Chapter 60
Hannah had always thought that emergency rooms were exciting places where life-or-death dramas were constantly unfolding. There would be bloody stabbing victims with staring eyes being wheeled by and doctors running around in scrubs and desperate men with their strained-looking pregnant wives in tow, screaming that someone help them quick, that the baby was coming. Maybe she watched too much television.
Instead, the waiting room at Southside Hospital in Bay Shore, the closest hospital to Captain’s Island, was orderly and eerily hushed on this Tuesday night. Theirs was the only drama unfolding. Those television shows and movies missed something, though. Even without the screaming and blood and gore, being here was terrifying – in some ways the cold sterility and quiet made it worse.
Hannah wanted to scream herself. The nurses and doctors weren’t paying attention, sauntering around behind the desk, chatting and reading files. This was her mom. Didn’t they understand? Aunt Amy sat beside her, arms crossed, staring off into the air. She had been the last to know what had happened, awakened at her house by Aunt Pam after everything was over, the fire out, the police on the scene, the injured about to be transported to the emergency room by ambulance and car. Even now, Amy looked irritable, as if she had been left out on purpose. The only thing that broke that impression was that she reached over intermittently to pat Hannah’s arm before going back to brooding.
Aunt Pam had woken from a dead sleep to see her room brightly lit. At first, she’d thought her own house was on fire and leapt from the bed before she saw where the light was coming from. From Jacob's bedroom she had a clear view of the Barefooter house engulfed in flames and shouted to Zo and Keeley before grabbing her iPhone to call the Coast Guard. After she got off the phone, she raced downstairs to find that she was alone in the house, the makeshift beds in the living room abandoned.
“That’s when I knew you were okay,” Aunt Pam told Hannah once they were all reunited, sitting with Aunt Zo and watching the Coast Guard firemen in their red uniforms putting out the flaming section of the boardwalk that connected to the rest of the island’s homes, the house itself now a smoldering ruin. “I knew good-old mother-instinct had kicked in, and they’d gone to save you.”
But it had been Aunt Zo who had saved her, not her mother. Zo, who was now being fitted with a cast for her broken wrist and who would be in a wheelchair for a while as she also had a sprained ankle and torn thigh muscle. Aunt Pam was in with her now, keeping her company. No one was allowed in with her mother yet.
Aunt Zo told her that Keeley had been missing for only minutes, but each one dragged on as Hannah ran down the boardwalk, feeling as if she was running though something thick, her heavy limbs not cooperating. Then she saw her mother, face down on the beach. She jumped off of the boardwalk, ran to where her mother lay and crouched beside her, shivering with both fear and cold. That’s when she heard Keeley’s ragged breathing through her wet tangled hair which was covering her face, harsh rattling gasps that were pitiful and terrifying.
It was after the Coast Guard found Mrs. McGrath’s body floating face down in the marsh grasses, after the police had arrived and sealed off the scene and interviewed them, after they had taken the body away and her mother was gone, too, the ambulance heading out of the parking lot and taking its frantic flashing red lights with it, that the word “lucky” was mentioned for the first time. Aunt Zo said it, Aunt Pam having practically carried her to her car and placed her in the front passenger seat. “We’re so lucky. This could have been so different,” Aunt Zo said, her narrow face drawn and old looking, her voice weak.
Hannah had wanted to laugh. Lucky? What was lucky about this? Mrs. McGrath was dead. Her mother might die, her lungs giving out, too saturated with water. Aunt Zo herself was damaged, unable to walk and her wrist clearly broken. Their beloved Barefooter house was burned to a charred pile of sticks standing in the water. What was this other than the most horrible unlucky night of their lives?
But then Aunt Pam said it again, as they turned out of the parking lot that was still crowded with police cars, heading toward the hospital. “We’re so lucky our house is over the water and all the way out there. I mean, was. Otherwise, the whole island could have gone up. Imagine if it had been windy!”
“Most important, though, Hannah and Keeley are alive. Thank God,” Aunt Zo whispered.
“Hear, hear,” Aunt Amy had said, sitting next to Hannah in the back seat.
“What?” Hannah said. “There’s nothing lucky about this! Mrs. McGrath died and my-“
Aunt Amy grabbed her arm, her clench hard. “You have no idea how lucky you are, Hannah. No idea at all. That “Mrs. McGrath”, Rose Griffin to us, tried to kill you and then she tried to kill your mother. And she nearly succeeded. You both could be dead.” She cried out the last words, and put her free hand over her mouth, her eyes turning down in sorrow.
