The View from Here

by Hannah McKinnon

  A sob rose up in Olivia’s throat. “Thank God.”

  At the sight of her mother, Luci burst into tears, and Olivia raced to her bedside. It was then she noticed the brace on Luci’s left arm. “What happened?”

  When she touched it, a small squawk rose in Luci’s throat.

  Olivia sank gingerly onto the bed beside her and cupped her small face. “It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here.”

  Where were the doctors?

  Gently but urgently, she examined Luci with her eyes and hands. Every finger, every toe, no different than the day she was born. “Does anything else hurt? Can you show me?”

  A nurse sailed into the room. “Are you Mom?” Both her voice and smile were bright, reassuring, unlike that awful receptionist. Olivia felt her insides loosen.

  “Yes!” Olivia said. Then, “Her arm? What happened to it?”

  “Our girl is so brave!” the nurse said, adjusting Luci’s blanket and checking her vitals. “Her vitals are all good—oxygen and pulse are both normal, no temperature. But we do have a boo-boo on her arm.” She looked sympathetically at Luci. “The paramedics splinted it on the ride here, and the doctor has been in. She’d like to order some images. So, we are headed to X-ray.”

  “Is it broken?” Olivia asked.

  “We don’t know for sure, but given the swelling and bruising we want to check.” She lowered her voice, turning to Olivia. “We haven’t been able to get her to answer any questions. Apparently, the man who came in with her said she doesn’t talk?”

  Jake. At the mention of him, Olivia felt her eyes well. He’d seen to taking care of Luci, after all. “That’s my fiancé. How is he?”

  “That I don’t know, but I can find out for you. I’m going to check with radiology about this X-ray, so we can get Luci going, and then I’ll come find you. Okay?”

  None of this was okay, but Olivia nodded gratefully. Right now this nurse was her lifeline.

  Olivia turned back to Luci, forcing a smile. “Everything is going to be all right,” she told her. But her mind spun, images of Jake and Emma fluttering through it. Now that Luci was accounted for, she needed to find out about the others.

  Luci pointed with her good hand at the doorway. Olivia turned, expecting to see the nurse again. But it was Perry.

  “How is she?”

  Olivia rose to meet him in the doorway. “She seems all right, except for her left arm. They need to X-ray it. What about Emma?”

  “We haven’t been able to see her yet. She’s still in radiology. Amelia is over there now, trying to learn more.”

  “Did they give you any information? Anything at all?”

  “That she is conscious and alert, which is good. But that she appears to have a head injury.” His voiced wavered. “We’ll know more with the images.”

  Olivia glanced back at Luci through the curtains, and lowered her voice. “What about Jake?”

  Perry’s eyes were as wide and blue as his brother’s. Had she ever realized that before?

  “Perry?” she asked again, dread rising in her throat. “What do you know?”

  “Jake is in the OR,” he said, softly.

  “What? Why?” Again, her heart sounded against her ribs. Luci was okay. But for the first time since giving birth, Olivia realized that it was not just Luci and her father around which her world revolved. Jake was part of that world now, too.

  She stepped out of the dim light of the examination room and into the buzz of activity in the hallway. Perry followed. “Tell me what you know,” she demanded. “All of it.”

  Perry told her. About the compound fracture in his right leg. About the blood loss from that injury. And the gash across his head. Unlike the two girls, who were found on the floor of the boat after the accident, Jake had been discovered at the edge of the shore. They believed he’d been ejected from the boat upon impact with the dock.

  So, the boat had hit a dock. Olivia felt her knees buckle. She waved Perry’s hand away when he reached to steady her. “Go on,” she told him.

  When he finished, Perry watched Olivia like one watches an injured animal.

  He did not attempt to console her, or even put an arm around her. He did not tell her everything was going to be okay. “All right,” she said, finally. She would not stand here in the hallway and cry. It wouldn’t change a damn thing if she did, except to scare Luci. She took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll come back as soon as I know more,” he promised. “I’m sorry.”

  The engagement ring on her finger flashed under the fluorescent hospital lighting as she twisted it to and fro.

