The Turning Tides (Marina's Tales) (7 page)

She sighed, looking out the window, “I suppose that how a person masters their fate is more important than what their fate actually is.”

I had to agree.

~

C
hapter
F
our

HOMECOMING

~

It had been three grueling days, and he still wouldn’t wake up. I sat by his bedside, numb with fear.
I couldn’t stop wondering if I’d done something wrong to allow this to happen. W
hat good was this muse magic if I couldn’t use it to protect my
own father
?

The doctors shuffled in and out. Every conceivable expert had run his own series of tests without any conclusive answers. Finally, they agreed that it was safe to reduce his medication, satisfied that there was no permanent brain damage. No one seemed to be able to explain why he wouldn’t regain consciousness.

“It might help if you talk to him,” a neurologist had suggested.

“Can he hear me?” I asked anxiously. It seemed like I’d been camped at his bedside
forever
, fidgeting nervously, or holding his hand and feeling utterly helpless.

“You might be surprised,” he shrugged, “The brain is a mysterious organ.”

So is the heart, I thought.

The head wound had been deemed minor, but the whole right side of his body had suffered enormous damage. Both of his legs, even the one recently healed from the helicopter accident, were in plaster casts. His right arm had been pretty much shredded, and was surrounded by all kinds of wrappings and braces, tubes going in and out. I could barely bring myself to look, and sat on his left side.

I started talking, telling
Dad
about Abby’s new baby, how much I liked surfing, and my
experiences
at school. I talked about Ethan, explaining all of the things I loved about him
.
I told him how much they were
alike
, and
how I knew they w
ere going to
get along. I described Aptos, my paintings, and all the happy events I could think about from
the
past year.

There was a whole lot to avoid.

When I ran out of things to say, I started reading aloud to him. I read the daily newspapers, poetry, and anything else I could get my hands on. Evie had Dad moved to a private room, working her
own brand of
magic to make it as comfortable as possible.
She
filled the room with beautiful flowers, light and music
,
attend
ing
to even the smallest
of
details.

Evie was on a mission, going over Dad’s charts, contacting outside specialists, and making sure that every
medical
protocol was followed to the letter. Always at her best when she was on task,
I watched her
perform with ruthless efficiency
,
and it gave
me hope that everything would turn out alright. With Evie in your corner, how could you lose?

I called Ethan every day, pouring out my hopes and fears across the vast ocean. He was encouraging, and hearing his voice always made me feel better.

“I miss you,” I told him, “I can’t wait to come home… to bring my dad home.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he reassured me
.
“I wish you were here right now.”

“Evie says they might be able to move him in another week.”

“Hurry home,” he said
urgently
, “Stumpy misses you.”

I laughed, “What is he up to today?” Apparently Stumpy the cat had made a great deal of progress in the past few days, and was now able to hop around the house.

“He can officially get up on the bed now…
A
nd he insists on sleeping in it. There’s only one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d rather have you there.”

“Tell him I’ll be there soon,” I
sighed
.
“I love you.”

~

Evie watched over me as
well as
she did
my father, pulling me out of the hospital
to go
out
and
eat some “decent food” at least once a day. Paul would come to sit at
Dad’s
bedside when I left, promising to call us the moment anything changed. Evie tried to take me shopping, but I wouldn’t have any of it, always hurrying back as soon as possible.

That didn’t stop Evie. She thrived on retail therapy, and ended up buying me so many clothes that it was
soon
clear I’d be going home with a whole new wardrobe. She would burst into the hospital room with armloads of shopping bags, and I halfway expected my father to sit up and protest her excesses like he always did.

On the fifth day Dad’s eyelids started to flutter, and I leaned over him to see them open. He struggled to focus, finally seeing my face.

“Adria?” he croaked out.

“No dad… it’s me, Marina,” I told him, but the recognition slipped out of his eyes and they slowly shut again. Evie came in to find me crying.

“You need a break,” she said firmly.

“I can’t leave him now,” I wailed.

She regarded me with frustration, and left the room. A few minutes later she returned with Paul, and the two of them insisted I get out for some fresh air.

“I’ll be right here with him,” Evie promised.

“You need a workout,” Paul said, handing me a bag packed full of new gear, “You’re behind on your training.”

I sighed and agreed, changing and following Paul out of the hospital to a pretty little park. It was a crisp clear autumn day, and the fiery leaves seemed even more brilliant against the bright blue sky. We took a quick jog around a path that circled a pond, and stopped at a playground where he had me do some chin-ups.

He lifted me up to the highest bar, and when I was exhausted, he reached up to take me down and lowered me slowly, setting me down and brushing the hair out of my eyes, “Are you alright Vanderpool?”

I nodded up at him, “I’ll be okay… it’s just that…” my voice caught in my throat when I remembered my dad thinking I was my mother. What if he couldn’t remember me? My eyes filled with tears and spilled over.

He led me to a bench and sat us down with his arm around my shoulders, giving me a rough squeeze, “I’ve seen plenty of guys a lot worse than that who come out of it one hundred percent.” He reached up to wipe the tears from my cheek, bringing his forehead to mine and looking me square in the eyes, “Listen soldier, there’s no crying in combat… Now drop and give me twenty.”