They had all been quiet after that, each in their own world of thought. Hannah wouldn’t have believed Mrs. McGrath had anything to do with her mother’s near-drowning if she hadn’t seen the battle between them herself. Why? It didn’t make sense. She still couldn’t imagine that the skinny strange woman had actually tried to set fire to the Barefooter House – had succeeded and burned it down, nearly taking Hannah with it.
What was worse, after all her righteous anger, her resentment, toward her mother, toward the Barefooters that afternoon as they laughed and goofed around in the kitchen, she had no idea she could feel as guilty as she did now. If it wasn’t for her, her mother would be safe, sleeping in her own bed in her apartment on Park Avenue with Ben at her side, cuddling her in his big-bear arms. Aunt Zo would be able-bodied, running around, probably packing for another trip abroad with Uncle Neil. Aunt Pam and Aunt Amy would be happily occupied with their full and busy lives. None of them would be here, in this hospital, now.
Hannah sat and stewed and blamed herself, watching the clock inch, unable to be distracted by the television blaring overhead or any of the magazines and newspapers the hospital provided. She wanted to call Daniel, but knew if she did, he’d drop everything to come. The thought of him pacing and worrying with her in this bleak place didn’t make her feel better, it made her feel worse. She decided to wait until after she was allowed in to see her mother, had some hope for her survival.
An hour passed and Aunt Zo was rolled out in her wheelchair by a nurse, Pam following and carrying both of their purses. Zo waved away any fussing, saying to save it for Keeley. Ben arrived, looking uncharacteristically sloppy, his usually smooth cheeks rough with black and white stubble, his belt forgotten, the belt loops on his pants standing out naked and forlorn. He brought coffees for all of them and a box of donuts that no one ate. Then another hour passed. Finally, a doctor came out to talk to them.
Keeley had ARDS, Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome, from her near-drowning. Her lungs were in danger of pulmonary edema, but she was responding well so far, hooked up on a respirator with oxygen. There was no fever, a good sign that infection hadn’t set in. They were giving her antibiotics preventatively as a safety measure. She was awake and was asking to see them. Ben would go first, and then Aunt Pam and Aunt Amy, and then she wanted to see Hannah and Aunt Zo together.
By the time she was allowed in with Aunt Zo, Hannah was frantic. She pushed her godmother’s wheelchair into the blue-curtained space, and stopped, staring. Her mother had a plastic breathing tube attached to her swollen mouth, deforming its shape. A black pumping machine went up and down next to her bed, pushing air into her lungs. Steady beeping came from her monitors. A clear IV bag hung beside her bed and a tube hung down and was taped to her arm. Her huge eyes were half-open when they entered, but flew all the way open when she saw them.
Keeley reached for and patted a pad and pen that had been sitting next to the bed on a metal stand and lifted it up, gesturing to Hannah to take it. Hannah walked around Aunt Zo’s wheelchair and reached for it, looking at her mother. “Oh, Mom. I’m so sorry.”
Keeley furrowed her brow and shook her head. She waved the pad at her. Hannah took it and read it.
Hannah,
No poor-me crap. Stop it now. I know you too well.
Your Aunt Zo has something very important to tell you. She’s going to tell you the whole story. Hand this note to her so she knows I want her to tell it now. It’s time.
I love you.
Hannah started crying, reading the last sentence, but did as she was told and handed the notepad to Zo, who read it, looked hard at Keeley, and then said, “Okay. Okay. Now? All right. It is time. I don’t think they’ll let us stay here that long, though.”
Keeley gave another hard assured nod.
Zo nodded, too. “Okay, here goes then. Hannah, sweetie? Go get a seat, okay? Check with the nurse.”
Hannah didn’t have to look far. A chair sat against the wall nearby. Hannah dragged it inside the curtained space and sat down.
Aunt Zo, taking one long last look at Keeley, turned to Hannah. “Wow. I never thought I’d be the one to do all the talking. Your mom was going to tell her part, and then I was going to tell mine, and they fit together, so it worked. Where should I start? Well, I guess, the summer we were eighteen. Keeley and Michael had been dating for four years at that time, even long distance during the school year, him living in Wilton and her in Fairfield. They were both in Connecticut - it was doable. But summers were the best for them. Except for the mornings hanging out with just us Barefooters, Keeley never left Michael’s side. Everyone thought they were the perfect couple.”
“That last summer, Keeley and Michael started fighting a lot. No one knew what about. Neither of them would say what was the matter. One day, they’d be all lovey-dovey and then next, they wouldn’t be speaking. Now, Rose, the woman that you knew as Mrs. McGrath? When we were little, she was mean, the island girl-bully, the kind that pinched you and tripped you when a grown-up wasn’t looking. Remember the story I told you about how the Barefooters met? The slap heard-round-the-world? That was the same Rose. But when we got older, she got in a kind of competition with your mom. And Michael was at the center of it. For some reason Rose saw him as hers.”
