Certainty (10 page)

My mom and I arrived at the mall and went straight to the food court.  We munched and watched people walk by.

Teenagers prowled around, the girls clinging together, talking loudly and the boys pretending not to see them. I didn’t envy them. I liked being with my mom.

After lunch we started our search for The Perfect Dress.  We tried out a department store first. I loved the long gowns but it was semi-formal so I tore myself away from them and we looked at the shorter dresses.

A dress with a black bodice and a white skirt caught my eye. There was a black satin ribbon at the waist and the skirt had layers of sheer white fabric.

“Elegant!” my mom said, touching the satin ribbon. “I’m impressed, Kiddo.”

I was pleased at the compliment. We found a few other dresses for comparison but the black and white dress remained my favorite. We found a dressing room and I began trying on the dresses we picked, saving the black and white one for last.

I was just pulling the second dress over my head when my mom’s cell phone rang. I could tell by the familiar way she said “hello” it was Dad.

Then her voice changed and I heard her say, “Is he going to be okay?”

The tone of her voice told me something was terribly wrong.  She was calm, but it was a controlled calm, as if she were trying to speak carefully. I looked at myself in the mirror, the dress hanging off me awkwardly in waves of aqua satin. If I zipped it up it would be pretty, but I couldn’t move.

“We’ll be there in ten minutes.  I’ll meet you in the emergency room,” she said, and her phone snapped shut.

I heard her take a breath and say over my door, “Kenzie, Derek has been hurt. We have to go to the hospital now.
 
You need to hurry.”

I moved quickly then, grabbing at my clothes and trying to put them on almost all at the same time, pulling up my jeans while I stuffed my feet into my sneakers.

“What happened?” I asked.

“He was riding his bike to Jason’s and was hit by a car,” she said.
 
“He’s been taken to the hospital with a head injury.”

Her words sounded oddly detached, as if she were reading a script that had nothing to do with us. But all she had were ordinary words, and there weren’t any words horrible enough for this.

Stepping out of the dressing booth, I stared at her.

The fear on my Mom’s face made my blood chill. I found a rack and threw the dresses on it as we walked out of the store. She began running and I felt tears well up in my eyes.

I would always remember that run through the mall. The sun streamed from the skylights and sparkled on the shiny floors and the people stared at us as we ran. All the faces that looked back at me seemed strange, as if my mom and I were all alone in a place that was getting dark and no one could see it but us.

We found our car in the parking lot and yanked the doors open. My mom’s hands fumbled at the ignition and then she turned the key.

“Mom?” I asked.

She turned her head, but not to look at me—to back out of the parking space, her eyes sharp and focused. “What?”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“I hope so. Dad isn’t sure.”

We didn’t speak after that, my mom driving, her gaze straight ahead as if she could will us to get there faster. I saw her hand go up to her eyes and wipe away some tears, then she took a deep breath and didn’t cry the rest of the way.

I watched cars go by, like the people in the mall who didn’t know what was happening to us.

We arrived at the hospital and my mom drove around looking for a parking place. She found one in the back of the huge, crowded parking lot and we ran to the entrance with the big blue letters that spelled “Emergency”.

The hospital doors slid open and we walked into the emergency waiting room. The white tiled floor was slick and there were wheelchairs sitting at odd angles against the walls. A gurney with a blue vinyl mattress and a sheet falling of it was next to the wheelchairs. I wondered if Derek had come in on a gurney.

At a glass enclosed counter with a sign that read “Admissions”, there were two nurses in mauve and blue scrubs. One of them looked up as we passed by. They were both older, one of them with a short, perky haircut and hoop earrings, the other with long, dyed blond hair and too much eyeliner. The one with the blond hair smiled as I walked by and then bent back down to her desk.

Dad and James were standing by the wall next to the admission counters. Dad had his hands in his pockets and a strange, lost look on his face. James was leaning against the wall, one foot tucked under his knee and propped against the wall.

We reached them and Dad hugged Mom. James was pale and scared-looking, watching Mom and Dad. I went over and put my arm around him.

Dad let go of Mom, but they stood close together as Dad explained, “He was riding home from Jason’s and went to cross the street. A car came down the street and hit him. Derek flipped over the hood of the car and hit the street. The driver thought he’d killed him at first and then the new neighbor boy got there and said he was still breathing. His mother called 911 and stayed with Derek and the driver until I got there. There was a lot of blood, but the paramedics said head injuries can bleed a lot.”

They stared at each other, not moving for a moment, their hands on each other’s arms, making a circle.

James looked up at me as if I could decode their behavior. I was sure he knew more than I did—he was there when it happened, wasn’t he? All I could tell from my own frightened instincts was that we could lose Derek. This was no nightmare—this was real.

“Where is he now?” my Mom asked.

“They want to do a CAT scan. After they get the bleeding under control.”

Mom started crying then and so did James. I think he cried because we had never seen her cry like that. She was always tearing up at sad movies, but this was different. Dad pulled us all into his arms--Mom and James who were crying, and me. The lines around Dad’s mouth sank and deepened pulling his face down until I thought he would cry, but he didn’t. I felt my Mom take one more deep breath and then she straightened and Dad let us go.

She put an arm around James and kissed the top of his head. She put a hand on my hair.

We sat down and I stared at the clock on the wall in the waiting room as the hands moved slowly around.  A television was on and we pretended to watch it, Mom and Dad holding hands and James leaning on Mom’s shoulder.

At some point I realized my shirt was on inside out, but I didn’t care.

Other people came in the waiting area—an old man with his hand bandaged and a man and a woman who called him Dad. The woman held on to him as if he might fall and the man talked to the blonde nurse at the desk.

