Angel Falls
Page 7

Bret laid his head on Liam’s shoulder and burrowed close.
They lay there a long time, so long the stars twinkled and faded one by one. Liam started to pull away, thinking that Bret had fallen asleep, but the moment he moved, his son said, “Don’t go, Daddy …”
Liam stilled. “I wasn’t going anywhere.” He twisted to the right and pulled a slim paperback book out of his back jeans pocket. “I thought I could start reading to you every night, the way Mo—Mommy and I used to. I know you’re big enough to read your own books, but I thought you might like it. Might help you sleep.”
“It would help.”
“I brought one of your mom’s favorite books. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.”
“Is it scary?”
“No.” Liam positioned himself against the bed’s headboard and pulled Bret up beside him. Opening the book, he flipped to the first page and began to read aloud. “Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy …”
The words gently bound father and son, and transported them to a world where children could step into an armoire and discover a magical land.
Finally Liam came to the end of a chapter and closed the book. The bedside clock read ten-thirty, well past time for Bret to go to sleep. “That seems like a good enough place to stop for tonight. We’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow.”
Bret looked at him. “Do you believe in magic, Daddy?”
He smiled. “Every time I look at you or Jacey or Mommy, I know there’s magic.”
“Tell me about when I was born again.”
It was a well-worn legend, a quilt of often-told stories that could warm them on the coldest night. “She cried,” Liam said. “She cried and said you were the most perfect, most beautiful baby she’d ever seen.”
Bret smiled. “And you said I looked like I wasn’t done cookin’ yet.”
Liam touched his son’s soft, soft cheek. “You were so little …”
“But I had big lungs, and when I got hungry, I cried so loud the windows rattled.”
“And the nurses had to cover their ears.”
Bret’s genuine smile warmed Liam’s heart.
“Daddy, the kids that went through that … armwar. Do they come back?”
Liam wasn’t surprised that Bret wanted a guaranteed happy ending. “Yes, they do. Sometimes they get lost, but sooner or later, they always come back to the real world.”
“Will you read me more tomorrow night? Promise?”
“You bet.” He leaned down and kissed Bret’s forehead. As he did it, he remembered the “Mommy Kiss.” Mike had invented it when Bret was three years old. A magical kiss that prevented nightmares. “Should we start a daddy kiss? I have a bit of magic myself, you know.”
“Nope.”
Liam understood. Bret wanted to save that kiss for his mom. Trading it would make it feel as if she wasn’t ever coming home.
Bret looked up. Tears flooded his blue eyes. “I think about her all the time.”
“I know, honey,” he said, pulling Bret close. “I know.”
For a moment, perhaps no more than a heartbeat, life settled into a comfortable place. Liam smelled the sweet scent of his little boy’s hair, felt the soft twining of arms around his neck, and it was enough. A dozen treasured images came back to him, memories he’d collected over the years of their lives together. And in remembering what had been, he found the strength to pray for what could be.
Chapter Five
Rosa moved into the small cottage beside the main house, set her few personal items in the pink-tiled bathroom, and stocked the refrigerator with iced tea and a loaf of wheat bread. There was no point in doing more; she planned on spending all of her time with the children or Mikaela.
The next morning, after Liam left for the hospital, Rosa made the children a hot breakfast and tried to take them to school.
Not yet, Grandma, please …
She had not the heart to deny them. She granted their wish for one more day at the hospital—but after that, she said, they must go to school. The waiting room was no place for children, not hour upon hour, day upon day.
They drove the few miles to the medical center, and then Rosa settled the kids in the waiting room.
She hurried through the busy corridor, head down, purse tucked against her body, counting the three hundred and eleven steps to Mikaela’s room in the ICU.
The small, curtained room still frightened her—there were so many unfamiliar noises and machines. At the bedside, she gazed down at her beautiful, broken child. “I guess it does not matter how old we get, or that you have children of your own, you will always be my little girl, sí, mi hija?” She gently stroked Mikaela’s unbruised cheek. The skin was swollen and taut, but Rosa thought she could feel a little more softness in the flesh than had been there yesterday.
She picked up the brush from the bedside table and began brushing Mikaela’s short hair. “I will wash your hair today, hija.”
She forced her lips into a smile and kept talking. “I am still not used to this short hair of yours, even though it has been many years like this. When I close my eyes, I still see my niña with hair streaming like spilled ink down her back.”
Rosa’s thoughts turned to the bleak days when her daughter had been so unhappy that she’d chopped off her own hair with a pair of drugstore scissors. Mikaela had been waiting for him. Waiting and waiting for a man who never showed up, and when she realized that he had no intention of returning, she’d cut off her lovely hair. The thing he liked best about her.