  But Perry didn’t go. She could feel him standing behind her as she hesitated in the doorway and tried to collect herself. Olivia parted the curtains and sat down in the chair beside her daughter’s bed. Finally, there was the fall of receding footsteps.

  Gently, Olivia took Luci’s good hand in her own. It was so warm and small.

  “Baby, can you tell me what happened in the boat?”

  Luci winced. She leaned back into the pillows and shook her head. Beneath the blanket one foot began to jig. Then the other. It was what she did when overcome with anxiety, something she used to do when she was younger and less able to articulate. Olivia hated to see its return.

  “It’s okay, Lu Lu. Everyone is going to be all right. Mommy just needs to know what happened on the boat. Can you tell me?”

  Luci looked away, her feet kicking faster beneath the sheets.

  “Okay,” Olivia said. “It’s all right. We don’t have to talk about this now if you don’t want to. How about I get you a drink?”

  She fumbled with a paper cup at the sink and filled it. When she turned back to Luci, she knew it was too late. The blank look on her daughter’s face was one Olivia knew well. Luci was shutting down, retreating to that faraway place deep within her. Where she went to feel safe. Where even her mother could not seem to reach her.

  Phoebe

  Phoebe stood in the middle of Perry and Amelia’s kitchen, her arms hanging uselessly at her sides. She’d offered to go back and get things for Emma, a mission that had at first felt extremely necessary and helpful, but Phoebe now realized was a knee-jerk reaction when there was absolutely nothing anyone could do but wait.

  None of them had any idea what had happened out on the lake. The perfectly peaceful day had turned to chaos as soon as their cell phones began ringing. Edward had acted first, placing a call to his friend, Clayton Bennett, the head of the Candlewood Lake Authority, to try to get more information. Jane fluttered around the yard like a downed bird, laying her hands on everyone as if it could somehow help: first Amelia, who had screamed for Emma, then Olivia, who had simply gone white and silent. “Come,” Jane said, pulling both women away from the water’s edge and guiding them like frightened animals up the grassy slope of the yard. “Let’s get our things and get in the car.” At which Olivia sprang to life and sprinted for her own car, despite everyone’s suggestion she wait and let someone else drive you! Perry, the most composed, had driven the others.

  Thank goodness Rob had shepherded the boys home, herding them wordlessly out of the water, across the yard, and into the car, trying not to alarm them. “Where is everyone going?” Patrick asked, his little face filling with concern.

  “The picnic is over,” Rob told the boys calmly. “Time to go home.” Phoebe had shadowed him, helping her husband collect the toys and swim bags, the shoes and socks and clothes. Both afraid to look at each other too closely, and neither saying what they both were thinking: Thank God they stayed behind. It could have been them.

  It certainly could have been. Jake had asked them to come. Phoebe had been sitting on the edge of the dock with Patrick, helping him cast his little red Mickey Mouse fishing rod. Rob and Jed weren’t far off, wading at the edge of the shoreline with a toy boat. The day was uncomfortably hot, and the boys were pink-faced and sticky. How she would’ve loved to accept Jake’s invitation and get out on the water. How heavenly the
lake breeze would have felt out there. But when she really thought about it, along came the exhausting reality of taking toddlers out on the boat. The thought of reapplying sunscreen, wrestling both boys into life vests, then inevitably having to take at least someone to the potty was too much. Once on the boat, the boys would not have wanted to sit still. She and Rob would have needed to wrangle them onto their laps and hang on tightly while the boat was in motion. They’d have wanted to go tubing, which would require either her or Rob to put a swimsuit on and go, too.

  She’d decided right then and there that there was no lake breeze refreshing enough to convince her to sign up for that amount of drudgery. So, when Jake jogged over and asked Rob, “Want to come out with us?” Phoebe had barked an answer for the both of them.

  “Nope! Thanks, anyway.” She ignored Rob’s pointed look, not knowing if he’d really wanted to go or whether he’d simply wanted a chance to answer for himself. Saying no had been the right thing to do if she were to get through the rest of the day with a scrap of patience or good humor. Sometimes parenthood was simply about survival.

