Say That Again (7 page)

Jenn flattened her palms against the door leading to ICU. “She’s coming.” She spun around and dropped into the chair where she’d left her coat, as if she’d been sitting there all along. Her head folded forward into her hands. “Hold me, Hunter. I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

Watching the door, Hunter draped an arm over his wife and placed a kiss beside her ear. “We’ll get through this, honey. It’s going to be okay.”

Raising her head, she bit her lip and nodded, barely holding back a fresh spate of tears.

The doors swung open. Dr. Townsley trudged toward them, dark smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes, her hair a disheveled mess. She inhaled slowly, let it out.

“Is she going to make it?” Jenn prompted, hands clenched in her lap.

Dr. Townsley untied her surgical mask and stuffed it in a pocket. “Yeah ... she is.”

With a sob of relief, Jenn collapsed against Hunter. He stroked her back soothingly. But one glance at the doctor’s face told him that wasn’t necessarily good news.

“So her heart and lungs are working on their own now?” he asked.

Dr. Townsley directed them to follow her into her office around the corner. Once inside, she shut the door and gestured for them to sit.

“She’s breathing without help, yes. Her heartbeat’s growing stronger. We had to inject her with heparin during rewarming to prevent clots from forming. Fortunately, she didn’t suffer any broken bones or a head injury during her accident. Either of those would have exponentially increased the potential for internal bleeding. She opened her eyes momentarily, but we haven’t been able to get her to respond yet. Not surprising, though. There is some dilation in her pupils now, which tells us she is regaining some brain function.”

She rifled through a stack of papers on her desk, pulled out a few, and hastily signed them. “I want to caution you, however, that she still has a long way to go. We won’t know the extent of the effects on her brain for days, or weeks even. She has an extended recovery ahead of her — and I can’t make any promises as to which way things will go. Anything could happen still.”

“Such as?” Hunter said.

“Well, possible complications include pneumonia ... arrhythmia and ventricular fibrillation ... She could still go into cardiac arrest.”

Jenn stood. “You mean, after all this, she could still die?”

“She’s been through a lot, Mrs. McHugh.” Dr. Townsley straightened, her eyes flashing with indignation. “It’s a miracle she’s gotten this far. May I remind you that —”

“When can we see her?” Hunter placed himself between Jenn and the doctor. More than anything he wanted Hannah back just as she’d been a day ago: a happy, healthy child, even with all her inherent challenges. But he wasn’t sure how much of this roller coaster Jenn could take.

When Dr. Townsley hesitated to answer, Hunter said, “We know she won’t be able to respond, but we feel it’s important to be with her. We need to see her.”
Before it’s too late
, he almost added.

Dr. Townsley turned her face toward the door, as if attempting to conceal the sigh that escaped her. “All right. Follow me.”

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—o00o—

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“S
he looks like an angel,” Jenn whispered.

The reference sent a stab of long ago memories through Hunter. When he was a boy, the age Hannah was now, he’d had his first cardiac event. He’d been playing ball with his Australian Shepherd, Halo, in the yard, when suddenly he felt faint. After that, he wasn’t aware of anything going on around him. They rushed him to the hospital and in the time that his heart was not beating, Hunter had heard things, seen people. People who had died. He had a sense they were waiting for him, yet were surprised to see him so soon.

The doctors had brought him back from cardiac arrest four more times before he turned nineteen. It was a condition called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. Simply put, his heart didn’t work right, so he was given a pacemaker in his twenties and his health improved.

Still, dying hadn’t been as bad as most people feared. The experience for him had been precisely like so many others reported: a light at the end of a tunnel, voices calling, speaking to him, then telling him to go back. It was as if he were waiting for a bus, but whenever one came by he realized it was not the one he was supposed to get on.

It was all so long ago now. His recollections had blurred. Sometimes, he wondered if he had only imagined it all. The mind was a powerful thing.

As he gazed at Hannah, his heart filled with love. She looked so ... delicate. Someone had taken the time to brush the snarls from her hair. Gone was the pink hooded sweatshirt with cartoon characters holding hands on the front. Shiny foil blankets wrapped her body, except where tubes and wires were attached. The heart monitor next to her bed beeped at a constant rate. Her pulse was still sluggish, her blood pressure on the low end, but her chest was moving up and down steadily.

