Silver Dawn (Wishes #4.5) (11 page)

30. LETTING GO

No matter what time of the day or night I visited ICU, the atmosphere was always the same. It was bleak, unwelcoming and clinical, even at midnight.

Gabrielle’s appearance no longer shocked me, and I’d given up expecting her to look better. Her right hand was one of the few parts of her body that was untouched and undamaged by needles or tape. I constantly held it when I sat with her because it was the closest reminder I had of a time when things were different.

I spent the first few minutes telling her all about Jack’s real first bath. “He took to it like a little duck – a little Blake duck.” I hummed the words against her hand. “But he protested at first like a little Décarie.”

Silence is a scary sound, and I’d heard a lot of it lately. Even the constant beeping of machines didn’t hide the lack of conversation. I kept talking to her because I had to believe she could hear me. If I lost that hope, I’d have nothing.

“I want you to know something, Gabs,” I whispered. I watched her chest rise and fall three times before speaking again. It took me that long to find words. “If you’ve had enough, I understand.”

Doctors and specialists had been coming up with plan after plan of making her well for days. It made no sense that she wasn’t improving. The tiniest part of my heart wondered if she was just trying to let go. And if that was the case, she needed to know that we’d be alright.

“I wouldn’t want you to worry about us.” I swallowed hard; trying to hold back the inevitable sob that was caught in my throat. “Because I’d find a way to make us okay.”

My chest felt entirely too heavy. I wasn’t giving her permission to leave us. I’d spent hour after hour begging her to fight harder and get well, but she wasn’t, and I had to concede that maybe she wasn’t going to.

I readjusted my hold on her hand, savouring her touch. If Gabrielle had the slightest level of awareness, she would’ve understood why. Her hand was a perfect fit for mine, and I held it every chance I got, even as we slept.

“I’ll still hold your hand at night.” I choked out the whispered promise. “Even if you’re gone.”

It was the most private conversation I’d ever had in my life, and I wasn’t expecting to be interrupted. The knock on the open door startled me so much that I jumped.

“Sorry,” apologised Hilary. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

I rubbed my hands against my eyes and blew out a steadying breath. “You didn’t. Is Jack alright?”

“He’s perfect.” Hilary stepped to the side and wheeled the little plastic box she’d been hiding from view into the room. “I just thought he’d like to hang out with his mum for a bit.”

It was the kindest, most compassionate gesture imaginable, and I wanted to kiss her for making it happen. I managed to hold off by picking my son up instead. “Are you breaking the rules by doing this?” I asked.

“It’s my fourth nightshift in a row.” Hilary winked at me. “I make my own rules now.”

I smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

“No worries,” she replied. “I’ll wait at the nurse’s station. I heard a rumour that they’re stockpiling biscuits up here. If you need me, just yell.”

“I will.”

“But not too loudly,” she teased, backing away. “Those ICU girls have no sense of humour.”

***

I wasted no time in reuniting Gabi with her baby. As soon as the awesome renegade nurse left, I gently lowered Jack into his mother’s sleeping arms. I kept a protective hand on him in case he wriggled, but Jack didn’t move. It was as if he knew he needed to be still for her.

Predictably Gabi didn’t move either, but something in my soul told me she knew he was there.

I was quiet for a minute because I hated the thought of Gabrielle hearing the tremor in my voice when I spoke; especially considering the moment was essentially good. When I thought I’d pulled myself together enough, I let her know how perfect they looked together. “It’s all up to you now, babe,” I whispered.

31. READING AHEAD

Despite the late night spent at the hospital, I woke before dawn the next morning feeling anxious and slightly ill because of it. The first thing I did was check my phone for missed calls, because that’s what I did whenever I was away from Gabrielle. The second thing I did was breathe a sigh of relief because there weren’t any. I always did that too.

Getting back to sleep would be impossible so I didn’t try. I got up instead, and put my plan of reconnecting with my oldest child into action.

Salt water cures everything. My beliefs had taken a beating lately, but I was certain that one was absolute fact. Once I’d loaded our boards and gear into the car, I headed back inside and woke Charli.

“It’s not even light yet,” she complained.

“I know,” I replied, tossing a coat at her. “Hurry up. The day is wasting.”

