Losing Gabriel (32 page)

Just walking into the hospital made her stomach queasy. The antiseptic smells, the voices from intercoms paging one person or another, the sight of so many people in blue or green scrubs, caps, and dangling face masks—it all brought back memories she didn't want returned. When the elevator doors opened on the pediatric floor, she stepped out, glancing at the cheerful colors and cartoon animals painted on the walls, a world away from the neonatal ICU. On this floor, she felt a little less like an alien on a foreign planet. Lani had given her Gabe's room number. She stood at the door, her heart pounding. Taking a breath, she pushed through the doorway, then stopped because Dawson was standing beside Gabe's bed. He looked surprised at seeing her.

“I…I thought…,” she mumbled.

“Boss asked me to pick up something in town. Stopped here first to see him since it was on the way.” His eyes seemed to penetrate her skin. “No change.”

She stared at the bed where Gabe lay sedated, stepped closer.

“Your first time to visit?”

He knew it was, so his words were a rebuke. She ignored his barb, told herself she shouldn't have come. But she had. Because now things had changed…three-year-old Gabe had smiled at her, sat at her feet when she played and sang. He had called her “Sing Lady,” breathed the scent of cereal on her face. Her chin trembled. She raised her gaze to meet Dawson's, squared her chin. “He's bigger now, but he's in a hospital, still has a tube down his throat, he isn't moving, and his eyes are shut tight. So no. Not much difference at all.” Her eyes drove into his. “And not one single bit easier now than it was when he was born. It hurts just as bad.”

D
awson quickly realized that he'd stepped out of bounds. What had happened in the past when Gabe had been born needed to stay there. “Sorry. Sarcasm uncalled for. I know how it hurts to see him like this. But his doctor says the steroids have had plenty of time to work, so he might pull the tube and start waking him up tomorrow.”

The news cheered Sloan, and she traced her fingers along Gabe's cheek. His skin felt cool from the room's temperature, but soft as silk. She flipped a thatch of his dark hair from his brow.

“Lani does that too…the moving his hair thing.”

“I haven't seen her since this happened. Probably no reason for her to come to the house unless Gabe's there.” Sloan spoke the words as an observation, not a criticism.

“She comes here every day, soon as her classes are over. And because she works here in the nursing program, she's able to check on Gabe. She sends me regular texts. That way I can work and still know exactly what's going on with him.”

“She's a gem.”

Dawson gave Sloan a sharp look.

“She loves him.” Sloan amended her comment. “He's not just a job to her.”

Dawson felt his phone vibrate, reached in his pocket, saw the caller on the display, but didn't answer. “Boss is wondering why I'm taking so long on this errand, so I got to go.” He shoved the phone back in his pocket. “But you don't have to go just because I do.” He hoped she would remain because he disliked leaving Gabe alone even when the boy was sedated. “You can talk to him too. Lani says that the sense of hearing is ongoing. Coma patients wake up and tell of conversations overheard while they were”—he searched for a word—“out, under, whatever. Maybe Gabe hears our voices and knows we're here.”

Sloan nodded. “All right.”

He thought of something else. “Did you tell anyone at the nurses' desk that you were coming to his room? Because they want visitors to check in and wear a tag. It's one of the rules, to protect the kids.”

She had no tag, of course.

Not wanting her to think she wasn't wanted, he added, “I'll stop at the desk and put you on the approved visitor list.”

She watched him go and then returned to staring at Gabe. She touched him again. How beautiful he was. Perfectly formed. Part her, part Dawson, totally himself. Where did she fit in his life?

Lani rushed through the doorway. She was giving up her lunch break to spend the time with Gabe. When she saw Sloan, she halted. “Oh! Excuse me. I…I didn't know you—”

“Were coming?” Sloan finished. “Yes, I wanted to see him.”

“I…I'll come back later.”

“You don't have to run off.” Sloan faced her. “Tell me again how this happened. From the beginning.”

Lani hadn't seen Sloan for days, and facing her now, seeing her cool expression, was unnerving. When she'd rushed into the house days before, she'd been frantic, barely coherent when she told Sloan what had happened. “I…I did tell you. Hasn't Dawson explained further?”

Sloan saw no reason to admit she'd been avoiding Dawson at home and had only accidentally run into him minutes before. “I know how careful you are with Gabe, how you watch over him…and yet”—she motioned to the bed—“here he is.”

