Before I Wake (18 page)

She looked so sheepish that I smiled to reassure her. “It's a strange situation we're all in. Let's go into the family room.”

She was a small woman, young and fit, and she looked like she might once have been happy. With her blond hair pulled into a ponytail, she had the air of someone who worked with kids, in a daycare or a preschool. Jeffrey was everything a six-year-old boy should be—cute and shy, blushing and turning away as Simon and I introduced ourselves to him. But there was a brittle brightness about him that I realized came from weight loss, from the taut translucency of his skin. Under the toque he was bald from his chemotherapy.

No one seemed to know what to say once we were all sitting down. I decided to lead with honesty. “We, Simon and I, we don't really know…” I smiled at Donna, and at Jeffrey sitting next to her, craning his head toward the living room. “We don't really know what we're doing with all of this. It sort of took us by surprise.”

Donna nodded. “It must be terrible for you. I mean, I can't imagine being in the position you're in, but I know…I know what it's like to face losing a child. And then all this. This circus.”

“That's a good word for it.” I didn't point out that she was part of that circus.

“I'm sorry we were out there…” Donna stammered. “We were at the hotel when we saw the thing on the news and we caught a bus up to the mall right away. It was pretty easy to find your house, with the reporters and all.” She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap.

“Hotel?” I asked.

“We're not from here. We live in Seattle. We're just up for a few days.”

“Holiday?” Simon asked.

Donna glanced at Jeffrey. “It's…You know those Make-A-Wish people? Jeffy's been seeing the ads for Victoria on the TV and he wanted—they're paying for us to have a few days up here in a nice hotel. See the museums and stuff. I never would have been able to afford it on my own.”

Simon looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “It can't be easy for you.”

She pursed her lips. “It's hard, yeah. The medical expenses have pretty much wiped us out. I had to quit my job to take care of Jeffrey, and we moved back in with my mom.”

“And his father?”

She shook her head. “High school. I haven't seen him since graduation.” Donna laid a hand on Jeffrey's leg and squeezed it. “But we do okay, don't we, bud?” His thigh was so thin.

“When can we go see Sherry?” Jeffrey asked, as if discussing a visit to McDonald's. He looked around the room for someone to answer his question.

Donna patted his leg. “We'll see, baby, okay? You remember that this was a maybe, right?”

“Maybe right!” he repeated.

I looked across at Simon. He cleared his throat. “We don't really know how this works. We don't know why. Or how—”

“Mr. Barrett,” she interrupted.

“Simon.”

She blushed and looked down at her lap again. “Simon, I'm sorry, and please don't misunderstand me, but the why and the how of it aren't really that important to me. Is it true? Did the news get it right? Did your little girl cure that woman's cancer?”

I glanced across at Simon, then nodded. “We think so. Yes. It's true.”

“Oh my God,” she said.

I watched her fingers tighten on Jeffrey's thigh. After a moment he pushed her hand away. “Ow, Mommy!”

“Sorry, honey,” she said, but her attention was focused entirely on Simon and me. “Would you…Do you think it would work on Jeffrey?”

Before I could speak, Simon answered, “We really don't know, but let's give it a try.”

“Oh God,” she whispered, tears streaking her face. “Thank you…”

Jeffrey turned toward her, his face twisted with worry. “What's wrong, Mommy? What's wrong?”

“It's nothing, hon, Mommy's just…”

“Hey, Jeffrey,” Simon called out playfully. “Would you like to go and meet Sherry now?”

He stood up. “Yeah.”

“I'm sorry,” Donna sobbed after they'd left the room. “This is so stupid…”

“No, it's not,” I said, crouching in front of her, gently touching her knees. “It's not stupid. I just hope it works…”

She shook her head again. “No. No. Even if, even if it doesn't, just the thought that maybe…”

I could hear my own thoughts in her voice. “I know. If someone were to tell me that Sherry…that there might be a way—” I shook my head. “We should go in there.”

She smiled through her tears and nodded. As I started to stand up, she grabbed my hand, pulled it to her and kissed the
back of it, then pressed it to her tear-damp cheek. “Thank you, Karen. Oh God, thank you so much.”