***

Charli’s strong affinity to nature and the ocean was predestined. A child who grows up seeing nature’s beauty and power on a daily basis is bound to look at things differently.

Mother nature was at her best in Pipers Cove – and most days she was pissed. As a rule, the ocean was wild, the coastline was jagged and the surf was amazing because of it.

Charli stopped whining about being woken the second her feet hit the sand. There was a slight offshore wind, which meant the waves that were rolling in were well formed and breaking cleanly. The conditions were perfect, and Charli knew it.

“What do you think?” I asked, glancing across at her.

“I think I’m home,” she replied wistfully. “What do you think?”

I shifted my focus from the waves to the sky above. It didn’t look like a winter sky. The sun was rising fast, casting an orange glow through the streaky cirrus clouds.

“I think today will be different,” I told her. I wasn’t prepared to say it would be better, but I knew it would be different.

Plenty had changed overnight. Bonding with Jack and reuniting him with his mum had been a turning point. I vowed not to take any more on board than I had to, and felt remarkably stronger because of it.

“I think so too.” Charli turned her head, flashing me an errant smile. “Today is the day I’m going to beat you out to the break.” She backed up the cocky statement by bolting for the surf.

I watched as she dropped her board down and launched herself onto it. After dragging her arms through the water in a few long strokes, she paused to study the surf.

She was searching for a channel – a break in the white-water where the resistance was low to make paddling out to the break easier. It was as close as Charli ever gets to looking before she leaps. It was insightful and awesome – and I’d taught her to do it.

She sat up on her board and turned around when I called out her name.

“What?” she asked, raising her voice to reach me.

I folded my arms and rocked back on my heels, sinking my feet into the cold sand. “Look how well you turned out,” I gloated.

The fifty metres of water between us did nothing to dull her smile, or her voice. “Yeah, good job, Dad,” she called. “I’m nearly normal.”

***

Charli had spent six months out of the water. I’d only been out for a week, but it felt like six months. Perhaps that’s why neither of us saw a problem with whittling away three hours in the surf.

The ocean was our place, and it had always been that way. We didn’t say a lot, because we didn’t need to. Just spending time out there together was enough.

It was just after eleven when we finally made our way to shore. Charli handed me my phone that she’d wrapped up in her towel.

“I’ve missed a few calls from the hospital,” I muttered, staring at the screen.

“Call them back,” urged Charli, mussing her hair with the towel.

My heart began to thump a little harder. “No.” I switched off my phone. “We’ll be there soon anyway.”

She nodded, whether she approved or not. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Let’s go.”

We were almost at the base of the trail before I spoke again. “I told Gabi she should let go if she wants to.” I blurted it out quickly, desperate to be rid of the words. “Maybe she’s gone.”

Charli slowly turned to face me, looking nowhere near as appalled as I thought she would. “You’re reading ahead again, Dad. Don’t do it,” she warned.

She was right – again. Just one seed of doubt had the power to knock me straight back to the ugly mindset I’d worked so hard to shake off, and getting past it wasn’t easy. “They’re putting that tube thing in her throat this morning,” I reminded. “What if – ”

“Stop.” She put her hand up as if I needed visual instruction. “Tell me something true.”

I frowned, having no clue what she meant. “I don’t – ”

“You’re giving me lots of what-ifs. Give me a truth. Tell me anything you like, as long as it’s true.” Charli smiled as if we didn’t have a care in the world, and at that moment, we didn’t.

“I like it when you call me Dad,” I offered. “Even if it’s accidental.”

She shook her head, but the smile remained. “It’s never accidental.”

“Really?”

“Never,” she insisted, shifting her board to her other arm. “Sometimes I say it because I think you need to hear it. And sometimes it’s just because I need to say it.”

Whatever I’d taught my daughter over the years would forever pale in comparison to the things I’d learned from her.

I hadn’t made Charli. She’d made me.

32. AWARENESS

I was hopeful that Hannah would be there when we arrived at the hospital. We’d done some serious bonding in the past few days, mainly over vomit and bad news, but it still counted.

I wasn’t so lucky.

The second Charli and I stepped out of the elevator; a tiny nurse in chunky white shoes came charging at us.