I smiled, and did. By the time I got showered off and back to my dad’s room I was exhausted.

“Thanks, Paul,” I
nodded,
t
aking
over the watch for Evie. I put on some music and curled up in the recliner by his bed. When I woke it was dark outside, and I sat up to stretch with a yawn.

“Is it Beethoven?” my father asked.

I wheeled around to meet his clear eyes. He
looked
towards the music player.

“Yes… yes… I think it’s Moonlight Sonata,” I stammered.

He sighed, “It was your mother’s favorite.”

“Oh D
ad!” I yelped. I leapt out of my chair and hugged him, taking care not to disturb his arm.

“What happened?” he asked, and I pulled back to see him struggling to remember. He squeezed his eyes shut, “I was talking to you on the phone… Oh no… Oh my God… Hamid!”

His face was terrible when he finally remembered. I could see him piece it all together and my heart ached for him. A man had been blown to bits in front of him, and I knew that he’d feel responsible for the accident. He felt responsible for everything.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I told him gently.

“But his family… his wife,” he struggled to sit up, his voice anguished.

“I’ve taken care of it,” Evie’s voice rang out from the doorway. She must have heard me cry out. She came in and stood beside me. “They’ll not want for anything.”

He nodded, falling back ont
o his pillow, “Thank you Evie.”

Over the next few days, we prepared to take him back to San Francisco. There was more bad news from Afghanistan; Evie had to sit down and tell my father that his field laboratory had been looted, and all of his valuable research had been lost or destroyed. He was despondent.

“I spent a whole year away from Marina for nothing,” he
said grimly.

“Martin, there will be other opportunities for your research to go forward. We’ll have you back at work in no time at all,” she promised.

“Look at me,” he said, holding up his mangled hand. “I’m no good to anyone like this.”

Evie was at a loss for words, and I could tell that she never expected things to go so completely off the rails. She wasn’t the sort of woman used to dealing with failure
, so
she threw herself into making sure everything having to do with the move home was executed perfectly. She lived on the phone, making all kinds of appointments and arrangements, and lining up the best specialists in San Francisco for consultations.

Evie
was in complete management mode, and when she got this way about anything, failure was simply not an option.

Moving day finally came, and Dad grimaced with pain as we loaded him into the ambulance
.
I
fe
lt
completely helpless
,
cring
ing
along with every bump and jolt. My phone rang, and I looked to see it was Ethan.

“Can I call you right back?” I asked.

“I’ve been trying to reach you all day!”

I was wound up tight, watching my father’s arm flopping helplessly, “We’re just taking my father to the airport.”

“Did
n’t
you get my messages?” he asked impatiently.

Paul interrupted me, calling out in the background, “Are you going to ride along?”

I lowered the phone, “Yes Paul! Just a minute, okay?”

“Are you too busy with Paul?” he asked bitterly.

I turned away, “What? Ethan, I have to go now… I’ll call you later.”

I hung up abruptly
and climbed into the ambulance, taking Dad’s good hand and patting it gently. I stayed by his side the whole flight,
fretfully watching
him
suffer. Before I knew it we were touching down in San Francisco and Boris was there to help carefully move his cot from Evie’s jet. We loaded him into another ambulance and brought him directly to the huge freight elevator at the back of Evie’s building. It opened up into Evie’s vast pantry, and I watched as Boris wheeled Dad through her kitchens and across the hall to our apartment.

“Velcome home sir,” Boris said solemnly.

Clearly, he had been very busy while we were away. The place had been completely
remodeled. The first thing I noticed was a hospital bed set up in the library just adjacent to the kitchen. I peeked into the guest room to discover all of Cruz’s things were missing.

I ran back out, “Where’s Cruz?” I asked, alarmed.

Don’t worry dear, I’ve had him moved to a
n
apartm
ent one floor down. We’re still
neighbors.”

I walked into my former art studio to find that Cruz’s sewing room had been transformed into a rehabilitation facility
that would be the envy of any
medical center
. There was a ton of weightlifting equipment, a stretching contraption with all sorts of pulleys and straps, massage tables, and a treadmill facing a giant television screen. A whirlpool Jacuzzi sat on a pedestal overlooking the magnificent view of the Golden Gate Bridge.

“There isn’t a hospital around that’s better equipped,” Evie’s voice
rang out
behind me.

I turned to see
her, standing alongside
a
black
-eyed beauty with mahogany skin
and
glossy, raven black hair pulled back in
to
a tight ponytail
.
S
he somehow managed to look
stunning
draped in a shapeless medical smock
; e
ven her unfashionable eyeglasses couldn’t hide the fact that she was a
gorgeous
woman. A dark woman. Fatima’s words rang in my ears.

Evie came up beside me, gesturing, “Marina, allow me to introduce you to Doctor Amrita Permala. She’s an orthopedic surgeon and an expert in physiotherapy and
nutrition
. She’ll be supervising your father’s recovery.”