Hope Girl (5 page)

6

Meatballs and Life Support

W
hen we get to the Whippoorwills', Aunt Elizabeth's making a spaghetti dinner. Since Bethany's helping, I go to the porch and help Nathan with the little ones. They're building a horse ranch with Lincoln Logs. As I help Forrest build a roof on the barn, I overhear Dad and Pastor Henry through the window.

Pastor Henry: “Unbelievable how a fall from a stool completely changes things.”

Dad: “And by the sounds of it, it'll be a long time before Mrs. Nuthatch is home.”

Pastor Henry: “In all likelihood she may never be. At her age it's hard enough to have a hip fracture, but add to that a broken arm and a head injury, and you've got complications.”

Aunt Elizabeth yells from the kitchen, “Come to the table, everyone. Dinner's ready.”

Uncle Henry says grace. “Dear heavenly Father, thank you for this food and for everyone around this table. We ask that you'd be with River's grandmother. Help us trust you.”

Then without warning Forrest grabs a meatball and throws it across the table at Daniel.

“Forrest Whippoorwill!” says Aunt Elizabeth. “You know better than to throw meatballs at the dinner table!”

All the little Whippoorwills laugh except for Daniel who shouts, “That's not fair! How come Forrest gets to throw meatballs?”

Pastor Henry looks at Daniel and says, “He certainly didn't have permission.”

“But he didn't get in trouble,” says Daniel, “so it's not fair!”

“Enough, Daniel,” Pastor Henry orders.

Forrest laughs, holds up another one, and says, “Ball!” Then he whips it at Nathan, who bursts out laughing.

“Stop laughing,” says Aunt Elizabeth. “You're encouraging poor behavior.”

“Hey,” Daniel yells, “he did it again and still didn't get in trouble! That's not fair!”

“I agree,” says Bethany.

“I think so too,” Rebecca says. “If I threw a meatball, I'd be in big trouble!”

“It's because he's the baby,” says Nathan. “Babies get away with everything.”

Complete chaos breaks out while everyone yells back and forth across the table until Pastor Henry stands up and shouts, “Enough!”

There's complete silence except for Forrest who says, “Meatball!”

Even Uncle Henry laughs this time. “Settle down now,” he says. “The phone's ringing.” He picks it up and answers, “Hello. Whippoorwill residence, Henry speaking.” He listens for a minute and then gets a serious look on his face. Still listening, he glances at my dad and then at me. “Yes, Dr. Wing,” he says, “I understand. What should we expect at this point?” Uncle Henry nods. “I'll relay the information.” He hangs up.

I can hardly breathe. “What's happening?”

Uncle Henry says, “We won't lose hope, but your grandmother's not doing well. The surgery on her hip and arm went okay, but her head continues to swell.”

“What does that mean?”

“When the brain swells, it creates pressure inside the skull. It's very serious.”

My eyes are blurry, but I force myself not to cry. “Will she be okay?”

Uncle Henry takes a deep breath. “River, the swelling's so serious that it's caused her heart and lungs to stop. She's on life support.”

Bethany says, “But isn't supporting life a good thing?”

Daniel glares at Bethany. “How can you be so stupid? That's not what it means.”

“Enough, Daniel,” says Uncle Henry.

“What does it mean?” I ask.

“It means your grandmother's being kept alive by machines.”

I stand up so fast I knock my chair over. “Then I have to see her! I have to tell her I'm sorry! As soon as I do, she'll be okay!”

Uncle Henry shakes his head. “I'm sorry, River. Dr. Wing said no visitors tonight. You'll see her in the morning.”

Aunt Elizabeth takes my hand. “You'll sleep here with us tonight.”

“Now,” Pastor Henry says to everyone, “enough with the meatballs. We will finish this dinner in peace. Understood?”

All the little Whippoorwills nod their heads except for Forrest, who smiles and says, “Dada want meatball?”

After I help Aunt Elizabeth give baths, read a bedtime story, and tuck the little Whippoorwills in bed, we collapse on the couch. “That was a crazy evening,” she says. “Who would have thought Forrest could throw a meatball like that?”

“Maybe he'll be a baseball player.”

“One thing's for sure—he won't be practicing at the dinner table.” Then she looks at me seriously. “River, I'm sorry about your grandmother. I want you to know we're here for you.” She takes my hand. “Now we need to talk about sleeping arrangements. Your dad always sleeps on the couch when he visits, so the only other bed is Billy's. Would it bother you to sleep in his room? ”

I try to be brave. “It won't bother me.”

