by Bailey B
Walter grimaces and pulls a chair beside mom. There’s a pause, only a half second but it makes my chest squeeze. “She's alive.”
Mom covers her heart with her hand, expressing the relief we all feel. “Oh thank heavens.”
“But Molly lost consciousness on the way here. She stopped breathing for a few minutes,” he says hesitantly. “She coded again on the table, but we brought her back.”
My throat tightens as liquid heartache begins to pool again. I blink a few times and kiss the side of Danika’s head, wiping my cheek with her hair. I know what this means for her, for us. “How bad is it?”
Walter shakes his head and shrugs. “We won’t know until she wakes up.”
Danika’s gaze bounces between her dad and me. She can’t read between the lines like I can. That much time without oxygen to the brain is not good. “What are you not telling me? Molly is still unconscious?”
Walter exhales loudly. I’ve never had to deliver this kind of news, but I’ve given bad news before. You never know how someone is going to react. Sometimes the people cry hysterically. Other times they accept the news with grace but break down as soon as the doors close. The worst is denial. People refuse to accept what you have to say and attack. No matter the news, there’s always that twist in my gut. I can’t imagine what Walter is feeling.
“Under normal circumstances, the first forty-eight hours are the most crucial. The longer it takes for Molly to wake up, the higher risk we have for brain damage.”
Danika still looks confused. “Okay, but there’s a chance she’ll be fine. Right?”
Walter runs his hand over his face and sighs. “Sweetheart, Molly had a lack of oxygen to her brain not once, but twice for minutes at a time. It’s not a matter of if she’ll have brain damage, it’s a matter of how severe will it be.”
Danika shakes her head, the words not sinking in. “What?”
‘Honey,” Walter reaches over and sets his hand on Danika’s knee. “Everything will be explained down in Palm Beach.”
“Palm Beach?”.
Walter nods. “We aren’t a children’s hospital. They’re getting ready to transport Molly now that she’s stable. You two need to get going.”
37
Logan
It’s a forty-five minute ride to Palm Beach. With the cruiser lights spinning and following the ambulance, we’ll make it in thirty. I’m not used to people being in the passenger seat. Outside of a few training weeks, I’ve been on my own. With the computer and everything on the dash, her seat is tight, but Danika looks semi-comfortable.
Danika stares out the window, silently watching the stream of colors that are passing cars. She hugs herself, peach thumbnail running a trail of worried thoughts across her arm. “I hate her,” she says suddenly, turning her red rimmed eyes towards me. “I went against my gut and trusted her and she nearly killed our daughter.”
I extend my hand across the center console. Danika’s tiny fingers tangle with mine and I squealed some understanding into her hand. “There’s no way you could have known Mom would give Molly strawberries.”
Danika bites her lip and shakes her head. “God,” she exhales. Her eyes fill with water again, beads of liquid dejection falling down her cheeks. “It was five minutes. How could everything have gone so wrong in five minutes?”
I squeeze her hand again, hard enough that I pull her gaze back to me. “This. Is. Not. Your. Fault.” I hold her gaze for a second, long enough to let her know I mean every word but not so long that I put our lives in danger. “Whatever happens with Molly, we’ll get through it. Together.”
Danika exhales a pained laugh through her nose. She pulls her hand back, crossing her arms and shifting towards the window again. “That’s easy for you to say, Logan. You won’t be the one who has to deal with it.”
I bite my tongue, literally, until it bleeds. There is no point in arguing with Danika. She’s hurting and saying things she doesn’t mean. As much as I want to stick up for myself, I’m the outlet for her pain. I’ll prove I’m in this for the long run. She thinks I’m going to bail when things get hard. Hell, that’s her reasoning for leaving me in the first place; but she’ll find out that I’m not going anywhere.
Just like before, I don’t follow the ambulance to the Emergency bay. I park in the visitor’s lot and walk around the front of the cruiser to open Danika’s door. I hold my hand out for her, but again she rejects it.
