Waiting for Morning (6 page)

O God … please …
“Yes, what is it? Has he been hurt?”

Sgt. Miller cleared his throat. “I’m afraid there was a car accident, ma’am. He’s suffered serious injuries, and he’s been taken to the hospital.”

Hannah steadied herself. “What about the girls?”

“Mrs. Ryan, why don’t you come with us? We’ll take you to the hospital so you can be with them.”

“No!” Hannah knew she sounded frantic, but she couldn’t stop herself. “I want to know about the girls. Are they okay?”

Sgt. Miller moved closer and placed a hand under Hannah’s elbow. “Your oldest daughter suffered serious head injuries. The younger girl has a broken arm and a concussion, but her condition is much less serious.”

“No!” She ripped her elbow from Sgt. Miller’s hand and leveled menacing eyes at him. “That
can’t
be! You’re lying to me.”

“You need to get to the hospital, Mrs. Ryan. May I help you get your things together?”

Hannah spun toward the desk in the kitchen and froze in place. Black spots danced before her eyes, and she grasped the wall to steady herself.

“Ma’am, you all right?” Sgt. Miller’s voice was kind, but Hannah didn’t want to hear him. She kept her back to the officers and hung her head.

“Listen,” she said firmly. “You’ve made some kind of mistake.”

No, God … no. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be
. They had the wrong Ryan family, or if there was an accident, then Tom and
the girls were probably just bruised and a little cut up. After all, they were driving the Explorer. The officers must have mixed up the information. It wasn’t their fault. Anyone could get the facts wrong. Hannah forced herself to relax, and the spots went away. She moved across the kitchen and grabbed her purse from the work desk.

“You can leave now.” She turned around to face them, the picture of control. “There’s obviously been some sort of mistake. My family has a sports utility truck—it’s very safe.” She pulled her keys from the purse and glanced at the Lexus outside in the driveway. “I better go, now.”

“Ma’am, it’s not—”

Hannah cut him off. “What hospital?”

Sgt. Miller sighed. “Humana West Hills. Emergency trauma center. Mrs. Ryan, why don’t you let us drive you over there?”

“No, I’m fine. Besides, they’ll need a ride home if the Explorer’s been damaged.”

“Do you have a friend or a pastor, someone we could call who could meet you there?”

Hannah stared at him. “A pastor? I don’t need a pastor. I told you, they were in a big vehicle. There must be some kind of mistake.”

The sergeant studied her, and Hannah hated the look of pity in his eyes. “All right, we’ll follow you.”

“That’s not necessary.” Hannah felt mechanical and oddly void of emotion. She walked past the officers, ushered them outside, then locked the front door behind her. “I appreciate your dropping by. They were camping, you know. Monday’s the first day of school.”

Hannah knew she was not acting rationally, but as she pulled the Lexus onto Roscoe Boulevard, she refused to believe what the officer had said.

She glanced in her rearview mirror and pressed her lips
together. Why on earth had they insisted on driving behind her? Every time she glanced in the mirror, they were there, a constant reminder of their ridiculous story. Their presence was unnerving. Certainly they must have more important tasks than following her to the hospital.

Then, for just an instant, her mind began running ahead. What if they really had been hit? What if they were hurt … or worse? And suddenly she felt a wave of dread and fear and loss and devastation so great, it was like a monster lurking in the recesses of her mind, threatening to break free. If it did, Hannah knew it would destroy her.

She held the darkness at bay and concentrated instead on the simple facts at hand and not the unknown. At least she knew where Tom and the girls were and why they were late. People were in car accidents all the time. That didn’t mean anything really bad had happened. She could picture Tom joking with the doctors, and Alicia and Jenny teasing each other about the story they’d tell at school Monday.

Hannah relaxed a bit. She would get there, make sure the hospital had their health insurance information, and take her family home. Eating at The Red Onion was out of the question, but they could pick up some pizzas. Hannah looked at her watch and saw it was nearly seven o’clock. They were probably starving by now.

Sgt. Miller followed Hannah Ryan with care. He had radioed dispatch and asked them to notify the emergency room that the Ryans’ next of kin was on the way, and could they please have the staff minister on hand.