  Now, as she climbed the stairs in Perry’s house, she pushed the selfish relief for her good fortune out of her mind. She was here for Emma.

  At the end of the hall she surveyed the scene in Emma’s bedroom through the doorway. The room was bright and neat, and smelled faintly of shampoo, as if her niece had just showered and walked out the door. There were a few T-shirts tossed on the plush carpet by the closet mirror, probably fashion discards tossed in haste, which made Phoebe smile. She stepped inside. On Emma’s dresser were photos, mostly of the family. In one silver-framed picture was Emma in a white dress for her first Communion. There was one of their pet cat, and a dated elementary school class picture—Emma’s cheeks still rounded out with baby fat. Phoebe squinted at the placard at the bottom: Mrs. Ainsley’s fourth grade. And of course, the most recent Goodwin family photo, all of them squished together on Jane and Edward’s dock, everyone having donned their requisite red holiday scarf. It was the insisted-upon family Christmas photo that Jane arranged each year, and all of them grumbled about assembling for with just as much dutifulness. Someone was always sick, and someone always forgot. Yet year after year Phoebe’s mother managed to wrangle all of her children and her children’s children and spouses for the annual trek down to the dock in their Christmas reds. With the same inevitable result: as soon as it was over, there would be relief that the picture was finally taken (this year in a mere eight tries, unlike the year before, when it took twenty, thanks to Patrick), then Jane would point out that since everyone was there and it was getting dark, why not “stick around, order some pizza?” And suddenly it was a family dinner. Phoebe set the photo down and smiled ruefully. Her mother was a master.

  As she looked around Emma’s room, it occurred to Phoebe that there were no recent pictures of any high school friends, something she noticed in abundance in other people’s houses where teenagers resided. Her friend Anna Beth had two teenage girls, and their rooms were plastered with photos of themselves and what they referred to as their “squads.” Sports photos. School dance photos. Photos of them all at the lake. Teenage girls seemed compelled to capture every mundane moment, leaving Phoebe wondering how on earth she would’ve survived such relentless exposure had she been a teenager in the cell phone age. Now she scanned the bare surfaces and walls of Emma’s room, with the unsettling realization: there was not a piece of evidence of Emma having a social life.

  Since there was still no word from the hospital, she grabbed a backpack from the closet door and she gathered things she imagined both Amelia and Emma would want: a fresh set of clothes, fuzzy socks. She found pajamas in the bottom drawer. In the attached bathroom, Phoebe found deodorant and face lotion. She plucked a purple toothbrush from its holder. On her way back through the room she halted at the sight of Emma’s bed. There, squeezed between Emma’s pillow and the wall, Phoebe recognized the old stuffed rabbit.

  “Cedric!” she said, aloud. It was Emma’s childhood “lovey,” the one she’d dragged around since she was a baby. The very same Cedric who once upon a time inspired phone calls that sent the whole family into panic on any given holiday, when Perry would call them shortly after leaving to report Cedric’s sudden absence. Back then, Phoebe had made note and tucked away this important information, pledging that when she eventually had her own babies, she would sharply monitor the whereabouts of their lovies and never have to make such calls or rustle the family into such manic searches. A pledge she sheepishly realized, once she did have her own babies, had been made in vain. Now Phoebe grabbed the stuffed bunny off the bed and held him to her chest.

  She could not imagine what was going on over at the hospital. Her own boys were back home. They were safe with their dad, probably slipping beneath the plastic construction tarps that hung everywhere, probably trying to touch the numerous cords and tools and building supplies that Dave and the crew neatly removed to the corners of the rooms each time the workday ended, but that were like a magnetic field to little boys nonetheless. All this time Phoebe had felt guilty for the disruption of the house renovation to their lives: the dust, the debris. For all the mishaps she’d not only stumbled into, but leapt into. And all the bad news that she’d kept from her husband, so as to spare him the stress and the worry. She’d become consumed by the house renovation—completely, stubbornly consumed.

