CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Drew
I drove to the hospital after dumping my things at my apartment. I felt my heart thumping and I swore as the traffic crowded around me.
“Come on!” I yelled. “I can't just stall here. Start going.”
I tried to make myself be patient – it was Monday morning, everyone's work day – and finally the traffic was thinning out and I was heading up to the hospital. I got out and ran up from the parking to the front door. I slipped inside, trying to still my nerves.
“Good morning, sir?” a woman said. She was dressed in a nurse's uniform and I drew a breath to gather my thoughts.
“I'm looking for Ms. Bronson?” I said. “I'm...I'm not a relative, exactly, but...” I trailed off. Somehow I'd gotten the impression that they only let relatives in to see people who were in Intensive Care. Would they let me see her?
“Oh,” the woman frowned. “Carrington Bronson?”
“Yes, that's right.”
“If you'll just come with me?”
I followed her down the maze of corridors, her thick-soled shoes soundless on the lino flooring. I felt myself start to get stressed. I had been in a hospital only once. That was, when my friend Nic broke his leg in a sporting accident. We all came up from the school and I remembered the brightly-painted ward and trying to smuggle candy in for him. Such innocent things!
Now, I was thirty-five and I was visiting a dangerously-ill woman.
“Mr. Bronson?” the nurse called, as we came to a halt outside a door.
I saw someone stand from where they'd crouched over a bed. It was Mr. Bronson but he looked so different. His gray hair was barely combed, his eyes ringed with bruising from sleepless days. He seemed shrunken somehow, his usually larger-than-life presence muted and frail.
“Drew?” he said. He looked at me strangely, then recognition dawned and he grinned. “Thank goodness! Nurse, he's like family. Let him in.”
“Okay, Mr. Bronson,” she said lightly. “Don't stay longer than an hour,” she said. “Visiting hours end at twelve.”
“Thanks,” I said. I turned from her as she went up the hallway again and mutely followed Mr. Bronson, chief shareholder and worried father.
“Is she...”
“Shh,” he cautioned. “I don't want to wake her. Doctor says she needs her rest.”
I nodded and joined him, looking at the bed. Carrie was asleep, her strong, proud face slack with sleeping. Her black hair was swept back from her brow and it looked as if someone had been sitting at her bedside, stroking her head. Her father, I guessed.
“Carrie,” I murmured.
She looked ill, somehow. I didn't know if it was the fact that her face had sunken so alarmingly, or the gray shadows around her eyes. It could just have been a trick of the ward's dim lighting – one fluorescent strip high up, its dull hum the only sound in silence.
“She's sleeping now,” Mr. Bronson said, though it was obvious that was the case. “She was feverish earlier.”
“What is...” I hesitated. How was I supposed to ask him what was the matter?
“Her kidneys,” he said succinctly. “It was so sudden. So sudden...” he shook his head, looking at his hands. I frowned.
“Is she okay now?” I asked.
“She's stable,” her father said quietly. “Some kind of infection. We don't know what or how. Just...there, all of a sudden. Doctor said it could have been latent for months. I didn't know she was so sick. How didn't I know?”
I didn't say anything. Carrie always pushed herself too hard. The combination of living on far too little to eat, taking creatine to build muscle tone and not sleeping enough had all wrecked her health. She always tried to be perfect – the young socialite, her daddy's pride and joy; the ace lawyer. She once told me she couldn't risk looking anything less than magazine-worthy when she went out, so she wouldn't embarrass her parents. I could have been angry about that – I felt protective of Carrie. Whatever else, she was my friend.
I don't want to say anything recriminating. He feels bad enough now.
“I'm just so grateful she's alive,” he murmured. “I just...I never appreciated just...just having her.”
He was blinking rapidly now, throat tight with tears he was holding at bay. I walked over to the window, giving him the dignity to cry. I looked out over the city, the skyscrapers stretching into the air like stiff, cold fingers to grip the leaden sky.
When I turned around, Mr. Bronson had stopped crying. I looked down at the bed.
“She looks like she's going to get better,” I said softly.
“Yes,” he nodded. “The doctors say she can be discharged next week if she stays stable.”
“Good,” I said. I felt myself suddenly get tired. I sat down heavily on the chair on the other side of the bed. The room was silent except for the sound of breath and the gentle humming whisper of electronics.
“She was asking for you,” Mr. Bronson said as he, too, sat down.
“Oh?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He chuckled. We spoke softly, so as not to wake her.
“She wanted to tell me off?” I asked, a smile coming unbidden to my face. Always honest, Carrie had some very forthright ways of telling me when I'd crossed some boundary.
Her father chuckled. “No. Not this time. No, son. She wanted to tell you she was sorry.”
“Sorry?” I frowned. “Why? She never did anything to hurt me. Not ever.” I was bemused.
“She thought she had,” he said with a sigh. “She thought she'd let you down. Not managing to make things work out. She thought she'd driven a wedge between you and old Bradford.”
