The Ground Rules: Undone (36 page)

Over the next two days, we hear nothing. And I do some on-line research about severe head injuries, driving myself crazy in the process. It’s all so overwhelming; epidural hematomas, subdural hematomas, intracerebral hematomas, brain hemorrhage. I suddenly wish I had gone to med school. I want to understand what’s happening to him.

I study the statistics. Apparently, according to one informative site, of all patients with severe head trauma, about 25% to 30% recover fully, with little or no bad long-term outcome. I like those odds. This makes me happy. But, the next numbers make my heart sink — about 17% sustain long-term disabilities.

And then…about 30% die.

As I stare at the number, I fall into sobs. Weston has a greater chance of dying than he does of making a full recovery.

Despite what has happened, I still need to move on with my life. I still need to teach. They don’t exactly let you take a day for secret lovers in critical condition. I could call in sick, but part of me knows the distraction of work will serve me well.

I try to be present for my students as much as I can. We do the usual routine.

On Tuesday, we start off with story time. I sit in my old rocking chair and the children sit around me in a circle, their sweet faces curious, attentive. I think this is a favorite part of the day for most of them, myself included. The story I read today is about a little white bear cub who has ventured too far and gotten lost in the woods.

His mother searches desperately through the forest, looking for her baby. “Have you seen my baby?” she asks the snow owl. “Have you seen my baby?” she then asks the white fox. “Have you seen my baby?” she asks the hare, and so on, and as the pages turn, her desperation becomes almost palpable. It is practically tangible, as seen in the soft beautiful illustrations.

The children listen with complete focus, little brows furrowed in concern — they want the mother bear to find her cub, healthy and happy. I can relate to mother bear. Although I’ve never lost a child, I am in the same anxious state of the unknown, wanting time to speed, wanting to see the conclusion, to know it is a happy ending. And it’s not about passion, lust, romantic love. It’s about a friend. A friend I want to find healthy and happy.

The week goes on and I barrel through it, one hour at a time, one minute at a time. I’m in the perfect place to stop thinking about him. I have twenty-one distractions. Scratch that, I have twenty distractions since my little-troublemaking Sebastian is off sick today. But I could sure use him around.

Gwen and I eat outside, in the chill of autumn. We keep our jackets on and watch the leaves fall. And I confide in her. I tell her about my last moments with Weston. Now I think she understands a little more. I cry in her arms and of course, I barely touch my food.

Gabe is there for me, a constant source of support. He’s just as impatient as I am. He wants to know what’s going on, and he hates his silent phone.

I’m in the bath when I hear the familiar buzz of Gabe’s cell. It is almost inaudible in the distance. I hear Gabe speaking in serious, hushed tones. He barely says a word. I scurry out of the bathtub and wrap myself in my plush bathrobe. I barrel down the stairs, wanting to know.

Gabe puts his phone back in his pocket and looks at me with dull eyes. The already existing ache is my stomach spreads across my insides. “What?” I plead. “Tell me.”

He stands up a little straighter. “He’s in a coma. They won’t really know the severity of his injuries until he wakes up.”

I close the distance between us and wrap my arms around him. “There’s still hope.”

“Yes,” he says. “Apparently, he was lucky, and didn’t get roughed up too bad, other than the head trauma. Apparently some broken bones, but that’s about it.”

I look up at him, stunned by the way he has been; the kindness and understanding he has shown. “Why are you being so great?”

“I know he meant a lot to you. As much as I hate it.”

I hold him tighter, my gaze still plastered to his. “He doesn’t mean as much as you. You know that, don’t you?”

He smiles. “Well, I
was
starting to wonder.”

My own smile fades as I imagine the unimaginable. “I don’t know what I would do if it was
you
, lying in that hospital bed. I wouldn’t be standing. I wouldn’t be functioning. I would crumble.”

He crushes me into his arms, stealing my breath away.

A week passes, and the mother bear still hasn’t found her cub. The anxiety is still there but has faded a little. I still think about him every hour of the day. I think about Bridget too, and his children.
Please
, I beg God. Please,
let him live
. Not for me, but for them. I don’t think I’ve ever prayed to God as much as I have in these past few days.

I try to go on with my life as best as I can, awaiting the end of the story, the happy ending. I still believe in a happy ending. I’m not willing to give up on him. Gabe hasn’t managed to get too much information from Bridget. There have been no new developments. He says Bridget seems to be holding up, sounding unemotional, almost business-like on the phone.

She must be stronger than I am. If it were me, I would be falling apart.

We’ve all been thinking about him. Chloe and Claire ask me daily if he’s getting better. My heart sinks every time I have to tell them I don’t know. Claire even made him a ‘get well’ drawing.

I carefully pin it on our refrigerator door with a colorful cat magnet. My eyes well up as I take in the details of it. It’s so sweet. I can tell she put a lot of effort into it.

