They napped for a time. When he awakened, Katie was fussing, rubbing at her eyes, her nose, her neck. “Daddy,” she said, “my neck hurts.”
She’d grown terribly warm in the last hour, limp and sticky and listless. The glassy look in her eyes made him uneasy. He got the thermometer from the bathroom and took her temperature, and was stunned to see that it was nearly 106 degrees.
He tried to reach Casey at the hotel in New York, but she was out. He left a message, then dialed Mark Johnson’s private home number. Mark and his family were eating dinner, and he apologized for the interruption. “But this isn’t normal,” he explained. “She’s never run a fever this high.”
“It’s probably nothing,” Mark said, “but I’d like to check her out, just to be safe. Meet me at the emergency room in a half-hour, and we’ll see what’s up with Miss Katie.”
***
The dinner meeting with Rothman and company was a resounding success. Casey was almost certain that the producer had already made up his mind before he met them, and the deal he offered was sweet. Rothman was anxious to start work as soon as possible, perhaps even by the first of the week if they could swing it. By gentlemen’s agreement, they shook hands and celebrated their partnership with a magnum of Dom Perignon.
They called it a night relatively early by New York standards. Outside the restaurant, Rob tucked his hands into his pockets and jingled a handful of change. “It’s a beautiful night,” he said. “Let’s walk.”
They fell into step together and began to amble, in no hurry on this beautiful spring evening. “So what do you think?” she said.
“About the deal? I think it’s one hell of a coup.”
“Big bucks,” she said.
“True, but I was thinking more about the opportunity to reach a new audience. Broadway—that’s serious stuff for a composer.”
“It is, isn’t it?” She tucked her hands into the pockets of her jacket and looked up at the sky. “What, oh what, am I going to do about Katydid? I can’t leave her behind in California. Not for three months. But I don’t want to pull her out of school before the year’s out.”
“Leave her there with Danny. He’ll take good care of her. He’s absolutely nuts about that kid.”
“I know. She’s the best thing that ever happened to him. But I’d go crazy if I had to go three whole months without seeing her.”
“Then hire a nanny and bring her with you.”
“What about school?”
“She’s only in kindergarten, Fiore. Are you afraid she’ll flunk sandbox?”
“I’m being silly, aren’t I?”
“No. You’re being a mother.”
“Look,” she said, “a toy store. I promised Katie I’d bring her a Cabbage Patch doll. She’ll never forgive me if I forget.”
The display window was loaded with toys of every conceivable kind. Inside, a twenty-foot sculpture constructed entirely of giant Lego blocks stood behind a makeshift fence designed to keep small fingers from toppling it. She dragged Rob past it and followed her nose to the doll department. Somewhere along the way, she lost him. Knowing he’d eventually come wandering back, she studied the endless array of dolls, trying to decide between the gypsy and the cowboy. Or maybe the ballerina.
Rob came around the corner, carrying a mammoth plastic laser gun. He pointed it at her and squeezed the trigger, and it erupted into flashing red lights and an ear-splitting electronic shrieking that probably had dogs howling in all five boroughs. “That’s a big gun you have there, sailor,” she said. “Sure you know how to use it?”
“Ow.” He grabbed his midsection and staggered backward as though he’d been shot. “What a low blow, Fiore,” he said. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“That’s what you get,” she said, “when you play in the big leagues. Come on, Flash, you’re Katie’s godfather. Help me decide which one to get.”
“Well, let’s see.” He stepped back and studied the shelf display with a frown of concentration. “I’m partial to the clown.”
“You would be.”
“But the doctor’s okay, too. Why don’t you just get her both?”
“Those words could only be spoken,” she said dryly, “by a man who has never raised a child.”
“Why?”
“Because if you don’t exercise restraint, lovey, they turn into merciless tyrants. Where do you think the term enfant terrible came from?”
“Aw, come on, Fiore. How can you say no to a face like that?”
“Years of experience with the big kid before I got the little one.”
“Tell you what. You buy one, and I’ll buy the other one.”
Casey rolled her eyes. “I knew it was a mistake when I asked you to be Katie’s godfather.”
“Too late,” he said. “I’m non-returnable.”
As they crossed the hotel lobby, the desk clerk discreetly flagged her down. “Mrs. Fiore,” she said, “your husband has been trying to reach you all evening. He said it was urgent.”
Casey felt a pang of unease. Rob squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sure it’s nothing serious,” he said. “We’ll call him from upstairs.”
But when she dialed home, all she got was her own recorded voice telling her that although the Fiores weren’t home, they would be more than happy to return any messages. “Danny?” she said after the beep. “Are you there?”
There was no response. She met Rob’s eyes and frowned. “I’m back at the hotel,” she said into the phone. “Call me when you get in.”
“See,” Rob said when she hung up, “he’s not even there. Probably took Katie out to McDonald’s.”
“Maybe.” But the uneasiness refused to go away. She hung her coat in the closet and kicked off her heels and drew her hair up off the nape of her neck. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said. “Let me know if he calls.”
The phone rang before she’d taken two steps. She exchanged glances with Rob, backtracked, and picked it up. “Hello?” she said.