They sat with Hannah for a long time, holding her hand, stroking her hair, speaking softly to her. The nurses drifted in and out to record her vital signs and change the IV drip.

“She’s doing well, relatively speaking,” Dr. Townsley said from the doorway. She was dressed in street clothes, trendy and tight fitting, and wearing a pair of three-inch-high silver heels, her hair freshly washed but hanging damp down her back. A jacket dangled from her fingers, sleeves trailing the floor. “I’m on my way home for the time being. Dr. Pruitt has been apprised of her condition. I told him to call me immediately if anything changed.”

“Thank you,” Jenn said. “For everything.”

She shrugged. “I know it sounds cliché, but I’m just doing my job.”

“But not just anyone could have given her another chance, Doctor,” Hunter said, going to her and offering his hand.

Dr. Townsley stared at it for a moment before shaking it once lightly, then pulling her hand back and sticking it in her jeans pocket.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Hunter said, “what brought someone as brilliant as you here?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, her voice flat. “I do mind. It’s personal.” She turned, went a few steps out into the corridor, then came back. “Maybe I go where I do because in places like this, Dr. McHugh, people aren’t used to seeing miracles every day. I’ve worked in facilities where the brightest minds in the medical world are on staff. Fact is, nobody appreciates brilliance if it’s commonplace. Go someplace like Sierra Leone or Namibia, save a life, and they think you’re a god among men.” She flung her leather jacket over her shoulder, smirking. “Or goddess.”

She marched off down the hall, her steps ringing in the empty corridor. Hunter and Jenn exchanged a glance.

“Personable, isn’t she?” Jenn remarked.

He returned to Hannah’s bedside. “I wasn’t going to say it.”

“Yeah, but you were thinking it.”

“You always could read my mind.”

Jenn drooped back in the chair, staring wistfully at Hannah. “But you were always crap at reading mine. Right now, I’m thinking how tired I am and what a long day this has been. I need to sleep. So do you.”

“So what do you propose we do? Take shifts?”

“I don’t see any other way. Do you?”

“I’ll go first.” Hunter patted his pocket to locate his phone. He took it out and checked the battery. “I’m good till morning. You can talk to Maura. She always did listen better to you.”

“Yeah, give me the hard job.” Standing, she kissed Hunter on the cheek. “Before I go, I thought I’d grab a bite in the cafeteria. It should still be open, don’t you think? I can bring you something.”

The view through the lone window in the room revealed a half empty parking lot ringed by tall lampposts. The sun was long gone, but the clock on his phone had said only 6:15 p.m. It seemed to Hunter like it was closer to midnight, the day had been that long. Yet in so many ways, time had lost all meaning.

“Hunter, do you want me to bring you anything?” she prodded.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Coffee would be good.”

“I’ll bring you a sandwich or slice of pizza, too. I know how jittery you get when there’s nothing but caffeine in your system.”

Jenn went back to Hannah one more time to sweep her fingertips across her small forehead and down her cheek. “I hate to leave her.”

From behind, Hunter wrapped his arms around Jenn. “You need your rest. I’ll be right here.”

She turned in his arms to gaze into his eyes. “If she so much as blinks ...”

“I’ll call you. Promise.” The kiss they shared was one more of desperate hope than deep love.

Shortly afterward, Jenn brought him a cheeseburger, a glass of apple juice, and a large coffee. In truth, she looked tired enough to fall asleep on her feet. Hunter insisted she take the coffee for the drive home.

When she was gone, Hunter flicked on the TV, if only because the noise made him feel less alone. He dozed off for a while, but woke just before 9 p.m. when Dr. Pruitt came in to check on Hannah. He was an older man, polite, but lacking the intensity that Dr. Townsley had. Dr. Pruitt explained that he would now be handling Hannah’s case, as Dr. Townsley, who had merely been filling in for another doctor, was moving to Indiana. Not that Hunter would miss her personally, but he knew that if she hadn’t been at Somerset Community, Hannah might not have had this second chance.

That night, Hunter would often drift off to sleep, then awaken with a start, thinking it was morning. Usually, no more than an hour had passed. Always, Hannah was the same: silent, inert, unresponsive.

