Accident - A Novel Part 19

Jamie Applegate had come to see her that afternoon too, and he looked suddenly awkward when he arrived. He had visited her a lot in the hospital, and he'd gotten used to seeing her there, but seeing her at home for the first time suddenly reminded him of how dishonest they had been when they had snuck away for the date that had injured her and Allyson, and killed Phillip. It seemed to bring back all of it, for both of them, and they talked quietly for a long time, in the living room, while Bjorn and Trygve and Page and Andy sat in the kitchen.

It was a happy, easy day. For the moment, the worst was over. She might have to be operated on again, the doctor thought it was likely that she would. But she would never be in danger again, or in as much pain, or as severely incapacitated as she still was now. Now it was a matter of repairing the damaged limbs, but not of surviving. She looked pretty and young as she lay on the couch in the living room, covered by a pink blanket Page had given her. It was cashmere, and soft, and she fingered it unconsciously as she and Jamie talked about Allie and Phillip.

"It seems weird, doesn't it?" Chloe said sadly as she looked at him. "I can't call her ...you can't call him ... it makes me feel so lonely sometimes," she said sadly, her big eyes looking up at him as he nodded. Chloe had helped him a lot, she talked about the things that he wouldn't have dared to say, about the accident and what she was feeling. Because she was a girl, it seemed okay to her, and it somehow gave him permission to vent the guilt and the anguish he felt for surviving the accident unscathed by the cruel hand of fate that had touched the other three. He was still having trouble with it, and seeing a therapist from time to time to help him get over the inevitable guilt he felt. He had even gone to a group of people who had survived plane crashes, and fires, and accidents, but lost members of their families and friends. It had been a great relief to talk to them, and he had told Chloe all about it.

"So what are we going to do today?" Jamie asked eventually. They had become close friends in the past six weeks, and he thought he knew everything about her. The kind of music she liked, her favorite actors and actresses and movies, the friends she really loved, and the people she hated, the kind of house she wanted to live in when she grew up, how many children she thought she'd like to have, where she wanted to go to college. They talked about everything, from the trivial to the important.

"I don't know," she said, teasing him, "I thought maybe we'd go dancing." She hadn't lost her sense of humor through it all, and he took her hand gently and looked at her, after she said it.

"We will one day. I promise you that, we'll go in a great big limousine, like to a prom, and we'll go somewhere and dance all night," he promised with a look of determination. He was serious, and she was touched by the intensity of his feelings. She liked him a lot too, he had come to mean a lot to her in the past weeks. In an odd way, he had almost come to take the place of Allie. If anyone had asked, she would have said they were best friends now. In a way, they were more than that, and they both knew that too, but they didn't say it in words. They had just come to count on each other. In a funny way, not unlike Page and Trygve.

"What are you two up to in here?" Trygve asked as he wandered through the room to check on Chloe a little while later, and see if she wanted anything to eat or drink, or if she was getting too tired and needed to be put to bed for a while. But she seemed happy on the couch, talking to Jamie.

"We're just talking," Jamie said easily. It meant a lot to him that Trygve had let him spend time with Chloe since the accident, and had given him a chance to get to know her better. At first, he'd been worried that that was only in the hospital, and they wouldn't want him in their home. But that was obviously not the case, and he was immensely relieved to be there that afternoon, and share the homecoming with Chloe. "Can I do anything to help?" Jamie asked nervously, and Trygve just told him to keep an eye on Chloe, and make sure she didn't try to hop off the couch. And if she needed to go to the bathroom, to call him.

When Jamie did call him eventually for that, it was Trygve and Page who got her there, and she was pretty independent after that. But it was obvious she was going to need a lot of help getting around the house, and managing even the smallest task. Coming home from the hospital was not going to be the end of the challenging part, but only the beginning.

Page said as much to him when they went back to the kitchen for another cup of coffee.

"I know." Trygve nodded solemnly. He had figured all that out, and knew how difficult it would be, and how limiting for Chloe. Now that she was back from the hospital, she would expect to have her freedom again, and to be able to move around, but her homecoming wasn't magical. It was going to be a long, slow haul back to the free and easy life she remembered. "I've got someone coming in to help a few hours a day, just so I can get out, or get some work done. And Bjorn is a big help to me, but it's going to be difficult for a while. I don't think she had realized that herself before she left the hospital, but I did." He smiled, and Page thought again of how much she admired him, and what a nice man he was. They were all depending on him, even she was.

Eventually, she and Andy left before dinnertime and went home and had a quiet evening together. They rented videos, ate popcorn, slept in the same bed, and she had cooked him his favorite dinner.