Finally a doctor came toward us and my Dad stood up with my Mom.

The doctor was older, with a square jaw and white hair swept sideways.

He peered at us over his glasses, his pale blue eyes kind. “Mr. and Mrs. Warren, I’m Dr. Hollister, the ER doctor on staff. Your son is stable and we’ve done a CT scan.”

He paused and my parents waited.

“We can’t tell very much but there may be some damage in the frontal lobe, which could affect his speech or memory, or both.  We don’t know. And we’ll need to monitor him for swelling in the brain. At this point we just have to wait and see.”

“How much damage does he have?” Dad asked.

“He’s still unconscious so we don’t know—and we won’t know if he’s going to have any damage at all—we just know based on what the CAT scan revealed that he might. To be honest, I’ve not see this type
of damage without some type of e
ffect on the patient. But we can’t know very much until he wakes up.”

“When can we see him?” Mom asked.

Dr. Hollister answered slowly, pushing
his white hair off his forehead.
“He’s got some facial swelling so he may look a little rough.”

“Thank you,” Dad said and the doctor nodded, his white head bobbing. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.”

Mom and Dad decided to take James and me to the cafeteria so they could visit Derek alone. They gave us a quick hug and some money for dinner. I think they wanted to make sure Derek wasn’t too scary-looking before James saw him. I knew I would be okay no matter what injuries Derek had, though my stomach did a flip-flop every time someone talked about blood and Derek.

Through the cafeteria windows I could see it was dark outside. It was later than I realized.

The cafeteria was pretty big, with a food bar stretching from one side of the room to the other. James followed me like a confused puppy.  I pointed out all the different choices and waited while he stood around, snapping his fingers and thinking about what to have.  He wasn’t very good at snapping his fingers because he had just learned. He practiced it whenever he was nervous.

Eventually he settled on a hot dog and I got one, too. We carried our tray with the hot dogs, root beer and fries to the cashier. After we paid for everything we sat down and ate.

“Is Derek going to be all right?” James asked, poking at his fries.

I suddenly understood why Dr. Hollister didn’t tell us Derek was going to be fine. I didn’t want to tell James it would all work out because what if it didn’t? What if Derek got worse?

“I don’t know,” I started and when he froze, I added, “I think it’s going to be okay.”

I didn’t know what to say.

We finished our dinner and waited for a long time. We finally saw Dad come in the cafeteria alone. He smiled at us, but it wasn’t real.

“How’s Derek?” I asked.

“He’s doing fine. We’ll know a lot more in the next few hours.” He sounded like me when I answered James. Careful. We were all being careful.

“Is he awake? Can we see him?” James asked.

“No, not yet.  Maybe tomorrow. Uncle John is coming to pick you up and take you to Granpop’s house.”

So Derek really was looking “rough” as the doctor had said. I wanted to go see him anyway, but I didn’t argue.

My cell buzzed in my purse and I pulled it out. I had forgotten there was a world outside the hospital. It was a text from Katie.

Did you get your dress?

I closed my phone and didn’t answer. I looked up at my Dad. “Are we spending the night at Granpop’s?” I figured my parents would stay at the hospital with Derek tonight and I knew they didn’t like us to be at home alone, even though I was sixteen.

He nodded.

A little while later Uncle John arrived to pick us up. Granpop didn’t like driving at night anymore.

Uncle John’s old pickup truck smelled like leather and cigarettes. He was the shortest of my Dad’s brothers, with thin blond hair bleached by the sun. He worked as a handyman and took time off in the fall and spring to go hunting.

As he drove he chewed on a piece of gum, his leathery jaws working it like it was a tough piece of venison. He didn’t bother to talk, more comfortable with silence. My dad’s side of the family wasn’t very talkative.

“Get any deer lately?” James asked.

Uncle John nodded. “Yeah.  Last weekend.  Didn’t get anything today.”

I desperately wanted to help with the conversation, but hunting wasn’t my strong point. Granpop’s house was an hour away, but it felt like half the night. James and I stared out at the lines on the road as they rolled by in the headlights. Was Derek awake yet? When would he wake? What if he didn’t?

Derek wasn’t the only one I was worried about. James was so quiet. My blond-haired, carefree little brother kept his thoughts locked behind his unsmiling mouth. I could have asked about the accident when we were in the cafeteria, but I was afraid it was too traumatic for him.

Katie’s message still waited for me, but I didn’t want to answer it. I was afraid that if I stopped concentrating on Derek he wouldn’t get better.

Finally we drove onto the road that led to Granpop’s house out in the country. Uncle John pulled into the driveway and shut off the truck. “We’re here,” he said, attempting conversation now that the ride was over.

Granpop met us at the front door. He’s always been a thin, gaunt man, his cheekbones and nose jutting out from his face, but there was a quiet, gentle humor in his eyes that softened his hawklike features.

“Thanks, John,” Granpop said, nodding at my uncle.

Uncle John nodded back. “I’m going back to the hospital to be with Stuart and Sara.” He jerked his head at James and me. “G’night.”

“Goodnight, Uncle John,” we said at the same time.

“Come on in, kids,” Granpop said.

Granpop’s house was small, with a living room, a kitchen and three bedrooms and smelled faintly of artist paints. There were two bathrooms, one for his room and another for guests. Granmom had died six years ago.

James barely remembered her and I was getting used to her absence, but I wasn’t sure Granpop was. He still seemed lonely.

“Would you like some cereal or a sandwich?” he asked us.

We both decided on Rice Krispies and sat at the little kitchen table eating out of green ceramic bowls.

I got the spare bedroom with the pink seashell night light next to the frilly bed and James took the couch in the living room. The third bedroom was Granpop’s art studio, so the couch was the only bed left.