by Donna Fasano
“Brad?” She spoke softly, more for her own comfort than anything else.
She leaned over him until her ear nearly touched his nose. He was breathing, thank God. She smacked his cheek lightly, calling his name again.
She’d thought she knew a little something about first aid. She’d taken a CPR course, and she knew how to perform the Heimlich maneuver for choking victims, although she’d only had to use it once in all the years she’d run the café. She knew how to care for cuts and burns that happened while working in a professional kitchen. But she knew nothing about head injuries, or spinal injuries. Had no idea how bad off Brad might be.
“I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”
As she murmured the words she knew he couldn’t hear, she pulled off her t-shirt, rolled it into a loose, soggy ball, and gently nudged it under the side of his head to keep his face above water. Plain old common sense urged her to move him as little as possible. His back might have been broken in the accident, or his neck.
Dear God help her; he could be bleeding inside for all she knew.
Panic waged a battle with her momentary, oh-so-tenuous hold on reason. She looked around her. Thick reeds and spiny-leafed vegetation covered the nearby riverbank, rendering it nearly impossible to traverse for very far let alone the distance it would take to reach a road or house. The Route 90 bridge spanned the river in the distance, ant-sized cars traveling across its expanse mere yards above the waterway. Several fishing boats looked to be anchored near the cement bridge supports. Far out into the bay, another boat dragged a skier in its wake. Cathy shouted and waved her arms, but she quickly realized everyone she could see was too far away to hear her.
On the far side of the bay, the Ocean City skyline sat against a blue sky background.
Never had she felt so desperate, or so alone.
She could make her way back to the sandy beach and hope that a boater or others on jet skis might happen by, but leaving Brad seemed out of the question. The rising tide posed an ominous threat for someone who was unconscious, and she didn’t dare try to move him.
Then she remembered her phone. Brad had stowed it in one of the jet ski’s rear storage bins. Cathy waded through the water toward the overturned water craft; she had to weave through rotting tree stumps.
How could she have been so stupid to fly through the water on the jet ski so close to shore?
She felt around under the water and quickly discerned that both bin doors were open. Plastic bags littered the area, the air trapped inside each allowing them to float on the surface. One by one, she picked them up, swiftly examined them, and then tossed them closer toward the shoreline. The zip lock of the bag holding the stuffed dates had been torn open, leaving the proscuitto a waterlogged mess. She tossed the bag with the others. All the while, she kept turning to check on Brad who remained motionless.
The current had carried a couple of bags further out into the mouth of the bay. Now chest deep in the water, Cathy was about to swim out to retrieve them when she heard the familiar yet muffled ringtone of her phone. The sound seemed to be coming from somewhere close to Brad. Using wide, powerful arm strokes, she propelled herself in that direction.
She snatched up a bag that was hovering just below the water’s surface. The plastic was torn and full of water. The delicate pastry crust she’d wrapped around the wedge of brie earlier this morning had nearly disintegrated.
The ring sounded again, causing Cathy to drop the cheese and rush toward the water’s edge. Black-shelled mussels clung to the rugged shoreline. She ripped open the bag and saw Heather’s name lit up in the phone’s window. Cathy slid her finger across the screen to answer.
“Heather!” Her voice was shaking. “I’ve wrecked the jet ski. I need you to—”
“Don’t say another word,” her friend cut her off sharply. “This isn’t a damned game, Cathy. Sara’s water broke. If she doesn’t go into labor, they’re going to induce.”
“But—”
“She’s asking for you.”
A trickle ran down Cathy’s arm, the warmth of it tickling her skin. She unwittingly swiped at the area and was shocked to see her hand covered in crimson. She took the phone in her blood-slippery fingers and looked at the underside of her arm. There, just above her elbow, she saw a gash deep enough to expose the stringy muscle tissue. Her stomach went queasy.
“Oh, dear Lord,” she breathed into the phone. “There’s blood. I’m hurt.”
