“Me too,” Mathew admitted, looking thoroughly uncomfortable by her show of emotion. She quickly wiped her tears away and tried to gather herself to hear Mathew’s response. “The doctor assured me the moment he had an assessment of Emmitt’s condition he’d be down to see us. This is one of the top hospitals in the country, and he’s head of neurosurgery.”
“What can I do?” Evie asked, fidgeting in what felt like utter uselessness.
“Come do what the rest of us are doing,” Mathew said, gesturing toward the private and sterile looking waiting room.
“What’s that?”
“Waiting, worrying, and feeling like we should be doing more.”
“Sounds right,” she said in a breathy laugh.
As they walked in, Evie took stock of all the bloodshot worried eyes, reminding her of the serious situation. The last month had been full of things Evie dreamed of saying to Emmitt, and the idea that something might keep her from it made her stomach churn with anxiety.
“Does anyone need anything?” Libby asked, always quick to accommodate people in need. “I can go get coffee.”
“That would be nice,” James said, rising from the chair he was in and grabbing his wallet.
“I’ll help,” Evie offered but was stopped short by Emmitt’s mother.
“He wants you here, dear. You’re all he’s been asking for. We have no idea how he’s doing. Now that he’s back and getting a full workup, we might find this to be more serious. The doctor told us head injuries are very unique. The variables are endless.” Her hand seemed permanently clutched over her heart in concern. “I’m rambling, but my point is he was asking for you. I want my boy to have what he wants when he wakes up. He wants you.”
Evie searched for words and came up empty. Every eye in the room was on her now, and she felt her cheeks burning with anxiety.
“Am I interrupting?” a tall dark skinned man with curly white hair asked as he stepped into the room. Libby and James stopped taking the coffee order and everyone fell deathly quiet. For once Evie felt she understood the depth of that phrase. Deathly quiet.
“Dr. Myers,” Mathew said, shooting forward and extending his hand for a firm shake. “How’s my brother?”
“The flight took a toll on him,” Dr. Myers said, launching right into the details, skipping any formalities. “It was still the right choice to bring him back here. We have far more medical options, but that flight was difficult. In short Emmitt suffered a traumatic brain injury. They performed a craniotomy on sight in Botswana and it saved his life. But it’s the type of procedure that needs consistent care and monitoring. We can provide that.”
“What exactly is it?” Jessica asked timidly. “The craniotomy.”
“A flap of the skull is removed to take pressure off the brain so it can expand as needed. Here it’s routinely used, but in Botswana it was far more emergent and risky. It’s a great sign that he survived it.”
At the sound of the word skull and brain Emmitt’s mother lost her footing and gave in to the weight that seemed to be thundering down on her shoulders. She fell into James’s arms and sobbed. “His brain?” she cried. “It’s bleeding?”
“It is, but I intend to do surgery to repair it. The bleed is fairly small. The swelling has stopped, and some doctors would say we should watch it, hope it corrects itself. But my experience tells me we are better off not playing the wait-and-see game. His long-term outcome could be significantly improved if we remove the hematomas that remain.”
“What exactly is the long-term outlook,” Mathew asked, a shake in his voice he tried unsuccessfully to cover. “I thought he was conscious, talking even.”
“Immediately after the incident he was. That was prior to the bleeding and pressure in his skull. I will say the doctors in Botswana were incredibly proactive. They ensured he was given ample oxygen, and preforming the craniotomy absolutely saved his life as I mentioned. But I can’t pinpoint what functions he has possibly lost. Head injuries are moving targets. Recoveries vary from patient to patient even when their injuries seem similar.”
Evie tried to overlook the cold and matter-of-fact tone the doctor used to explain Emmitt’s condition.
“Libby, James, would you take my mother downstairs for a break? Maybe something to eat?” Mathew stuffed his hand into his pocket and turned halfway around to avoid watching his shaky mother being led from the room.
When they were gone he continued his questions. “Dr. Myers, I’d like to hear more about the possible prognosis my brother is facing. Anyone else who wants to clear out can, but I need to hear it.” Harlan, who’d been completely silent as she leaned like a ragdoll against the wall, finally spoke.
