And then he realizes that what he’s looking at
It is all the colors of sorrow. Purples and blues and browns. And it is so misshapen. Her nose is spread sideways across one cheek. Her lips and eyelids are like lightly inflated balloons. One side of her head is concave, and the ear seems to have dropped several inches.
Doyle has seen worse before, but never on someone he loves. And that’s what makes all the difference. That’s what closes the gap.
He takes a few more steps forward, feeling a growing tightness in his chest. Like he is going into cardiac arrest. Like he is going to be grateful to be in the vicinity of medical experts any second now.
And then it overwhelms him. He lets out one huge sob that fills the room, and he pitches forward as his legs finally give way. He reaches his arms out to stop his fall, and feels his hands slam into the cold metal table. He stays like that, bent over, head buried between his outstretched arms.
A hand alights on his back, rubs gently. He knows it’s Nadine, and he can sense that she is crying.
He hears Nurse Lynley’s steps as she comes forward.
‘Mr Doyle? Is there anything I can get you? Some water?’
Doyle sniffs and raises his head. His eyes move from the nurse to Nadine — one patiently concerned, the other on the verge of being inconsolable — and he doesn’t know which emotion to release first. His anger. .
. . or his sheer relief and gratitude.
He says the only thing that seems appropriate in the circumstances:
‘It’s not her.’
Nurse Lynley’s response comes in a flash, like it’s automatic.
‘Come outside,’ she says. ‘Let’s find you someplace we can talk.’
Doyle knows what she’s thinking. That he’s in denial. She’s seen it so many times before.
‘It’s not her. This is not my wife.’
Her lips tighten slightly. ‘Mr Doyle-’
Nadine cuts her off. ‘Cal. Come on. Let’s go.’
In response, Doyle grabs the sheet that has been draped across the body on the table, then yanks it back, exposing the naked upper torso. The action elicits a gasp from Nadine and a glare of annoyance from the nurse.
‘Look at her, Nadine! Look at her ribs! She’s like a damn glockenspiel! And here. .’ He takes hold of the cadaver’s arm and lifts it. ‘You see those? Track marks. She’s a junkie. You see a wedding ring at all? You see any marks where there
Nurse Lynley glances at a red plastic tray on the counter by the sink. Doyle goes over to it. He lifts the scraps of material he finds there — a thin red blouse, a translucent black brassiere with red trimming — and shows them to Nadine.
‘You think Rachel would wear any of this stuff?’
The tray also holds a small open purse. Doyle tips out its contents. He sees Rachel’s driver’s license, and also what looks like her cellphone, but the other items are unfamiliar to him.
‘Take a look at this lipstick, Nadine. And this perfume. You think this is Rachel’s style?’
Nadine shakes her head. She looks like a child, upset and confused. Nurse Lynley appears even more dumbfounded, perhaps mortified at the thought that she has made a dreadful error.
‘I don’t understand,’ the nurse says.
Doyle keeps the phone and ID, and tosses the rest back into the tray. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not your fault. You’ve been had. We’ve all been had.’
He heads out of the room, Nadine once again following at his heels like an adopted puppy.
‘Cal, wait. If that’s not Rachel, then where the hell is she?’
He has no answer. The relief he feels is tempered by the fact that he still doesn’t know that Rachel and Amy are safe. His mind races to come up with ideas for locating them.
His cellphone rings. He removes it from his pocket and looks at it. It’s not a number that’s stored in the phone’s address book. He answers it.
‘Hello?’
‘Cal? Is that you?’
He stops, Nadine almost crashing into his back.
‘Rachel? RACHEL?’
‘Cal, where are you?’
‘I. . I’m at Bellevue Hospital.’
‘Yes, but where? And why have you got your cellphone? Are you okay? You sound-’
‘Yes, I’m okay. Where are you?’
‘I’m at Bellevue too, but I can’t find you. I’ve had everyone looking for you.’
Doyle brings his free hand to his forehead. This conversation is making absolutely no sense to him. Why shouldn’t he have his cellphone?
He looks up at the people milling around him. A short bald man carrying flowers and trying to figure out which way to go. A young man pushing an elderly lady in a wheelchair. A small child in a fur-trimmed duffel coat, a pink balloon tied to her wrist.
‘Cal?’
The little girl stares at him, smiles. .
‘Cal? Are you there?’
. . and then she runs. She comes straight at him. Her face radiates sunshine and daisies and moonbeams and castles and fairies as she dodges around the short bald man and the old lady in the wheelchair, and she is opening her mouth and shouting something, one word over and over, a word that means everything to Doyle, a word that puts the world back on its axis and the stars in their rightful places, and that word is. .
‘Daddy!’
He bends at the knees, ready to scoop up the incoming human missile, and as he does so he catches a glimpse of somebody else at the payphones. A woman, turning to check on her child, staring in disbelief at what she sees. Such a familiar figure to Doyle. Such a part of him.
And as he gathers Amy up into his arms and whirls her around, he checks his wife on each rotation, sees her come closer and closer, until she too becomes swallowed up in the maelstrom and they all spin around together, hugging and kissing and laughing and crying and oblivious to what is beyond their reach.
When they settle, when they calm, and some of the love has been doled out to Nadine too, there are answers to be sought.
Rachel says, ‘God, Cal, I thought you were dead. When they couldn’t find you-’
‘Who? Who couldn’t find me?’
‘The nurses. I was told you were in the ICU, but they didn’t know anything about you. They tried the operating rooms, and there was no sign of you there either. I didn’t know what to-’
Doyle takes hold of her upper arms. ‘Slow down, Rach. Rewind this a little. Who told you I was in the ICU?’
Rachel takes a breath. ‘I got a phone call tonight. It was a really crackly line, and the guy sounded foreign — Indian or Pakistani or something — so it was really hard to understand what he was saying. He said he was a doctor at Bellevue, and that you’d been brought in with gunshot wounds to the chest. He said you were in a pretty bad way, that it was touch and go whether. . whether. .’
She breaks down then. Doyle wraps her in his arms, whispers reassurances to her as she sobs into his chest. Over her shoulder, he looks at Nadine, then nods toward Amy and the hospital exit. Nadine gets the message, takes Amy by the hand and starts to lead her out of the building.
Amy says, ‘Why is Mommy crying?’
Nadine answers, ‘She’s just happy to see your Daddy, sweetie. Come on, let’s go see if we can find the car.’
When they have gone, Rachel surfaces again. ‘What’s this all about, Cal? Did someone make a mistake?’
