FOR A COUPLE of seconds I just stood there, my mouth agape, staring at the white painted grains in the wood that was less than two inches from my face, my mind not really responding to what had just happened.
What had just happened?
I recoiled, my heart aching, my lungs too tight to draw in anything other than a short, sharp breath. I gulped. The force of her words, the anger, the acid and purposeful hurtfulness to them. She’d meant every word.
A tear escaped, trickling down my cheek as I blinked a couple of times, the guilt and grief overwhelming. My knees weakened and I reached out, placing one hand on the wall for support as I thought of my poor nana having to identify her son’s body, of her frail body not being able to cope with the pressure, of Kelsey being alone, her father dead, her mother in surgery, her nana blacking out at the hospital. It was all too much, too much sadness, too much to take in at once.
I leaned forward and placed my forehead against the cold wood of Kelsey’s door, closing my eyes, taking deep breaths to try to calm my raging inner storm of emotions. All I wanted to do was stagger to my bedroom, fall face-first onto my bed, and cry into my pillow. Her words hit me hard, and I suddenly realized she was right. Me simply turning up here wasn’t enough; I needed to make up for it, starting right now. Crying on my bed was not an option.
I sucked in a deep breath and pulled back, reaching up to dry my tearstained face with the back of my hand before turning for the stairs, deciding to leave Kelsey to calm down for a little while. I’d try again in a little while and see if she was ready to talk. Maybe she just needed a bit of space.
As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I followed the sound of dishes clinking and the delicious scent of chili wafting out of the kitchen. Nana was standing by the stove, stirring an enormous pot with a wooden spoon. I stood silently. Watching her cook was something I had always enjoyed; she was a whiz in the kitchen. When I was younger and would stay over at her house, she would let me help her make dinner; we’d bake cakes and cookies almost every visit.
“How’d it go?”
I jumped, startled by her words. I had been purposefully quiet when I entered and hadn’t realized she’d known I was here. She smiled sadly over her shoulder as she picked up a bowl and scooped a ladleful of chili into it.
I didn’t have the words to answer. I shrugged, walking forward and fingering the soft leather of a dining chair, noting it was new. In fact, the whole kitchen looked different. It had been painted a pale green; the porcelain on display was now green instead of the yellow set that had once been there.
“She’s...” I gulped, swallowing the hurt. “...Angry with me for not being here when it happened.”
Nana let out a long breath and nodded slowly, shuffling over to the table and setting down the bowl and a plate of crusty bread rolls. “Come sit down, you must be exhausted after all that traveling.”
I sat obediently, my hands folded in my lap, my eyes firmly on the table.
“Kelsey’s just upset. Everyone deals with grief differently. She’s young and doesn’t know how to take it all in. Sometimes anger is easier to deal with than sadness.” She sat down opposite me and I looked up into her soft, sorrowful eyes. “She doesn’t mean it, being angry is just her way of coping, and it appears you’re getting the brunt of it. Unfortunately, sometimes we hurt the ones we love the most. She’ll come around.”
I nodded, taking in her words, hoping they were true. Nana’s eyes were tight, watching me, her gaze flicking down to the spoon I hadn’t touched. Resigned, I picked it up, seeing some of the tension leave her shoulders as I scooped some chili from the bowl and put it in my mouth, chewing slowly. It tasted just as delicious as it smelled, but I still wasn’t hungry in the slightest. For my nana and her peace of mind, I forced myself to keep going, though, knowing that in some strange way, it made her feel better.
The silence was almost too much to bear as I ate, so I decided to broach the subject of the accident. She had been vague on the phone, just told me it was a car crash, no details. Now, with only the clink of spoon against bowl to cut the silence, the details seemed important.
“Nana, the car accident,” I started, my voice cracking slightly—talking about it made it even more real, somehow—“was there anyone else hurt?” I’d been so wrapped up in my own grief that I hadn’t even considered the fact that there could be other people injured or dead.
