The House on Hope Street - By Danielle Steel Page 0,42

We'll have the X rays back in a minute.” He saw a lot of quadriplegics come in from pool accidents, mostly boys this age, in their late teens, who played too rough, or dove without caution. But this kid seemed to have gotten lucky. There was no paralysis of his limbs, and he had good mobility from what they could tell. If anything, he had a hairline fracture, which, five minutes later, is what the X rays told them. He had a hairline fracture of the fourth cervical vertebra, but he hadn't damaged his spinal cord. Now they had to concentrate on his head injuries.

And for just an instant, before they took him away, she was able to reach out and touch him. All she could think of to say to him was “I love you,” but Peter was still unconscious and couldn't hear her.

It was nearly an hour later before he came back, and he still looked gray, and the doctor who came to talk to her again didn't look happy. She had learned that he was the head of the trauma unit by then, and his name was Bill Webster.

“Your son has quite a concussion, Mrs. Sutherland. And a hell of a lot of swelling. All we can do is wait now, and if the swelling gets worse, we're going to have to go in and relieve it.”

“You mean brain surgery?” She looked horrified, as he nodded. “Will he be … is he …” She couldn't even formulate the words beyond her panic.

“We don't know yet. There are a lot of variables here. We're going to keep him quiet for a little while and see what happens.”

“Can I sit with him?”

“As long as you stay out of our way, and don't move him. We need him quiet.” He spoke to her as though she were the enemy, and she felt as though he was. There was a toughness to the man, and a lack of sensitivity, which she hated instantly. But all he was interested in was saving Peter, which slightly redeemed him.

“I won't get in your way,” she said quietly.

He told her where she could sit, and she pulled up a stool next to where Peter lay, and quietly held his hand. There was an oxygen monitor on one finger, and there were monitors everywhere, to keep track of his heart and his brain waves. For the moment at least, he was stable.

“Where were you when this happened?” he asked accusingly, and she wanted to slap him.

“In court. I'm a lawyer. My housekeeper was at the pool with them, but I guess things got out of hand.”

“So I gather,” he said curtly, and went to talk to a resident and another doctor. He came back again a few minutes later. “We're going to give it another hour or two, and then take him upstairs to surgery,” he said bluntly, and she nodded. She was sitting on the stool, holding Peter's hand as best she could.

“Can he hear me if I talk to him?”

“It's unlikely,” he said, looking at her with a frown. She was as pale as her son, but she was also a redhead and very fair. “Are you all right?” he asked, and she nodded. “We don't have time to deal with you here if you faint. If this is too much for you, you can sit in the waiting room and we'll call you if anything happens.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” she said firmly. She had lived through what had happened to Jack eight months before, and she hadn't fainted then. She hated the way this man was speaking to her, but one of the nurses had told her he was the best there was, and she was willing to believe it. But his bedside manner was appalling. He was used to life-and-death situations, and saving lives, his whole focus was on that, and not their relatives. The last thing he wanted was to have to worry about someone other than his patient. He hurried away again, to call a neurosurgeon he wanted available if needed, and a nurse came to ask her if she wanted coffee.

“No, thanks, I'm fine,” she said softly, but it was obvious that she wasn't. She looked as desperate as she felt, as worried about her son as she had once been about her husband. And all she knew was that she couldn't lose this time. It was more than she could bear just thinking of it, and every time