“Damn it, Cathy!” Heather shouted. “Stop crying wolf. Get your ass to the hospital. Sara needs—”
The phone went dead. Cathy pulled it from her ear and looked at the blank, black screen. She pressed the home button, but the screen remained black. And that’s when she noticed the water slowly dripping from the bottom of the phone’s case.
Chapter Ten
The sturdy, stern-faced ER nurse who stood between Cathy and the hallway leading to the other exam rooms looked to be in her mid-fifties; the last name printed on her ID badge was a jumble of consonants that rendered it practically unpronounceable. The woman had been smiling just ten seconds before, but the instant Cathy had slipped off the table and inched toward the door, Nurse Nan stepped into her path.
The nurse’s arms were now crossed over her ample chest and she frowned.
“I told you to sit tight,” she said. “That arm of yours is going to need stitches. If you bump it on anything… even if you don’t bump it, that wound could start bleeding again. Get back up on that table. The doctor will be in to take care of you in just a few minutes.”
“But I’d like to check on—”
“Your husband is in good hands.”
“He’s not my husband.”
“He’s where he needs to be.” The woman stood her ground. “And you’re where you need to be.”
Finally, Cathy gritted her teeth and climbed back onto the examination table.
She hadn’t believed her luck when the fishing boat had chugged its way around the marshy outcropping where she had wrecked the jet ski. The man had been so focused on following the buoyed crab line, that he hadn’t seen her for the longest time. The boat’s engine had drowned out her calls for help. So she’d begun throwing the plastic bags of food, in the hopes of getting his attention. It had taken not one but two well-aimed hits to the hull to make the old guy look up.
Thankfully, he’d had a radio onboard, and the Coast Guard had reached them in less than fifteen minutes. The fisherman had stayed with Cathy and Brad until the rescuers arrived.
They had fitted Brad with a neck brace before securing him to a backboard. An ambulance had met them at the nearest boat dock, and with lights and sirens blaring, the EMTs had whisked them to Atlantic General.
“Let me take a look at your arm.” Nurse Nan began to unwrap the pressure bandage that one of the EMTs had applied. “I’ll clean it up, and you’ll be ready when the doctor comes in.” Blood stained the length of gauze she pulled away from Cathy’s arm. “Well, now this isn’t too bad. But the ambulance tech was right. You’re going to need a few stitches. What did you cut your arm on?”
“I have no idea,” Cathy said. Her gaze kept darting toward the door. She wished she knew how Brad was doing. He never stirred during the boat ride or the drive in the ambulance. When they’d arrived at the hospital, the ER staff wouldn’t allow her to go back with him.
“I didn’t even know I was hurt,” she told the woman, “until I felt the blood dripping down my arm.” She frowned at the nurse. “Look, would you mind going back there to see how he’s doing? This cut won’t get any worse in the three minutes it will take for you to pop back there for a quick check. I’d feel a whole lot better if I knew he was awake. And if he’s still not awake, I really need to know what’s wrong with him. Why is he still unconscious?”
“Listen, I want you to calm down.” The nurse dabbed the wound with a sterile pad moistened with disinfectant.
The sting made Cathy jerk and suck in a sharp breath.
“So
rry,” Nurse Nan murmured. “The pain won’t last long.” She fanned at the wound and frowned. “I see sand in there. This is going to take a little longer than I first thought. As soon as I get you cleaned up, I’ll go check on him. But I can only give you information if you’re family.”
“Oh, well, I’m his—”
Wife, she’d been about to brazenly lie through her teeth when Nurse Nan shot her an arched brow look that reminded Cathy of her earlier admission.
“The privacy laws are nothing to mess around with,” she said. “You could get me into some serious trouble.”
Averting her gaze, Cathy admitted, “I’m just worried. He wouldn’t wake up.” Softly, she added, “He must be hurt really bad.”
A rush of unexpected emotion welled inside her with the strength of a tsunami. The guilt and anguish and regret rolled over her like a wall of water, threatening to drown her. Her throat swelled and tears burned her eyes like acid.
