The Christmas Vigil

by Chris Taylor

“Spit it out, Josie!” Tom growled. She sighed and looked to Brandon for help.

  “It’s just that he looks so old and helpless,” Brandon said. “And his head is covered in bandages. There are tubes coming out every which way and…I-I think that was a shock to all of us.” He gazed around the group at the table. “I wasn’t expecting to see him like that. He’s always been so…so alive, so present and now…now he’s lost something.”

  Tom stared at his siblings and tried to process Brandon’s words, but right at that moment, they were beyond him. His father had always been larger than life. It was impossible to imagine him any different. With a heavy sigh, he murmured farewells to his siblings and continued to the elevators.

  His mother had told him the ICU was on level three. He drew in a deep breath and squared his shoulders, readying himself for what was to come.

  * * *

  It was the smell of antiseptic that Tom noticed first—that and the almost eerie stillness of the patients that filled all of the beds. He followed the nurse in silence, looking neither left nor right. She’d warned him that visiting hours were over and that he’d have to make it quick. He’d explained he’d flown from Sydney and expressed his gratitude that she allowed him in.

  A moment later, he spied the large form of his father. The sight might have shocked him if Josie and Brandon hadn’t warned him. He’d never seen his father look so lifeless. His skin blended into the sheets, almost as white as the bandages around his head. The slackness of his jaw was also alarming. The fact that there was no hint of a response when Tom greeted him was even more so. The only sign of life Tom could discern was the slight rise and fall of his father’s chest.

  Setting his jaw against his panic, Tom leaned over and clasped his father’s hand. His fingers lay puffy and limp and unresponsive and Tom’s heart clenched with pain and fear. According to Declan, his father’s brain was still responding, but Tom couldn’t help but wonder how accurate the reports were.

  Surely, if his father’s brain still worked, he’d feel Tom’s touch, hear his greeting, even if he couldn’t offer a response? And yet, there was nothing: Not the slightest flicker of an eyelid, or the movement of his hand, to indicate he had any clue his oldest child was there.

  Despair crept through Tom’s veins and he did his best to hold it in. He was being stupid. His father wasn’t dead. Far from it.

  He quickly averted his gaze and stared steadfastly at a spot across the room and tried desperately to convince himself it was true. A different nurse from the one who had let him in, materialized in his peripheral vision carrying a clipboard under her arm. He turned to look at her, grateful for the distraction. She was young and attractive and offered him an apologetic smile.

  “Hi, I’m Bridie. I’m looking after your father today. I’m sorry to interrupt your visit, but I need to check his vitals. I won’t be a minute.”

  Tom made to leave, but she hastened to reassure him it wasn’t necessary. He pulled the solitary chair well away from the bed and sat and watched while she took his father’s temperature. She checked each one of the machines that were keeping his father alive and then recorded various entries on her paper. A few moments later, she looked across at him and smiled once again.

  “Okay, we’re all done.”

  “How is he?”

  “He’s stable, so that’s a good sign. He still has a little swelling on the brain from the aneurysm bleed, so it’s not unusual for him to remain unconscious. I’m sure once the swelling goes down, we’ll see a marked improvement.”

  Hope surged through him. “How long will it take?”

  The nurse lifted a slender shoulder in a half shrug. Her ponytail swayed with the movement. “It depends. A lot of patients will regain consciousness within a day or so. Sometimes, it takes a little longer. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Tom swallowed a sigh and tried not to look disheartened. He could tell the nurse was doing all she could to cheer him up. A moment later, she collected her notes and moved away. He murmured his thanks and she shot him a look filled with understanding.

  “He’s going to be okay,” she said. “It’s nearly Christmas. There’s no way he’s not going to wake up in time for that. I won’t have it any other way and neither will Santa.” She winked at him.