Her eyebrows knitted together as she picked at a loose thread on her apron. “No one else was hurt. They’re not sure how it all happened. There was only one witness, who was driving a fair bit behind, so they didn’t see much. They said that a blue Ford pickup truck had sped past them, driving erratically. They said it collided with the side of your father’s car, which caused him to lose control and hit the central barrier. The other car sped off, and they haven’t been able to find the driver.”
I recoiled at her words. The other driver didn’t stop? What kind of person was involved in an accident and didn’t stop? “Do the police think they were drunk or something?” The words driving erratically stuck in my mind.
She sighed deeply and gave a small shrug of her shoulders. “They just don’t know. They’ve checked the traffic cams, but haven’t managed to get a picture of the driver, so at this point, they’re not sure what really happened.”
I ground my teeth, anger flaring in my stomach at this unknown driver.
She reached out and placed her soft hand over mine, squeezing gently. “They’ll find the person responsible and bring them to justice, don’t you worry about that.” Her voice was set, firm, confident, and more than a little angry. “Trust that the police will do their jobs. We have other things to worry about.”
I nodded, a lump now firmly lodged in my throat. I put down my spoon and pushed the bowl away from me gently, knowing I couldn’t force down another bite. Nana stood silently, picking up my bowl and walking over to the garbage disposal to scrape my barely touched food away. Her shoulders sagged, her movements slow.
“Why don’t you have a little nap or something?” I suggested, standing and walking over to her. “I can clean this up, you look exhausted.” I put my arm around her and gave her an encouraging squeeze.
She sighed, not looking at me, and nodded. “I think I will.” She turned and planted a soft kiss on my cheek. “Wake me if there’s any news. Visiting starts again at three, but I think I’ll skip the afternoon visit and just go tonight instead. Unless you want me to come with you?”
I smiled and shook my head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll go this afternoon, and then we can all go up again tonight.”
She nodded in agreement, and I watched her walk out of the kitchen before glancing at the clock. Just before two. Just over an hour to wait before I could go see my mother. I sighed and dug in my pocket for my cell phone, heading over to the Wi-Fi router to get the password so I could connect to it. Once I’d connected, I dropped down into the kitchen chair and called Toby. He’d be climbing the walls waiting for news, but I knew he wouldn’t call me in case I was at the hospital or something.
It took a few seconds to connect, but he answered on the second ring. “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?”
I closed my eyes, pressing the phone harder against my ear. In the background, I could hear the beep of the cash register, the clink of glasses, the murmured chatter of patrons. He was working. “Hi. Is now a good time?” I asked.
“It’s always a good time where you’re concerned.” His voice was warm, loving. “Just ’old on one sec.” The line became even more muffled, as if he had covered the mouthpiece. “Trev, look after things for a bit, ’lright? It’s Ellie.” Then he was back to talking to me. “Sorry, sweetheart. ’Ow’s everyone coping? ’Ow’s your mum?”
Nana looks like she’s a minute from collapsing and Kelsey hates me.
“They’re doing okay,” I lied. “I haven’t been to see my mom yet. I have to wait for visiting hours, but Nana said she’s still in a coma.”
“Aww, I’m so sorry, Ellie. I wish I was there, I’ve been so worried ’bout ya.”
“Don’t worry about me, I’m all right,” I muttered, opening my eyes and looking down at the table, tracing the grains of wood with my fingernail.
“It’s my job to worry, ain’t it?” His voice was deliberately light, playful.
“I suppose,” I admitted. “Are the boys okay?” They had still been asleep this morning when Toby and I left for the airport. I hadn’t even had a chance to say good-bye to them before Toby’s mother had come over to watch them so Toby could accompany me in the taxi.
“They’re fine. They both send their love. Christian made you a drawing. ’E said I ’ave to bring it with me when I fly out to you.”
My heart squeezed at the gesture. They really were sweet kids. “Tell them I said hi.”
