Rescue - By Anita Shreve Page 0,77
and the other girl, Kerry, fell into the quarry. He thinks about the other father, living with his own awful news. Webster should have given the parents a call. He doesn’t even know the girl’s last name. Not a friend of Rowan’s that he knew about. He could call Tommy, but he doesn’t want to call only to tell the boy that there’s been no change.
Two days is nothing, he tells himself. He knows of cases in which the patient was out for a week or more and then recovered. Not a hundred percent recovery, but a comeback just the same. No, it’s not the same. Rowan has to come back as herself with all her faculties. He is still praying for that. Maybe there will come a day when he’ll be able to accept less. He can’t imagine it.
“Mr. Webster.”
Webster turns to see the neurologist in the doorway, a guy named Lockhart. He has a sport coat on, a tie loosened. A thick head of dark hair. He looks twenty-two. “We’ve taken your daughter down for a CAT scan,” the doctor says. “It’s been forty-eight hours, and I think it’s time for another look. I don’t have to tell you that the longer it takes for her to regain consciousness, the more difficult the outcome may be.”
No, you didn’t need to remind me of that.
“I’m hopeful that we’ll be able to see something that will give us a clue as to how to proceed. If we need to drill into her skull to relieve the pressure, we will. But it’s not something we want to do.”
Webster is silent. Appalled.
“I’ve personally witnessed a lot of miracles, Mr. Webster. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I’ve seen patients come fully alert after a week, two weeks…”
“What’s taking so long?” Webster can’t help but ask.
“The brain remains a mystery. If we had a drug to wake her up without risk, we’d give it to her.”
Webster thanks the man and makes his way down to the cafeteria. The room, without Rowan in it, is a place of horror.
Later that morning, Sheila arrives to spell him. Webster stands and meets her in the doorway. She asks Webster if there has been any change. He tells her what Lockhart told him. Sheila shuts her eyes and shakes her head.
“Don’t do that to me,” he says.
“Don’t do what?”
“Shut your eyes and shake your head. I can be afraid, but you can’t. I need you to stay strong. Just keep telling me she’s fine.”
“All right.”
Webster stands outside while Sheila enters the room and takes the chair. This time, she reaches for Rowan’s hand at once. Webster can see that she is talking to their daughter.
Webster sleeps for five hours and then returns to the room. Sheila says she’ll get something to eat. When he’s alone with his daughter, he sits and looks at the same impassive face he’s been looking at for more than two days. He tries to remember what it felt like to be her Little League coach.
“OK, Rowan. You can do it. It’s game time. Nothing to be afraid of out there. You’ve gotta step up to the plate. Get into your stance. Take your time. Do not swing at the first pitch. But the next fat pitch you see coming your way, you give it everything you’ve got. I’ve seen you hit it over the fence, so I know that you can do this. The game’s on the line. It’s the bottom of the ninth, your team is down a run, one out. You’ve got a runner on first. All you need is a good solid hit. A good hit gets the runner home. Then you still have two outs to go. I see you winning this game. But it’s up to you. No double plays, right? This game is not going to end with you barely off the plate. I’m your coach, and you need to listen to me.”
Webster pauses.
“Anything?” he asks Rowan.
He waits.
“You got anything to say to me? Questions you need to ask? ’Cause you’re up at bat right now, and you need to do this.”
Webster waits.
“Honey?” he asks. “Sweetie?”
Nothing.
Webster sits with his face close to hers. He’s used Listerine. Maybe that will snap her out of it.
“OK, listen. I’m going to wait here. The game will wait, too. But whenever you’re ready, you just give the signal, and we’ll be ready. I’m going to hold your hand. I’m not going to leave you. You give me