Miller thought again of the symbol of faith on the outside of the Ryans’ house. How close was this woman with the Lord? She was striking, probably in her midthirties with a figure she obviously worked to maintain. She had blond hair, clear blue eyes, and her clothing and jewelry were casually elegant.
Certainly she seemed strong, self-assured, and in control.

Still …

If her relationship with God wasn’t built on the deepest roots, Sgt. Miller doubted she would ever be the same after today.

At last Hannah arrived at the hospital. She said nothing as she entered the trauma center flanked by the two uniformed officers. She introduced herself, and immediately a nurse ushered her into the patient area. There she was directed to sit in a quiet alcove apart from the hustle of activity.

The monster in her mind moved closer, and Hannah smiled in a vain attempt to keep it at bay. “This isn’t necessary.” She looked at the nurse. “Really, if you could just show me which room my family is in.”

The nurse motioned toward one of the doctors, and he immediately picked up his clipboard and approached her. With him was a man who looked like a minister.

One of the officers—Sgt. Miller, was it?—met him halfway and relayed something in hushed tones. The doctor nodded and made a notation on his clipboard. Sgt. Miller turned back to Hannah and pulled something out of his shirt pocket: his business card.

“Call me if you need anything, if you have any questions at all.” His tone was filled with compassion. “I’ll be praying for you, Mrs. Ryan.”

“Thank you.” Hannah took the card, glanced at it, and slipped it into her purse.

Sgt. Miller disappeared down the corridor with the other officer at his side. The man with the doctor seemed to take a cue from that because he pulled up two chairs. He sat beside Hannah while the doctor sat directly in front of her, their knees nearly touching. The doctor cleared his throat and looked into Hannah’s eyes.

“Mrs. Ryan, I’m Dr. Cleary and this is Scott O’Haver, our hospital chaplain.”

Hannah looked from one man to the other and shook her head, her heart pounding. “This isn’t necessary. There’s been some kind of mistake. My family was in a big vehicle.… It was safe. I just need you to take me to them so I can—”

“Ma’am—” Dr. Cleary interrupted her—“please … let me continue.” He looked like a kind man. Something about him exuded authority and confidence. Reluctantly Hannah settled back in her chair.

“My husband’s a doctor, too.” Hannah watched Dr. Cleary’s reaction carefully.

“Yes, I know. I’ve checked his medical records. I don’t think he and I ever worked together.” Dr. Cleary seemed to struggle for a moment.
Oh, no. He’s afraid to tell me. No, God … please, no
. “How are you doing, Mrs. Ryan?”

“I’m fine. If you could just take me to them.…”

Dr. Cleary checked his notes and drew a single breath. He moved closer and set his hand on Hannah’s knee.

No. Don’t touch me … don’t comfort me
. Hannah remained silent as she squirmed and slid her hands underneath her legs.

“Mrs. Ryan, I’ve been working on your husband and the girls for an hour now,” he said. “They were in a serious accident, Mrs. Ryan, hit by a speeding pickup truck. The impact was most severe.” He paused and his gaze dropped to the floor for an instant before connecting once again with Hannah’s. She looked desperately for some sense of reassurance. There was none. “Jenny sustained a broken arm and a concussion. We are checking her for internal injuries, but her vital signs are strong. She’s medicated and very sleepy, but I expect her to show significant improvement by tomorrow.”

Hannah sat frozen in place, waiting for the doctor to continue.

“I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, but Alicia didn’t fare as well.”

Hannah began to rock.
No. No. Not Alicia.… Not Alicia
.

He hesitated. “I’m afraid Alicia received more of the impact and suffered massive head injuries.” His words were deliberate and measured. “Paramedics arrived on the scene in minutes, but she was already gone. I’m sorry, Mrs. Ryan. She died quickly and without any pain or fear.”

“No.” Hannah stood up, shaking—and then she screamed. She tried to push past Dr. Cleary, but he held her gently in place until she eased back into the chair, rocking fiercely and wailing. “No! Not Alicia, no!”

The chaplain circled an arm around her shoulders and leaned toward her. Hannah felt herself losing consciousness, and she crumpled slightly in his embrace.

“Please …” She implored him with every fiber, begging him to be wrong. “She can’t be dead, Doctor. I want to see her.”

Dr. Cleary drew another breath. “I’m sorry, there’s more. About your husband, Mrs. Ryan …”

No
 … 
not Tom. It’s too much, God
. Her heart was racing, banging about in her chest.

