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Please God, she prays, help me …
She can’t remember if there is supposed to be an answer to these words, but when there is none, she feels as if she is sinking into the turbulent water. She is too tired to keep herself up, and she is missing … missing so much …
“She’s crying. Jesus Christ. ” Liam reached for a tissue and gently wiped her eyes. “Mike, honey, can you hear me?”
She didn’t respond, but those terrible silver tears kept falling. A tiny gray patch appeared on the pillow. Liam punched the nurses’ button and ran for the door. When he saw Sarah, he yelled for her to go get Dr. Penn.
Then he went back into the room and bent over his wife, stroking her damp cheeks, whispering the same words to her over and over again. “Come on, baby, come on back to us. ”
Stephen Penn appeared in the doorway, out of breath. “What is it, Liam?”
He looked up at his friend. “She’s crying, Steve. ”
Stephen went to the side of the bed and stared down at Mikaela. She was as still as death, her cheeks pale, but the trail of moisture glittered promiselike in the dim lighting. He produced a straight pin from his pocket. Gently lifting her bare foot in his palm, Stephen stuck the sharp tip in the tender flesh.
Mikaela jerked her foot back. A broken moan escaped her lips.
Stephen laid her foot down again and covered it back up with the blanket. Then he looked at Liam. “The coma’s lightening. It doesn’t necessarily mean …” He paused. “You know what it does and doesn’t mean. But maybe … maybe something reached her. Whatever you’re doing—keep doing it. ”
It was way past bedtime when Bret heard the knock on his door. He was sitting on the floor of his bedroom, playing Diddy Kong racing on his Nintendo 64.
He thought he said, “Come in,” but he couldn’t be sure, because he was concentrating on keeping Diddy on the track.
The door opened, and Dad poked his head in. “Heya, Bretster. ”
Bret looked up, just long enough. His guy hit the wall and started a free-form tumble across the multicolored screen. “Hi, Dad. You wanna play?”
Dad sat down beside him, picking up the second set of controls. “You know I’m terrible at this. I like the Star Wars one better. ”
Bret giggled. He loved watching his dad play Diddy Kong, because he couldn’t ever keep his guy on the track, and Bret always kicked his butt. He started up another game, and for the next half hour they raced.
Finally Dad tossed the controls down. “That’s it, Mario. You win. I give up. ”
“Mario’s a different game, Dad. ”
Dad climbed awkwardly to his feet, hanging on to the fender of Bret’s bed, as if he was going to fall at any minute. “Come on, kiddo. It’s bedtime. Close up the game and get your fangs washed. ”
Bret turned off the television and hurried down the hall. In his bathroom, he brushed his teeth really good (Dad was famous for sending him back to do it again if he didn’t do a good job) and peed. Then he went back into his room.
Dad was already in bed, stretched out under the covers, with a book open in his lap. The bedside lamp was on now.
Bret loved it when Daddy was in his bed. Then nothing seemed scary. He bounded over to the bed and started to get in.
“Hold it, pal. Put on your pajamas. ”
Bret made a face. “Aw, Dad—”
“Nope. ” He smiled. “I know you. You’ll sleep in those clothes and then get up and wear them to school again tomorrow. And hey, when was the last time you took a shower?”
“Grandma made me take one yesterday. ”
“Okay. But no jeans in bed. ”
Bret pulled off his dirty jeans and tossed them in a heap in the corner—where he knew he’d just pick ’em up tomorrow and put ’em back on for school. Then he crawled over his dad and got into bed, snuggling up close. “Is that the lion book?”
“You bet. ”
Bret curled up next to his dad and listened to the story. It calmed him down, listening to his dad’s deep, steady voice.