“Jesus Christ,” Danny thundered, “where the hell have you been? It’s past eleven. I’ve called every fifteen minutes for the past three hours.”
“You knew we were having dinner with Rothman. We walked back, and we—” She stopped suddenly, realizing how uncharacteristic it was for him to shout at her. Or to question her whereabouts. “Danny,” she said, “what’s wrong?”
“Katie’s in the hospital,” he said. “She has meningitis.”
She could actually feel the blood draining from her face. “Meningitis,” she echoed in disbelief. Across the room, Rob set down the cabbage patch doll he’d bought. It wore gaudy pantaloons with red and purple polka-dots, and ridiculously big shoes. “That’s not possible,” she said, her voice shaking. “Katie’s never been exposed to anything like that—”
“Mark says it’s a complication of that throat infection she keeps getting.”
She wet her lips. Terrified to ask, more terrified to not ask, she said, “How serious is this?”
“It’s bad,” he said, and his voice broke. “You have to come home. I need you.”
***
Those first twenty-four hours, while Katie Fiore struggled for life, were the darkest hours Casey had ever lived through. She sat in mute agony while Danny paced like a caged tiger, wrinkled and unshaven, smoking cigarette after cigarette in blatant disregard of the NO SMOKING sign on the wall above his head. While Mark Johnson and his colleagues battled the infection with antibiotics, Casey was rendered helpless, unable to do a thing except pray that God would spare her daughter’s life. They were allowed to see Katie once each hour, for five minutes at a time, and then they were hustled back to the waiting room for another interminable fifty-five-minute vigil.
At some point during that endless night, Mark came in to talk to them. He looked wiped out as he took both Casey’s hands in his huge, capable paws. “We’re doing everything we can to fight this,” he said. “We’re taking the most aggressive stance that’s humanly possible
.”
Casey’s tongue felt twice its normal thickness. She licked her lips and tried to find her voice. “Is she going to die?” she said.
Mark squeezed her hand. “I don’t know,” he said.
Across the room, Danny leaned his forehead against the cinder block wall. “This is my fault,” he said raggedly. “It’s all my fault.”
Mark released Casey’s hand and said smoothly, “It’s not your fault. You had no way of knowing how serious it was.”
Danny turned on him. “I should have recognized the signs! I was in Vietnam with a guy who died of meningitis! I watched him die!”
“Even we weren’t sure until we had the lab results. Stop punishing yourself and start comforting your wife. She needs you right now.” With a pat to Casey’s shoulder, he left them alone again.
Danny sat down heavily beside her. “If she dies—” he said brokenly.
“Stop it!” Casey snapped. “She’s not going to die!”
He fumbled for her hand, took it in his. Squeezed it, and they took strength from each other. “I love you,” he said. “I know I don’t say it often enough. I thought I’d go crazy while I waited for you to get here.”
“I know. I felt the same way.”
“She’ll be all right,” he said. “She has to be.”
Somehow, she fell asleep, right there on the waiting room couch, with her head cradled in Danny’s lap. She awoke when Rob arrived with doughnuts and coffee. “How is she?” he said.
Danny ran the fingers of both hands through his hair. “No change,” he said. “It’s so goddamn frustrating.”
Rob put a steaming cup of coffee in Casey’s hand and wrapped her fingers around it. “Drink,” he said.
She inhaled the coffee’s rich aroma and closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “How is it that you always know exactly what I need?”
“I’m a wizard. Dan?” He handed Danny a second steaming cup. “You both look like shit,” he said. “Why don’t you go home and get some sleep? I can watch over things here for a while.”
“No,” they both said at once.
“Look,” Rob said, “you won’t be doing Katie any good if you both get sick. Somebody has to take care of her when she comes home.”
“There is one thing you can do for me,” Casey told him. “Call Rothman.”
Rob’s mouth thinned. “And tell him what?”
“Tell him I have a family emergency. Give him my regrets. Convince him that you can do the job without me.”
“Without you? Are you crazy?”
“Do it,” she said. “Do it for me.”
Rob didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t argue. Because there was little he could do at the hospital, he left again. Casey tried to eat one of the doughnuts, but after a few bites, she gave up. Still in the black cocktail dress and heels she’d worn to dinner with Rothman, she lay on the couch with Danny’s arms around her and fell back into a shallow, troubled sleep.
She woke when Mark came in, carrying a clipboard and looking as though he hadn’t slept in weeks. “Guys,” he said, and sat down in the chair across from them.
Casey sat up and leaned forward, her heart in her throat. “Mark? Has there been a change?”
He tapped his pen on the clipboard. “It appears,” he said, “as though we have the infection under control. Her fever’s dropped four points.”
“That’s good news,” Casey said hesitantly. “Isn’t it?”
His face remained solemn. “It’s good news,” he said.
Danny leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “But?” he said.
“But.” Mark cleared his throat. “She doesn’t seem to be responding.”
“What do you mean?” Casey demanded. “What does that mean?”
“It means that—” Mark looked at them, ran a hand through his rumpled hair, and sighed. “Katie’s slipped into a coma.”