“This is all my fault.” Wrenching out those mousy, thin-sounding syllables from around the jagged-edged rock of remorse lodged in her throat caused her physical pain. “I was driving the jet ski. He told me to slow down. I didn’t listen.”
She began to tremble and her shoulders shook with her sobs. “What if he has brain damage from hitting his head? Oh, dear God. What if he’s paralyzed? What if he doesn’t wake up? What if he dies?”
Hot tears ran, unchecked, down her face, splashing onto her t-shirt that was stiff from the briny river water. Guilt writhed in her gut.
The nurse patted her shoulder. “Honey, you need to stop this. You know very little about your friend’s condition. Yes, he was unconscious when he arrived. But that could change at any moment. You need to think good thoughts.” She started bustling around the exam room. “First things first. You get that cut stitched up. Then we need to contact your friend’s next of kin.”
The phrase made Cathy’s eye go round.
“Don’t go off the deep end on me, now,” Nan said softly. “Don’t read anything into that. We need to contact them, is all I meant. To let them know what’s going on. Maybe they can come be with you.”
“Brad’s parents live in Florida.”
“Well, if they say it’s okay, I’ll mark down in his file that you can receive updates on his condition.” The woman set a packet containing a sterile needle and another of suture thread on a stainless steel table. “But I need their permission first.”
Relief made Cathy light-headed and she nodded, but her wretchedness didn’t abate. Brad had been hurt because of her stupidity, and that wasn’t something she could ever change.
There was a light knock at the door and a white-coated Asian woman pushed open the door. She couldn’t have been five feet tall, and it was impossible for Cathy to guess her age.
“Someone in here need to be stitched up?”
Cathy swiped at her eyes with the back of her free hand. “That would be me.”
“Nancy,” the doctor said, “are you making the patients cry again?”
The question was meant for levity, Cathy was certain, and she tried to smile. She really tried.
Nurse Nan turned from the cabinet, a syringe in one hand and a small glass bottle of anesthetic in the other. “This is Doctor Lee,” she told Cathy. “As you just witnessed, her comedic talent is sorely lacking. But lucky for you, she has the best suturing skills in the hospital. I wouldn’t be surprised if you end up with a scar that’s barely visible.”
The nurse and the doctor paused for her reaction, so she tipped up her chin and said, “Yippee.”
Over two hours and seven stitches later, Cathy stepped into the elevator and punched the button that would take her to the maternity ward. Exhaustion weighed on her like a strong pull of gravity.
Calling Brad’s parents had been one of the most difficult things she’d ever had to do. Nurse Nan had logged onto the internet and helped Cathy find the correct phone number. Although she’d promised herself she’d hold it together, Cathy had cried as she explained to Mrs. Henderson about the accident. The woman had kindly repeated several times, “It was an accident,” but that hadn’t alleviated the anguish that sat like a brick in Cathy’s stomach.
Brad’s mother planned to book the next flight north for herself and her husband, and Cathy promised the woman she’d stay at the hospital until they arrived. That had been when Nurse Nan had taken the phone and Cathy had stepped a few feet way; however, she’d overheard that Brad was still unconscious, his vital signs were steady, and he was awaiting x-rays and an MRI.
After disconnecting the call, Nan had told Cathy that Mrs. Henderson gave her permission for the staff to talk to Cathy about Brad’s condition. The woman, knowing Cathy was without a working cell phone, also promised to page Cathy if either of the Hendersons called for her or if Brad’s condition changed. The nurse’s kindness had Cathy’s chin quivering and fresh tears flowing.
“I’m not usually this emotional,” Cathy had told her.
The elevator doors opened and Heather stood directly in front of her.
Their gazes met, and Heather looked momentarily surprised, then she scowled.
“Where have you…”
The reprimand petered out as Heather took in Cathy’s state. The instant she noticed the bandage on Cathy’s forearm, every nuance of annoyance dissolved.
“What happened?” Heather asked.