We chatted for another ten minutes, mundane conversation, nothing heavy. Mostly about the flight, Stacey, the pub, his kids, and Nana’s chili. At the end of the call, he told me he loved me and apologized again for not being here with me, and made me promise to call again tonight, screw the time difference. He told me he’d arranged cover at the pub and had booked his flight for Wednesday—four days’ time—once the kids were returned to their mother. When I disconnected the call, I felt a little better. Talking to someone who wasn’t so closely involved and hearing the regular pub sounds in the background was a welcome distraction to the blackness that was inside me, consuming me by the second.
After quickly washing the dishes, I walked into the living room to see Nana asleep, sitting up in the armchair. I watched her rhythmic breathing for a few seconds, wondering what would have happened if she hadn’t been here, if Kelsey had been on her own with no support. This woman was a rock, and I would be eternally grateful for her stepping in and taking care of my sister in my absence. I walked forward, picking up the throw from the sofa and laying it over her carefully. She didn’t stir.
Not wanting to sit down, I wandered slowly around the house, touching things I hadn’t seen for years, my eyes lingering on family photos that adorned the walls. When my gaze landed on the key rack that was mounted on the wall by the front door, I saw my old, battered Volkswagen Beetle key ring dangling there. I frowned, heading over to it and picking it up, memories of my beat-up little car swirling to the front of my mind.
I had no idea my parents had kept her.
Tightening my fist around the keys, I headed to the garage through the internal door and there she sat. My beloved green bug.
The fluffy green dice that Stacey had bought me when I passed my driving test still hung from the rearview mirror. I smiled and shook my head, finding the right key and pushing it into the lock eagerly.
As the door opened, a waft of polish and leather hit my nose. Slipping inside, I noticed that the inside was spotlessly clean, sparkling even. Someone, most likely my father, had kept the car clean for the last three years—probably in the hope that one day I’d come home and want to drive her. Pain stabbed at my heart as I touched the soft, ripped leather of my seat. Swinging the door closed, I leaned forward and rested my forehead against the steering wheel. The loss of my father was something I would surely never recover from. Everything inside me hurt—my heart squeezed painfully with each beat as I closed my eyes and saw his smiling face, his twinkling eyes, heard his laugh.
A strangled sob left my throat.
I dragged in a couple of ragged breaths, opening my eyes and staring at the ceiling of the car, forcing my mind away from my father in a bid to keep the tears at bay. Needing something else to do before I fell into the grief abyss, I shoved the key into the ignition and turned it, pushing my foot down on the gas pedal, pumping it like I used to. The engine ticked over, but didn’t catch. On the second try I pumped the gas faster and...bingo! There was a little life left in the old girl yet! I smiled, leaving the engine running as I reveled in the loud roar.
When it was finally time to start thinking about going to the hospital, I sent a quick text to Stacey, saying that we didn’t need a ride, that my car was still in working order, and that I’d actually quite like to drive myself. She replied quickly and asked me to message later and let her know if there was any change.
Leaving the car running, not wanting to risk turning it off in case it didn’t start up again, I headed back into the house and crept through the lounge and up the stairs toward Kelsey’s room. I knocked softly, taking a couple of deep breaths outside her door, bracing myself for another confrontation and more of her anger-fueled grief.
“What?” she called from inside.
I gripped the handle, twisting it and opening the door a little, poking my head in. She was back on the bed, this time with her laptop open in front of her. Her shoulders stiffened and her eyebrows knitted together in a frown when she saw it was me. “Hey.” I cleared my throat. “I’m going to the hospital. Nana is sleeping downstairs and said she was going to hold off and come tonight instead. Do you want to go with me?”
Indecision flickered across her features, and finally she shook her head. “I’ll go later too.”
My stomach twisted in a knot. A very small part of me had been hoping she wouldn’t want to come because I didn’t want to bear the brunt of her anger and resentment, but a bigger part of me was devastated because it meant that I had to face going there alone. I needed my sister, I needed someone to share this with, and she was being so hostile to me. In her mind, though, I guess it was perfectly reasonable to feel resentment. I hadn’t been here when she needed me, after all. I fought to keep my expression neutral and not show her how much she was hurting me.