The next day was Memorial Day and Trygve organized a barbecue, and invited four or five of Chloe's friends, Jamie Applegate naturally, and of course Page and Andy.

"They're nice kids," Trygve said, as he sat down next to her with a gla.s.s of wine, still wearing his ap.r.o.n. He looked tired. He'd been up a lot in the night with Chloe.

"They are, and they're so happy to have her back." Page smiled at them, wis.h.i.+ng Allie were there too. Being with Chloe was always bittersweet for her, but Trygve knew that.

"What an experience this has been. For all of us," he sighed. "Sometimes it feels like none of us will ever be the same again. No one it touched was left the same." Least of all Phillip and Allie. "What about you?" He looked at her with a gentle smile. "How are you doing?" He had seen less of her during the two weeks since her separation. And he had missed her terribly. But he knew how traumatic it had been for her when Brad left, and he wanted to give her time to adjust. She had noticed it and she was grateful for it, although she'd missed him too, and the warmth of their friends.h.i.+p and flirtation. He was always sensitive to her needs, without her having to say anything about it.

"I'm okay," she said quietly. It had been even harder than she'd expected.

"I've missed you," he said, watching her.

"Me too," she said softly. "I didn't think it would be like this. It's lonely, it's sad. In some ways, it's a relief. It got so bad at the end it was like a constant pain. This is better, but it's sad anyway. I feel pretty brave and new sometimes, and at other times, I feel so ..." She looked for the right word. "...unprotected." She had been married for so long that it felt odd to be alone now.

"You're not unprotected though. You're as safe as you were before. You're the one who was taking care of everyone. Brad wasn't." It was true, and she had only just begun to understand that. He had scarcely even been to see Allie in the past two weeks. Only once or twice a week. But at least he was seeing Andy.

"I guess I'm starting to figure that out. It's odd though. After sixteen years of marriage, you're back where you started, minus some towels, and some silver, and the better toaster." She smiled. It was worse than that, of course, but somehow the things Brad had taken had irked her.

"That hurts, doesn't it?" He laughed. "Dana took exactly half of everything we owned. One out of every pair of lamps we owned, half the kitchen chairs, half the pots and pans, half the silverware. Now nothing I own matches, and every time I go to cook an omelet or have guests to dinner I swear, because whatever it is I'm looking for is in England."

"I know." She grinned painfully. "In the beginning he said he didn't want anything. Now it turns out Stephanie must not be as well equipped as he first thought. Every few days I come home and find something gone, and a note explaining that he's taken this or that 'against his share.' I don't know when he comes to the house, but I'm never there. And yesterday he took half the silver flatware my mother gave me."

"You'd better watch out. Those things get nasty."

"I guess so ...pot holders ...cooking pots ...skis ...it's weird the stuff that it boils down to in the end, isn't it? It's all so petty. Kind of like a garage sale for the emotions."

He smiled at the comparison, but it was true. And then he asked her something he hadn't dared to. "What are you and Andy doing this summer?"

"Summer? Oh G.o.d ...that's right, it's June this week ... I don't know. I don't suppose we can leave Allie."

"What if there's no change? Don't you suppose you could get away, as long as it's not too far?" He was looking hopeful, and she smiled at him. He had brought up an interesting question. What if there was no change? Could she go away for a few days? Did she dare? Would she have to begin to lead a life that a.s.sumed Allie might stay in a coma?

"What did you have in mind?" she asked cautiously, still thinking of her daughter.

"A couple of weeks at Lake Tahoe. We go there every year, and Bjorn would love to have Andy with him," he looked away and then back at her again "...and I'd love to have you there with me ..."

"I'd like that," she said softly. "We'll see. Let's see how Allie is by the time you go. When do you go?"

"August."

"That's two months away. A lot could change by then." Either she would have made some progress, or she'd be locked in her coma forever.

"Just keep it in mind," he said, looking at her with eyes full of meaning.

"I will." She smiled as their hands met and touched for a moment. All the electricity they'd shared briefly was there. But during the trauma of the separation, he'd backed off so as not to pressure her or confuse her. But he had missed her.

They left late, and Andy fell asleep in the car on the way home. It had been a nice weekend.

Trygve called her after she had put Andy to bed, and she was lying in her own bed, feeling lonely.