I didn't know what to say, so I helped her up and led the way to Sherry's bedside.

Simon was explaining the feeding tube to Jeffrey. “So the food—”

“The juice,” Jeffrey interrupted.

“The juice,” Simon played along. “Goes down through this tube and into Sherry's tummy. So even though she can't eat, she still gets to have all the good stuff that she needs…”

Jeffrey nodded. “I have something like this when I'm in the hospital, but it goes in my arm.”

Simon noticed us over Jeffrey's head. “Here's your mom,” he said.

Jeffrey looked up. “Mom, look, this is Sherry. She was…” He glanced at Simon, who nodded. “She got hit by a truck and now she's never gonna wake up.” He touched the side of Sherry's face, his tiny hand in perfect scale with her features. “Isn't that sad? She'll never wake up.”

Glancing at me apologetically, Donna gently touched the back of her son's head. “Yes. Yes, that's very sad.”

“Is that what's going to happen when I die?” he asked his mother, as if it were of no greater consequence than taking an afternoon nap, or being forced to eat his vegetables.

Donna looked like she was close to breaking. “It's something like that, honey.”

Simon cleared his throat and beckoned me with a surreptitious twitch of his head.

“How do we…?” he asked in a whisper. Donna was looking over at us. I smiled at her.

“Ruth said that she used Sherry's hands…”

He nodded and stepped forward. “Hey, Jeffrey,” he called, and the little boy turned toward him. “Can I show you something else?”

Jeffrey looked at his mother, who smiled and nodded.

“Do you want to feel how soft her hand is?” Simon lifted her arm, turning her palm to face the boy. “Here, go ahead. Touch it.”

Jeffrey reached out, and with a single finger touched the center of Sherry's palm, pulling back with a giggle.

“Oh, you didn't feel it!” Simon mock-scolded him. Jeffrey responded with another giggle. “Try it again.”

Jeffrey shook his head, giggling still, making strange.

“Here, I know what…” Simon started, shifting his hold on Sherry's arm. “Close your eyes.”

Jeffrey closed his eyes, then opened them again.

“No peeking,” Simon warned.

When Jeffrey closed his eyes the next time, Simon covered the boy's eyes with one hand. “Hey,” he protested.

“I have to make sure that you're not peeking,” Simon explained. With his other hand he gently laid the palm of Sherry's hand against Jeffrey's forehead, pushing back his toque.

“What's that?” Jeffrey asked, smiling.

Donna held her breath.

“Guess,” Simon said, pressing on the back of Sherry's hand.

“I don't know.”

Donna's hand was at her mouth, choking back a sob.

“Come on, guess.”

“I don't know!”

“Does it feel soft?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Does it feel warm?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Does it feel like it's got fingers?”

“Uh-huh.” Jeffrey brought his hand up, touching the back of Sherry's hand. “Is that Sherry?” He traced her fingers, and I heard Donna gasp.

Blood roared in my ears.

“It is,” Simon said, lifting his hand away from Jeffrey's eyes and Sherry's hand away from his forehead in the same motion.
“Aren't you a smart guy!” he joked, gently tucking Sherry back in. “Aren't you smart.” He playfully pulled the toque low over Jeffrey's eyes.

Jeffrey pulled his hat up. “Is that how she's going to make me all better?”

His mother, who had bent to hug him, scooped him into her arms, crushing him to her. “I don't know, baby. We'll see. We'll see what happens.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You're welcome, Mommy,” he said.

Simon and I looked at one another across the room, both of us aware of the bridge we had just burnt.

There was no turning back.

 

“This is Bill Stewart, live at the Barrett residence in Victoria, where just moments ago Simon Barrett announced that he'll be holding a news conference in a half-hour. We'll bring coverage of that to you on the news at five. Meanwhile, it's been a very strange day here. A few hours ago, the front door you see behind me opened and Simon Barrett asked for Donna Kelly. Miss Kelly and her son, Jeffrey, who suffers from leukemia, entered the house. Miss Kelly left almost an hour later, carrying her son, and refusing to answer any questions. It's unclear what happened inside the house. Perhaps that's the reason for the news conference we'll have for you at five.”

