“When can he come home?” Megan asked, looking anxious.
“Not for a couple of weeks, maybe longer. It depends how fast he recovers.” They wanted to know everything, but she spared them the horrors of that afternoon. All they needed to know was that he had survived. They sat together for an hour, and when they went upstairs, Carole told her how sorry she was. She felt entirely responsible for what had happened.
“Don’t be silly,” Liz said, almost too tired to talk to her, let alone assuage her guilt, but she felt she owed it to her to calm her down. “You can’t control everything. They obviously got too rough. He’s just damn lucky it didn’t kill him, or paralyze him.”
“Oh, my God,” Carole said, as tears rolled down her cheeks and she blew her nose. “Will he really be all right?”
“They think so. He didn’t regain consciousness until a couple of hours ago, but he’s talking now. For a while there, I thought …” She couldn’t even say it, and Carole nodded with tears in her eyes. She had thought the same thing, and the longer it took Liz to come home, and when she didn’t call, Carole was certain that the worst was about to happen. They had come damn close though. “I’m going back tonight. I’ll go up and pack some things.”
“Why don’t you sleep here? You look exhausted, Liz, you can use the rest if you’re going to be with him tomorrow.”
“That’s what the doctor said, but I want to be with him tonight. Even at seventeen, this has to be scary for him, and he’s in a lot of pain from the concussion.”
“Poor kid. What a miserable way to end the summer. Do you think he’ll be able to start school in September?”
“We don’t know yet.” School was the least of his problems. It had looked so terrifying all afternoon. Liz felt as though she’d been hit by an express train as she thought of it, and she looked as though she had, as Carole’s heart went out to her.
Liz walked slowly upstairs, and went in to kiss Jamie good night, but he was already sound asleep, and the girls were in bed. The house seemed strangely quiet without Peter, as she walked into her room and sat down on the bed. She wanted to pack a bag, but suddenly she couldn’t move. All she could think of was what had nearly happened, and all she could do was sob with relief. It was after eleven when she finally packed her bag, and midnight when she got back to the hospital to see him. She had delayed for a few minutes to call her mother, who was horrified about Peter’s accident when Liz told her. “My God, will he be all right?” she asked in a choked voice, and Liz reassured her and promised that when Peter felt better, he would call her.
Peter was awake when Liz arrived back at the hospital, and continuing to make good progress. He was talking almost normally to one of the nurses when Liz walked into the ICU.
“Hi, Mom,” he said the moment he saw her. “How’s Jamie?”
“He’s fine. Everybody said to tell you they love you. They wanted to come and see you. I told them to wait awhile, or they’d have been back here with me.”
The nurse set up a bed for her in a corner of the waiting room, and she lay down on it in the tracksuit she’d worn, and she pulled a blanket over her. They had promised to come and wake her if Peter needed her, or got worse again, but they told her they didn’t think there would be a problem. His vital signs were good, and he was talking up a storm.
She was just drifting off to sleep when she saw Bill Webster walk into the room, and she sat bolt upright in panic, with her heart pounding as she looked at him. He had changed his green scrubs for gray ones. It was not a particularly attractive costume.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. He’s fine. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to see if you needed anything … something to sleep …” He seemed to hesitate, and she realized how much he cared and she was grateful for what he was doing for Peter, and had already done.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said, unwinding slowly again. “And thank you for everything you’ve done. I think I’ll be able to sleep.” She looked so tired, but it didn’t really surprise him. It had been an intense afternoon.
“I’m glad he’s doing so well.” He looked as though he meant it.
“So am I. I’m not sure we’d have lived through it, if he didn’t.”
“Was your husband ill for a long time?” he asked. For some reason he had assumed it was cancer, but she shook her head.
“He was shot by the husband of one of our clients on Christmas morning.” That jogged his memory, and he nodded. He couldn’t think of what to say to her, and could only guess what it had been like for her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I remember seeing it on the news,” and then he turned off the light in the waiting room, and left her. It was hard not to admire her. She was still walking around, still reasonable, still coherent, still taking care of her kids and working. He went back to check on Peter then, and smiled as he looked at him. He had been a gift that night to his mother, and she deserved it. Even more than Bill Webster could imagine. But what he knew now was enough. The boy was doing fine. And he smiled to himself as he walked back to his desk to sign some orders. He liked days like this one, days when you won instead of lost. It was one of those days that made him glad he did what he did for a living. For once, the fates had played fair with his patient. He sat back in his chair then, and closed his eyes for a minute. And then he opened them again, and signed the orders they needed from him. He had a long night ahead of him, but he didn’t mind. Things had worked out just fine this time, and he was glad.
The House On Hope Street
Chapter 7
Liz slept fitfully for a few hours in the waiting room where Bill Webster had left her, and was back at Peter’s bedside before he woke up. And when Peter did wake up he had a tremendous headache, and complained about the brace and the pain at the back of his neck.