Hannah’s eyes grew wide. Now it was making some kind of sense, that day at Mrs. McGrath’s, the stuff she’d said.
“Whenever Michael and Keeley were having one of their fights, Rose would come out of the woodwork and follow Michael around while he was down in the dumps, act like his buddy. All the time, she was inviting herself over to Michael’s house, visiting even when Michael wasn’t there. His parents were nice about it, invited her in, gave her refreshments while she waited for Michael to show up.”
“She would insist to them that Michael had invited her, but Michael, nice as he was, hadn’t. He didn’t give her a hard time about it though, just smiled, shrugged. See, Michael was a sucker for lame ducks. If someone had a problem, he tried to help them. If someone was picking on someone, he’d step in. If a kid was a loser, he’d be that kid’s champion.”
“Most boys that were good-looking like him, who were athletic and smart and funny like he was, were either dismissive or oblivious to kids who didn’t fit the same mold. Not Michael. He always said he was lucky, that’s all, and some kids weren’t. But he wasn’t a pushover. He could fight with the best of them. He beat the crap out of Charlie Whittaker when Charlie wouldn’t give back the Hooper twins’ savings he’d taken for those cheesy sea-monkeys. Remember, Keeley?”
Keeley nodded slightly, and made a circular let’s-move-this-story-along gesture with her right hand.
“Anyway, Rose was like a fly, annoying and always buzzing around Michael whenever Keeley and he were in one of their funks that summer.”
Hannah interrupted, curious, “But wait. Why were they fighting?”
Aunt Zo nodded. “We all wondered. It turned out, I mean, I found out-“
There was a rustling behind them and the nurse stuck her head in. “Time’s up, ladies.”
Hannah turned around to look at the nurse, “No! Please? This is important!”
The nurse, a heavy-set dark haired woman with a long pointed nose, didn’t look impressed. She shook her head. “Sorry, hospital rules. You can visit longer when she moves out of ICU, but right now she needs her rest.”
“Oh!” Aunt Zo said. “Just a little longer. I’ll be quick?” Keeley was grunting through her tube and waving her hands.
The nurse spread the curtains wide and gestured to them to leave. “Okay, out. Now Mrs. Cohen’s become agitated. Let’s go.”
Aunt Zo turned to Keeley. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell her. I only wish you could chime in. I’m not sure how to tell this whole thing by myself.”
Keeley reached for the pad and pen by the bed again. The nurse stood, arm still outstretched holding the curtain open and making loud impatient sighing noises while Keeley wrote. She handed the pad to Aunt Zo.
“You can do it,” Zo read out loud. “Okay. Let’s hope so. Get better quick, Key. We need you, all right?” She reached over and tried to pat Keeley’s thigh, barely reaching it with her good left hand.
Hannah stood slowly. She didn’t want to go. She looked over at the nurse again, but there was no sympathy there at all; the woman’s face was impassive. She went and kissed her mother’s cheek, listened to her mother’s little squeak in reply, and then pushed her Aunt Zo in her wheelchair out of ICU.
They ended up in the hospital’s cafeteria. It was the best place for them to talk. Ben was on the phone outside in parking lot, calling his contacts in the medical community. Pam and Amy were keeping their distance, just nodding at Zo and Hannah when they came out of the ICU rather than jumping up and running over to compare notes. This was extremely unusual among the four friends, chatterboxes all. It was then that Hannah knew that that the story she was about to hear was something between just her mother and Aunt Zo, something that even Amy and Pam didn’t share with them.
In the cafeteria they got coffee, which was surprisingly good, as well as buttered rolls, and found a table in the corner of the dining room. Aunt Zo busied herself with her coffee, stirring it and adding more and more sugar until Hannah started to wonder if her godmother was going to have a little coffee with her sugar. Then Aunt Zo rearranged herself in her wheelchair, clearing her throat over and over. Finally, she said, “Okay. I’m nervous. Can you tell?”
Hannah nodded.
“It’s pretty obvious, huh?” she said, looking at her coffee and stirring it. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this. I just never imagined it would be like this. We were supposed to be at Captain’s sitting on a dock or in the living room at the Barefooter house. There would be wine or champagne or something. Your mom would tell her part, be there to help me tell mine. You know how we always finish each other’s thoughts. It would be easy. This isn’t.”
Aunt Zo cleared her throat again and sat, continuing to stir her sugary black coffee and stare at it. Then she began to speak, slow halting words that trickled one by one at first, before flooding out in a rush, blocking out the empty cafeteria and filling it with late-summer memories of their eighteenth year.