“Brace yourself, Alex,” muttered Charli from the corner of her mouth. “Here comes Nurse Nasty.”

“Mr Blake,” she called, waving a stack of papers at me. “You need to go upstairs this minute.”

I didn’t ask her why because I didn’t want to know. Nothing about her demeanour led me to think it was for anything good.

“I’ll wait with Jack,” offered Charli.

I nodded, but must’ve looked pitiful.

My daughter reached out, grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the pushy nurse. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No,” I replied, trying to sound sure. “Whatever will be, will be, right?”

Nurse Nasty wedged her foot in the way of the closing elevator door. “Now, Mr Blake,” she ordered.

***

Hannah’s colleague wasn’t chatty. We stood side by side in the elevator, staring at the doors as if they were about to slide open at any second. I knew better. The ride up to ICU always seemed to take forever.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” I asked, folding my arms. “What’s your name?”

The nurse kept her focus firmly on the doors. “Pamela Lilley.”

I lazily turned my head in her direction. “Well, Pamela Lilley, you have a lovely name.”

She barely cast a glance in my direction, making it perfectly clear that she wasn’t the least bit charmed by me.

“Most people associate lilies with death,” I continued. “They’re funeral flowers, right?”

“I believe so,” she muttered.

“They’re not, you know. They represent chastity and virtue.” I tilted my head to the side and spoke softly, as if I was letting her in on some big secret. “They also symbolised the Virgin Mary’s role as Queen of the Angels, so Lilley is the perfect name for a nurse, don’t you think?”

The woman formerly known as Nurse Nasty turned to face me. She’d thawed a little bit, and it was spectacular. “How do you know that?”

I shrugged. “My kid told me.” The elevator doors opened and I stepped out before turning back to Pamela. “She knows all the important stuff.”

If Pamela planned to accompany me to the ward, she was too slow. The doors closed and the tiny, stunned nurse disappeared from view.

I was almost smiling when I turned around. And then I remembered where I was.

I never got used to being in ICU, nor did I want to. I headed toward the nurse’s station, searching for anyone who was prepared to deal with me.

No one was there.

Ordinarily, I would’ve continued on to Gabi’s room, but this day wasn’t ordinary. I’d missed eight calls that morning. Something had changed, and I was scared to find out what it was.

I stood by the desk like a lost kid for a full five minutes before someone put me out of my misery. The elevator doors slid open and Hannah rushed out.

“Hey,” she blurted. “You waited for me?”

I half nodded, pretending to know what she meant.

Hannah grabbed my arm and started leading me toward Gabrielle’s room. “I got here as quickly as I could,” she told me. “It’s mayhem this morning. Both delivery suites are busy.”

“Why are you up here then?” I asked quietly.

Hannah stopped walking, pulling me to a stop. “You don’t even know, do you?” I shook my head and Hannah’s grip on my arm got tighter. “Gabi’s awake, Alex. She came on in leaps and bounds during the night. They woke her up just after seven this morning.”

It had been so long since I’d heard anything good that my mind seemed to reject the news. I stared blankly at her, trying to work through it. “That’s why they called me?” I asked finally.

“Well, yeah.” Hannah laughed. “We thought you’d want to know.”

Things slowly became clearer as relief flooded my heart, drowning out the crippling sadness that had weighed on me for days.

I really didn’t know Hannah that well so there was a fair chance that throwing my arms around her and hugging her half to death was inappropriate, but I did it anyway.

“Okay, okay,” she gasped, pushing on my chest. “Enough now.”

I took a big step back and held up both hands to prove I posed no further danger. “I’m sorry.” I grinned as I said it, which proved only that I wasn’t sorry at all. I was elated and hopeful and thankful.

Hannah talked as she walked. It was her thing. “She’s going to be really groggy for a while. Don’t expect too much riveting conversation.”

I don’t know what she said after that. The minute we got to the door of Gabrielle’s room, everything stopped.

I saw her eyes before anything else. I’d spent days fearing I’d never see them again. For that reason alone, they were the brightest, loveliest shade of green imaginable.

The urge to rush over and take her in my arms didn’t kick in as quickly as I expected it to. I was having trouble stepping past the doorway.

