Rescue - By Anita Shreve Page 0,78
the high sign.”
The second CAT scan shows no improvement.
Sixty hours pass.
Sheila and Webster spell each other in six-hour shifts. Once, when he passes by the room, Sheila is sitting close to Rowan’s face, speaking in a soft voice. Another time, Sheila is sitting near the foot of the bed, her head bent to the covers.
On Webster’s watch, Tommy comes with his father. “We brought you a car,” Tommy says.
Webster stands and shakes hands with Tommy’s father, who is shorter than his son. Barrel-chested, going bald. “We’re all waiting with you,” the father says. “We’re all praying with you. Here are the keys. It’s a navy VW and has a pink daisy in the vase on the dashboard.”
Webster looks from father to son. Tommy has eyes only for Rowan.
“My wife’s,” Tommy’s father says. “Sorry about the flower.”
“Thank you,” Webster says. “Tommy, you want to sit there with Rowan a minute? I’m beat. I need some fresh air. I’ll be back in ten.”
Tommy’s father and Webster take the elevator to the lobby. “Why don’t you walk me to the car, so I’ll know where it is,” Webster suggests.
“My son blames himself,” the father says as they set out. “He believes that if he tried harder, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“That’s not how I see it. Your son did everything he could to stop her, but Rowan was drunk and wouldn’t listen to him. You should be proud of your boy. He saved her life with the CPR. I’m proud of him. I’m grateful.”
“He’s useless now,” the father says.
“I’m not surprised.”
“This must be hell for you.”
“On a scale of one to ten, it’s a goddamn ten,” Webster says as they approach the parking lot. “But not as hard as the other girl’s parents have it.”
Tommy’s father shoves his hands in his pockets. The sun sparks off the windshields.
“The funeral is tomorrow. Tommy doesn’t know whether to go or not.”
“I’d go if I were in town,” Webster says. “To pay my respects.”
“I’ll tell him that,” Tommy’s father says. “There’s the car.”
Webster shades his eyes and sees the navy bump. “Got it,” he says. “Thank you again. I can’t say how long I’ll be here.”
“Not to worry,” the father says, shaking his hand. “My wife wanted to do this for you and Rowan.”
“I’ll send Tommy down.”
When Webster makes it back to the ICU, he can see through the glass that Tommy is crying. Good for you, Webster thinks. He waits a minute and then spots a nurse coming his way.
“Do me a favor,” he says to the nurse. “Just go in and pretend to be checking Rowan. That kid there is her boyfriend, and he’s crying, and I want him to be able to collect himself before I go in.”
The nurse smiles. “Done,” she says.
Webster stands out of sight and gives it another minute. When he walks in, Tommy is at the foot of the bed and his nose and eyelids are red.
“Your dad’s waiting in the parking lot. Please thank your mom for me.”
“I will,” Tommy says.
“She’s going to be OK,” Webster promises the boy.
Webster can see that Tommy doesn’t believe him.
After five and a half more hours of sitting, the nurses arrive and ask Webster to leave the room while they give Rowan a sponge bath. Sheila finds him in the cafeteria.
“It’s stopped raining?” he asks her.
“It’s hot and sticky.”
She examines the tray before him. “Your usual? Coffee and a pastry?”
“I don’t seem to be able to eat anything else.”
“I’ll be right back,” she says.
Webster picks up his cup, sets it down again. When this is over, he might swear off coffee. Sheila returns with a tray. She removes a bowl of soup and hands it across to Webster. “Minestrone,” she says. She does the same with a small plate. “Ham sandwich.” She gives him utensils and a napkin.
“Thank you,” Webster says.
“You look terrible,” she says.
“You look nice.”
A memory is triggered. Webster tries to grab it. Keezer’s when she was a waitress, and he was just getting off the graveyard shift. Eighteen years ago.
Surprising himself, Webster reaches for Sheila’s wrist. “I don’t think I can take this much longer,” he says. “This is hell, just hell.”
“You have to take it,” Sheila says. “You don’t have any choice.”
He releases her. He’s left pink marks on the inside of her arm. “It must be hell for you, too,” he says.
“It is. But I’m glad to be here. I don’t think it helps Rowan one bit for me to sit with her, but it helps me.”
Webster nods.