Mad Max: Unintended Consequences (2 page)

Less than four hours after I spoke with Bette, I walked down the center aisle of that last plane to National with a connection to Richmond and found my seat. The last one in the middle of the last row. I squeezed between a large woman in the window seat and an even larger man on the aisle. I fetched the toy from my bag and held it in my lap. I closed my eyes and leaned against the back of the upright seat. I couldn't recline an inch since there was a bathroom right behind me. Before I realized what was happening, memories, like an old movie, began their thousandth rerun in my head.

My husband Norm and I returned from a Friday night dinner date. We laughed and talked about stopping at the farm store for ice cream and cones for the kids.

I looked past Norm in the passenger seat. Two pairs of headlights raced toward me. Before I could react, one car slammed into the passenger side and spun us out of control. The second car braked and veered to the right, rolled over in a corn field and exploded in a fireball.

I was pinned to the driver's door, my husband's bleeding body in my arms. The driver of the lead car stared at me out of dead eyes, his body halfway through his windshield. I couldn't see Norm's face, but his blood soaked my lap. I was sure I held a dead man. I screamed and screamed before passing out.

I stopped the movie at the end of the first reel, unable to watch it from beginning to end. I wanted to look out the window, but the woman had pulled down the shade and stuffed her pillow into the recess. I stared at the top of a balding head in the fully-reclined seat in front of me and sighed. I was one second away from pitching a fit and elbowing the people beside me. If either moved a hair, I'd be squished. I wanted to cry and wring my hands, but I couldn't. Not in public. Instead, I stroked the toy, finding solace in its familiar worn spots.

I revived as the fire department cut me free. I thrashed and screamed, “Please. My children. Take me to my children!” My stomach convulsed, and I thought I'd throw up. Instead, I hiccupped.

A doctor set my broken wrist, told me there was nothing he could do for my ribs, and kept me in the hospital overnight to be sure I didn't have a concussion. The next day, my sister-in-law brought fresh clothes and drove me home. I sleepwalked into the house to deal with two distraught kids.

The jet bounced to a landing in Richmond so uncomfortable it threw us against our seat belts and sent loose items racing down the aisle. I might not have been able to move side to side, but nothing stopped me from lurching forward. Had there been any room in the overheads, sure as hell items would have shifted during flight.

I grabbed a cab, phoned the Colonel, and fretted most of the way to VCU. When the taxi pulled up at the emergency room entrance, I put on my I'm-wearing-my-big-girl-panties-and-can-deal-with-anything face and marched through the automatic doors. The Colonel met me, held me in a worried hug, and took charge of my roll-aboard. Door to door, it was less than twelve hours since Bette's call.

“No news.”

Please don't let Merry die.
I wanted to hold her again.

The molded plastic hospital chair in the ICU waiting room didn't fit my body, so I sat upright, two inches of space between my spine and the chair back. I tried to relax and meditate, but all I could do was chant the same thing over and over:
Please don't let Merry die.
My throat constricted and tears burned the backs of my eyes. I stepped into the bathroom.

When I came back into the waiting room, I sat and dozed. Instead of the bad dream, my mind drifted over happier times with my children. I remembered vacations at the beach, birthday parties, and trips to amusement parks. I even remembered cleaning up Merry's vomit the first, and last, time I took her on a rollercoaster.

I tried not to wring my hands, but the ache in the right one told me I failed. I'd talked to the doctor in charge of her care, a Dr. Jenkins, soon after I arrived, but he knew little more than that her injuries were extensive. They were treating each crisis as it occurred.

“I need authorization for this and other surgeries.”

Other surgeries? What other surgeries?

“Is her husband here yet?”

“Not yet,” the Colonel said. “We've left messages on his cell.”

“We can't wait. What's your relationship to Mrs. Pugh?”

“Father-in-law.” Dr. Jenkins shook his head. He looked at me.

“Mother.”

“You'll do.”

The doctor handed me a form. I scribbled a barely legible signature.

“If she makes it through the next twenty-four hours, she has a chance.”