  A reluctant grin tugged at Tom’s lips. She smiled back and he was reminded of Lily and the way she looked when she was trying to rouse him from his doldrums. At the thought of his wife, his smile slowly faded. He hadn’t been gone twenty-four hours and already he missed her. It was ridiculous. They’d been married for fifteen years. He should be able to spend a night away from her without pining like an idiot.

  The nurse had slipped away, unnoticed. He dragged the chair closer to the bed until he was within reach of the man he’d been proud and honored to call Dad for the whole of his life.

  “Hey, Dad. It’s Tom. How are you doing?”

  Tom grimaced as soon as the words left his mouth. What a stupid question. His father had suffered a bleed on the brain and was still in a coma. How the hell did he think he was doing?

  He cleared his throat and tried again. “They told us where they found you, Dad. I want you to know, I don’t believe what they’re saying. I don’t believe it for an instant. You can’t be having an affair. It isn’t possible. You love Mom too much. You love all of us too much to betray us like that. I refuse to believe it. There has to be another explanation.”

  Tom’s breath came fast and he purposefully worked to slow it down. He thought of his children—Cassie and Joe—and prayed that his faith in his father wasn’t misplaced. Even though they were now both teenagers, they still idolized their grandfather. They’d be just as devastated as the rest of the family if Tom’s instincts were off the mark.

  He hadn’t breathed a word of the police findings to anyone back home, not even to Lily, when he phoned her last night. He’d devoted his entire adult life to law enforcement and believed with every fiber of his being that a man was entitled to the presumption of innocence. Extending that belief to his father was the very least he could do.

  His thoughts returned to his children and he frowned, wanting so much to tell his father about Cassie and to seek his advice.

  “Cassie’s going through a difficult phase, Dad. She turned sixteen a few months ago and I don’t know if it’s an age thing or if there is something more to it. She’s always been an A-grade student, but for the last six months, her marks have been slipping. She’s become more and more withdrawn. It’s so unlike my sunny, little girl, Dad. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

  His father didn’t respond, but Tom continued, anyway. It felt better to tell his father about it, even if his dad appeared not to hear.

  “Lily keeps telling me to ignore it; that she’ll outgrow it, but her bad behaviour is escalating and I’m getting really worried. It’s gone well beyond a “phase,” as far as I’m concerned. The problem is, I don’t have a clue what to do about it. The very thought of disciplining her floods me with guilt. It’s only been a little over three years since…since she was abducted by that pedophile.”

  He shuddered at the memory. “Thank Christ she was spared the horror of a rape, but still, I can’t begin to imagine the unspeakable terror she must have gone through. It’s no wonder the trauma of it stayed with her for such a long time, despite the hundreds of hours of therapy.

  “A year or so ago, I thought she’d turned the corner and I breathed a grateful sigh of relief. We all did. Cassie was more and more like my beautiful, carefree daughter of the past. She seemed to have conquered her nightmares. But lately, it’s like she’s regressed. I don’t know if it has anything to do with what she experienced when she was younger, or if it’s merely a normal teenage rebellious phase, like Lily seems to think. That’s the problem, Dad. I just don’t know. I want to help her. I want to help my baby smile again, but I don’t know how to do it.”

  His voice hitched and tears welled up in his eyes. He was a veteran poli
ce negotiator who’d faced down countless scenes that would strike terror in the hearts of lesser men, but the thought of his beautiful daughter, sad and withdrawn and becoming more so by the day brought him to his knees.

  “I guess I have to trust Lily’s judgement, Dad. As a school teacher, she deals with kids and their problems all the time. She knows how they react and interact. I just hope she’s right about Cassie. I miss my little girl. I want her back.”

  A sob caught in the back of his throat and he swallowed hard and focused on something happier. Joe. Three years younger than Cassie, he was the best kid a father could want. Always joking, always laughing, he’d never given them a moment’s trouble. He’d only just hit puberty with all its problems and pitfalls, but Tom was confident his son would come through it without a hitch. The kid faced any challenge with confidence and determination. Tom wished he could say the same about himself.