I shook my head. “No way.”
“Yes,” he said. “I know. I can't believe it either.”
“She thought that was her fault?” I was stunned.
Her father gave a mirthless chuckle. “Yes. I tried to tell her, but she thought she'd let you down.”
I felt as if he'd pulled the floor out from under me. “Carrie!” I said. I hadn't meant to speak so loudly. Her father gave me a furious glare and I cringed. “Sorry.”
We both watched, nervously, as she stirred. Her eyelids twitched but she didn't wake up. I let out a sigh.
“Whew. Sorry,” I said again, the merest whisper. “I didn't mean to disturb her.”
“I know,” Brent Bronson said. “And I know you didn't mean for her to feel that way.”
“No,” I said. “Thanks,” I added, belatedly. It didn't really make me feel any better, but I was glad he didn't blame me.
We both sat and watched Carrie where she slept.
I'm sorry, I thought numbly. I had no idea how much pressure you were under. I should have known. I've known you for almost ten years, after all.
She stirred and rolled over. She seemed to be peaceful. I felt uncomfortable, seeing her so vulnerable. It brought back memories of our time together. I had slept with her, after all. Sitting beside her made me remember that intimacy. And right now, I didn't want to remember that. It felt disloyal to Allie.
Oh, man! I shook my head at myself. Why did I make my life so complicated?
“I guess we're not helping here, right?” her father said softly. “We should probably go. It's the doctor's round soon.”
I looked at the clock. We'd been sitting here almost an hour. “I guess,” I said numbly. I stood. “You coming?”
“I'll stay a bit, son. You go on.”
I nodded and patted his shoulder, then headed out of the room. I walked past the nurse as she came back to the room. I didn't say anything to her and she didn't say anything to me. Her glance was sympathetic and I guessed she thought that Carrie was...
What is Carrie to me, anyway? I had never really stopped to think about it. She'd been in my life, in some extent or other, since her father joined the company. We were friends. I thought she was as honest with me as I was with her. But she had hidden from he how much stress she was under. And how responsible she felt.
“Mr. Liston?”
I frowned. “Yes?”
“I'm Dr. Harrow. Ms. Bronson's doctor.”
“Oh?” I shook the man's hand. “Pleased to meet you.” I was frowning. Why would he know who I was? “Did you need to ask me something?”
“No, no...” he shook his head, smiling. “I didn't mean to worry you. You must be busy. I just wanted to tell you that Carrington is stable now. We expect – if she carries on responding this well to the antibiotic – that she should be able to be discharged next week.”
“Good,” I nodded. “I'm glad to hear it. How...has she been sleeping this heavily since she came in?”
“She's been sedated so she can sleep. We're reducing the dose. She should be feeling more awake by this evening. So if you come back then, she should be awake.”
“Oh. Good.” I nodded. I looked at my watch – it was eleven am. I really had to go. “I'll probably do that,” I said quickly. “When's visiting hour?”
“Between five and six.”
“I'll be there,” I promised.
I hurried out into the street.
Whew.
Out there, the clouds were still overhead, though the morning was starting to show signs of warmth. I walked briskly to my car and sat down heavily behind the wheel. I felt drained.
“This is hard.”
I had never had to contemplate someone I cared about – really cared about – being sick before. Much less being dangerously sick and in intensive care. Sitting there had been the weirdest feeling. I had looked down at her and felt such a wrongness, that someone so young and talented and vulnerable should be brought to that state.
I wish I could tell Allie...
Of all the people I knew, I wished she could be here with me. To talk to, to help me to make sense of it all. She was good like that. She never judged. She always let me talk. Let me work it out of my system.
“Oh...Allie. I didn't call her.”
I felt embarrassed suddenly and I reached for my phone and scrolled through the contacts. I sent her off a quick message as I reversed out of the parking-space and headed into the parking-lot.
Am safe back. Let me know you are too? Thanks.
I sent it, my mind already taking the drive to work.
I need to finish the budget presentation and sign those papers Melody gave me. I should prepare the talk for the shareholder's meeting too...oh shit...
I was stressed and frazzled and feeling pushed before I even walked into my office. When I sat down at my desk I took a deep breath.
“One thing at a time.”
I got a call from Uncle, who already knew about Carrie and wanted to know if I'd come back to the office yet. I said I'd head down to the hospital at five and he was strangely okay about that.
“No worries, Drew. If you need me to, I'll put in a word for you at the board meeting...take the time you have to take.”
“Thanks, Uncle,” I said.
When I hung up I couldn't help but be amazed by the irony of that. Carrie had nearly died and I was miserable because of the pressures from her father and my uncle. Now, suddenly, that they saw how deadly their games could be, they were taking the pressure off?
“Now when they might have ruined three lives.”
I left early and headed back to the hospital. I still didn't know how I felt about Carrie...I was devastated, but primarily because she was my friend. And I felt guilty. Her father could exonerate me as much as he liked. I still felt bad because she blamed herself for the fact things hadn't worked out between us. I felt bad because my heart had belonged to someone else and I couldn't make myself part with that for her.