At 7 a.m., Hunter’s phone woke him. It was his mother.

“Any change?”

He stretched his legs, pushed the blanket from his lap. “No, Mom, nothing. I’m sorry. I wish ...” His words trailed away. He didn’t know what to say.

“At least nothing else bad has happened, right?” Lise offered, filling up the silence. “I mean, Jenn said there could be all kinds of complications and so far, well, she’s hanging in there.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Standing, he tried to rub the kink from his neck from sleeping in the chair.

After a few more stilted minutes of conversation, Lise told him she’d be by with Jenn in a couple of hours. Another team of nurses shuffled in and out, plus a new doctor who didn’t bother to introduce himself.

Hunter was feeling the pull of sleep again, but he didn’t want to miss anything, so when yet another nurse cruised in, he asked if she could stay for a few minutes while he fetched himself a cup of coffee. She offered to get it for him.

“I’m going to take a wild guess,” she said, “and say you’re a two sugar, two cream kind of guy.”

“Spot on.”

“Be right back. I’ll steal it from the break room, just around the corner.”

Resisting the comfort of a chair, he squeezed Hannah’s fingers lightly and bent close. “Hannah ... listen.”

He was about to say more, but he thought he detected the slightest twitch of her facial muscles. Then her eyelids fluttered. And opened.

His heart nearly exploded with joy. He leaned over her, so she could see his face clearly in the morning light, now pouring through the window.

“Hannah, sweet pea, can you hear me? It’s Daddy. You’re going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Her eyes darted back and forth, unfocused. Her brow folded in confusion. She tried to move her mouth, but the tube they’d inserted down her throat got in the way. It took a few moments for Hunter to realize she wasn’t fully cognizant.
It will take time
, he reminded himself. She’d gone through so much. This was merely one of the steps in her recovery.

He waved his hand just inches from her face. There was no reaction. Next, he snapped his fingers beside one ear, then the other. She turned her head slightly. He spoke her name. Nothing.

Soon, her face fell into smooth, relaxed lines. Her eyes drifted shut again.

Hunter sat down and dialed Jenn.

“How is she?” Jenn asked.

He could barely summon his voice. So many emotions were bubbling to the surface. “She woke up.”

“She did?” Jenn’s breaths became audible, then turned into snuffles of relief.

The nurse walked in, her eyes searching his face. Hunter took the cup of coffee from her and took several sips, even though it burned his tongue.

Jenn, her breathing calm at last, spoke, “Hunter, what
aren’t
you saying?”

He set the cup on the windowsill and pinched his eyes shut. “Jenn ... she can’t see.”

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I
t quickly became clear that being an older puppy in a selection of much younger, pudgier, and cuter ones was a mark against me. My legs were long like a spider’s, my movements more awkward than roly-poly, and my once fluffy fur was now sleek and short. I was smarter and of a more reserved nature, while they were playful and outgoing. When people came and looked us over, I hung back, wishful that Mr. Beekman would return for me and reunite me with Tinker, because from the moment I laid eyes on her, I sensed on some level that I already knew her. But he never did.

With every set of visitors, the other puppies rushed forward to tug on pants legs and lap at faces. I, meanwhile, grew more and more despondent.

The number of puppies dwindled at a sporadic rate. Sometimes three or four departed in a day. Sometimes several days went by when no one came to see us. But with time, we became fewer and fewer.

I should have been happy about this, for it meant my odds of being ‘adopted’, as Evelyn termed it, were greater. But I was twice as big as the remaining pups now. And not at all as attractive. I sensed the pity as people looked past me, the polite disregard. No one ever called me ‘cute’ or ‘pretty’, like they did the other puppies. I knew that attractiveness was an important thing, even though I could not fathom precisely what it entailed. I only knew that I was not.

When the Grunwalds showed up, there were only two of us left. The other puppy, too new to have a name, barked and raced around, beside himself with glee. He was miniature in size and fragile-looking, although he didn’t seem to notice how small he really was. I sat against the back wall, resigned to a life in the shelter. Although I still didn’t like the smells, they had become tolerable. Perhaps in time I would no longer notice them.