Before I Wake (5 page)

“Then?”

I will not cry I will not cry I will not cry I will not cry…

“Listen, Karen, we're going to take her for some tests this morning. CAT scans, MRI, neurological responsiveness, that sort of thing. We're gonna be gone for a few hours. Why don't you go home, get something to eat, try to get a little sleep. I know that you…that neither of you got any sleep last night.”

More than anything the doctor recommended, I needed to talk to Simon.

SIMON

It was strange: coming home didn't feel like coming home. Something was wrong. Different. The house itself was unchanged, almost everything the way it had been when I left for work the day before. There was a small pile of laundry in the middle of the living room, a basket of unmatched socks and underwear in front of the couch, a half-empty cup of coffee on the side table. A pair of Sherry's shoes next to the laundry basket.

Karen had done the breakfast dishes. The cloth hung sloppily over the neck of the faucet. A pool of water edged a chicken she had left to thaw on the counter. I picked it up and threw it into the garbage under the sink, washing my hands in hot water after, straightening the cloth over the faucet.

The bathroom light was still on upstairs, a towel in a wet ball in the corner. I turned off the light.

Sherry's door was open, her floor littered with stuffed animals and brightly colored toys, a little undershirt on the unmade bed, another pair of shoes on the blue carpet nearby.

It was only as I set my briefcase down on the floor of our bedroom that I realized what I had been feeling since coming through the front door. This wasn't home anymore.

This house was where I lived, where my family lived. This was where we had brought Sherry from the hospital, where we had planned and laughed and fought and cried and made love, struggling to conceive. This bed, these clothes, the office just off the bedroom, all of this was mine, ours. Or had been.

My life had changed in a moment, a dividing line between before and after. The house was before: unfamiliar to me now in its strange silence, like a garment belonging to someone else. Fundamentally alien despite its near-perfect fit.

Leaning over the bed, I pressed the Play button on the answering machine to stop the red light flashing.

 

“Karen honey, it's Mom. I just got your message…oh my…it's 1:30, Wednesday afternoon. I'm calling the airline right now. I'll call you right back…I love you both…I'm praying for you.”

 

“Karen, it's Jamie…from the paper. Todd just pulled something in on the scanner…is everything…listen, I'll try later…I hope…I'll see you soon.”

 

“Mr. or Mrs. Barrett, it's Kent Lutz calling from CFAX Radio, Victoria's News Authority. I was wondering if I could speak to either of you, or both of you, about what happened this morning. You can reach me at…”

 

“Karen, it's Todd Herbert from the
Sentinel
. I really hate to be calling at a time like this…”

 

“Karen, it's Mom. I hope everything is okay…the earliest flight I can get is Friday morning…I'll be flying Air Canada…I'll take a cab from the airport into town. Call me, honey. I'm praying for you all.”

 

“It's Tonya Hopper calling from CHEK-TV. I was hoping I could have a word…”

 

“Simon, Karen, it's Sheila from the office. I just wanted to let you know how terrible everyone is feeling. We're all praying for you…”

 

“Oh my God, Karen, I just saw the paper. Is Sherry gonna be okay? Are you okay? Should I…I'll…I'll call you back…”

 

SIMON

I sat on the edge of the bed, listening to voices I didn't know, or couldn't remember. I couldn't move. Literally could not even shift my weight. Paralyzed.

The telephone rang, but the sudden noise didn't startle me. I could easily have picked it up; I didn't.

Looking at myself in the mirror on the closet door I noticed the awkwardness of the position I was sitting in, weight shifted to one side, one leg balancing the body, a teetering support that could, at any moment, fall away.

The telephone rang.

I felt suspended, outside of time, separated from everything I loved, everything I had worked so hard for, as if within a plastic bubble.

Untouchable.

On the fourth ring my voice clicked in, distorted by the answering-machine tape. “You've reached the Barretts. Please leave a message…” My voice was cut off by a beep, and suddenly Karen was in the room with me.

“Simon? Simon? Are you there?” In the lengthy pause that followed I watched the red recording light on the face of the machine. “I thought you were going home…”

The connection broke with a click, followed by a shrill beep as the machine reset itself.

The room was now vibrant with Karen's presence. I could see her dressing, curled in sleep around a pillow, nursing Sherry in the chair by the window. Everywhere I looked I saw my wife, and everywhere I saw her, she was smiling.

My cell phone vibrated against me. I answered it before the second ring. “Simon Barrett.”

“It's me.”

“Hey.”

“I tried you at home.”

“I'm almost there. Just turning onto Shakespeare now.”

“I spoke to the doctor. We need to talk.”

I found myself nodding. “Okay, I'll come—”

“No. Could we meet somewhere? I should probably eat something.”

“Anywhere you have in mind?”

“Maybe John's Place?”

“Fifteen minutes?”

“I'll see you there.”

The silence that followed was a pale shadow of our early days together, when neither of us could figure out how we wanted any given telephone conversation to go, or how it should end.

“I love you,” she finally said.

“I love you too. I'll see you soon.”

Karen clicked off.

After I locked the front door behind me, I lingered on the front step for a moment before walking to the minivan. It seemed bewildering that the air was heavy with spring blossoms.

Karen was seated at a table in the window by the time I got to John's Place. I waved to her as I opened the door, but she stared down into the dark depths of her coffee cup. She looked broken. I'm used to that look on people. I see it all the time in clients, the red eyes, the shaking hands, the pale skin. People weak from fighting battles they were unable to win on their own. It was shocking to see it on Karen. Her blond hair so dull, the pallor eating away her usual vividness.

“I'm here with someone,” I said to the waiter as I moved around the few people lined up for tables to slip into the chair across from Karen.

She looked up.

