Once and Again. Brenda HarlenЧитать онлайн книгу.
husband had never been a patient person.
“I hate this,” he said, his terse words punctuating the heavy silence like a bright flash of light through a thick fog. “The waiting.”
Kristin nodded. She hated it, too, she was just more accustomed to it.
In fact, she’d practically made a career of waiting. She started her mornings early, then waited for the rest of her family to wake up so she could make their breakfast and see them off to work and school. Then she waited for the kids to come home again so she could take them to swimming lessons or basketball practice or art class. Everyone was in such a hurry these days—everyone but Kristin.
While Brian and Jacob and Katie and Caleb were rushing through their lives, Kristin was waiting.
And she hated it.
Finally the door swung open and Caleb’s bed was steered back into the room.
She pushed off of the ledge, tentative flutters of hope stirring in her belly.
Please be awake. Please be awake. Please—
His eyes were still closed.
The flutters died, sinking like dead weight into the depths of her soul.
Kristin forced a smile for the benefit of a child who didn’t even see her and lowered the rail on the side of the bed to take his hand. The one without the intravenous tube.
“Where’s the doctor?” Brian demanded of the departing orderly.
“Doctor Marshall will be in to see you as soon as he’s reviewed the test results,” he said, then exited the room.
Brian resumed his pacing.
Kristin could understand his agitation. They were both upset, under a lot of strain.
She squeezed Caleb’s hand gently, held her breath.
His fingers remained motionless.
She exhaled shakily, felt the sting of tears. Tears of anger and frustration. Tears of guilt.
She closed her eyes and leaned down to press a soft kiss to his pale cheek.
I’m so sorry, baby. So sorry.
But apologies were useless. Caleb needed more than her tears and regrets. He needed a miracle.
“I’m going to find the doctor before I head out to practice,” Brian told her.
“Okay.” There was no point in arguing. He would do what he needed to, and so would she.
But she hated being alone almost as much as she hated the waiting. Because when she was alone she couldn’t block out the negative thoughts that went through her mind: what if the swelling in Caleb’s brain didn’t go down? What if he didn’t come out of the coma? What if he suffered permanent brain damage? What if he—
No, she refused to even complete that thought.
Instead, she reached toward the pile of books that Katie had brought to the hospital. Katie, who at fifteen still thought of her little brother as a big pain in the butt, had sorted through all of Caleb’s things, carefully selecting his favorite books and toys, to provide him with as many familiar things as possible in case—when—he woke up.
She picked up the first book and began to read.
Jessica paused outside of Caleb’s hospital room, the top of the paper take-out bag crumpled in her fist, and listened to the soft, even rhythm of Kristin’s voice. She hesitated, not wanting to interrupt if Caleb had other visitors, but as Kristin’s monologue continued without interruption, she realized her friend wasn’t talking, but reading. She couldn’t hear the words, only the steady reassuring murmur of her voice.
Her heart broke for Kristin. When Jess had miscarried late in her second month of pregnancy, she’d been devastated. It was as though she’d lost a part of herself that could never be replaced, a vital piece without which she could never be complete. Even now, so many years later, she felt the pang of the loss, the emptiness that couldn’t be filled.
She knew it would be a million times worse for a mother to lose a child with whom she’d already bonded. A child she’d carried inside her own body for nine months and birthed and nurtured at her breast. A child she’d soothed when he cut his first tooth, whose hand she’d held when he’d taken his first steps, a child for whom she’d cried tears of pride and joy and sadness when he’d gone off to his first day of kindergarten.
Jess knew Kristin had done all of these things because she’d told her about them in her letters. Jess had loved reading about each and every one of Kristin and Brian’s children and had shared in the experiences vicariously.
Listening to her now, Jess imagined it was a favorite story she was reading. A book she’d enjoyed with each of her children through the years, the pages worn from countless turning, the pictures forever imprinted in their minds.
She heard a softly spoken, “The end,” and a weary sigh before Kristin asked her son, “Shall we read it one more time, or have you had enough of the nut-brown hares?”
“I bet Caleb wouldn’t mind if his mom took a break for dinner,” Jess suggested, stepping into the room.
Kristin glanced up, surprise and gratitude evident in her tired eyes. “I didn’t expect you’d be back tonight.”
“I thought you might be hungry.”
“Not really.”
The response was what Jess had expected. “You should eat anyway.”
Kristin sighed again. “I know. I just can’t stomach the thought of food right now.”
“It’s pasta—from Mama Leone’s.”
“Caleb’s favorite,” her friend said softly.
“It used to be yours, too.” She handed the bag to Kristin, then moved around to the other side of the bed and gently kissed Caleb’s cheek. “We’ll get you some Mama Leone’s as soon as these tubes are gone,” she promised him.
When she looked up again, she saw Kristin staring at her, her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“For the pasta?”
Kristin shook her head. “For not pretending he isn’t here.”
A single tear slipped onto her cheek and she turned away, busying herself with the unpacking of dinner. “There have been people in and out of here all day,” she said. “Neighbors, friends from church, parents of Caleb’s classmates. So many of them came to see me and Brian, to express their sympathy, offer their prayers. And so many of them refused to look at Caleb, as if his condition is contagious and tragedy might bleed into their perfect lives.”
“I’m sure it’s not intentional,” she said gently.
“I know. I’m just pissed off at everyone right now.”
“I’d guess that’s normal.”
Kristin laughed shortly. “Nothing about this is normal, but we’re doing the best we can under the circumstances.” She began scooping angel-hair primavera onto two paper plates.
“Where’s Brian?”
She thought she heard Kristin sigh. “He had to go to football practice.”
“Oh.” She accepted the plate and fork her friend passed to her.
“It’s hard for him to be here,” Kristin said, just a little defensively. “To see Caleb like this.”
“I don’t imagine it’s easy for anyone,” Jess said gently.
“No, but it helps Brian to go through the motions of a normal day.”
She only nodded.
Kristin picked up a fork and