“Upon impact your husband hit the steering wheel and suffered blunt trauma to his chest. This caused him to bleed from the aorta, the main artery out of the heart. He was conscious at first while rescue workers tried to help him out of the vehicle. Paramedics were able to intubate him to keep his lungs open, but he was bleeding too badly. He died enroute to the hospital. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Ryan.… They did everything they could.”

The only thing that kept Hannah from falling on the floor was Rev. O’Haver. She sagged in his grip, struggling to breathe, to think, to move. But all she could do was say the same thing over and over.…

“No. No! Not my Tom.… Not my baby, Alicia. Please, God,
no!”

The world was spinning out of control, and her heart pounded hard and erratically. She closed her eyes, fighting against the vortex of emotions that threatened to consume her.
She knew she was screaming, could hear it, but it was almost as though it were someone else … someone whose very soul had been ripped from her chest. With a shuddering sigh, she straightened, leaning back against her chair. She clenched her teeth to hold back the screams still clawing at her throat, and noted numbly that her eyes were dry. The greatest shock of her entire life and she hadn’t cried.

“I want to see them.”

Dr. Cleary nodded. “That’s fine. Perhaps you’d like to see Jenny first? I think she’d recognize your voice, and it might help her come around.”

Hannah nodded, mute. Rev. O’Haver helped her up, and she followed Dr. Cleary to a room sectioned off by curtains. There lay Jenny, oxygen tubes in her nose, an IV dripping into her left arm. Her right arm was in a cast from the shoulder to her hand.

Hannah ached inside as she studied her little girl. She longed to cradle her close and tell her everything was going to be okay.

But it won’t, will it? It will never be okay again
.

She moved closer to Jenny and smoothed a wisp of blond bangs off her forehead. There were bruises on the right side of her face, and Hannah had to choke back a sob as she ran her fingers over them. Jenny stirred, moaned twice, and moved her head from side to side.

“Jenny, honey …” Hannah leaned closer to her. “It’s me, Mom.”

Jenny opened her eyes, and Hannah could see what effort it took for her daughter to focus. “Mom? What happened? Where’s Dad and Alicia?”

Dr. Cleary stepped forward and Hannah glanced up at him. He shook his head quickly and mouthed the word, “Later.”

Hannah nodded and took Jenny’s hand. “Honey, you need your rest now. Why don’t you try to sleep and I’ll be right here.”

Jenny had already closed her eyes, and when Hannah was sure she was asleep, she turned to Dr. Cleary.

“I want to see Tom and Alicia.” Her own voice sounded foreign to her, and she wondered again why she still hadn’t cried. Was this the denial people talked about after receiving terrible news? She closed her eyes briefly. Maybe … maybe something deep within her knew this was all some kind of terrible joke, that Tom and Alicia were fine, that there was nothing to cry over—

With an impatient shake of her head, she opened her eyes to find Dr. Cleary watching her carefully. “Please, Tom and Alicia …”

He sighed sadly. “This way.” He led her down a hallway into another room. And there she saw them, Tom and Alicia, side by side on stretchers. Hannah wouldn’t learn until later how Dr. Cleary had directed the nurses to prepare their bodies so they would appear less traumatized. The nurses had wrapped a towel around Alicia’s bloodied head and tilted her face so that Hannah would not have to see her battered left side. They had done the same for Tom, removed his blood-covered T-shirt, and wiped his face clean. They covered his head wounds and placed blankets over him so that only his face and arms could be seen. Later, Hannah would forget everything she’d heard after receiving news of the accident.

But she would remember forever the way Tom and Alicia looked as they laid lifeless on those stretchers.

“Dear God …” She clasped her hands, bringing them to her chin. The tears came then, torrents of them.

“It happened very quickly, Mrs. Ryan. They didn’t suffer.”

The doctor’s words rang in her head, but still she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She moved into the narrow space between the two gurneys and stood there, facing Tom and Alicia. Sobs catching in her throat, she stooped and circled an arm around each of them. Loud, wracking sobs seized her, and she was sure this was how it felt to die.

Hannah felt disconnected from her body, as if she were playing a role or watching some other woman deal with the fact that her life had been destroyed. But this was no stage drama, and she was the only woman in the room. There was no mistake.