“It took a little longer than I thought,” I found myself explaining to her, unable to just sit in the silence. “I checked the answering machine.” I pulled the folded piece of paper from my pocket. “Mostly newspapers, TV, radio. Jamie called. Your mom called a couple of times.”

Her face brightened slightly.

“She can't get a flight out until tomorrow.”

“Damn.”

“My mother called us back too.”

“You still need to call your dad, though.”

I didn't say anything.

“Before he reads about it in the newspaper.”

“He doesn't read the paper.”

“Still, he is her grandfather. Even if they've never met.”

I reached across the table and laid my hand over hers, trying to change the subject. “How are you holding up?”

“I talked to Dr. McKinley after you left. That's what I want to talk to you about.”

I gently squeezed her hand. “Karen…” I waited until she met my eyes. “How are
you
doing?”

She pulled her hand away.

“Fine, fine,” she said. “I need a shower, and some food, and some sleep—”

The waiter materialized next to us. “Have you had a chance to look at the menu?”

I hadn't even noticed it lying on the place mat in front of me. I gestured toward Karen.

“Just toast, I think. Brown.”

She seemed drained, weakened.

“I'll have the same. And a coffee.”

He scooped the menus up and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Karen sighed heavily, took a sip of her coffee. “I talked to Dr. McKinley after you…after.”

I nodded.

“He said…”

Both of her hands were wrapped tightly around her coffee cup where I couldn't reach them.

“He, uh, they…” She sniffed and ran the back of one hand over her nose. “They're taking her in for some tests. Scans. They—”

“MRI?” I asked.

“I think so.”

“Another one.”

“What?” She asked, confused.

“They took her for one yesterday. Before the surgery. If they're taking her in for another one…”

We both stopped as the waiter arrived with my coffee, setting the cup heavily on the scarred tabletop, dropping a handful of creamers next to it. “There you go,” and to Karen, “I'll come around in a second to warm yours up.”

Her face was tightly drawn in, straining, as she nodded to him.

“He said you were right. She already has pneumonia. That she…” Tears ran down her cheeks.

KAREN

He reached over and lifted my hand away from the coffee cup and held it between both of his. He was shaking his head, his eyes soft.

“Let's not talk about this right now,” he said.

“Simon…” I couldn't form a coherent thought, and I was embarrassed to be visibly crying in a restaurant.

“No, listen,” he said, squeezing my hand. “We don't have to talk about this right now—”

“I don't want her to die, Simon.”

He shushed me and squeezed my hand again. “Don't even think about that right now. Just let it be.”

“Simon—”

“Just let it be. We'll eat breakfast, get you home, get you showered. It's going to be okay.”

I nodded, trying to smile a little.

“I love you,” he said in a near-whisper. “I'm here for you.”

I could only nod again.

SIMON

I checked the time as I answered my cell phone. 12:48. Karen was in the shower, and had been for more than seventeen minutes. She had called her mother when we got home from the restaurant, hung up crying and retreated into the bathroom with her robe over her shoulder.

“Barrett,” I answered.

“Mr. Barrett? It's Dr. McKinley calling from the hospital. I tried a couple of times to get through on your home line and it was busy.”

We had turned the ringer off after Karen had spoken with her mother. While we had been out for breakfast another half-dozen messages, all from journalists, had been left on the machine. “No problem. It's probably easiest to get through to us on my cell.”

“I'll make a note.”

“How is she?”

“Well, I know I told Karen that she should try to get some sleep, but I think you two should probably come back as soon as you can. Sherry's running quite a high fever, and there is a lot of fluid present in her lungs. As well, we've run some tests…”

“And?”

“And I'd like to talk to both of you about the results.”

I closed my eyes before answering. “We'll be right back. Where will we find you?”

“Have them page me.”

He hung up without saying good-bye. I sat for a moment in the silence, the only sound my breath, a quaver noticeable with every inhalation.

Karen had turned off the shower and a moment later the bathroom door opened with a burst of light and steamy warmth redolent of raspberry shower foam. She was wrapped in her blue robe, and gently drying her hair with a towel. She stopped when she saw me on the bed, telephone in hand. “Is it…”

I nodded. “We need to go back to the hospital.” She retreated into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

KAREN

We were holding hands when we got back to Sherry's room. I don't think I would have been able to get through the door without Simon holding on to me.

Dr. McKinley was staring at her chart. “I just took Sherry's temperature.”

“How bad is it?” Simon asked.

“Forty degrees,” he said, double-checking his note.

“Oh Jesus,” I whispered, my knuckles white around Simon's hand as we stood by Sherry's bed.
Deathbed.

“Is that—”

“Is that why I called? No. The tests we ran this morning—CT, neurological scans, I jumped the line for the MRI again…”

We waited.

“Since the surgery, there's been considerable swelling, and some bleeding. I don't know if we missed it, or…” He paused, suddenly unable to meet our eyes. “Unfortunately—”

I fumbled for the bed rail with my free hand.

“We failed to detect any trace of brain activity.” He turned his gaze on Sherry, lying as if suspended within the institutional sheets. “I'm sorry,” he said.

“Brain-dead?” I whispered.

“We don't…” He stammered as he caught Simon's look. “That's not what we call it anymore.”

“Are you saying she's never going to wake up?”

I wanted him to argue, or to reassure me, but the doctor didn't say anything.

“So what do we do now?” Simon asked.

“I want to say that we should wait. That there might be some change…But I can't.” The doctor lifted his eyes to ours.

“She's never going to wake up,” I repeated, watching her chest rise and fall.

This time he shook his head. “No. No, she won't. There's just too much damage…I'm sorry.”

“Is she in pain?”

He seemed surprised by the question, and it took him a moment to answer. “No. No, she's not feeling anything.”

Not feeling anything.

“I know that this sounds terribly sudden, but we should probably discuss the possibility of organ donation.”