“Okay, then let's get you set up.” We go to his room. “Everything's as he left it,” she says. “I can't bring myself to change anything. Sometimes it doesn't seem like he's gone. She fluffs his pillow and pulls back the comforter for me. “Sleep well, River. See you in the morning.”

I look around Billy's room. He's everywhere. His shoes are by his closet, perfectly shined and without a scuff. His Bible's on his nightstand. There's a family picture on his dresser—all the Whippoorwills are in it. Even Billy (he hadn't died yet). Extra pictures from our project are on his desk.

I climb into bed and reach for his Bible. When I open it, a piece of paper falls out. It's Billy's handwriting, “This verse reminds me of River—Romans 15:13. May the God of your hope so fill you with all joy and peace in believing that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound
and
be overflowing (bubbling over) with hope.”

I close Billy's Bible and whisper, “God, thank you for letting me have Billy as a friend. But I really miss him. Will I ever have another friend like him? And please help Gram. I shouldn't have been so mean. And, God, about my parents, I know you can do anything. I know you'll help Mom get here soon. I can't wait until my real family is back together again.”

7

She'll Wake Up

T
he next morning Dad brings me to see Gram. We take the elevator to the fourth floor and follow signs to the intensive care unit. The nurses' station is vacant, but then we see a nurse with short dark hair peek out from one of the rooms. “Be right there,” she says.

After a few minutes, she hurries over. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” She drapes a stethoscope around her neck. “May I help you?”

Dad answers, “We're here to see Mrs. Nuthatch.”

The nurse opens a chart with NUTHATCH written across the side. She reads for a minute before looking up. “Doctor's orders state no visitors except family. I assume you're family?”

Dad and I look at each other. “Yes and no,” he says. “It's complicated.”

She closes the chart. “Sir, either you're family or you're not.”

Dad looks like he's not sure what to say, so I take charge. “Mrs. Nuthatch is my grandmother. Well, she's not exactly my blood relative, but I call her Gram. And this man,” I say, pointing to Dad, “he's my father—we found that out three days ago.”

The nurse looks at Dad with wide eyes. “I'm sorry,” she says, “but I'll need to see identification.”

Dad hands her his license. She reads it, “Jay Whippoorwill from Kentucky?” She re-checks Gram's chart. “The only Whippoorwill listed here is Pastor Henry Whippoorwill. There's also a granddaughter listed as River Starling.”

“I'm River.”

Then Dad says, “And Henry Whippoorwill's my brother.”

The nurse fiddles with her stethoscope. “Then Henry Whippoorwill needs to sign a form before you're allowed to see Mrs. Nuthatch. And River,” she says to me, “only children twelve and older are allowed on this unit. And they must be accompanied by an adult.”

“Well I'm nearly thirteen,” I explain, “so that won't be a problem.”

“Good,” she says. “I'll just need you to bring identification, like your birth certificate.”

My heart sinks. “I don't have one because I was stolen.”

The nurse shakes her head. “Honestly, this is the strangest story I've ever heard.” She puts Gram's chart back. She looks at Dad. “I'm sorry but you'll need to leave. I have patients to care for.”

“But I have to see her,” I yell. “I need to tell her I'm sorry.”

“River,” Dad says, “we'll work this out.”

“I apologize,” the nurse says. “I have to enforce the rules.” She turns and walks away.

Dad and I go back to the elevator. When the doors slide open, Dr. Wing steps out, looking surprised. “Leaving already?”

Dad says, “Since I'm not listed as family, the nurse won't let us in.”

“Which nurse?” says Dr. Wing.

“I didn't catch her name, but she's not much taller than River and has short, dark hair.”

“I could've guessed,” says Dr. Wing, chuckling. “That's Rosa Amaranta. She's new but already my favorite—no taller than a grasshopper with the spirit of a bear. Come with me.”

We follow Dr. Wing back to the nurses' station. He opens Gram's chart and writes something. “There,” he says, “now you can visit.” He puts his arm around me, “River, before we go in, I want you to know it might be frightening for you to see your grandmother. She has many tubes, wires, and machines attached to her. Her eyes are closed, and she can't talk. Knowing this, do you still want to see her? It's all right if you choose not to.”

Obviously Dr. Wing doesn't know how tough I am. I march
across the hall to Gram's room. When I walk in, Rosa's standing right in front of Gram, fiddling with wires so I can't see Gram's face.

“Good morning, Rosa,” says Dr. Wing. “I hear you've already met River and her father.”

Rosa's still blocking my view. “Yes, Dr. Wing, we've met.”