When He Fell. Кейт Хьюит

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СКАЧАТЬ up today.”

      “That’s really tough,” he says, and I can tell he means it.

      “Thanks. I’m sorry I fell apart back there.” I nod toward the bank of elevators. “I’m running on zero sleep and I’m pretty strung out.”

      “It’s understandable,” he says and I take a step backwards. Time to restore some normality. Some distance.

      “So, thanks,” I say again and then with a little goodbye wave, I turn and walk out of the building.

      At the hospital Dr. Velas is waiting for me, with a group of nurses and specialists. We all crowd into Dr. Velas’s office and she goes through the next phase of Ben’s care: they are going to slowly start taking him off the medications that have kept him in a coma, and monitor his responses. If he experiences any distress, they will return to the earlier dosage and wait until he is stable again.

      “We have to take this slowly, Maddie,” she tells me. “This isn’t Sleeping Beauty or Snow White, where a single kiss wakes someone up. Coming out a coma is a long, slow process.”

      “And when he comes out of it?” I ask. Slow or not, I need to know what happens next. I want to be prepared.

      “We will start to assess his capabilities. And then we’ll begin rehabilitation.” She pauses. “But let’s take one thing at a time. If he opens his eyes in the next forty-eight hours, that would be great.”

      Disappointment swamps me. If he opens his eyes? That’s a lot slower than I expected, despite Dr. Velas’s warnings. I knew this was going to be a long haul, but the realization overwhelms me anyway.

      “Okay,” I say, and I try to smile.

      I set up a mini-office in a corner of the waiting room; there are a couple of other people there who look as tired and careworn as I do. We share weary, sympathetic smiles but we don’t engage. I can’t handle someone else’s story right now. I can cope with only so much pain.

      For the next couple of hours I answer work emails; Elena has appointed a junior associate, Evan, to cover my work and he’s been firing queries at me since he started. Clearly he doesn’t get the concept of compassionate leave.

      I don’t like my job and haven’t for years, but I’ve never had the luxury to consider retraining. I have zero savings beyond what I put aside for Ben’s tuition and no safety net. And the thought of someone doing my job for me, taking my place, is yet another thing that scares me. They can’t lay me off, I tell myself. I’m allowed compassionate leave. They can’t just fire me.

      In any case, I’m only on my third day of the ten vacation days I haven’t yet taken. I have a week left to think about my options. For Ben to get better.

      Around ten o’clock I get a call on my cell from Burgdorf. Maybe Mrs. James finally has some answers.

      Taking a deep breath, I answer the phone. “Hello?”

      “Ms. Reese?”

      “Yes.”

      “I wanted to update you on what happened on the playground,” she says, and my hand tenses around my cell.

      “Yes?”

      “I spoke to Mrs. Rollins yesterday and discovered that she had talked to some of the children who were on the playground when Ben fell.” A pause, and I can tell she’s considering her words carefully. “It appears Ben might have been pushed by another student.”

      “Pushed?”

      “Apparently they were having an argument.”

      That doesn’t really surprise me, because Ben is always annoying other kids, elbowing them out of the way, shouting in their face. But I don’t like the thought that she might be blaming Ben. “Where was he pushed?” I ask. “How did he fall? What did he hit his head on?”

      “I don’t yet know the answers to those questions—”

      “A report must have been filed,” I cut across her, my voice sharp. I feel like Mrs. James is keeping something back, and I want to know what it is.

      “I’ve looked at the report,” she says. “It says Ben fell from the climbing structure.” Which was what I had expected, but why didn’t Mrs. James tell me this earlier? Why didn’t Juliet tell me? Mrs. James continues briskly, “I can assure you, we have dealt with the matter. The student in question is being suspended for a week. Any further acts of aggression will result in expulsion.”

      “Okay.” I feel slightly heartened that they’re taking this seriously, even as I recognize the double standard in play. Ben has committed a few acts of aggression during his time at Burgdorf, and thankfully he’s never been suspended. But clearly this is a more serious matter. Accident or not, Ben’s life has been changed. So has mine. Someone needs to pay the price besides me and Ben, even if it’s just some nameless kid.

      “Of course, if there is anything else we can do…” Mrs. James says, trailing off delicately. “How is Ben?” I hear a slight nervous note in her tone, and I think she realizes she should have asked this earlier.

      “They’re going to attempt to bring him out of the coma soon,” I say. “So hopefully in a few days we’ll know how much damage his brain has sustained.” I manage to say this without my voice wobbling.

      “That’s good news,” Mrs. James says with more warmth than I’ve ever heard in her voice before, and I wonder how that could be considered good news. We don’t actually know anything yet.

      “Yes, well.” I clear my throat. “We’ll see.”

      With a few more pleasantries Mrs. James ends the call, and I sit there, the phone in my lap, wondering why I feel like I am still missing information. Why didn’t Juliet tell me Ben fell from the climbing structure? She must have been involved in the accident report. Or did the paramedics just assume? Did someone else see Ben fall?

       What don’t I know?

      After lunch I sit with Ben for a while and study his face for signs that he is swimming towards consciousness. The machines beep and his breathing is faint but even. He still seems deeply asleep, with no movement, not even a flicker under his eyelids.

      How can this man-boy of mine, who has so much irrepressible energy, who has driven me crazy because he is always bouncing and careening around, be so incredibly still? Sitting there I tell myself if Ben comes out of this, when Ben comes out of this, I will never begrudge him his hyperactivity, his endless energy. I will never scold him for knocking into furniture or kicking his ball in the apartment or shouting inside. Never.

      But then maybe I won’t get the chance.

      At six o’clock that evening I get a meal courtesy of Juliet, a Styrofoam carton of chicken Marsala with angel hair pasta. It smells delicious, and yet I can’t make myself eat it. She can send me meals, but she won’t call or visit, and I need a friend, not a meal service. She texted me once today: hope there’s good news. I didn’t text back.

      I give the meal to the nurse on duty. The ward has started to quiet down. The night nurse switches off overhead lights and it almost feels СКАЧАТЬ