“Okay.” The word came out more like a squeak than anything else. “I’ll call if there’s any change.” I closed the door quickly, not wanting to hang around where I clearly wasn’t wanted, and headed down the stairs, grabbing my jacket and purse as I slipped into the garage again and opened the roller door.
As I pulled out of the garage, I gripped the wheel tightly. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to drive. I hadn’t been behind the wheel for the last three years, and driving my little bug had always been hard going at the best of times when I had to fight to change gears and haul the wheel heavily to go around corners.
When I finally pulled into the hospital parking lot, I was actually a little relieved. After spending almost two years being ferried around in cars and cabs in England, it was a bit weird to be on the right side of the road and not the left. Funny how quickly you get used to things.
As I left the safety of my car and made the short walk to the entrance of the hospital, I tried to prepare myself for what I was about to see, but in all honesty, I wasn’t sure what I was about to be confronted with. I dared not even try to imagine.
Inside, the hospital was busier than I thought it would be. I had to line up at the reception desk, waiting behind other loved ones, to ask where I needed to go. After being directed to the ICU department, I walked slowly, ignoring people around me and counting my footfalls as I made my way up the long corridor to my mother’s ward. When I finally got to the right place, I squirted some sanitizer on my hands, as directed by the laminated sign just above the dispenser, and pushed open the hefty wooden door.
As I stepped inside, the smell of the place changed. In the hallway, you could have been anywhere, but this ward had a distinct medicinal smell that was so strong it made my nose wrinkle. I stopped in my tracks, my feet firmly planted, unsure if I could stay here. The scent was overpowering, the clean lines, the white walls, the thick wooden doors with patient names written on a whiteboard attached to each door—it was all too much to handle. I didn’t want to go in. I didn’t want to see my mom’s name there; I wasn’t sure I was strong enough.
Now I understood why Nana and Kelsey had both opted to skip this afternoon visit. I wouldn’t have wanted to come back here again so soon after leaving, either. Just as I was mentally chastising myself for coming alone, a nurse walked past. When she caught sight of me she stopped and smiled warmly.
“Can I help you?” she asked, tilting her head to the side and regarding me with sympathetic eyes.
I opened my mouth and closed it again. Words failed me. “Um...” I tried again. “I’m here to visit my mother, Ruth Pearce.” As I said her name, there was another twist in my gut.
“Oh, you must be Ellie,” the nurse replied, her smile widening. “Your grandmother told me you were flying in today. England, right?”
I nodded blankly, my mind slightly numb.
“Come on in, I’ll show you where your mom is. There’s been no change since this morning. The doctor is monitoring her. All her pressures are good, her heart is steady. She’s still in a coma, but given the nature of her injuries that was not unexpected. She’s hooked up to the ventilator at the moment, so don’t let the machinery scare you.” She gripped my elbow, leading me inside the ward, forcing me to walk with gentle persuasion as her soft voice reassured me. She stopped outside the third door on the right and released her grip on my arm. “She’s in here. You want me to come in with you?” she offered, nodding to the door.
There, on the whiteboard, printed in neat script, was my mother’s name.
It felt like a weight had been laid on my chest, pressing, squeezing. It was finally sinking in, all the things I was struggling to contain inside: My father had died, and my mother was inside this room fighting for her life. I could lose them both. And then what? What would happen then, to Kelsey, to me, to Nana?
“Are you okay, dear?”
I blinked a couple of times, realizing she was waiting for a response, and turned to look at her, willing my voice to work this time. “I’m fine. I’d like to go in alone.” That was a lie. I would actually like to turn and run, run so fast that my head spun and I left this horrible waking nightmare far behind me.
“Okay, give me a shout if you need anything or have any questions. I’ll let the doctor know you’re here, I know he wanted to speak to you.” She threw me one last sympathetic smile and then turned and hurried off into the nurses’ office.
