As the Dawn Breaks (11 page)

My love for photography has taken over my everyday life. At first it began as a hobby, simply an interest in the different techniques, how lighting could affect a picture, different aperture settings worked, etcetera. I now work free-lance for several travel magazines, shooting different resort areas in Europe, primarily tropical destinations nestled on the Adriatic, Mediterranean, and Aegean Seas, and I thoroughly enjoy every single minute of it.

Many of the editors appreciate my no-fuss work style. Being single, and without another form of employment, I’m almost always available at a moment’s notice. When they call, I hop on a plane, take some photos, and stay in a nice hotel all on their dime; not to mention, they pay me for the pictures. I almost feel guilty sometimes, taking the money for doing something I’d be doing anyway, but I push the feeling aside and invest all of my earnings for a ‘maybe someday’.

Today, I’m wrapping up edits from last week’s shoot in Tropea, which may be my favorite place I’ve traveled to thus far. Cozily nestled amongst high cliffs and majestic architecture, the powdery beaches offer the perfect warmth and texture for sun-bathers as the rather calm, teal water invites swimmers of all ages. Sifting through the set, I come across a heartrending image of a pregnant woman deep in thought as she sits cross-legged in the sand, staring out at the expansive sea. The fact I find myself shooting more expectant mothers and small children isn’t lost on me. Not a conscious act in the moment, I always end up with several of these sprinkled throughout.

I finish touching up the last couple of photos I’ve selected, save them, and then open my email to send them off. Once the task is complete, I do a quick sweep of messages in my inbox, deleting the vast majority of them; however, an email from Sarah Ellis last night, subject title:
Please reply quickly,
catches my eye. Clicking to open it, the distinct taste of panic develops rapidly in my mouth as I scan the contents. Several words leap off the screen and hammer straight into my chest, holding me hostage in the chair.

Boating accident...

Katrina and Lucca...

Critical condition...

I don’t move for nearly five minutes, allowing the information to fully sink in, but the minute it does, my mind and body kick into high gear. After a quick response to the email letting her know I’m on my way, booking airline tickets, and throwing clothes into a suitcase, I’m out the door within an hour.

My Katie-bug is going to be okay. She just
has
to be.

My flight touches down at Miami International Airport at half-past-seven in the morning, and after the slowest moving customs line in the world, I’m finally able to retrieve my bag and find a taxi. At nine-fifteen, I stride purposefully into Mount Sinai Medical Center—bag in tow—and follow the signs to ICU. My heart is beating so hard I may be admitted myself for cardiac arrest. The not-knowing is killing me.

Luckily, Christian and Sarah Ellis are both pacing the floor outside the closed entrance, a frenzied mixture of fear and hope evident across their faces. She sees me approaching first and comes running to me, as if we’ve known each other forever, throwing her arms around me in a tight hug as the tears flow freely down her face.

“Oh, Leo,” her body shudders with trepidation as she pulls back slowly, “I’m so glad you got here so fast. I didn’t know how else to get ahold of you.”

Mr. Ellis joins us, also greeting me with an emotional embrace, and even without knowing the full details, my heart aches for them.

“Thank you for letting me know so quickly. I dropped everything and got on the first flight I could,” I reply. “Tell me what’s going on. What happened, and how are they both now?”

Sarah wipes off her cheek with the tissue crumpled up in her hand as she begins to explain, “They went out on the boat Thursday morning, and from what we understand, there was a near collision. Lucca swerved to miss the other boat and they were both thrown from the vessel.” Her husband tenderly places his hands on her shoulders, pulling her back to lean against his chest. “Both were Life-Flighted here and admitted in critical but stable condition.”

“Have you been allowed to see them?” I interrupt.

They nod in unison. “Yes, but visiting hours in the ICU are very limited, so we’ve spent most of our time out here waiting for updates,” she explains.

“How are they now? Any improvements?”

“Both have regained consciousness for brief moments of time, but they’re keeping them sedated for now to help relieve the swelling on the brain they’re both suffering from. Lucca broke his clavicle, left arm, and left hip, but has no internal bleeding that they can tell. Katrina somehow didn’t have any bone fractures, with the exception of a hairline crack in her right foot. However, her spleen ruptured, causing a good amount of blood loss in her abdomen.”

I gasp audibly, my own body tensing with pain. She continues in a low voice, “They did immediate surgery to remove the spleen and clean her up; they’re still monitoring for additional hemorrhaging. Now, it’s just a waiting game—for both of them, as well as for all of us.”

“When can I see her?” I croak, the disbelief fading as reality settles in.

“Visiting hours are six-to-seven in the morning, noon-to-one in the afternoon, and nine-to-ten at night,” Christian answers as he consoles his distraught wife. “They try to set them up for family members to visit around their regular work schedules.”

I check my watch; it’s almost 10am. I still have two hours before I can see her with my own eyes…before I can do my own assessment of her condition. My stomach tightens into a firm knot, anxiety, dread, and hunger all fighting for my attention. “I’m going to go find a hotel, drop my bag off, shower, and grab a bite to eat,” I announce. “I’ll be back here in plenty of time for the next visitation.”