I blocked out all thoughts of Merry dying. I sucked in my stomach and thrust my stubborn chin out.

Across the room, the Colonel dozed, breath burbling with each respiration, chin on his chest. He snorted awake, which startled me out of my reverie. Merry's doctor stood in the doorway. He must have seen fear on our faces, because he held up a hand, palm outward.

“No change. She's still in surgery. She was bleeding into her chest. I'll be back when there's news. Don't worry if I'm gone a while. We've got a lot of work to do. Why don't you get something to eat? The cafeteria hasn't poisoned anyone lately.” With that, Dr. Jenkins loped toward the elevators.

The Colonel said he'd stay in the room and wait for Whip if I wanted to get coffee or something to eat.

I walked down seven flights of stairs to the cafeteria. I needed to move and didn't want to be confined in an elevator. After picking up a coffee and sandwich, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a window. I was a mess. I'd left the fedora at my apartment, but my highlighted hair needed a good combing. I tucked my hair behind my left ear, leaving the right side to graze my chin. I flipped open my phone and punched Raney's number on speed dial.

“Talk to me.” Raney was as blunt as it got.

I told her what little I knew.

“So, Merry's in a coma?”

“Yes. The Colonel said no one's been able to talk with her.”

“Are you holding up all right?”

“Almost. I tried to doze on the plane, but my mind kept rerunning images of Norm's death. Everything was as vivid as it was the first time. I haven't seen Merry, but I keep imagining what she went through. I want to throw up.”

“I shouldn't wonder.”

“I called Jack in Oregon. He's stuck in Portland. Both kids have the chicken pox. Neither he nor Merry had them.” I rubbed my right temple and played with the sandwich I didn't want. I wished my son lived closer. “Whip should be home soon.”

“Good. The sooner the better, huh?” Raney turned down the volume on her CD.
Vivaldi. I love Vivaldi.

“You know, when you told me to take it easy on Merry before it's too late—”

“I never said that!”

“I realized I don't know how. She's blamed me for her father's death since she was eleven. She's said, more than once, if her father was driving, he'd be alive today.”

“That's bullshit.”

“I think Merry would be glad if I'd died as long as her daddy was still alive.”

“That was so long ago. Surely she doesn't still blame you.”

“She does.”

As recently as last summer, Merry's off switch flipped. Out of nowhere, she said it was my fault her daddy was dead. I bit my tongue. That wasn't the time to try and talk rationally with her.

“Hostility was Merry's way of coping with the un-cope-able. She did a damned good job pushing me away.”

Merry's grief turned into anger when I could no longer be a stay-at-home mom. She and Jack became latchkey kids with Merry in charge of her younger brother when I went back to school and later to work. That was when I began skating on a teeter-totter around her.

“That's not rational.”

“Neither is blaming me for something I couldn't prevent. She said I abandoned her when I went back to work.”

“Well, you aren't abandoning her now. You're there.”

“Will it be enough? I want us to get along.”

“You may have to go ninety percent of the way. Can you do that?”

“Absolutely. For my sake, as well as hers.”

“You're way too self-controlled for your own good. Let her see how you feel.”

Raney was right.

I needed to let more of my emotions show. “Now I have one more thing to work on. Transforming me into someone Merry likes.”

“Only if you want to. Catch you a little later.”

I tucked my cell into my handbag then pulled it out and sent Raney a text. “Love you. Thx.”

I picked up two more coffees and the local newspaper and rode the elevator upstairs. The Colonel took the paper and a coffee.

“Haven't seen the doctor since you left.” The Colonel blew across his coffee.

A couple of hours after midnight, Dr. Jenkins returned with a fistful of X-rays. He led us to an examination room and slapped the film up on light boxes.

“I gotta be honest with you. I'm surprised your daughter's still alive. If it wasn't so cold overnight, she'd have bled to death.”

The room swayed, but I kept from fainting by drawing several deep breaths. The best way to prepare for Merry's future was to know the extent of her injuries. The doctor flipped on the light boxes.

