Rescue - By Anita Shreve Page 0,84
your mother?”
“Yeah.”
“And have you thought about it?”
“I’d like to do it,” she says. “I’d like for you to be here, and I’d like to work out a prearranged signal with you for when I want her to leave. You can go get a nurse and have her interrupt us, or something.”
“And what will the signal be?”
Rowan ponders possible codes. “I think I’ll just say, ‘I need a nurse.’ ”
Webster laughs. “That’s pretty straightforward.” He stands. “I’m not allowed to make phone calls in here. I have to go out into the hallway. Be right back.”
“OK,” Rowan says. “Maybe you should get me my hat.”
Webster tosses it to her.
Ten minutes later, when Webster sees Sheila in the corridor, he says to his daughter, “She’s here, Rowan. Do you want me to bring her in?”
“I’m scared,” Rowan says.
“So am I.”
Webster walks out into the corridor and signals to Sheila.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Sheila asks.
“Not positive, but I think it is. She may not be able to handle more than a minute or two.”
Sheila has on a short white jacket with a long black T-shirt and a pair of jeans. She has her hair down and behind her ears. He has no idea how this will go. It is a risk, maybe a terrible one. If Rowan can’t handle the meeting, the consequences for both of them could be serious and long-lasting.
Webster steps to one side to allow Sheila into the room. “Rowan, this is Sheila Arsenault.”
Sheila takes a step forward. “How are you?” she asks Rowan.
His daughter cannot speak. It’s as though her vocal cords have been paralyzed. She seems to want to say something, but can’t.
With Rowan alert, Webster sees the uncanny resemblance between the two women.
Sheila takes a step closer to the bed. She tilts her head and looks right at Rowan. “Is it OK if I sit down?” she asks. From Rowan’s point of view, Sheila must look intimidating. Webster notices that his daughter is still clutching the hat.
“Sure,” Rowan says, finally finding her voice. With her good arm, she hitches herself a little higher against the pillows.
“You had a nasty accident.”
No one has said the word mother or daughter yet. Sheila might be a friend of Webster’s who’s just stopped by. He wonders if either Rowan or Sheila is registering the similarities between them.
“You look well,” Sheila says.
Webster is expecting the summons from Rowan any minute now, and even he is beginning to think this meeting may have been a bad idea. Rowan, in the bed, resembles a cornered animal.
“The doctors say she’ll be able to go home in a couple of days,” Webster explains.
“Just in time for your graduation,” Sheila says.
Rowan seems surprised that Sheila knows about the graduation. “I hear you’re a painter,” Rowan offers.
“I am,” Sheila says, setting her purse on the floor beside the bed. While Sheila sits, Webster stands at the foot of the bed so that he can see his daughter’s face. To be ready for any signal. How small his personal universe is.
“My dad says they’re very good.” Rowan hitches herself up farther. She’s still holding the hat, but not clutching it. She’s revealed her bald spot but appears not to know it.
“Your dad is very generous,” Sheila says. “I recognize you, but you’re so different. You’re beautiful.”
Rowan’s blush is instantaneous. Webster holds his breath for a two-beat. This could go in any direction now.
“How tall are you?” Sheila asks Rowan.
“Five nine. And you?”
“Five ten, or I used to be. Who knows now? They say you start to shrink.”
“You looked very tall when you were standing.”
Sheila smiles.
“Our hair is the same color,” Rowan says.
Sheila nods. “That’s one of the first things I noticed. Yours was much lighter when you were a baby.”
And there it is. Connection made. A history together, even if Rowan knows little about it.
“This is completely weird,” Rowan says. “I have, like, a million questions.”
“I have two million,” Sheila says.
No mention yet of abandonment or guilt. Anger or remorse. That will come, Webster knows. But maybe not today. Each of them smart enough to avoid it. Now, instead of a stranger, it’s as though a long-lost aunt has come to visit.
Sheila takes off her white jacket, either hot or maybe just sweating from nerves. Rowan sits straight up in the bed and bends forward, showing Sheila the bald spot. “What am I supposed to do with this?” Rowan asks. “I have to be at graduation in three days.”
Sheila takes the question seriously. “Won’t that