“Me too,” she edged out. “I want to know, too.”
“There’s a wide range,” Dr. Myers reiterated as he settled in one of the plush chairs in the corner of the room and crossed his legs. “The gravity of lasting effects and deficiencies depend upon the severity of the injury, the location in the brain, and the age and general health of the patient. Emmitt is healthy and fit, that works in his favor. But it’s important to know some common disabilities include problems with cognition, which is thinking, memory, and reasoning. Other issues center around sensory processing such as sight, hearing, touch, taste, and smell. I’ve had many cases where communication, like expression and comprehension were compromised. Some less common but very impactful deficiencies can come in the form of behavior or mental health issues like depression, anxiety, personality changes, aggression, acting out, and social inappropriateness.”
“We may not be able to tell the difference if that’s the case,” Mathew joked, and they all reluctantly chuckled. “He was always fairly inappropriate.”
The doctor broke the small moment of levity in half, like an axe slicing through old brittle wood. “More serious head injuries can result in an unresponsive state or what we call a PVS, a persistent vegetative state.”
“There’s a chance he won’t wake up?” Evie asked, her chest heaving with fear as she held her breath and waited for the answer.
“With head injuries and brain surgery that is always a risk. I’m not in the market of making promises on the outcome. But what I can assure you is, while he is on my table and under my care, I will treat him as if he were my own son.” The doctor rose after a moment as stunned silence seemed to fill the room. “We’ll take him to surgery once the consent forms are signed. I’ll have someone keep you posted throughout.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Mathew finally choked out when Dr. Myers was halfway out of the room. They all sat quietly for what felt like an eternity as the reality of Emmitt’s prognoses set in. What if he never woke up? What if he woke up but couldn’t see or hear? What if he was plagued the rest of his life with horrific challenges and limitation?
“He’d hate this,” Harlan said softly, shattering the quiet. “Of all the people I’ve ever met I can’t think of anyone who would hate this more than Emmitt. If he isn’t himself when he wakes up, he won’t want to live.”
“If he wakes up,” Mathew corrected, to which Jessica winced and hushed him before trying to force some optimism into the room.
“He’ll wake up, and whatever he has to deal with, he’ll have a lot of people to help him.”
“Dad,” Harlan said, shaking her head at the heavy thought. Her long brown hair, falling like ropes by her sad face.
“What about him?” Mathew asked with a nip in his voice.
“We should call him and update him. He’ll be worried.”
“No.” Mathew stressed. “He’s the reason Emmitt was out there in the first place. If it weren’t for him—”
Evie loudly cut into his words. “No, I am. I’m the reason he had to take his father to the other side of the world. I’m the reason he was in Africa. You don’t know the whole story.”
“I do,” Mathew corrected. “So does Harlan. Emmitt told us exactly what happened, and we told him he was an idiot for sending you away. You did something incr
edibly brave that night.”
“And it saved my father,” Harlan interjected. “Even though he didn’t seem worth saving, please know that I’m grateful. Mathew and Emmitt have their own opinions of him, and I understand that. I just wanted a chance to form my own. You gave me that possibility. So please don’t blame any of this on yourself.”
“She’s right,” Mathew agreed. “Well, half right. I don’t agree with her feelings toward my father, but I am glad you were there. And that you acted the way you did.”
“He deserves an update,” Harlan said again. “They were getting along. Things were going all right between them. The last time I talked to Emmitt he actually sounded positive.”
Mathew wouldn’t look at Harlan head on. He kept his back to her as he thought it over. “I talked to him last week and he said Dad was actually doing better on the resort. They’d both started venturing out more, seeing the Chobe River and all the wildlife. He sounded upbeat, which for Emmitt was really saying something.”
“Was he happy?” Evie asked, never in her life so conflicted by what she might hear. A yes would give her peace, knowing that he’d found some kind of common ground and hope with his father, but it would also tell her he hadn’t been hurting nearly as much as she had over being apart. The worry must have read on her face as Harlan stepped in with an answer.
