Under a Bear Moon (22 page)

“Not necessarily. But you are too young. As is my son. If he will not protect himself, I must step in.”

Her biting response was cut off by the telephone ringing.

Mrs. Ursek spun around. “That must be the hospital.” She ran down the hallway, and Lynda heard her answer the phone.

“Yes? Oh, Dr. Lavar, we've been expecting your call. How is he?” There was a long pause. “Just a minute, I think my husband should hear this. Bernard!” she called.

“Coming!” he bellowed and hurried after his wife.

The dread she heard in their voices froze Lynda's anger. She stood and followed Mr. Ursek to the room where she'd seen Mrs. Ursek working.

Greg's mother stood beside a cluttered desk, the telephone receiver in her hand. Lynda hovered just inside the doorway and listened.

“I'm turning on the speaker phone.” Mrs. Ursek set the receiver on a brown box and pushed a button.

Lynda heard a burst of static and an unfamiliar voice. “Bernard, can you hear me?”

“Yes, yes. What is my son's condition?”

“About what I expected, with one serious complication.” The voice from the speaker box was deep and smooth with the clear vowels and pronounced ‘aboot’ of a native Canadian. “You remember I told you that the crisis could occur after the wound itself healed?”

Lynda felt a chill run up her back at the doctor's words. He spoke with the careful neutrality physicians adopt when imparting very bad news.

Mr. Ursek frowned down at the phone. “Yes.”

“Last night, your son tolerated the transformation to bear form well. We transferred him to the night room just before dawn, and as we expected, the shoulder finished mending this morning. We have been waiting for him to wake up ever since. In most cases, the injury-induced hibernation fades within the hour. It's been more than six hours, and your son is still unconscious. I want your per-mission to move him out of the night room and trigger the transformation from bear back to human form.”

Mrs. Ursek leaned toward the brown box. Her pale face was grim, with deep lines etched around the corners of her mouth. “But you said that should be avoided at all cost. You told us he wouldn't survive another change until he was fully recovered.”

“Physically he is recovered. Unfortunately, he is still locked in the recuperative coma. If he doesn't come out of it soon, he may never regain consciousness.”

“No!” gasped Lynda, forgetting she wasn't supposed to be listening.

Surprised, Greg's parents turned and looked at her.

The box crackled. “Who is that, eh?”

“One of Gregory's friends.” Mr. Ursek stepped back and took Lynda by the arm. “She is leaving now.”

“Wait,” the doctor said. “Are they good friends?”

Lynda pulled her arm away from Mr. Ursek's grasp and ran to the phone. “I'm his girlfriend.”

“Are you aware of Greg's peculiar situation?”

“I was with him Friday night when he was shot.”

“Good. Bernard, Sue, it is imperative that your son awaken soon. If the physical shock of the metamorphosis isn't enough to shake him from his sleep, then our best hope is to lure him back. I've seen patients awakened by their mother's voice, or by the smell of their favorite dish. One young patient of mine remained comatose for almost eight hours until we brought his cat into the clinic. Come as quickly as you can. Bring anything you can think of that might draw Greg out of his slumber. And ask the young lady to come with you—we may need her help.”

“We will be there as soon as we can,” Mr. Ursek said.

“I'll move him immediately. Have me paged when you arrive, and I'll fill you in on his condition. Good-bye.” The voice was replaced by a click and a static hum.

“Well, Lynda,” Mr. Ursek said, with a wry smile that almost masked his concern. “It seems you get your wish.”

Lynda knew she should feel worried, but the emotional roller coaster she'd been on all day had left her numb. Clinging to the fact that Greg was still alive, and that she would soon be seeing him, she said, “I need to call my parents.”

“Certainly,” he reached over and turned off the speaker box before handing her the telephone.

“I'll get your jacket. We'll be waiting out front,” Mrs. Ursek said, before hurrying out of the room.

Lynda left a brief message on the answering machine before joining her.

HE WANDERED in the dark. Piney boughs raked his nose with their sharp, resinous scent. Unseen roots tripped his feet, and barriers sprang up to block his path. He had no idea where he was, had forgotten where he was going and why he wandered. But he knew he must keep walking.

Brilliance burst overhead from a clear, pearly sky. He found himself standing on a path surrounded by towering shrubs. A trail stretched before and after him. He followed it through twists and turns, branches and dead ends. Finally, the hedges fell away, revealing an ancient forest.