The double automatic doors slide open with a whoosh. Cold air kisses our skin. Tiny goosebumps break out across Danika’s arms. She rubs her hands across her flesh, creating friction to warm herself. If I had a jacket I would give it to her, but I don’t, so we press forward.
The triage nurse smiles brightly at us, her greeting the warmest thing in the room. “Welcome to Beach’s Children’s Hospital. How can I help you folks?”
Danika looks like she’s on the verge of another breakdown. I step forward and flash the nurse, who’s tag reads Nilla, my signature smile. Her brown eyes jump to Danika, who’s lost in her own world of sorrow, then back to me. I sit on the counter, one foot on the ground, the other hanging off the desk. “Nilla. That’s pretty.”
“Not really. My mom was a hippie.” Nilla rolls her eyes and tucks her chocolate locks behind her ears. “She named me after her favorite ice cream.”
“Ironic, considering you’re more mocha than milky.”
Nilla giggles and looks down at the counter for a moment before meeting my gaze again.. “I know, right?”
“Listen, Nilla. I need some help.” I pause long enough to see curiosity cross over her face. Nilla’s gaze flicks over to Danika again, who’s having a full on meltdown in one of the waiting room chairs. I should go over there and comfort my girl, but I plan to milk this nurse for all the information she has. Doctors have a way of holding things back, and I intend to visit Nilla later in her shift and get the goods on my daughter.
“What can I do?”
“My daughter came in a few minutes ago by ambulance. She’s unconscious and, truthfully, her mom is freaking out over there.” I tilt my head towards Danika, who’s pulled herself together enough to send a text message. “Can we see her?”
Nilla’s lips pull into a tight, disappointed smile. “Not if she just came in. They have to hook your daughter up to the monitors and do a round of vitals and get her situated before visitors are allowed back.”
“There’s got to be something you can do for me.” I drop down onto my knees and clasp my hands together. Nilla giggles and I’m pretty sure if I had eyes in the back of my head, Danika would be shooting daggers at me. This is all for you, baby. “Please.”
Nilla bites her lip. She steals a glance behind her then exhales loudly. “Okay. Give me a minute.”
“You are a goddess.”
Nilla rolls her eyes and disappears behind a set of double doors. I climb to my feet and drop into a seat next to Danika. I flash her a triumphant smile but she seems less than thrilled with my methods.
“I’d forgotten how much of a man whore you are.” Danika drops her head back against the wall and stares up at the luminescent lights. “Did you at least find out anything useful? Like how our daughter is.”
“Sir?” Nilla says, waving her hand at us from the threshold of the double doors.
“Yup.” I push myself up and extend a hand to Danika. She sighs heavily but accepts the gesture. Her pride won’t let her admit it, but I did good.
Nilla narrows her eyes on Danika as she passes through the doors. “Your daughter is on the third floor. Dr. Richards is the attending physician tonight, and he’s amazing.” She swipes her badge to unlock the staff elevator then pushes the number three once we’re all in. She looks at Danika and winks. “Handsome, too.”
“Maybe that’ll lift her spirits.” I joke, nudging Danika’s hip with mine. She seems less than thrilled.
“So, from what I can tell, Molly lost consciousness on her way to the last hospital and after being given meds to keep he
r under while they got her inflammatory reaction under control, she has yet to wake but she’s still stable.” The elevator door dings, then opens. We follow Nilla down one yellow-lighted hallway, and then another. Finally we stop at room 307. “Here we are.”
Danika pushes the door open and walks straight in without as much as a thank you to the nurse, who stuck her neck out for us. I lean against the door frame and flash my signature grin again. It’s been a while since I've worked my magic. Glad I haven’t lost my touch. “Have I told you how amazing you are?”
Nilla’s cheeks flush. “No, but you can show me on my break at eleven.” Without waiting for me to respond, Nilla turns and walks away, swinging her hips with each step. I have zero intentions of chasing down Nilla tonight. Or ever. She served her purpose. Time for me to serve mine.
Molly’s room is dimly lit, the white walls shaded the color of cream. The room is eerily quiet for a child’s room, the only sounds are the beeping of the machines and Danika’s sniffles. She looks up at me as I draw near, water filled eyes leaking onto her cheeks, and breaks down again.