"I miss you," he said, and she smiled. Now that Chloe was home from the hospital, they would see less of each other unless he came to the hospital specifically to see her. He knew her routine now. "I always miss you," he said, sounding husky and s.e.xy. Most of the time she tried not to let herself think about him right now. She had wanted some time to mourn Brad and their marriage, but she missed Trygve's company too. He was a good friend, an attractive man, and fun to be with. "When am I going to see you again?" he asked. "I'm not sure we can carry on in the ICU waiting room for the rest of our lives." They both remembered the endless hours and the recent kisses they had shared there.

"I hope we won't have to meet there forever," she said sadly.

"So do I. But in the meantime, how about a real date one of these days, without kids, without nurses, with real food, and no pepperoni pizza." She laughed at the thought, it was an appealing idea. No one had asked her out in years. The thought of it made her feel young and attractive.

"It sounds incredible." She had only been out once, with her mother, since the accident six weeks before, but maybe now she was ready. "You mean I don't have to cook?"

"No," he said emphatically, "and no Norwegian stew, and no Swedish meatb.a.l.l.s. No peanut b.u.t.ter sandwiches. No S'Mores. Real food. Grown-up stuff. How about the Silver Dove on Thursday?" It was a romantic spot in Marin, and if anything happened, they would be close by if they were needed.

"It sounds wonderful," she said, feeling happier than she had in weeks. He always managed to make her feel special, even in her gardening sweater and worst shoes, he made her feel like a beauty.

"Pll pick you up at seven-thirty."

"Perfect." She could either leave Andy with Jane, or get a sitter. And then suddenly she laughed, thinking of something.

"What's up?"

"I was just thinking it was my first real date in seventeen years. I'm not sure I remember how you do that."

"Don't worry about a thing. I'll show you." They both laughed, feeling young again, and they chatted for a while, about other things than their children for a change, his latest article, her plans for the mural at school, and his house at Tahoe. He told her also that he'd spoken to his investigative reporter friend, who was doing a little initial digging about Laura Hutchinson, and her drinking. It might not turn up anything, and it still would never prove anything about the accident. But somehow Trygve was haunted by his suspicions.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said finally, sounding husky again, and she wondered what he meant when she hung up, but the next day he turned up at ICU with a picnic basket and a bunch of flowers.

She had been working with Allie and the therapist, trying to stretch her muscles. Her legs were pointed out straight now, her feet rigid in their position, her elbows flexed, her arms locked, her hands tightly clenched. It took endless exercising to even help her move or bend or stretch. And her body, like her mind, seemed not to be responding. It was depressing, working with the therapist, and Page was happy to see him.

"Come on, let's go outside." He could see how tired and down she was. "It's a gorgeous day."

And it was, the sun was hot, the sky was blue. It was everything one expects of June in California. And the moment she got outside, she felt better.

They sat on the lawn outside for a long time, with the nurses and the medical students and residents. Everyone looked as though they were in love and lazy.

"It's spring," Trygve announced, lying on the gra.s.s next to her, as she sniffed happily at the flowers he'd brought her. Without thinking, she touched his cheek gently with her fingers, and he looked up at her with a look she hadn't seen on a man's face in years, if ever. It made her realize suddenly what she had been missing. "You're beautiful ...very, very beautiful ... in fact," he beamed, "you even look Norwegian."

"I'm not," she smiled, feeling young and foolish with him, "Addison is English."

"Well, you look Scandinavian to me." He looked at her seriously. "I was just thinking what gorgeous children we could have. Do you want more?" he asked curiously. He wanted to know everything about her. Not just how she felt about Allyson, or how strong she was, or how good a mother. He wanted to know the rest of it, the things they hadn't had time to explore as they sat in anguished vigil for their daughters.

"I used to want more children," she answered him, "but I'm thirty-nine. It's sort of late by now, and I've got my hands full with Andy, and now Allie."

"It won't always be that way, and you're getting into a routine with her." She had to, for her own survival. "I'm forty-two, and I don't feel too old. I'd love to have a couple more, and at thirty-nine, you could have half a dozen."

"What a thought!" she laughed, and then thought about it again. "Andy would like that. We were talking about it that day coming home from the baseball game, and then that night, Allie had the accident ... it sure changed everything, didn't it?" He nodded. Six and a half weeks later she was no longer living with her husband, and Chloe was no longer a ballerina ...not to mention Phillip, who was dead, or Allie, whose life had been changed forever. "Anyway ...yeah ... I'd like more kids. One anyway. I'd have to see after that. And I really want to pursue my artwork. Actually, I was thinking about what you said the other day, about doing a mural in ICU. I talked to Frances," their favorite head nurse, "and she was going to ask someone about it."

"Actually, I'd love to do something like that at my place. Would you take me on as a client?-A paying client that is!"