“He was doing it for you,” she offered with a sweet smile. “Usually my brother likes to prove people wrong. We joke that his catch phrase was I told you so. But some of the things you said stuck with him. He said the quiet out there gave him lots of time to think.”
“He’ll be fine,” Mathew said when both women seemed to choke on the reality of the situation. The idea of not having Emmitt around to tease or talk to. “Emmitt is a stubborn son of a bitch. If he has more to give us hell about, there’s no way he’s going to give up. If he has any say in this at all, we’ll be telling him to shut up before we know it.”
Chapter 39
“You have to go,” Evie finally chimed in, unable to gracefully bite her tongue any longer. “Emmitt did everything he could to get you that meeting with Asher. It was what he wanted.” The small private waiting room was overrun now with coats and hospital blankets. Empty Styrofoam cups sat on the beige end tables that punctuated the two rows of chairs.
“We need to be here,” Mathew argued. “Or at least I do. Emmitt has been in a medical induced coma for three days. The surgery was a success, and he could wake up any time now. Mom had to leave, this was too much for her. He needs me here.”
Evie paced by the door as she considered how hard to push her point. “Emmitt wanted to do something for you. It was important to him that you go.”
“James, you can handle the meeting yourself,” Mathew continued as though Evie hadn’t spoken at all.
“We should postpone,” James suggested. “I can’t do the numbers justice. If we get one shot in front of Asher Barrington, I’m not going to screw us over.”
“We do get one shot,” Mathew agreed. “Which means postponing isn’t an option.”
“You’re going,” Evie shouted as she slammed her fist into her palm. Mathew and James snapped their mouths shut and stared at Evie. She knew she looked wild right now. Her hair had been spun up into a messy bun that had mostly fallen back down. Her shirt was splotched with coffee stains and her nails and were bitten down painfully low. She could practically feel the crazy spark glittering in her eyes. Anger, exhaustion, and worry had built up inside her like a simmering pot ready to boil. “Go, take a shower, put on one of those far too expensive suits, and go to the meeting because it’s what Emmitt wanted. It was his way of finally doing something for you. Don’t take that from him. If he wakes up and finds out you cancelled the meeting, he won’t forgive you.”
“She’s right,” James agreed, cracking his knuckles. “I’ve seen Emmitt do plenty of selfish shit, but coming up to Boston, getting in with Asher, he did that for you.”
“I’ll call you if anything changes here. You’ll be twenty minutes away. I think Asher will understand cutting the meeting short under the circumstances.”
“Harlan will be back soon,” Jessica reminded them. “She was just checking on the girls and your mother. If Emmitt wakes up he’ll have plenty of familiar faces. Libby is bringing us lunch. Everything will be all right.” Jessica leaned in, held Mathew’s cheek firmly in her hand, and kissed him, lingering for a moment to ground him.
When they left, the room had a void. Evie and Jessica sank into the chairs and huffed in unison. “This is pretty screwed up,” Jessica said, closing her eyes tightly. “A few months ago we were sitting around, busting on each other and joking around. I can’t believe Emmitt is in there, just fighting, fighting to wake up.”
“Hello?” Dr. Myers said with a light tap on the door. Both Jessica and Evie hopped to their feet as though they’d been pulled up by strings at exactly the same time. “Emmitt is waking up. The meds have been reduced for some time now, but he’s finally starting to show signs of responding to stimuli. I think now would be a good time to come in.”
“Everyone just scattered,” Jessica said in a panic. “I’ll start calling them. You go, Evie. He’ll want to see you when he wakes up.”
“I don’t expect him to be alert right away,” the doctor cautioned. “Don’t have anyone rush back. You’ll only be allowed in a couple at time anyway.”
“Give Mathew and James a little more time,” Evie said as she tried to settle her wild hair and wipe away any stray mascara under her eyes. Emmitt wouldn’t care what she looked like, he’d surely be a mess himself, but she still didn’t want him to worry about how tired she looked.