I rush to her side, like I should have done in the waiting room, and wrap my arms around her. “Shhh. It’s all right. She’ll be all right.”
Danika pulls back and rubs the back of her hand under her running nose, then wipes her snot on her pant leg. “I hated watching you flirt with that woman.”
“I love that you’re jealous.”
“I shouldn’t be. Our daughter is fighting for her life and I’m pissed at you for being a man whore.” Danika shoves my chest, attempting to push me away, but I’m not going anywhere. She exhales a laugh that’s more of a cry then sinks into my arms. “Everything that happened between us seems so stupid now.”
“We could sum our relationship up to colossal misunderstandings of epic proportions.”
“Stupid misunderstandings.” Danika’s phone buzzes in her purse. She leans over and grabs it, reading the message. “Dad and Tessa are ten minutes away.” She sighs then folds into my arms again. “I don’t want her here, Logan.”
“I’ll deal with Tessa when she gets here.” Mom isn’t going to like being told she can’t come in. Knowing Walter, he won’t stay long knowing his precious wife is stuck in the lobby on the main floor. And if I know Danika, she won’t leave Molly’s side until our daughter is awake and healthy, which means I’m not going anywhere, either.
“I hate that I have to go back there after this.” Danika shifts out of my lap and walks to the window. She pulls back the curtain, watching the sun paint the sky in red and gold whisks as it descends for the night.
“You could always move in with me.” My heart’s racing. I’ve wanted to ask Danika to live with me ever since she moved back to town, but we were never in a place where I thought she’d say yes. Even now, I’m not so sure but I have to put it out there.
Danika looks over her shoulder and gives me a sad smile. “That’s sweet, Logan, but you don’t want us living with you.”
I stand and take Danika’s hands in mine. “I do, but I’m not going to push you. Whenever you’re ready my door is open to both of you.”
38
Danika
I turn my head to hide from the light and the muscles in my neck scream at me to stop moving. I reach my hand up to rub the sore spot and crack my eyes open. For a moment, I forget where I am. I forget the horrors of the last fifteen hours and I forget how insanely jealous I was last night.
As the memories of everything that went down yesterday floods back, my stomach twists, lurching bile into my throat. I run around Molly’s bed and whip the bathroom door open. I don’t make it to the toilet, but the sink is large enough to hold the acid that expels itself.
I turn the water on and run my hand under the faucet, letting a puddle gather in my palm before bringing it to my lips to rinse my mouth. The water is cold, like the room, but somehow feels good. I splash a few handfuls on my face then dry myself with a few paper towels from the dispenser.
I grip both sides of the sink and stare into the mirror. I barely recognize the woman looking back at me. Her eyes are puffy from a night of crying and blood-shot. Dark circles from a lack of sleep and makeup that’s faded away linger on my cheeks. My hair is a knotted mess, but unlike the rest of me, it’s not hopeless. I slip the elastic on my wrist over my hand and twist my long locks into a neat bun. This helps, but I still look like shit.
Someone knocks at the door.
“Just a sec,” I yell, running my hands over yesterday’s wrinkled blouse and buttoning the top button of my jeans again. The beep of Molly’s machines mock me, sounding with each step I take. I quicken my pace to see if it does too, but her rhythm stays the same. I find my place in the cushioned chair beside Molly’s bed again and yell, “Come in.”
The handle opens with a loud clunk and keys scrape against the wooden door. “Morning, beautiful.” Logan waltzes into the room, looking like he’s had a good night’s rest. I know he didn’t. He slept on the hard floor with an extra pillow and blanket, insisting I push the two chairs in the room together to make a bed.
“I thought you left,” I tell him honestly.
“Never.” Logan hands me a cup of coffee and a clear food container who’s plastic is so foggy I can’t see the contents inside. “Went for coffee and breakfast. I don’t know when the last time you ate was, or if you’re even hungry but…” He shrugs.
My stomach chooses that moment to rumble. The last thing I had to eat was a few bites of celery and ranch dressing at lunch with Molly before Tessa fed her strawberries. “Thanks.”