It wasn’t until Hannah pushed past me and made her way across to Gabi’s bed that my mind gave in and finally accepted that what I was seeing was true.

She was awake. She looked frail and sick, but she was awake.

“You had us a bit worried, Gabrielle,” Hannah joked, pushing something at the back of the bed. The headboard lifted, raising Gabi almost to a sitting position, and Hannah’s work was done. She passed me at the doorway, smiling brightly. “I’ll leave you two kids alone.”

It was the moment I’d longed for, but reacting to it took time. By the time I finally found my feet and made my way over to her, my whole body was shaking. Sitting beside her was a position I’d held for countless hours over the past five days, but this time was different.

Gabrielle was finally with me.

Many of the dreadful wires and leads were gone, and overlooking the ones that remained was easy. To me, she looked perfect.

I took her hand in mine and kissed her fingers, throwing more meaning behind it than I ever had. It was almost odd to feel her squeeze my hand. It was languid and weak, but the power wasn’t in her touch. It was in her presence.

Gabi slowly turned her head toward me. “I dreamed he was here with me, Alex.” Her voice was gravelly, small – and quite possibly the sweetest sound I’d ever heard.

I reached and tucked her limp hair behind her ear. “Who, Gabs?”

“Baby.”

The emotion I felt at that point was like nothing I’d ever experienced in all my life. She remembered Jack being there the night before, which meant she’d at least had some awareness.

I’d been talking to her for days, and she’d heard me.

“He
was
here last night,” I confirmed in a quaky voice. “You held him.”

A perfect slow smile crept across her face. “I remember.”

“I love you, Gabs,” I whispered, almost desperately.

“I know,” she mumbled. “I remember.”

***

Having Gabrielle back changed the way time moved. We didn’t do a lot of talking, but I didn’t feel the need to make noise and time passed quickly.

Gabi slept in short bursts. Each time she woke, she seemed a little bit more lucid. “I like Jack’s name,” she said out of the blue.

“You do?” I was surprised for a few reasons. First, she knew his name. And second, she liked it.

“Jacques-Louis David was a French painter,” she hoarsely mumbled. “Neoclassical style.”

Even in her hazy state, Gabi saw through the tight smile I gave her. She slowly reached out and put her hand on my cheek. “But we shall call him Jack,” she whispered.

***

By late afternoon, Gabrielle’s mind was completely one-track. Her focus was entirely on seeing our baby son. It was the biggest indication I had that she was on the mend. When Hannah finally wheeled his crib into the room, I thought Gabi was going to leap out of bed and snatch him up.

I moved quickly to make sure she didn’t try. I lifted him out of the cot and raised him to my shoulder, thanking Hannah as she slipped out of the room. I turned back to Gabi, taking a few seconds to etch her expression of sheer wonderment into my soul.

Gabrielle hadn’t waited five days for this moment. She’d been waiting for five years.

I walked back to the bed and lowered her most longed for wish into her arms. There was no need to keep a protective hand on Jack this time round. His mother’s hold on him would never waver again.

I sat in silence for a long time, watching as they got to know each other. Gabi studied him from head to toe – intently as if she was making up for lost time. Jack was the most placid of babies. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t complain.

“So much hair,” marvelled Gabi, brushing her hand over the top of his head. “Did Charli have a lot of hair?”

“No,” I replied smiling. “She was bald until she was one – and bald again at three.” Gabrielle frowned, forcing me to elaborate. “Chewing gum.” I shook my head. “Terrible ordeal.”

She laughed, almost managing to sound like herself. The mere sound made me feel like I’d found something precious again. I reacted to it the only way I possibly could. I carefully leaned across our son and pressed my lips against hers.

It was hard not to reflect on the trauma my family had endured but I’d given up searching for answers. Love doesn’t question how or why. It just exists – giving us purpose to get up and fight another day.

Losing the anger and being grateful for the good was important. It was about understanding the difference between darkness and blackness.

For a scary moment, there was an absence of light, which I’d perceived as blackness. Seeing my son in the arms of his mother proved how wrong I’d been. Blackness hadn’t clouded or dulled any of us. Darkness finally lifted and we were shining again, just as clearly and brightly as we always had.