“Mr. Bronson?” I said, walking into the ward. He looked up. Someone in the bed sat up.
“Drew!” she looked at me with big round brown eyes.
“Carrie!”
I felt my heart flood with warmth.
“Drew. You're here...” she smiled and I felt so, so bad.
“Yes. I came as soon as I could. You're feeling better now?” I asked. I sank into the chair by the bed and looked into her eyes. She was still too pale, her cheekbones like crevasses, her eyes too big for her face. But she did look more alive than she had the previous morning.
“I feel awake,” she said. She chuckled. “It helps. Daddy said they'd been making me sleep. I'm glad they stopped.”
I laughed. “It was most unlike you,” I said. “Normally you'd be awake and making sure everyone did their job efficiently.”
She rolled her eyes. “I am not that bad. Am I? Daddy, tell him I'm not so bossy.”
Her father laughed and I did too. She flushed red. Then she laughed too.
“You're not bossy, sweetheart,” her father said. “You're.... good at knowing what has to be done.”
I nodded. “Yes.”
She looked into my eyes and I felt as if there was a new peace between us. She looked more calm, less frazzled than she usually did.
“Drew. Daddy?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I need to chat to Drew for a while. If you can find my doctor and ask him exactly when he's planning to let me out of here or something?”
Her father laughed. “I'll do my best. But I better hope his answer is soon. Or you'll be mad at me.”
She smiled fondly. “Oh, Daddy,” she said.
He headed out of the room, walking with slightly more energy than before.
When he had gone, Carrie turned to me and smiled. “Drew,” she said in that voice that was a thin shadow of its former self. “I'm...thank you for being here with me now.”
I shrugged. “It's the least I can do. How are you, Carrie?”
“Okay,” she said. “My back still hurts and my head is sore, but I'm feeling stronger.”
“Good,” I nodded fervently. “I don't think it'll take long for you to get discharged,” I added.
She nodded emphatically. “I'm glad! I hate hospitals. How about you?”
“Never been in one. Not really.”
“I was. To have my tonsils out. When I was four...it was horrible.”
I nodded. “I'm sure.”
We talked about similar things for a while – her weekend before the collapse, my work, her work...small easy topics to keep away the big difficult matters.
“Drew,” she said after a while. “I'm so glad you came. I wanted to see you. You know...” she shrugged. “I didn't want to...go...without closure with you.” Her eyes were damp and to my surprise I was crying too.
“Don't say that,” I said. “I don't even want to consider it.”
“Oh, Drew,” she said, smiling at me fondly. “You're like a big silly brother sometimes.”
I chuckled. “Well, you're my sister, Carrie – always will be.”
She nodded. “I'm so… I'm so glad we got to say that. Finally. Without...all this.” She made a gesture that encompassed my work-clothes, the sky-scrapers outside the window, the whole town.
“I know,” I nodded. “It's how we would always have been if people left us.”
“Yeah.” She chuckled. “I could wish that happened more around here.”
“Yeah,” I agreed vehemently. We both smiled.
“I'm glad... I'm glad you understand.”
“Of course I do,” I said, and my heart clenched. I took her hand in my own. “Carrie. Of course I do.”
She smiled at me sadly. “So you're not mad at me?”
I shook my head. I couldn't have felt more pain if she'd shot me just then. “Carrie!”
“What?”
“How could you ever even have thought that?”
She shrugged. “I don't know.”
Her hand was still in mine and I squeezed it. “Well I'm not. I never would be. I am mad at everyone who put so much pressure on you that you made yourself ill. But not you.”
She smiled faintly. “Oh, Drew. I knew you'd understand. You always do.”
“You do too,” I said.
As we sat there, hand in hand, I realized that yes, we did have a special relationship. We could talk to each other, we understood certain aspects of each other. I would even say I loved Carrie. But it wasn't like the love I had for Allie. I was like a brother to Carrie.
I held her hand and we chatted about silly things – things that made us both laugh. My heart was lighter by the time visiting hour was almost at an end. I could see Carrie wearying – she got tired so easily – and I stood.
“I should go and let you get some rest,” I said gently.
“I'm so glad you came.”
“So am I,” I said warmly. “So am I.”
I walked out of the room, my heart feeling lighter. I was glad we finally understood each other a bit better. That piece of my history could finally be laid to rest. We were both much lighter for it.
Now I felt that I was finally free to be honest with Allie. To put the past behind us. To move into the future.
I sat down in the car and checked my phone. No message from Allie.
“That's weird.”
I felt a sudden fear. What if she wasn't okay? Her online status had updated recently, though, so I reckoned she must still be alive.
“Oh, Allie.”
I put my head on the steering-wheel, feeling a moment's pain. Just when I reckoned I was free to love her, I'd managed to make her mad at me. What was I going to do?