  He grimaced and rubbed at the familiar, small lump through his T-shirt. It was right below his nipple and had been there for months. After having seen his mother fight breast cancer, he ought to have known better than to ignore it, but the truth was, it frightened the hell out of him.

  Besides, he’d been busy at work and then at home. With Lily returning to part-time study and taking her courses at night, he just hadn’t found the time to go and see someone about it. Twice now, he’d made and cancelled doctors’ appointments, including the one he’d cancelled to fly up to Grafton.

  A part of him was sure he was better off not knowing. What if it is cancer? What if it were terminal? Breast cancer in men was rare, but every now and then it happened. What if he died? How would Lily survive on one income? There was his life insurance, of course, but would it be enough? And then there were his kids. How would they cope without a father?

  Tom’s chest tightened with emotion. His jaw clenched with the effort of holding it all in. Then, he swore quietly under his breath.

  He was being ridiculous. It was probably nothing—a cyst, or perhaps, a tumor that was benign. He ought to do himself and his family a favor and get the damned thing checked out. It was the sensible thing to do. Then he would know for sure and he could stop thinking such stupid thoughts and conjuring up wild scenarios of death and devastation.

  He glanced back at his father and shook his head. “Christ, Dad, I’m sorry. What sort of comfort am I? You’re the one lying unconscious and I’m here worrying about myself. I should be telling you funny jokes and making sure you’re fighting to pull through instead of making it all about me. Talk about selfish! You should be chewing my ear out, like you would be if you were awake.”

  His voice hitched again and a wave of longing washed over him. What he wouldn’t give to have his father open up his eyes and say hello. He tightened his fingers around the gnarled, old hand and then bent and pressed a kiss against his knuckles. He didn’t know what his father had done or not done, but whatever it was, they’d work through it. Nothing would change the love he felt for the man who’d loved his children unconditionally and been such an integral and inspirational part of his life.

  He drew in a deep breath and eased it out. With his lips moving silently, he sent up a prayer that all of them would be all right.

  * * *

  Duncan listened to Tom’s heartfelt words and struggled to break free of the weight that held him down. The pain in his firstborn’s voice was almost more than he could bear. He wanted to draw him into his arms and comfort him like he used to when Tom was young, but the ache in his chest and the fog in his head refused to release him. The frustration nearly made him cry out and he would have, if he could.

  The knowledge that some people had drawn the logical conclusion he was having an affair didn’t come as any real surprise. He thought back to his preparations and couldn’t blame them for arriving at that point. It pained him to think some of his family might also think that and he could only pray that, like Tom, his wife wasn’t among them.

  The thought of Marguerite sent another pang racing through him. He needed her by his side. He needed her gentle touch. He needed her to soothe away the pain and to reassure him everything was going to be all right. The pounding in his head hadn’t lessened and he was terrified it never would.

  Where was she?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Declan

  Grafton, New South Wales

  Declan jammed his hands in his pockets and kicked at the loose stones on the well-marked gravel path that skirted the bank of the Clarence River. The wide expanse of water sparkled in the afternoon sun, sending shards of light dancing across the surface, but he was mostly oblivious to its beauty.

  He’d stormed away from Tom after failing to convince his oldest brother yet again that the facts didn’t lie. Tom should know better. He’d been a cop longer than any of them. None of them wanted to believe their father had been cheating, but the evidence plainly indicated it was true.

  It was just like he’d yelled at Tom: The facts didn’t lie. There was no other possible reason for his father to be in a hotel room with champagne, roses, massage oils and lingerie and not be expecting a woman. It was ridiculous to think otherwise and Tom darn well knew it. So what if the woman hadn’t surfaced? If it had been any other man but their father, no one would have questioned the evidence. It was just that the man involved was their much loved and admired father. It was only for that reason they’d forced themselves to voice their sometimes heated denials.

