Coming Home (33 page)

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—”

“Years,” Casey repeated.  “You did say years.”

“That’s right.  But those cases are extremely rare.  Most patients
never recover.  I’m very sorry.”

She wasn’t sure she could continue breathing.  Her chest ached
with the effort, while every other part of her body had gone numb.  She could
feel her heart hammering, could hear the blood rushing in her ears.

“Why?” Danny asked, his voice unrecognizable.  “How did this
happen?”

“Bacterial meningitis,” Mark said, “moves very quickly.  It can
kill in a matter of hours.   Small children often run high fevers even when
they’re not terribly sick, so parents don’t realize how sick the child is until
other symptoms appear.  If we catch the infection early enough, we can turn it
around.  If it’s advanced too far when the child reaches us, the mortality rate
is high.  Those who survive often end up with some degree of brain damage.”

“So what you’re saying is that it’s my fault.”

“I’m not saying anything of the kind.  You’re not a doctor,
Danny.  You’re not a psychic.  You’re a father who did everything in his power
to see that his little girl got the medical help she needed.”

“And failed,” Danny said.

“Don’t,” Casey whispered.  “Please don’t.  Not now.  I can’t take
it.”

“Why the hell didn’t I just put a gun to her head and pull the
trigger?  It would have been just as effective.”

“Danny,” she shouted, “stop it!”

They looked at each other, both of them breathing hard.  “I
can’t,” he said.  And his voice broke.  “I can’t.”  He got up and slammed out
of the room.

She tried to follow him, but her legs wouldn’t hold her up.  Mark
pushed her back into the chair.  “Ivan,” he said to the neurologist, “a cup of
water for Mrs. Fiore.”  Taking Casey by the hand, he said, “Let him go.  It’s
what he needs right now.”

“I can’t do this, Mark.  I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.  You’re a remarkably strong lady.  Don’t forget, I
was there when Katie was born.  I remember what you went through.”

Ivan returned with the water, and she drank it.  “I’m not strong,”
she said.  “It’s only that everybody’s always expected me to be, and when Mama
died there wasn’t anybody else, and Danny’s always needed so much, and—”  She
looked up at him, realized she was babbling.  “What am I going to do?” she
said.

Mark patted her hand.  “We’ll figure that out together.”

***

She refused to leave her daughter’s side.  Mark had a cot brought
in, and that was where she pretended to sleep during those bleak hours when she
was alone except for Katie’s labored breathing and the eerie sounds of the
electronic equipment that was helping her daughter stay alive.  She ate
hospital food from a tray that Mark had sent up especially for her, and went
home only when she needed a shower or a change of clothing.  After a few days,
when Danny could no longer bear it, he went home and left her there.

He called several times a day to beg her to come home,
but she always refused.  As long as she stayed by Katie’s side, nothing could
happen to her.  She was Katie’s guardian angel, her fairy godmother, her good
luck charm.  Mark, of course, disapproved.  “You’re not doing your daughter any
good,” he said, “and you’re killing yourself.  Go home to your husband.  He
needs you.”

But she refused to budge.  When Katie started convulsing and the
electronics went haywire, the entire pediatrics team came rushing into the
room.  One of the nurses shoved Casey out and shut the door firmly in her
face.  She leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, and slid
limply to the floor with her head cradled in her arms.

Rob called from New York, and for the first time, she cried,
loudly and inelegantly, snuffling and snorting, while at the other end of the
telephone line, he spoke soothing, nonsensical syllables.  “That’s it,” he
said, when she’d finally stopped.  “I’m coming home.”

“No,” she said, wiping her nose.  “I’ll be fine.  I just needed to
let off some steam.”

“Sweetheart, you’re wound tighter than a top.  Where’s Danny?”

“At home.”

“Why the hell isn’t he there with you?”

“He can’t face it.  Will you call him?  I’m worried about him.  He
shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I can think of a few things I’d like to call him right now.”

“Don’t.  Please.  You don’t understand.  You don’t know all of
it.  Danny’s not as strong as I am.  He needs your support right now.”

“Yeah, and you’re the tough one, aren’t you?”

“I’m a survivor.  Danny’s not so good at that.”

A week passed with no change.  Katie continued to undergo
convulsions several times each day.   Casey, who had borrowed several medical volumes
from the hospital library, talked to her constantly, read to her, sang to her. 
Medical science knew little about what went on inside the mind of a comatose
person.  Seemingly hopeless cases had been known to respond to the voices of
their loved ones, and Casey grasped frantically at any possibility, however
remote, that her daughter would come back to her.

Danny called.  “Come home,” he said.  “Please come home.  I need
you.”

“I can’t.  I can’t leave Katie.  You come here.”

“Jesus Christ, Casey, I can’t sit around that hospital room for
hours on end.  Every time she makes a sound, it terrifies me.”

They were at a stalemate, and they both knew it.  She curled up on
her cot, furious with him, furious with herself, furious most of all with a God
who would allow this to happen to her daughter.

Hours later, she awakened, disoriented, to find Danny on his knees
beside the cot, his head resting on her abdomen, one hand gently kneading her
breast.  A shaft of pure desire shot through her, followed immediately by guilt
that she could even think about sex under the circumstances.  “Danny?” she said
thickly.  “What time is it?”

“Three-thirty in the morning.  Come home with me.  Just for a few
hours.  I need you.”

“I can’t.”

He responded by closing his mouth over her breast, hard enough to
leave her gasping.  Even through the fabric of her shirt, his damp heat was
electrifying.  Torn between duty and desire, she ran a hand around to the back
of his neck.  Beneath his collar, his skin was hot and moist.  “All right,” she
said.  “But just for a little while.”

It seemed like years since they’d made love.  They undressed each
other on the way to the bedroom, and their lovemaking was hot and sweaty and
erotic, a primal celebration of life, a desperate act of defiance against the
specter of death.  Afterward, she dozed in his arms, content and sated, his
skin warm and sticky against hers.

It was daylight when the telephone woke her.  She grappled for it,
her body still sore from their lovemaking, and brought it to her mouth.  Peeled
apart her gummy lips and wet them with her tongue.  “Hello?” she said.