"I'd love it."

"Good. How about a consultation tomorrow night, after dinner? You can bring Andy."

"You won't get tired of me if you're seeing me on Thursday too?" She looked worried and he laughed.

"I don't think that I'd get tired of you, Page, if I saw you day and night forever. In fact, eventually I'd like to prove that." She blushed as he said it, and he pulled her down next to him and kissed her. "Fin in love with you, Page," he whispered, "very, very, very much in love with you. And I'm never going to get tired of you. Do you hear me? We're going to have ten children and live happily ever after." He was laughing and kissing her, and she lay on the gra.s.s happily in his arms, feeling like a kid again. It was too good to be true, and she only hoped it would last and he meant it.

They sat up again finally, and she thought about going back to the ICU. It exhausted her to think about it. The exercises, the movements, the therapy, the respirator, the silence, the total apathy, the depth of Allie's coma. Sometimes it was hard to make herself go back there, but she always did. She never failed. The nurses could set their clocks by her, she came back at night and sat with her for hours, stroking her hand or her cheek, and speaking softly.

"I'll come up with you," he said with an arm around her shoulders. She was carrying the picnic basket with the flowers he'd given her, and she looked relaxed and happy as they went upstairs arm in arm, talking quietly, and laughing.

"Have a nice lunch?" a new nurse asked as Page strolled by on her way back to Allie's bed. The smells of the ICU were familiar now, the sounds, the lights, and noises.

"Lovely, thanks." She smiled up at Trygve as she said it, and then went to stand next to her daughter again as he watched her. She was tireless, the most devoted mother he had ever seen, talking to her and moving her limbs, unclenching her fingers, always speaking to her gently, talking about things, telling her little stories. She was telling her about their lunch, and how pretty it was outside, when suddenly Allyson let out a soft moan, and moved her head slowly toward her mother. Page stopped speaking and stared, her eyes riveted by the motion. And then, Allie lay as still as she had before, as the machines purred beside her. But Page looked up and stared at Trygve in amazement.

"She moved ... oh my G.o.d ...Trygve, she moved ..." The nurses had seen something from their station, and two of them came running. "She moved her face toward me," Page said with tears streaming down her face, as she bent to kiss her. "You moved your face, sweetheart ...I saw it ...and I heard you ... oh baby, I heard you." She stayed next to her, kissing her, as Trygve cried as he watched them. One of the nurses went to call Dr. Hammerman, he was in the building, and he appeared five minutes later. She described what she had seen, and Trygve confirmed it. The nurses added what they had seen, and showed him the tape from Allie's machines. The motion and the sound had showed up in her brain waves.

"It's hard to say what this means," he said cautiously. "It could be a good sign, or it may not mean anything. It certainly gives us room to hope that she may be moving closer to consciousness, but Mrs. Clarke, you have to understand that a gesture and a moan don't necessarily mean her brain function is normal. But not to discourage you ...this could be a beginning. Let's hope it is," he said conservatively, but nothing could take away Page's joy as she watched her daughter. She did not move again that day, but she did the same thing again when Page was with her the next morning. She called Brad at his office to let him know too, and they told her he was in St. Louis and finally she tracked him down in his hotel that night, and he was pleased, but not as excited as she had hoped. Like Hammerman, he reminded her it might mean nothing.

"She hears me, Trygve, I know it," she told him that night, still excited. She and Andy had had dinner with them, and the following night he was taking her to the Silver Dove. "It's like calling down a deep dark hole. At first you don't know if anybody's there, and all you can hear is the echo. I've been calling down there for almost seven weeks, and I haven't heard a sound except my own voice ...and all of a sudden someone is calling up to me, I know it." He hoped she was right, but like the others, he was afraid to get her hopes up.

And for the rest of the week, every day Allie stirred a little bit, but she never opened her eyes, or spoke, or made a sign that she understood what was being said. She just moaned and moved her head occasionally. It might mean a lot eventually, or it could mean nothing.

But Page was still excited the next day when he picked her up to take her to dinner. Andy was at Jane's and she had said she would pick him up when she got home, if it wasn't too late. And if it was, Jane had said she didn't mind keeping him until morning. He was in bed in one of her children's rooms, in his pajamas, and Page would just scoop him up in his sleep whenever she got there. And Trygve had left a sitter at home to help Chloe.

"You look incredible." Trygve stared at her in open admiration. She was wearing a strapless white silk dress and pearls, with a pale blue shawl around her shoulders. It was exactly the color of her eyes, and her hair hung loosely down her back, not unlike Allie's. "Wow!" he said, and she laughed as she got into his car, and they headed for Corte Madera.