  Declan had wanted to voice his, too. It had been his first instinct when Clayton had told him, but no matter which way he looked at it, the facts remained the same. It infuriated him that Tom stubbornly refused to see.

  His phone vibrated against his chest and he tugged it out. He’d turned it on silent in anticipation of entering the hospital, but so far, he hadn’t been able to calm down enough to go in. Glancing at the screen, he couldn’t help but smile. It was Chloe.

  He’d spoken to her the night before, but the phone call had been brief. She’d been tired and distracted and he’d heard Jessie crying in the background. It hadn’t been the time to tell her the truth about his father, no matter how much he wanted to. But now, it was all he could do not to blurt it out the moment he answered her call.

  Instead, he drew in a deep breath and greeted her with a smile. “Hello, gorgeous wife. What are you up to?”

  Chloe giggled. “Hello, yourself. You’re sounding a little more chipper this morning. I take it your father’s awake?”

  Declan immediately sobered, his belly once again churning with dread. “No, at least, not that I know of. I haven’t seen him, yet.”

  The laughter in Chloe’s voice faded. “Declan, what do you mean, you haven’t seen him yet? The day’s half over.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, it is and I think the morning visiting hours are, too. I’ll have to wait until this afternoon to see him.”

  “What’s the matter, Declan? What’s happened?”

  He heard the fear and confusion in her voice and hastened to reassure her. “It’s nothing. I’m fine. Well, it’s not nothing, but it has nothing to do with me.”

  “Talk to me, darling. Please. Something’s not right.”

  Declan’s shoulders slumped on a heavy sigh. Up ahead of him, he spied an empty park bench and made his way over to it. He threw himself down and sighed again. “You’re right. There’s no other way to tell you this, so I’m going to say it straight out: Dad’s been having an affair.”

  “What?” Chloe’s shocked response reverberated deep inside him.

  “I didn’t want to believe it, either, but the evidence was there in plain view. Dad was found in a hotel room. The police who attended the scene told Riley what they found. While there was no woman there, apparently it was more than obvious he’d been expecting one and it sure as hell wasn’t my mother.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Chloe murmured, her voice still laced with shock. “What kind of things did they find?”

 
Declan rattled off the items as quickly as he could. Every time he thought about them, his anger and embarrassment bubbled higher.

  Chloe remained silent. A moment later, she spoke slowly, as if choosing her words with care. “Things aren’t always as they appear, Declan.”

  His temper leaped into life. “Oh, come on! Not you, too! It is what it is! The facts don’t lie. Why am I the only one who has the guts to acknowledge it?”

  “All I’m saying is that I don’t think you should be so quick to jump to conclusions. Okay, I hear what you’re saying and it certainly doesn’t look good, but I remember a time only a couple of years ago when I was also convinced the facts didn’t lie.”

  Declan’s jaw clenched and he breathed in deeply, forcing the air out of his nose. She was referring to the time he’d been wrongly accused of illegally accessing child pornography. She’d been the senior Internal Affairs Investigator on his case and all of the facts had pointed to his guilt. If it hadn’t been for his own belief in his innocence and Chloe’s dogged determination to look behind the obvious, he’d have been convicted of a heinous crime—a crime he hadn’t committed.

  He bit his lip and conceded her point. His father hadn’t done anything illegal, but the principle was just the same. When Declan had been under the spotlight, his father had been nothing but supportive. In fact, Declan wouldn’t have withstood the turmoil and devastation the whole situation wrought, without his father’s unwavering belief in his innocence, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

  Declan bent over at the waist, suddenly flooded with guilt. He, of all people, should have known better. He knew firsthand what it felt like to be presumed guilty without ever having been given the chance to set the record straight. If it hadn’t been for Chloe’s persistence, the truth might never have come out.

  His father was in a coma and was in no shape or form to defend himself. He was relying on his wife and family to come to his defense in his hour of need, to believe in his innocence no matter what the evidence dictated. And Declan had let him down. A sob caught in Declan’s throat and his chest heaved.