It looked familiar. He knew he'd seen it before, but the memory refused to come. Trees of many different and in-compatible species stood side by side, shading a park-like lawn. The scent of hazelnuts and honey hung in the air.

He knew with a sudden certainty that he was welcome, that he would be happy there. But he also knew that it was not the place he'd been seeking.

Drawn by the peace and beauty of the verdant woods, he leaned forward, tempted to enter. A soft, almost imperceptible fragrance stopped him. Flowing on its own, with no breeze to carry it, the scent reminded him of another place, a place with flowers, sunlight, and love.

He turned his head; the scent grew stronger. Following it, he re-entered the maze. With his nose to guide him, he traced the twists and turns back to the source of the sweet, elusive fragrance.

LYNDA FOLLOWED Greg's parents down a sterile hall-way. It looked like any other hospital corridor, though the smell of disinfectant was missing. Nurses checked charts, orderlies wheeled trays, and worried looking individuals hovered outside closed doors. Lynda studied their faces as she passed and wondered how many of them changed into bears at night.

Greg's father stopped in front of a door labeled, “Day room,” took a deep breath, and opened it.

Blinding light poured through the doorway, and Lynda shut her eyes. When she could bear the brilliance seeping through her lids, she cautiously opened them and stepped inside. Sunshine flooded through an enormous skylight. It reflected off the walls, bounced off the polished floor, and filled every corner of the room. Directly under the skylight, stood a king-sized bed. It had none of the handles, dials, or moveable rails that had adorned Lynda's bed at Michael Reese. No I.V. stand, no blood pressure apparatus, not even a thermometer broke the brilliant simplicity of the room.

Covered only with a thin cotton sheet, Greg lay motionless, bathed in sunlight.

“He's a boy again.” Mrs. Ursek stepped up to the bed and ran her fingers through Greg's hair. “And his shoulder looks fine.”

Lynda had remained by the doorway, but she could see that his right arm lay unscathed on top of the sheet.

A robust man with grizzled black hair hurried past Lynda into the room. The plastic tag on his rumpled scrubs read, “J. Lavar, MD.” He shook Mr. Ursek's hand and looked down a Greg. “As you see, the transformation was successful, but your son has yet to regain consciousness.”

Mrs. Ursek turned to the doctor. “What do we do now?”

“Why don't you join me in my office? We can discuss our options there.”

Waving Lynda closer to the bed, he handed her a small black box. “You're Greg's friend, eh? I'd like you to stay here with him. Press the button and speak into this intercom if you notice any change in his condition. Understand?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Bernard, Sue?

Following the Urseks out of the room, he smiled reassuringly at Lynda before letting the door swing shut behind him.

Lynda felt awkward and shy standing alone next to Greg. She reached down and stroked his hair the way his mother had. “I don't suppose I need to keep quiet. After all, the idea is to wake you up.”

She studied Greg's face, noting the hollows in his cheeks, tracing the line of his collarbone with her gaze. It seemed to Lynda, she could see every bone in his arm and wrist.

“You look like the skeleton in Mr. Pullman's class,” she said, and smiled, remembering that first day in biology. Her mind wandered over the months they'd known each other and over all his idiosyncrasies. She shook her head. “I should have figured it out when you told me about your Dad's book. Your appetite, how sleepy you got last winter, how much you hate dogs—it was all there. Even the early curfew and your parents’ paranoia make sense now.”

Lynda kept talking. She told him about Ellen's hair cut, and how everyone missed him at school. Her legs grew stiff, and her throat started hurting again, but she wouldn't leave his bedside. Lynda watched Greg until her vision blurred and she had to blink to see his features clearly.

She blinked again and rubbed her eyes. A subtle movement, almost too slight to see, had rolled across Greg's face. His expression shifted, lightened, and relaxed into the faintest hint of a smile.

“Dr. Lavar!” she called, frantically pushing the button in her hand. “I think something's happening.”

Greg's eyelids twitched, fluttered, and opened.

“Lynda?” He blinked and touched her bandaged face. His smile broadened. “Lynda. It is you.”

She dropped to the edge of the bed, too full of joy to speak.

His smile faltered. “What's wrong?”

“Wrong?” Lynda laughed and pressed his hand against her good cheek. Tears streamed over it. “Nothing's wrong. Look!” she cried, when the door opened. “He's awake!”