“You don’t need to get a hotel.” Sarah shakes her head in disagreement. “Stay with us, Leo; we’ve got more than enough room in our home.”

“Absolutely,” her husband confirms.

“I appreciate the offer, truly,” I say with a thin smile; their genuine kindheartedness has been apparent since the day I met them a little over two years ago, “but I want to stay close to the hospital, so I can travel back and forth at will. I’ll grab one of those just down the road I passed when arriving.”

She nods understandingly. “Before you go, let’s exchange numbers so we can keep in touch in case something happens here.”

Once that is taken care of, I leave the hospital in search of a place to call home for who knows how long. Jumping into a waiting taxi, I tell him to take me to a close but nice hotel, and he delivers. Twenty minutes later, I’m checked in at the Fountainebleau and stepping into a nice hot shower. Resting my head against the cool marble wall, I finally allow myself to break down. Infuriated tears bleed into the spray pummeling down on top of me, and I pray for the first time in over four years.

Please, God, don’t let her die. Take me instead.

BACK AT THE HOSPITAL,
nearly an hour before I can see Katrina, I’m clean, changed, and fed, and I can’t stop moving. Nervous energy buzzes through me with a frantic madness. I pace up and down the hall outside where she lies battered, bruised, and broken, my eyes snapping up each and every time the door opens to the ICU. I
need
to see her.

The Ellis’ arrive about twenty minutes after me, their tormented expressions mimicking mine. Greeted once again with a hug, as if we didn’t leave each other only a couple of hours ago, Sarah is obviously struggling with the situation, and understandably so.

We attempt to make small talk about what’s happened since I was here for the wedding. I briefly tell them about the photography gig, they tell me about Katrina and Lucca’s new house, and the success they’ve found in their jobs. However, the minute a middle-aged doctor in pale blue scrubs walks out and says, “Mr. and Mrs. Ellis?” we all give him our full, undivided attention, the previous conversation a distant memory.

“You’ll be allowed in to see both of the patients in just a minute, but first, I want to update you on the morning’s progress,” he states with a serious tone. “Lucca is doing quite well. We brought him to this morning, as the swelling of the brain had reduced substantially, and we’re going to leave him conscious. His broken arm has been casted, and there’s not much we can do with his clavicle and hip bone except keep him stationary and relieve the pain. He was able to eat a soft lunch a bit ago and remains alert. He’ll remain in the hospital at least another four or five days, and assuming he continues to improve and the concussion symptoms disappear, he’ll be released for outpatient physical therapy.”

He stops to run his hands through his graying hair, contemplating his next words. “Katrina isn’t doing nearly as well. We did another scan this morning, and there’s still quite a bit of blood in the abdomen, meaning: there’s another source for the hemorrhaging. We’re doing everything we can to pinpoint the source, but we’re keeping her sedated for now. As soon as you are finished visiting her, we’ll be taking her back into exploratory surgery, and should have more answers afterwards.”

Turning his attention to me, he says, “And I assume you’re the brother Mr. and Mrs. Ellis told me would be coming from overseas, seeing as
only
family is permitted.” He lifts his brow, indicating he knows damn well I’m not anyone’s brother, but is allowing me to go in.

Not skipping a beat, I nod with a grim smile. “Yes, Doctor. I just got in town this morning; I came as soon as I heard. Thank you for the update.”

He spins around and moves towards the large doors, pressing his fingertip on a pad to open the doors; we all follow close behind.

“Leo, you go ahead and go in to see Katrina. We’ll visit with Lucca a while and let him know you’re here,” Christian suggests. “Take as much time as you need, even if it’s the whole hour. We understand.”

They show me which room is hers, and with overwhelming trepidation, my heartbeat echoing loudly in my ears, I enter.

Sterile white. Everything.

Lots of machines. Even more tubes and wires.

Constant loud beeping. Dripping and clicking.

My Katie-bug.

Barely recognizable with all of the breathing machines and other shit strapped to her face, arms, and chest, she looks tiny and more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen her, but through all of the chaos, I see her. Instantaneously, a wave of relief washes over me. I’m not sure how I know,
but I do
. Without a doubt, she’s going to be okay.

I tread lightly over to the side of her bed, afraid I may bother her if I make too much noise, which I know is ridiculous. Taking a seat in the chair up by her head, I wait silently for several minutes, hoping somehow she’ll sense my presence and wake right up. But of course, that doesn’t happen, and I soon find myself telling her stories about when she was a little girl, and how I’d promised to take care of her when she was but two years old...the first day she said my name.

The hour is up before I know it—by far the fastest sixty minutes in the history of mankind. I kiss her forehead lightly and vow to be back tonight, tomorrow, and every day after until she’s recovered. I say another quick prayer asking God to watch over her during surgery, and I leave reluctantly, rejoining the Ellis’ in the waiting area.