Casey’s fingers, entwined with Danny’s, tightened.
“I’ve called in a neurologist, and we’d like to do some tests. A CAT scan, an EEG, possibly an MRI. To check brain functioning. See what’s going on.”
“Brain functioning,” Danny said sharply. “Why?”
Mark cleared his throat again. “There’s a possibility,” he said, “that the infection may have left Katie with some degree of brain damage. That would explain why she isn’t responding. But we won’t know until we’ve done more testing.”
The waiting dragged on. Rob returned, toting clean clothes and toiletries. They left Danny asleep in the waiting room and walked the hospital corridor. “Did you talk to Rothman?” she said.
Rob sighed. “I talked to him.”
“And?”
“Under the circumstances, he’s willing to work with just me. Damn white of him.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “I’m just not sure I’m willing to do it without you.”
“You don’t have a choice,” she said. “You can’t pass this up.”
“We’re partners. We’ve been partners for twelve years. We’ve always worked together.”
“You’ve written hundreds of songs without me. This isn’t any different.”
“Damn it, Casey, you need me here!”
“Ah,” she said softly. “The truth comes out.”
“I feel so helpless. I don’t know what to do.”
“There’s nothing you can do. Danny and I have to get through this on our own. If you let it stall your career, I’ll spend the rest of my life feeling responsible.”
He exhaled and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What about you? Will you be okay if I go traipsing off to New York for three months?”
“I’m a big girl. I don’t need a keeper.”
“Danny’s not taking this well.”
“Danny and I,” she said, “will take care of each other. That’s what marriage is all about, remember? For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in—”
“Yeah,” he said. “Right.”
“Listen to me, Robert, and listen good. If you let this screw up your life, I’ll never forgive you. And never is a damn long time. Capisce?”
“I capisce,” he said reluctantly. “Look, the minute I’m settled somewhere, I’ll let you know where I am. And you’ll call if you need me?”
“If I need you, I’ll call. Now get your carcass out of here, go to New York, and do what you do better than anyone else on the planet.”
They embraced fervently, then he patted her on the cheek and said, “I’ll call.”
She watched him walk away, a tall, rangy man with a distinctive, loose-jointed stride, and felt as though the foundations beneath her were crumbling. At the end of the corridor, he paused to look back at her. She lifted a hand, and he saluted smartly and turned the corner. For the first time since this nightmare began, she felt tears welling up beneath her eyelids.
But she couldn’t cry. Not in front of Danny, for she suspected that it was only her strength that was holding him together. In all their years together, she’d never seen him like this. She had to hold herself together for his sake. She’d always been the strong one. It had been that way when Mama died, and it was still that way, fifteen years later. While everyone else around her crumbled, Casey invariably remained a pillar of strength, not because she was so much stronger than everyone else, but because it was expected of her. Somebody had to do it, and somehow she always ended up being elected Somebody.
She crossed her arms over her chest, squared her shoulders, and went back to her husband.
***
They’d called this impromptu conference for 10:30, but while she paced and Danny chain smoked, Mark and the neurologist with the unpronounceable Eastern European name were twenty minutes late. Mark flew in, tossing breathless apologies, and introduced them to the stranger in whose hands they had placed their daughter’s life.
They sat around a rectangular table, Casey and Danny huddled together, Mark across from them, the neurologist at the head. “We’ve completed our tests,” Mark said.
>
Casey gripped Danny’s hand beneath the table. “And?” she said.
He steepled his fingers on the tabletop. “I’m afraid the news isn’t good. The tests reveal minimal brain function.”
“Minimal brain function?” she said. “Exactly what does that mean? How minimal?”
“Katie’s brain,” he said, “is still sending the signal to continue basic physiological functions. Heartbeat, respiration, elimination. Beyond that—” He cleared his throat. “Beyond that,” he repeated, “there’s little to no activity.”
Danny released her hand and rested both elbows on the table. “Are you telling us,” he said, “that our daughter’s brain dead?”
The neurologist stepped in at that point, speaking in a Southwestern twang completely at odds with his name. “We prefer not to use that term, Mr. Fiore,” he said. “Katie’s breathing on her own, her heart and her kidneys are functioning. There’s a possibility that this could be a temporary condition. There have been cases—”
Casey gripped the edge of the table to steady herself. “Do you mean to say that she’s not going to come out of the coma?”
“That’s a strong possibility.”
“Jesus H. Christ!” Danny exploded. “Why the hell aren’t you doing something? We’re talking modern medicine here! There must be something you can do!”
“There are some things,” Mark said, “that we have no control over. Unfortunately, this happens to be one of them.”
“Damn unfortunately! How the hell would you feel if it was your daughter in there?”
“Just as terrible as you do,” Mark said.
Casey addressed the neurologist. “You said there’s a possibility it might be a temporary condition?”
“A very slim possibility, I’m afraid. There have been documented cases in which patients have awakened from a persistent vegetative state. Sometimes after weeks. Sometimes years. But those cases—”
Coming Home (Jackson Falls Series) Page 23