Weston sits up in a hospital bed. His black scribbled head is way too large for his body and his legs are much too small. The big curved line on his face marks his happiness as he holds a bouquet of colorful balloons. And there’s Claire standing beside him, her hair in a high ponytail. She wears the same smile, and holds purple flowers. And Tokyo the giraffe is there too, tucked in the corner. And I stand on the other side of the bed, wearing a Peter Pan collared blouse and a huge smile. And my smile is the biggest of all — not just a curved line, but a full row of teeth, gap and all.

I sigh every time I walk past it. I would really love to be able to give it to him.

I just want him to wake up.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

…granny panties and all.

T
he girls and I are working on Halloween costumes. Chloe is a tiger, not a cat. Evidently, the distinction is very important. And Claire is a fairy, but not Tinkerbell because Tinker is green, and she’s purple. The day is unusually warm and I’m thrilled we’ll be able to trick or treat without heavy jackets covering our costumes. I’m wearing my Snow White dress again. It’s my signature costume. Every year, I pin my hair into a bob and slip in a red silk hair band. I like to twirl into my classroom. The kids eat it up. Apparently, I look exactly like the critter-loving singing princess.

I trail behind the girls as we make our way from house to house. We chat with the neighbors a little as they fill the girls’ pillowcases with sugar filled treats. Gabe is hanging back at the house, handing out candy. Every year, he wears this terrifying mask which I beg him not to wear. And then he wonders why we don’t get many kids.

When we finally get home, the sun has set and the sky is dark.

Gabe shoots the girls a smile. “How did you do, kitty cat?”

Chloe frowns. “I told you, I’m a tiger.”

Claire holds up her bag high. “Look at all this,” she squeals as she runs into the living room with her shoes on. She dumps her loot on the floor.

Gabe seems edgy when he turns to me. “I’ve got news.”

I stare at him, slack-jawed. “What?”

“Bridget called while you were out. Weston’s awake.”

My whole body seems to lift but I don’t like his expression. There’s something more to it. “How is he?” I blurt out, not speaking fast enough. “Is he fine? Is he…”

Gabe bites his lip. “Yes, he’s fine. He’s just not quite all there apparently.”

My stomach drops. “Oh no.”

“No, it’s not that,” he’s quick to clarify. “He apparently can’t remember the accident at all and…other stuff.”

I feel the relief pool within me. “Thank goodness he’s fine.”

A heavy load has been lifted. I feel like I’ve been pulled out from the rubble, and can finally breathe again.

“Bridget says this kind of thing is common with head trauma.”

“Is it permanent?”

“She’s says it’s usually temporary. They call it post-traumatic amnesia. She expects him to be back to normal within a few days.”

I peel off the heavy Snow White dress. “But other than that, is he fine?”

“Yeah, it looks like he’s good to go.”

I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved. “Is he out of the hospital?”

He shakes his head. “Oh no,” he says. “I think he’ll be there for a while. Tests and recuperation and stuff.”

I picture him, lying on his white hospital bed, bouquets and cards sit on a desk nearby, Bridget and his children by his side. The vision brings a smile to my face.

“Does he remember Bridget? His kids?”

Gabe is already digging into the girls’ stashes. “Yeah, it’s the accident he doesn’t remember or the events leading up to it…”

“Daddy!” Claire is not impressed he’s eating her prized full-sized Kit Kat bar.

“Gabe,” I scold. “You are evil.”

“Just one bite,” he tells Claire. She glares at him. Chloe, being the clever girl she is, has brought her loot to her room.

I think about Bridget. About the way she looked at me the last time we saw each other, with pure contempt in her eyes. I wonder if she’ll let me see him.

“Do you think we could go visit him?” I venture carefully. I’m still not sure how Gabe feels about all this. I’ve said my goodbyes. It was all settled, until…

He sighs. “I think we should wait a day or two,” he suggests. “I’ll talk to Bridget about it.” He seems a bit upset and I wonder what he must be feeling. Knowing that Weston is all better and back in my life can’t be easy for him.

“Sure.” I say. “It can wait.” I sit cross-legged next to Claire and help her organize her candy. She methodically places the treats in categories: chocolate treats, lollipops, candies and gum, potato chip bags, and ‘extras’.

“Where does the licorice go?”

She presses her little finger against her lip, in deep thought. “Candy,” she finally decides.

She hasn’t asked about Weston, hasn’t even paid any attention to our conversation. She’s simply too engrossed in the colorful stash of candy sitting before her eyes.

I grab a lollipop and plop it in my mouth.

To be a kid again.

I turn to look at him. His eyes are on the road. He looks uncharacteristically serious. He hasn’t said much at all.

“Thanks for doing this,” I say, my voice soft.

He doesn’t turn to look at me. “No problem.”

I shift in my seat. The leather feels uncomfortable for some reason. I fiddle with the hem of my tweed skirt. “I know this is hard for you, but I promise, I’ll just visit him once to see how he is, and that will be that.”