I turned my attention back to the door, reaching out tentatively and pushing it open. I held my breath the whole time.
As the door swung open, I caught my first glimpse of her. She was lying on the bed in the center of the room. She looked incredibly small, so still and lifeless. Seeing her there, so fragile and helpless, the pain in my chest somehow, impossibly, doubled.
My hand shot to my mouth as a little whimper left my lips. She looked childlike lying there, peaceful even. Tubes and wires protruded from her mouth, attached to the ventilator that was keeping her alive. Clear liquid pumped into her veins via an IV in her hand. I stepped into the room, letting the door swing closed behind me as I raked my eyes over her. Bruises and cuts marred her usually perfect creamy skin. Her hair was tangled instead of being perfectly and meticulously straightened; there was even some dirt under her fingernails. My body hitched with a sob. If my mother could see herself right now, she would hate it. I made a mental note to bring a hairbrush and some cleaning wipes when I came next time. When she woke, she would be horrified if there was dirt under her nails.
Then it hit me, the absurdity of my thought: If my mother woke, she wouldn’t care about a little grime or dirt because she’d then learn that my dad had left us. I held my breath, my eyes fixed on her as I approached the bed.
The heart rate monitor beeping steadily and the slow rhythm of her chest rising and falling softly with the forced intake from the ventilator were the only indications that she was alive. If not for them, I would have sworn she’d already left, followed my father, and the two of them were watching me as I stood vigil over a lifeless body.
I reached out and traced her cheek with the back of one finger as my grief consumed me. “Oh, Mom,” I croaked. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. I’m so sorry.”
This was the first time I had seen my mother in three years, and these were the circumstances—where was the justice in that? Sure, we’d called each other, chatted on FaceTime, and used Skype a few times, but this was the first time I’d physically touched my mother since I left for Rome over three years ago. Toby and I had been planning on seeing them soon; they were going to fly over with Kelsey during the school holidays and spend the week with us, but now...
I choked back a sob and reached out, taking her hand softly. “I’m so sorry.”
I don’t know how long I stood there for, lost in my grief, but it must have been a while because when the door opened and a middle-aged man in a white coat walked in with that sympathetic smile that they must all practice in the mirror, my neck ached from standing and looking down at my mother for so long.
“Ellison? I’m Doctor Pacer. Is now a good time for us to chat? There are a few things I need to talk to you about,” he said.
I nodded, stepping back, licking my dry lips. “Yeah, and it’s Ellie.”
He nodded once in acknowledgment and motioned toward the two chairs next to my mother’s bed. “Shall we sit?”
Sit? Is this more bad news? What more is there that can go wrong?
“Um, okay.” I plopped into one chair, my eyes trained on him as he clasped his hands in his lap and sat forward, looking at me intently.
“There are certain arrangements that need to be made. I didn’t bring this up with your grandmother because I wasn’t sure how she would cope after her fainting episode earlier. I’m not sure how she’d cope under the pressure, she already seems a little...delicate,” he said, seeming to be choosing his words carefully.
Delicate, that was a good word for her right now. I nodded, actually grateful that he hadn’t piled any more pressure onto my frail grandmother. “What sort of arrangements?”
His lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke. “Funeral arrangements for your father. His body is currently down in the morgue. We’ve done everything that we need to do and the police have given permission for his body to be released to a funeral home so you can start planning for what you’d like to happen.”
Funeral arrangements. Ouch.
“Oh,” I mumbled.
“If you want, I can have someone help you with the arrangements, or if you don’t wish to deal with it, then I can speak with your grandmother next time she comes in. I know it’s a lot for someone to deal with; losing a parent is never easy, and under these circumstances”—he shot a quick look at my mother in the bed—“it makes it even harder.”
I shook my head quickly, my mind made up and set. “Don’t talk to my nana. I’ll deal with it, I’ll arrange it all. I don’t want her doing more than she has to.”