Logan settles into the extra chair I’d used to prop my feet up with last night. “Any change?”
I shake my head. “No and no one has come to check her vitals yet.”
Logan sips his coffee. He looks out the open door for a moment then finds my gaze again. “All of the nurses were gathered around their station when I passed by a few minutes ago. I think they’re doing shift change stuff. I’m sure someone will be by soon.”
“Yeah. You’re probably right.” I attempt to sip my coffee but my stomach twists again. Maybe it’s because I haven’t eaten since yesterday and my stomach has forgotten what sustenance feels like, but I don’t feel good.
“Also, mom and Walter are out in the lobby. Apparently there’s a two visitor limit per patient.” He smirks. I don’t think that’s a rule but I'm grateful for someone’s creativity.
I set my cup and the food Logan brought me on the end table and glance at Molly. She looks so helpless connected to all the machines. My heart breaks watching the ventilator breathe for her. I bite my lip, my eyes stinging with tears that won’t fall. I take Molly’s hand in mine and squeeze her tiny palm. “Come on, baby girl. Come back to me.”
“Logan!” I say too loudly, my words excitedly bouncing off the walls. I saw it. I know I did this time. “Her finger moved.”
Logan stands from his chair, stretching his arms over his head and walks from the corner of the room to be beside me. This is the fourth time I’ve seen something twitch. He probably thinks I’m crazy but I swear, she moved.
Logan slips Molly’s hand into his and waits. A few seconds later, his eyebrows jump to the top of his head. “I felt it!”
He reaches across the bed and pushes the panic button on the universal remote beside Molly’s leg. Two nurses run into the room quicker than I could take my next breath.
“What happened?” one asks, lifting the rubber buds of her stethoscope to her ears without waiting for a response. She presses the round metal part to Molly's chest and listens.
“She moved.” Logan’s voice booms with confidence while I’m over here cracking like an eggshell. What if this is all we get? Tiny acknowledgements of life without her fully coming back to us. Google is the devil in situations like this, filling my mind with doubt and a million worst possible scenarios. Logan steps out of the other nurse’s way and pulls my chair backwards.
“Molly?” The nurse lifts Molly’s
eyelid and flashes her light, checking pupil dilation. “Can you hear me?”
The other nurse records Molly’s vitals on a clipboard then slips her hand in Molly’s. “If you can hear me, Molly, squeeze my hand.”
Days tick by in a matter of seconds. I’m not crazy. We’re not crazy. Molly’s in there, fighting, trying to get back to us. I know she is. The nurse’s lip quirks into the tiniest of smiles. “Page Doctor Camberg, she’s responding.”
39
Danika
Molly screams on the living room floor, banging her fists and kicking her feet against the carpet. After what felt like a million tests and three days of observation, the doctors discharged us with the recommendation of occupational and speech therapy. From what they could tell, Molly didn’t have any brain damage, but it’s impossible to say how those minutes without oxygen will affect her in the long run.
What I can and plan to tell the doctors at our follow-up visit next week is that my child is no longer a quiet, happy kid. All she does is eat, sleep, and scream. It’s like I have an infant again. A full grown infant that I can’t understand or please.
“Do you hurt?” I ask, signing the word hurt.
Molly doesn't see my hand because her eyes are shut. Tears of frustration stream down her cheeks and mine. I tried giving her food, she threw the plate. Gave her every doll she has, same response. Turned on the TV. Turned off the TV. Pulled her into my arms only for her to wiggle away. Brought cups of water, juice, soda, and milk. Nothing I do is working and I feel like a failure because I don’t know how to help my daughter.
“For crying out loud, Danika.” Tessa stomps into the living room, hands on her hips. “What’s wrong with that child now?”
I assume this is how Tessa was with Logan growing up. Impatient. She was helpful for all of a day after the accident. The first day we brought her home to be specific. The day my dad was there. Now that he’s back to work and life has resumed to normal for everyone but me, Tessa has no qualms telling me how much she hates having us here.