The two of them had been standing there long enough that the elevator doors began to slide shut; Heather stuck out her arm to trigger the sensor that had the doors springing wide open again. She reached in and took Cathy by the uninjured arm and gently pulled her into the hallway.
Cathy felt as if she were about to fall apart, and the unexpected compassion on Heather’s face, in her gentle touch, was her complete undoing. Tears welled in Cathy’s eyes, splintering her vision into dozens of shards of bright light. Her knees went so wobbly, she feared they wouldn’t hold her weight.
“Brad and I got into a fight. I wrecked the jet ski. Brad hit his head. He was unconscious. He’s still unconscious.” She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to hold in the fear that threatened to consume her.
“Oh, honey,” Heather crooned. “Come sit down.” She led her to a small alcove off the hallway. “Sit. Sit. Honey, I’m so sorry. I thought you were joking around on the phone earlier. I’m sorry.”
Cathy shook her head, tears trailing down her face. “It’s okay. How could you know? I’ve been sending you asinine texts. What else could you think but that I was continuing to be an ass?”
Heather scooted closer to the edge of the seat. “Tell me what happened. Tell me about the argument, I mean.”
The story gushed from her like some tragic crude oil spill along the coastline, seeping into vulnerable and fragile places. When she finished, Cathy felt spent, wanting only to curl up in a ball someplace quiet.
“Wait,” Heather said softly. “He asked you to marry him? And that made you angry?”
“It wasn’t the proposal. It was more that—” Cathy frowned. “Maybe it was that he asked, or maybe how he asked. I don’t know. After what I went through with Todd, I never want to… Marriage isn’t something I want to go through again.” When she unwittingly leaned her bandaged arm on the chair, she winced. “And besides that, Brad was ordering me around. Demanding things. He sounded just like Todd.” Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, but she dashed at them with her crooked index finger. Faintly, she added, “He’s never done that before. He’s always been so easy-going. So… accommodating. To me. To my needs, my wants, my wishes. It was confusing. It was scary.”
Heather gently asked, “You really thought he was going to hit you?”
“I didn’t. Honestly.” Cathy believed that with all her heart. She and Brad could argue with the best of them, but he’d never revealed an ounce of the kind of harmful intent she’d suffered at the hands of her ex. When she and Brad disagreed, their usual course of action was avoidance. They’d just go their separate ways for a few days, or
a week, or however long it took for the argument to blow over. It was a method that worked for them.
“His commands annoyed me.” Her bark of laughter contained no humor. “Hell, I was furious. And baffled, to tell you the truth. I got all tangled up in the past… because it felt like the past, if that makes any sense. It was just…” Although she looked Heather in the face, she was standing back on that sandy shore. “He was angry. Demanding. I saw his hand lift. And I ducked.”
“Oh, honey.” Heather reached out and touched her knee.
“Brad looked stunned. And then—” Cathy’s whole body tensed with the shame of it. “He knew, Heather. He knew.” She bit her bottom lip. “I’ve never in my life felt so humiliated.”
“But you shouldn’t. It wasn’t your fault that—”
“It was,” Cathy insisted. “I let it happen, Heather. I stayed too long. I took it. I allowed it. I made excuses for it.” Gazing down the hallway with unseeing eyes, she realized that she needed to put a name to it. She murmured, “I made excuses for the abuse. For far too long.”
“Okay, so,” Heather said, evidently intent on drawing Cathy back from the past, “he knows? Brad knows what you went through? You talked about it?”
The sigh Cathy released conveyed her weariness. “Oh, hell no. I couldn’t do that. I just… couldn’t. I was too embarrassed to tell him.”
An awful revelation hit her. “And now I might never get the chance.”
Heather took her hand. “Honey, everything will be okay. You’ll see. Brad is strong. He’s healthy. He’s going to come out of this just fine.”
Oh, how she’d missed Heather. How she’d missed this sister-like sustenance. Friends were your chosen family. They were there for you because they wanted to be. They supported you out of love, not out of some sense of obligation.
What the hell was the matter with her that she’d jeopardized her friendship with Heather the way she had?