The doctor ran into the room followed by the Urseks. They crowded around the bed, and Greg looked around the circle of faces. “Mom, Dad, Dr. Lavar? What's going on?”

The doctor took Greg's other hand and felt for his pulse. “What do you remember?”

Greg's brow furrowed. “I was at Lynda's house. There was this dog and a guy with spooky eyes. He threatened us with a shotgun.” He gasped, turning to Lynda. “You saw me change.”

She smiled so hard her cheeks ached. “Tell me about it.”

“And you're still here?”

His father leaned over the bed. “We could not keep her away. Your Lynda is a very persistent young lady.”

“And you're a very lucky young man,” Dr. Lavar added. “Very lucky indeed. There was a while there, when we didn't know if you were ever going to wake up.”

Greg looked from the doctor to his parents and back again. “Why? What time is it?”

“Almost six,”

“But that's early!”

“It's six o'clock Monday evening,” the doctor said. “That makes a difference, eh? You slept over sixty hours.”

“No wonder I had such strange dreams,” Greg said after a moment.

His mother brushed the hair off his forehead. “That's all over now. Everything's going to be fine.”

Dr. Lavar patted Greg's arm. “I'd like you to stay with us for a couple of days, perhaps three, to complete your recuperation and put back some of the weight you lost. No hurrying back to school for you.”

Greg's father frowned. “No returning to school at all, not here.”

Lynda turned to him. “But why? If Greg's fully re-covered.”

“Remember Lynda, by now most of your friends are aware of the incident Friday night. They know Greg was shot. How could we explain his returning in good health a week after such an injury? I am sorry,” he said. “But Greg must fly home as soon as Dr. Lavar says he is fit to travel.”

Stunned, Lynda swallowed the burning in her throat. “I thought we'd have more time.”

Greg's hand slipped over hers. “We'll have all the time we want. Don't worry, Lynda. You're not getting rid of me that easily.”

His skin was as pale as the sheet he lay on, and so transparent, Lynda could see his pulse throbbing in his throat. Horribly gaunt, he reminded her of pictures she'd seen of concentration camp survivors. Then he smiled, and her chin trembled. “I don't want to get rid of you. Not ever. I love you.”

She hadn't meant to say that out loud. Lynda froze, her face blazed, and her hand leapt to her lips, as if to catch the words and shove them back. Afraid to meet anyone's gaze, she stared at the sheet and wished she was young enough to hide under the bed.

“Oh, Lynda.”

Greg reached up and tilted her chin until their eyes met. Her embarrassment melted in the warmth of his gaze.

“Uh, well, must attend to my other patients, eh?” Dr. Lavar turned and quickly left the room.

Mrs. Ursek took her husband's arm. “Come, Bernard. We need to make airline reservations.” Ignoring his pro-tests, she dragged him out the door.

Lynda barely noticed. As soon as the door closed, Greg drew her down on the bed. His ribs felt like speed bumps though the thin hospital linen. Throwing her arms around him, Lynda returned his embrace, pulling herself even closer, as if with enough pressure she could dissolve into him.

Words rumbled through his chest. “I fell in love with you the first night I was in Chicago. The moon was up, and I was exploring when I caught your scent. I didn't know who you were, or when we'd meet, but I knew I loved you. When I saw you playing basketball the next day, I couldn't believe my luck. You're so beautiful.”

He ran his hand down her hair. “Dad's right about my having to leave. I'm going to Stanford next year, but I can transfer to the University of Chicago the year after, if you're staying for undergrad.”

“That's the plan,” Lynda murmured, only half listening to his words. The steady thrum of his heart held most of her attention. It seemed to be saying, “I'm alive. I'm alive. I'm alive.” It was the most wonderful sound she'd ever heard.

“I'll come next August, then.” He hesitated, then added more quietly, “If you don't mind waiting that long.”

She pulled just far enough away to look into his eyes. “I'd wait forever. I love you.”

Leaning down, she kissed him and discovered she really could dissolve.

HE STARED OUT the window while the plane circled O'Hare airport. At first, the view was a patchwork quilt. The lake lay like blue satin next to the multicolored textures of the city and suburbs. Seams of long gray interstates stitched them all together. As the plane flew lower, the quilt became a child's game, toy cars zooming past doll houses. Then solid reality rumbled beneath him, and he was there.