“Follow me,” Dr. Myers said, already halfway down the hall walking at a pace that must get him quickly around the hospital on a busy day.
“He’s still intubated,” Dr. Myers explained. “When he wakes up it’ll be natural for him to fight against it. You’ll be there to keep him calm. Just talk to him and let him know where he is and that everything is all right. The nurses and I will be in the room as well, trying to get an indication of any cognitive deficiencies or physical reactions that could be impaired. We’ll be doing our work; you just keep talking to him.”
“What do you mean he might fight the intubation?” Evie asked, thinking of the wide shouldered, large handed Emmitt she’d known, and picturing him fighting everyone in the room.
“He’ll be coming out of sedation, and he’ll be weak, but we’ll work to keep him still. The surgery he’s had on his brain will require him to be calm and still. You’ll do fine.”
Evie felt as though she’d just been ordered to fly a plane. As though she’d be placed in the cockpit and told to get the thing off the ground, having no idea what buttons to push.
As Dr. Myers swiped his badge, the double doors electronically opened, and Evie considered running. This must be what Emmitt felt like every time he was on the threshold of someone desperately needing his help, or looking at him to stay, to fix, to help. She finally understood what fight or flight felt like and found it far easier to forgive Emmitt’s urge to run.
Dr. Myers gave her a quick nod as he moved in close to Emmitt’s bedside. “Emmitt, Mr. Kalling, can you hear me?” Dr. Myers asked loudly as he lifted one of Emmitt’s eyelids and flashed a tiny bright light in his eye. There was a low groan that rumbled from him, and Evie felt her heart flutter. The groan changed to a long low moan as Emmitt’s hand, weighed down by tape and wires moved toward his mouth.
“There is a tube in your throat, Emmitt,” Dr. Myer explained calmly as he waved Evie over. “We’re going to take it out in a moment. We just want to make sure your vitals are stable. Evie is here with you. She’s going to hold your hand.”
Evie moved in tentatively, embarrassingly slow, considering how fast everyone around her was moving with intent and confidence.
“Talk to him, dear,” Dr. Myers said, and though his voice was low it was more of an order than a suggestion.
&nb
sp; “I’m here, Emmitt,” Evie said softly as she laced her fingers into his hand. “You’re in the hospital, and you’re going to be all right, but you need to lie still.” His hand closed tightly around hers as his back arched up, and his moan turned into a primal noise of pain. “It’s all right,” she encouraged, but he couldn’t seem to hear her. Though his eyes were open, they were not fixed on anything, as they darted around the room, frantic and filled with terror.
“Cough for me, Emmitt,” Dr. Myers said in a singsong positive voice. A moment later the tube was out and Emmitt gasped for air and swallowed hard. “Lie back and be still,” Dr. Myers ordered.
“Evie,” Emmitt whispered in a raspy voice.
“I’m here,” Evie said through tears. “I’m right here with you, and I’m not going anywhere. I love you.”
He nodded his head, just up once and down again and then closed his eyes. “You can rest a bit,” Dr. Myers said, patting Emmitt’s shoulder. “You’re in good hands; I can see that.” He shot a knowing smile at Evie. “I’ll be close by if you need anything, and we’ll be in to evaluate you shortly.”
“Your whole family is on the way,” Evie assured him, leaning in and kissing his stubbled cheek. The bandages over his head kept her from running her hand over his hair. “They’ll all be here soon.”
“Unover,” he said in a gravelly garbled slur.
“What?” Evie asked, leaning in closer.
“Evie,” he said again, “Unover.”
“Doctor,” she called out toward the hallway, “he’s trying to say something, but I don’t think it’s coming out right. He’s not making sense.”
“All right,” Dr. Myers said calmly, though the speed in his step said otherwise. “Step back just a bit, Evie.”
She tried to pull away from his hand, but he held firm. His laced fingers crushed down on hers. “He won’t let go,” Evie said, trying to step back. Dr. Myers only smiled. “Grip is good. Positive sign. Can you say something for me, Emmitt? Repeat after me.”
The Barrington Billionaires Collection 1 Page 54