The Colonel gestured to a group of X-rays. “What's this?”

“That's Merry's skull and face.”

I dug my fingers into the Colonel's arm and clung to him to keep from falling. Dr. Jenkins faced the wall, unaware of the mini-drama playing out behind him.

Norm's death was the first time I fainted at the sight of blood. Before, it never bothered me. My son, Jack, was an adventurous little boy, always splitting a lip or cutting his scalp or stepping on a rusty nail. I swabbed and bandaged and wrapped without a second thought. After being saturated with my husband's blood, however, I couldn't handle the sight or copper smell.

“Her left eye socket was pulverized, but the eye itself is uninjured. Bones heal. Her face can be reconstructed.”

“What's that?” I pointed to a dark area behind her forehead.

“A hematoma—a large collection of blood. It's growing, meaning a vessel's leaking somewhere and causing her brain to swell. We have a neurosurgeon standing by. Looks like she hit the windshield. Her head stopped, but her brain bounced around inside her skull. It caused the worst damage.”

I was dizzy and disoriented when I awoke. What was I doing in a hospital bed? Why was my head throbbing? Did I have a bandage on my forehead? Why was the room spinning?

The last thing I remembered was heading for a face plant on a tile floor. I lifted my head to a pounding both inside and out. The inside pounding was a raging headache; the outside pounding was a gentle tap at my door.

“Merry's in surgery again. More internal bleeding.” The Colonel entered my room.

“What the hell happened?”

“You fainted, but you'll be okay. A few stitches, possible concussion. You'll heal.”

“Any news from Whip?”

“Nothing. His flight must have been delayed. Merry had the information in her handbag, so we can't get to it. Em's not worried, though. She says he's all right. Besides, she has enough worrying to do about her mother.”

“Nothing new from the police?”

The Colonel shook his head. “They said she ran off the road around ten last night, but her car wasn't found until early yesterday morning. It took them time to figure out who Merry was, find us, and for us to call you.”

“I don't understand.” Had I fallen down the rabbit hole? If this was Wonderland, there was nothing wonderful about it. “Why did it take them so long?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Someone must have seen what happened. Don't the police have any witnesses?”

“None so far.”

“It just doesn't make sense.”

“Her car was in the river.”

“In the river? As in, under water?”

“Nose first in the mud. A fallen snag stopped the car from plunging into the James.”

A frightening image emerged of the dark waters luring the car downward. Then a vision of skeletal wooden fingers trapping the car and snatching Merry from death.

“There had to be another driver.”

“There was. The cops found an overturned truck off the road. They thought it was a single-car accident because there were no skid marks. Just past dawn a jogger spotted tire marks in the grass leading to the river and looked down the embankment. He saw the car's rear bumper jutting out of the muddy bank and called nine-one-one. Only then did the police realize a second car was involved.”

“What did the other driver say?”

“Nothing. He's dead.”

The Colonel left, and I stared at the ceiling. I wanted to see my daughter, but my doctor wouldn't allow it. Different doctor than Merry's. I might have been able to talk Dr. Jenkins into letting me at least take a wheelchair ride to the ICU. This doctor, whose name I couldn't remember, dismissed my request with a flip of the hand.
Bastard.

I counted the ceiling tiles yet again. Twenty-four across, sixteen down. I slept until I sensed I was no longer alone. I peeled my good eye open. A relieved-looking Colonel led Whip into my room. I'd never been so happy to see my son-in-law.

“Whip! You're here.”

I held out my hand. Whip seized it in a two-handed death grip and leaned over to kiss my cheek.

“Just got in.”

“So you haven't seen Merry?”

“Not yet. Down getting an MRI. Right, Pop?”

The Colonel nodded. “Checking on the bleeding in her brain.”

“No change, huh?”

“Not really.”

“What did the doctor say? Is she going to be all right?”

Whip asked the question each of us had asked so many times. All we knew was Merry was in bad shape.

“Find a wheelchair, Colonel. I'm coming with you.”

