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“I try to come in either before or after my shifts. I see her a lot in the middle of the night. ” He smiled. “I hear she’s going home today. ”
“Yes. In about an hour. ”
“It was nice to meet you. ” He headed for the door.
“Desmond?”
He turned back. “Yes?”
“Seventeen Firefly Lane. In Snohomish. That’s where we’ll be. If you want to finish reading her that book. ”
“Thanks, Dorothy. I’d like that. ”
She watched him leave and then walked over to the bed. In the eleven days since the accident, Tully’s facial bruising had changed color, gone from a deep plum color to a rotten-banana brown. The dozens of tiny lacerations had scabbed over; only a few oozed yellow pus. Her full lips were cracked and dry.
Dorothy reached into her baggy smock pocket, pulling out a small jar of bee cream. Using the pad of her forefinger, she glazed the soft mixture across Tully’s slack lips. “That will make them feel better, I think. How did you sleep last night?
“Me? Not so good,” she went on, as if they were conversing. “I was nervous about your homecoming. I don’t want to let you down. You don’t think I will? I’m glad of that. ”
She placed a hand on her daughter’s dry, bald scalp. “You’ll wake up when you’re ready. Healing takes time. Don’t I know that?”
Just as she finished the sentence, the door opened and Dr. Bevan and Johnny came into the room.
“There you are, Dorothy,” the doctor said, stepping aside to allow several nurses and two paramedics into the room.
She managed a smile. If it took all these people just to transport Tully, how in heaven did Dorothy think she could care for her alone?
“Breathe, Dorothy,” Johnny said, coming up beside her.
She gave him a grateful look.
After that, everything moved quickly. Tully was transported from the bed to a gurney, disconnected from the IV and machines, and wheeled away. At the front desk, Dorothy signed a bunch of paperwork, collected some discharge papers and care procedure brochures and a set of notes from Dr. Bevan. By the time she was in Johnny’s car, following the ambulance, she felt sick with worry.
On Columbia, they drove downhill—and there was the rough gray stanchion Tully had hit. Beneath it, on the pavement, a makeshift memorial had sprung up. Balloons and dying flowers and candles created a little shrine of sorts. A sign read WAKE UP, TULLY. Another read WE’RE PRAYING 4 U.
“Do you think she knows how many people are praying for her?” she asked.
“I hope so. ”
Dorothy fell silent after that. She sat back in the comfortable leather seat and watched the scenery go from city to town to country, from high-rises to low fences, from bumper-to-bumper traffic to slow, winding tree-lined roads with only a few other cars in sight. At home, they pulled up behind the ambulance and parked.
Dorothy hustled ahead to open the front door and turn on the lights and led the paramedics to Tully’s bedroom, where the Ryan kids had tacked up a huge WELCOME HOME, TULLY poster.
Dorothy shadowed the paramedics, asked them questions, and studiously wrote down their answers.
All too quickly, it was done. Tully was in her room, apparently sleeping, and the ambulance was gone.
“Do you want me to stay?” Johnny asked.
Dorothy had been so lost in her own thoughts that his voice surprised her. “Oh. No. But thank you. ”
“Marah will be here Thursday. She’s bringing food. And I’ll be here for the weekend with the boys. Margie and Bud gave us the keys to the house across the street. ”
Today was Monday.
“And Margie wanted me to remind you that she’s only a few hours away. If you change your mind and need help, she’ll be on the next flight. ”
Dorothy forced a smile. “I can do this,” she said, as much to herself as to him.