  Phoebe kissed Cedric between his worn ears and swiped at a stray tear. Then she stuffed the bunny into the backpack, hurried downstairs and out of the house into the bright sun. What a goddamned fool she’d been.

  Perry

  Amelia was beside herself. Of course, he didn’t blame her. He should’ve been, too. But since his wife was hysterical, someone had to maintain calm and rationality for Emma.

  Emma, who had been returned to them and was now sitting up in bed. His beautiful girl looked to him like she had been badly beaten in some kind of fight club. Perry could barely bring himself to look at the misshapen purple contours of his daughter’s face. Her right eye was so swollen it was closed shut. Her nose, though miraculously not broken, was the color of an overripe plum.

  When they’d finally been allowed to see her, Amelia had let out a yelp so primal Perry had had to take her out into the hall, where she sobbed into his shoulder. Perry would have liked to sob, too. But so far not a single tear had presented itself, and he began to wonder if he were in shock. What he was sure of was his growing anger. Perry pictured it bloodred and working its way through his veins like a brush fire. Though, as of yet, there was no clear target for it.

  As they waited for the doctor to return, Perry squeezed his wife’s hand. She did not respond. Amelia had not been able to respond to anyone except Emma. And so far Emma had not done anything aside from open her one good eye and hold the side of her head in her hand as if cradling a broken egg. Speaking seemed to cause her headache to worsen, so they had agreed to let her rest for now. This decision made perfect sense to Perry, and yet it was almost impossible to abide by: it forced him to bite back the questions burning the tip of his tongue. What the hell happened out there?

  To Perry’s relief, the doctor, a middle-aged man with a trim silver beard, rejoined them.

  “All right, folks. Both her X-rays and CT scans are clear, and there is no evidence of any internal bleeding. What evidence we do have points to a decent concussion.”

  Decent? Perry thought. As opposed to what? As an analyst he liked hard numbers.

  A whimper of relief escaped Amelia’s pursed lips. “You’re certain?”

  “Well, there is never certainty when someone has been involved in an accident with multiple contusions, like Emma’s. So we try to measure symptoms and compare them with imaging results. For example, she is complaining of head pain. Which is normal, given the nature of her injury. And there is demonstration of light sensitivity and nausea. Also normal for someone who’s experienced a head injury.” He pulled a sheaf of papers off a clipboard
and passed them to Amelia, who started rifling through them like she was going to be tested on their contents at any moment.

  “Are there any further tests you recommend?” Perry asked. As much as he wanted to whisk Emma home, he did not want to step one foot out of the hospital until all bases had been covered. They were not necessarily out of the woods, he knew. Potential for future risks must therefore be managed.

  The doctor considered the question. “There are always more tests we can run. For example, an MRI. But at this stage I don’t think that’s warranted. Despite the relatively low exposure to radiation and the low risks associated, we still want to balance those possible downsides with the reasonability of ordering such tests.” He turned to Amelia, who was still devouring the packet he’d shared. “Unless, of course, either of you feels strongly about running them.”

  Perry liked this doctor. He seemed balanced in his approach. And Perry found comfort in balance. It gave him a sense of control, despite the looming evidence to the contrary: none of them had any control at all. Not over what happened today on the lake, and not over what might come as a result. He glanced up at the wall clock. Jake was still in the OR. It had been almost two hours.

  “So, what happens next?” Amelia asked, finally setting the papers aside.

  “Emma’s pain level remains high, and her dizziness and other symptoms quite pronounced. And though rare, there is a chance some internal bleeding could develop in the next few hours. As a precaution, I think it makes sense to admit Emma for the time being and continue to monitor her.”

  Amelia’s face crumpled, but she did not cry. Perry shook the doctor’s hand. “Thank you.” The relief he felt was palpable. The doctor went on to say that they’d move Emma upstairs into a private room once they admitted her. A nurse would be in shortly with that paperwork.

  After kissing Emma’s forehead with the lightest brush of his lips, Perry went out to the waiting room to update his parents. Jane was blanched with worry, her tennis tan faded under the harsh waiting room lights. “What did they say?” she asked, leaping to her feet the second she saw him.