Emotions crumbled Lani on the inside. Dawson had forgiven her, but apparently Sloan had not. Lani repeated what had happened at Bellmeade, leaving nothing out, nor offering any self-defense, adding the words, “It was my fault,” to the story.

Sloan saw emotions of anger, fear, guilt, panic, tumble across Lani's face as she told the story, each one written in her eyes in large print. Lani didn't know how to slant the story in her favor; Sloan saw that instantly. Some people were born liars. Some weren't. Lani was an anomaly in Sloan's experience. Yet through the telling, the self-blame, recriminations, and guilt, Sloan saw emotions she never expected from Alana Kennedy.
Shame and humiliation.
She recognized the duo because she had worn both all her life like an itchy sweater. She was LaDonna's kid, the trailer-park girl whom other kids shunned. Lani seemed a “golden girl”—smart, capable, efficient, loved by a devoted sister—but this failure with Gabe had rocked her.

“I would give anything if I could go back and change that day.” Lani's gaze went to Gabe, as if absorbing the image and the pain it brought would change things. It didn't. She still ached over her failure to protect him.

Ambient noise from the hallway, of food trays clattering on carts, the slow hiss of oxygen being delivered inside the room, the sound of an insect beating its wings on the window outside, filtered slowly into the moment, Sloan on one side of the hospital bed, Lani on the other, the beautiful child between them.

Then Lani heard Sloan say the oddest thing. “I should have never let Jarred walk away that night. I should have stopped him. I should have made him stay with me. Or followed him. Something. The next day when I was in the police tent, all the pieces fell into place, a perfect fit, of what he'd intended to do and why he didn't want me with him. I didn't see it at the time, and hours later, it was too late and he was dead.” Lani could only surmise the complete story, but she certainly understood the pain and guilt attached to it. Sloan had allowed Lani a rare glimpse into a closed off part of herself, and Lani realized it was a gift of sorts…Sloan's way of offering leniency to Lani about Gabe. Guilt was the common denominator, the thing that put them on equal footing through events that neither could change.

Sloan glanced up, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Focusing on Lani, she came back to the present. “Serious mistakes have no do-overs.”

“Please stop beating up on yourself, Lani. This could have happened to anyone taking care of Gabe. Even his father.” This from Melody when Lani came home that evening. They were in the living room, the gas fireplace logs glowing, and mugs of hot chocolate and a tray of popcorn between them on the coffee table.

“But I'm the one who wants to be a nurse.”

“And nurses never make mistakes?”

Lani sighed. After her conversation with Sloan, she was almost to a point of forgiving herself. Almost. “When Gabe's awake, I'll be better.”

“How's your horse?”

“Doing good. Jon and Ciana keep me posted, but I haven't gone to check him myself.” Lani swirled the few sips left in her cup, studied the muddy liquid. “I'm going to run out to the stables this weekend. Every free minute I have now I want to spend at the hospital.”

“Mom and Dad want us to come for Christmas.” Melody changed the subject.

The first thought Lani had was
What if Dawson and Gabe need me?
Then she remembered that Dawson was taking Gabe to Chicago, which meant they would be gone for the holidays. And thinking of Gabe out of the hospital and having fun with his dad and granddad lifted her mood. Besides, she missed her parents, so it would be good to see them, even though Kenai, Alaska, in December would be cold, dark, and deep in snow. She grabbed a handful of popcorn.

“If we go to Alaska, we won't have to put up a tree,” Melody said.

“What! Not put up a Christmas tree? Of course we'll put up a tree.”

Her sister burst out laughing. “I wish you could see your face. You'd think I suggested we drown a puppy.”

“I want to bring Gabe here and show off our tree when he's out of the hospital. We'll put a tree up at his house too. And his Pops will have another for him in Chicago. Sounds perfect.” Lani launched the wad of popcorn and it rained down on Mel's head.

Melody ducked, grabbed her own fistful of the popcorn, and tossed it at Lani. In seconds, a popcorn war erupted and the two of them were laughing and dodging the bombardment of white puffy kernels. In no time the bowl was empty, and the room and dark green carpet were spotted with white.

Melody grinned. “It's good to hear you laugh.”

Lani quickly sobered. “Felt good too. Thanks for the break.” She glanced at the mess.

Mel said, “Tell you what, let's not throw it away. We'll put it into plastic bags and make popcorn and cranberry chains for the Christmas tree you want to decorate.”

Lani offered a wistful smile, her mind returning to Gabe. “Can't have too much Christmas when you're three.”