“Will your doctor—”

I held up a finger. No one was going to stop me, even if I returned to this sterile hospital room later feeling dreadful.

The Colonel rushed me into the elevator and up to ICU. He turned into the waiting room and pointed Whip toward a hard plastic chair. Whip poured a cup of stale coffee and gulped it. His hands trembling, he paced. “Gotta talk to Merry's doctor.”

“We've got specialists all over the place, but Dr. Jenkins is in charge. He's been here since the ambulance brought her in.”

“Didn't Merry say anything about the wreck?”

A gurney whooshed by, two orderlies guiding it down the corridor. I barely glanced at the heavily bandaged thing on it.

“Nothing. She's unconscious, son.”

When the Colonel called Whip “son,” he was serious.

“Was that Merry?”

“Yeah.”

Before the Colonel could stop him, Whip ran out the door. We chased the gurney and stopped just outside Merry's room. VCU's ICU was state-of-the-art with glass walls facing nurses' stations. Two orderlies lifted Merry into bed, hung intravenous bags on racks, plugged her into monitors, and pulled blankets up over her breasts. Her head and face were covered with bandages with slits for her nose and mouth.

A nurse materialized at Whip's side. “Are you Mr. Pugh?”

Whip couldn't take his eyes off the bandaged face. “Yeah.”

“The doctor wants to talk with you.”

The nurse's image reflected in the glass separating us from Merry. Didn't nurses used to wear white? This one wore a flowery tunic.

“Dr. Jenkins to ICU. Dr. Jenkins,” a disembodied voice came over the intercom.

Six minutes later, a young man in stained surgical scrubs bounded up, pulled off Latex gloves, and tossed them into a trash can.

“Hello, Colonel. Mr. Pugh?” Dr. Jenkins looked from father to son.

“Yes.”

“I'm Scott Jenkins.”

“Winston Pugh.”

They shook hands.

“Mr. Pugh—”

“Call me Whip.”

“Whip.”

“How's Merry?” Whip scratched the back of his hand.

“We've stabilized her.”

“Will she be all right?”

I'd asked if Merry would live, more than once. Listening to Whip ask the same thing wasn't getting us anywhere.

“What are you doing out of bed, Mrs. Davies?” Jenkins frowned. He stalled for time before answering Whip's question.

“Waiting to hear how Merry is. Now, will she be all right?”

“I'll let you stay if you promise not to faint again.”

I winced at the headache doing a Ringo Starr impersonation behind my eyelids and gave Dr. Jenkins a thumbs-up.

“Back to your question, I have no idea if Merry will be all right, but I think she'll live.”

The three of us stared at the doctor. An honest man who didn't have all the answers? No “It's too soon to tell” or “We're doing all we can” bullshit. I could trust Jenkins because he was as blunt as me.

“It's a good thing she was in the car so long. The cold, her heavy coat, and being unconscious probably saved her life.”

“How so?” Whip rubbed tired eyes.

“Her body temp was low enough to slow down blood loss. She was unconscious, so she didn't struggle. Otherwise, she'd have bled out, um, sorry, bled to death, before anyone found her. Merry suffered broken ribs, a punctured lung, and damage to her pelvis. Her face hit the windshield or steering wheel. Parts of her face were shattered too. Left eye socket, the zygomaticomaxillary complex—”

“The what?”

“The cheekbone. Some damage to the upper jaw too. We can put the bones back together over time, but I'm most worried about the swelling in her brain. We still haven't found what's causing it.”

“Is the damage permanent?” I asked, hoping not to faint again.

“The damage could be permanent. It might not. I'm not a neurosurgeon.” Dr. Jenkins turned to Whip. “I'm sorry about the baby.”

“What baby? Merry was pregnant?” Whip shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “I had no idea.”

“She was about eight weeks along. Not much more.”

Oh shit. She lost another baby.

The Colonel patted my shoulder.

“Can I talk to her?” Whip turned toward the ICU.

“Yes, but she won't respond. We're keeping her in a coma. Maybe she can hear you, maybe not.”