He had reserved a quiet table for two, and she was surprised to realize there was dancing. It was the most romantic spot she'd seen in years, and she felt special and spoiled as they took their seats and he ordered wine, and they looked at the menus. He ordered duck, and she ordered sole Florentine, they both had soup to start, and he ordered chocolate souffle for dessert. It was a wonderful dinner, a lovely place, a perfect evening. They danced afterward, and she felt his body close to hers. It surprised her to realize how strong he was, and how supple. He was a terrific dancer.

They left the restaurant at eleven o'clock, and Page smiled happily at him. They had hardly drunk any wine, but she felt drunk on the excitement of the evening. "I feel like Cinderella," she said blissfully, "when am I going to turn into a pumpkin?"

"Never, I hope." He smiled and drove her home. He played music in the car, and walked her slowly to the door, feeling like a boy again himself. And it was different suddenly when he kissed her at the door. Suddenly they both felt shy, and yet as he held her, he felt swept along by the tides of mounting pa.s.sion.

"Do you want to come in for a minute?" she asked breathlessly, and he smiled as he answered.

"Are you timing me? Is that my limit?"

She laughed and unlocked the door, and they both stepped inside but got no further. She never even turned on the light. They just stood there, kissing in the dark, as he touched her body hungrily, overwhelmed by her beauty and his pa.s.sion.

"I love you, Page," he whispered in the dark. "I love you so much ..." He had waited two months for this, through the storm that had battered them and their families, but in truth he had waited years for this, maybe an entire lifetime.

They stood together swaying in unison as they whispered to each other and kissed, until he couldn't stand it anymore, and neither could she. Without saying anything, he led her to where he knew her bedroom was, and then stood there in the dark, and undressed her, and she didn't stop him.

"You're incredible," he said as the dress fell away from her. "Oh Page ..." He devoured her with his lips, his hands, and slowly she undressed him, until at last they stood naked together in the moonlight. He lifted her gently onto the bed, and caressed her with his lips until she moaned in pleasure, arched toward him, and then led him toward her. Their union was a powerful one, throbbing, arching for what they had both longed for, until at last they both exploded in unison, and lay spent in each other's arms, stunned by the force of what they felt for each other. It was a long time before either of them spoke as Trygve gently stroked her hair and she kissed him.

"If I'd known that two months ago," he whispered finally, "I'd have taken you home with me the night of the accident," he said, and she laughed with pleasure.

"You're silly ...but oh how I love you." The amazing thing was that she did. He was right for her in ways that Brad never had been and she'd refused to see it, not just s.e.xually, but they were both so compatible, so artistic, so at ease, so in tune with each other and their children. They were both nurturers, and they nurtured each other now with the grat.i.tude of people who know they have been lost for a long time, and are found at last. Trygve felt like a starving man who had been fed at last as he held her.

"Where were you twenty years ago when I needed you, Goldilocks?" he teased and she thought about it for a minute.

"Let's see, by then I was working off off-Broadway and going to art school when I could afford it."

"I would have loved you."

"I would have loved you too." But she had still been very shaken by her experience with her father. "It's amazing, isn't it?" she mused. "We could have lived in the same community for years and never really known each other. And now, here we are, and our lives have changed completely."

"Fate, my dear." It blessed, and it destroyed, and it had done both to them. But at last, this was the blessing.

They lay talking for hours, and then finally, reluctantly, he got up. He had to go home to Bjorn and Chloe and send the sitter home. But it was too late for her to retrieve Andy at Jane's. It was three o'clock in the morning.

"You mean you'll be here all alone all night?" he asked, horrified, as she nodded. "What a waste! I can't stand it." In the end, they made love again, and it was four in the morning as she kissed him in her bathrobe in the doorway.

"What time do you take Andy to school?" he asked between kisses. He looked sated and happy, and so did Page. They looked like pa.s.sionate young lovers, barely able to tear themselves from each other.

"Eight o'clock."

"What time do you get back here?" he asked, sounding desperate.

"About eight-fifteen."

"I'll meet you here at eight-thirty."

"My G.o.d, you're a s.e.x fiend." She laughed.

He pulled away from her for an instant, "Did I forget to warn you? That's why Dana left, you know, the poor thing was worn out." They both laughed and he kissed her again. The truth was, of course, that he and Dana hadn't even slept with each other for the last two years, and he had begun to wonder if he had lost it. But whatever he had lost, he had just found again, and then some.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" he asked more seriously.