SIMON

It was cold on the front step. The reporters were all in position below me, a phalanx of microphones, of necks craned to get the best view, cameras raised to get the best shot. Behind them, the pilgrims stood vigil.

“Thank you for coming out this afternoon,” I began, as if they were doing us a favor. “I have a brief statement, then I'll take a couple of questions.” The door opened behind me, and Karen came to stand next to me.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are the parents of a little girl who was involved in a horrible accident. Our instincts are to protect Sherry at all costs. At all costs. No parent would argue that instinct.” I paused, making eye contact where I could with the journalists, as if they were a jury. “When the news broke about the miracles for which our daughter was supposedly responsible, we were taken completely by surprise. Our first instinct was to pull back, to lock the doors and do everything we could to protect Sherry from all of this.” I gestured at them, at the cameras and the crowds.

“This afternoon, as you know, we spoke to Donna Kelly, and her son, Jeffrey. Jeffrey has terminal leukemia. Six years old, and no hope of growing up. We spoke to his mother, another parent whose instincts are the same as our own—to do anything she could to save her little boy.”

“We still don't have enough information to confirm the rumors you have heard. I don't know if we ever will. But earlier this afternoon—” I shifted from foot to foot. “Earlier this afternoon, we attempted to replicate the conditions of those healings with Jeffrey Kelly.”

I pulled myself up to my full height and directed my gaze over the fish eyes of the cameras, toward the pale faces bent toward me, eyes rapt.

“We're parents,” I continued, speaking directly to the pilgrims. “And one of the things that being a parent requires us to do is to be good role models for our daughter, to teach by example. One of the things…” I found myself choking up, paused for a second. “One of the things we wanted to teach Sherry is that she has a responsibility, as a human being, as a member of a community, to reach out to people if they need help. Not to walk past the beaten man at the side of the road.”

I took a deep breath. “We don't know if what people claim about Sherry is true or not, but we just can't just walk past.” As I watched, the hope that had been building in people's faces peaked. Stress gave way to gratitude. The reporters looked stunned, as if this were the last thing they were expecting.

“So on Monday morning, at ten a.m., we're going to open the doors of this house to allow people access to Sherry. We don't know how this is going to work out.” I had to raise my voice to be heard above the murmurs and whispers, the snapping of camera shutters. “We don't know how this is going to work out, so I'd like to ask for your patience and consideration as we try to come up with some sort of system. I don't know how hard this is going to be on Sherry, so we'll have to see, but I think that just a few hours a day…maybe starting at ten? We'll have to see. Are there any questions?”

“Mr. Barrett, Suzanne George,
New Sentinel.
Are you confirming reports that your daughter is able to heal people?”

I fought the urge to snap at her. “As I stated, we're not confirming anything. If there's any possibility, though, I think we need to be open to trying to help as many people as possible.”

“Mr. or Mrs. Barrett, Brad Roberts, CBC—have you spoken to anyone from any of the churches or religious institutions about your daughter, about what's going on here?”

I glanced up to see Father Peter at the back of the crowd, studying me intently. Our eyes met. “My wife and I are agnostics. Religion doesn't enter into this.”

The reporter from the
New Sentinel
started to ask another question, but the reporter from the CBC cut her off. “How can you claim that religion has nothing to do with this? If there are miracles—”

“Perhaps you should be talking to someone from one of the churches. I don't have the background to discuss the theory or the theology behind all of this. Next?”

Father Peter turned and walked down the driveway, quickly
merging with the shadows. I guessed he wouldn't need to check back with us.

“Mr. Barrett, don't you see this as exploiting your daughter?”

I started to answer, but Karen stepped forward, laying her hand on my arm. “I love my daughter so much I can't even begin to describe it. If someone told me that there was some way—some new therapy, some faith healer, whatever—if someone told me that there was a way that my daughter might be able to wake up, might be able to smile at me again, I would do anything in my power to make that happen.” She took a deep breath, calming herself. “If I was in that position, and someone might be able to help, I would hope that they'd be willing to do so. That's all we're doing. If you want to view that as exploitation, that's fine.” With that, she went back into the house, closing the door behind her.