You cannot make yourself ugly—that’s what Rosa had said when she’d seen what Mikaela had done, but what she’d meant was, He isn’t worth this broken heart of yours. She hadn’t said that; she was the last person in the world to devalue a woman’s love for the wrong man.
She had thought that Mikaela would get over him, and that when she got over him, she would one day grow her hair long again.
Yet still, Mikaela’s hair was as short as a boy’s.
“No,” Rosa said aloud, “I will not think about him. He was not worth our thoughts then and he is not worth my words now. I will think instead about my little girl. You were so bright and beautiful and funny. Always you make me laugh.
“You had such big dreams. Remember? You used to pin all those fotografías up on your bedroom wall, pictures of faraway places. You dreamed of going to London and France and China. I used to say to you, ‘Where do you get such big dreams, Mikita?’ And do you remember your answer?”
She stroked her daughter’s hair gently. “You told me, ‘I have to have big dreams, Mama … I have them for both of us.’
“It broke my heart when you said that.” Rosa’s hand stilled. She couldn’t help remembering how her daughter’s swollen dreams had shriveled beneath the hot California sun.
It had happened years ago, so many that the scent should not remain in the air, and yet here it was.
“I am the one with big dreams now, querida. I dream that you will sit up in this bed and open your eyes … that you will come back to us.” Her voice cracked, fell to a throaty whisper. “I have a dream now. Just like you always wanted. I am the carrier of my dreams now … and yours, too, Mikita. I am dreaming for both of us.”
Later that afternoon, Stephen called Liam and Rosa into his office.
“The good news is, she has stabilized. She’s off the ventilator and breathing on her own. We didn’t need to do a tracheotomy. She’s being fed intravenously. We’ve moved her out of the ICU—to a private room on Two West.”
Liam barely heard the words. He knew that whenever a doctor started a sentence with “The good news is,” there was a hell of a right hook coming.
Rosa stood near the door. “She is breathing. This is life, sí?”
Stephen nodded. “Yes. The problem is, we don’t know why she isn’t waking up. She’s healthy, stable. Her brain activity is good. By all measures, she should be conscious.”
Rosa asked, “How long can a person sleep like this?”
Stephen hesitated. “Some people wake up in a few days, and some … stay in a coma for years and never wake up. I wish I could tell you more.”
“Thanks, Steve.”
Stephen didn’t smile. “She’s in Two forty-six.”
Liam rose to his feet and went to Rosa, gently taking her arm. “Let’s go see her.”
Rosa nodded. Together they left Stephen’s office and headed for Mikaela’s new room.
Once inside, Liam went to the window and shoved it open, sticking his head out into the cold afternoon air. Turning, he went to his wife’s bedside and gently touched her swollen cheek. “It’s winter, baby. You went to sleep in the fall, and already it’s winter. How can that be, in only three days?” He swallowed hard. His life flashed before him, an endless collection of busy days and empty, empty nights. A calendar of weeks without her. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter.
Rosa came up beside him. “You must not give up hope, Dr. Liam. She will be one of the lucky ones who wake up.”
Liam had given his mother-in-law the gift of ignorance. He’d told her that a bad outcome was possible, but he’d made it sound improbable. Now he didn’t have the strength for subterfuge. Brain damage, paralysis, even a lifetime of coma; these were the possibilities. He knew that tomorrow morning he would be stronger, better able to hang on to his wobbling faith. That’s what the last few days had been—long stretches of hope punctuated by moments of severe, numbing fear.
He stood perfectly still, trying not to imagine how it would feel to wait for Mike to wake up, day after day, week after week. He drew in a deep, calming breath and exhaled slowly. “I won’t ever give up, Rosa. But I need … something to pin my faith on, and right now my colleagues aren’t giving me much to work with.”
“Faith in God will be your floor, Dr. Liam. Do not be afraid to stand on it.”
He held a hand up. “Not now, Rosa. Please …”
“If you cannot speak to God, then at least talk to Mikaela. She needs to be reminded she has a life out here. Now it is up to love to bring her back.”
Liam turned to Rosa. “What if my love doesn’t bring her back, Rosa?”
“It will.”
Liam envied Rosa’s simple faith. He searched deep inside himself for a matching certainty, but all he found was fear.
Rosa gazed up at him. “She needs you now … more than ever. She needs you to be the light that guides her home. This is all you should be thinking about now.”
“You’re right, Rosa.” Then, stronger, “You’re right.”
“And what you talk about is importante, sí? Talk to her about the things that matter.” She moved toward him. Her mouth was trembling as she said, “I have slept through my life, Dr. Liam. Do not let my daughter do the same thing.”
Bret made it past lunchtime without screaming, but now he could feel the temper tantrum coming on, building inside him. At first he’d just been crabby, then he’d ripped the head off his action figure and thrown the brand-new People magazine in the garbage.