropping my head back onto the pillow.

  “She’s fine. She’s been at home with Matt or your mom’s friend Ellen for the ten days you’ve been here.”

  “Ten…ten days?”

  I’ve been in the hospital for ten days? How is that possible?

  “Yeah. You had us all pretty scared there, crazy girl. What were you doing racing around in the middle of the night during a storm? Don’t you know I can’t survive without my air to breathe, without my sunshine, without my reason for living?”

  For the first time I can see well enough in the dimly lit room to notice Dalt’s disheveled appearance. His clothes are rumpled like he’s been sleeping in them, his face is covered with the scruff of several days of not shaving, and there are dark circles under his eyes.

  “Me either
. It’s why I had to tell you…” I can manage to push out through my dry throat.

  “I know. Everything you had to tell me is exactly what I was going to tell you as soon as I confronted my father. It just took me a little longer to figure it out. I’m a guy, after all. Our brains aren’t always firing on all cylinders.” His coy smile is as heart melting as ever.

  “I’m going to get Rachel. Don’t close those beautiful blues. Okay?”

  My puzzled expression prompts Dalt to answer my unspoken question. “Rachel is the nurse. I’m going to get her. I’ll be right back.”

  I try to reach for his hand. He bends down and whispers in my ear, “I’ll be right back. I’ll never leave you, Nik. How many guys are lucky enough to be blessed with a hat trick of chances at the most amazing girl in the world? My prayers have been answered today, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life showing you how grateful I am.”

  ***

  A young nurse with a short black bob haircut walks into the room, Dalt following close behind. She appears to be a little older than me.

  “Welcome back. I’m Rachel, the attending night nurse. How are you feeling?”

  “My throat.” I try to gesture toward my neck but my wrists are restrained.

  “Feeling a little scratchy? It’s from the trach tube. How about some water?” She pushes a button to raise the upper portion of my bed.

  When I nod, she holds a plastic cup to my lips and I take a few slow sips from the straw. I relish the coolness of the water as it washes down and soothes some of the parched scratchiness in my throat.

  “I don’t think you’ll be needing these anymore. They’re just a precaution to make sure you didn’t pull out any tubes,” she explains, undoing the restraints around my wrists. She hands me the cup to hold. “Small sips, please.” She glances at Dalt. “Okay, dreamboat. You did good with all your reading. Now you’re going to have to leave her to us for a little while and let us take care of her.”