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No. He wouldn’t let his mind wander down that road. Mike would wake up soon, any minute now, and they would laugh together about how afraid he’d been.
But the road beckoned him anyway; he could smell despair burned into the asphalt, hear the fear rustling treelike along the shoulders.
He closed his eyes, remembering everything about her, and when he opened his eyes, she was there, beside him on the couch. She was wearing the ratty, torn old Levi’s that he was always threatening to throw away, and a black chenille boat-neck sweater that could have fit a woman twice her size. She leaned back and looked at him.
He wished he could reach for her, touch the softness of he
r favorite sweater, kiss the fullness of her lower lip, but he knew she wasn’t really there. She was inside him, filling him so full that she’d spilled out. “You would have laughed if you’d seen me in the kitchen tonight, babe. ”
He couldn’t hold the grief inside him anymore; he couldn’t be strong. At last, he leaned back on the sofa, and he cried.
“Daddy?” The small, hesitant voice floated down the stairs. “Who are you talking to?”
Mike vanished.
“I’m not talking to anyone. ” He wiped his eyes and rose unsteadily to his feet. He crossed the room and climbed the stairs.
Bret stood at the top in his makeshift pj’s—a purple glow-in-the-dark triceratops T-shirt and flannel boxers. Somewhere in his jumbled chest of drawers were several sets of real pajamas, but only Mike could find anything in that mess.
“I couldn’t sleep, Daddy. ”
Liam scooped Bret into his arms and carried him up to the master bedroom, tucking him into the bed that was too big without Mike in it. He curled against his son.
“She was lookin’ at me, Dad. ”
Liam tightened his hold on Bret. It was funny, but only last week, Liam had thought that Bret was growing up too fast. Now the boy in his arms seemed impossibly young, and since this morning, he had been regressing. It was something that would have to be dealt with … later.
“When you saw Mommy, her eyes were open. Is that what you mean?”
“She was lookin’ right at me, but … she wasn’t there. It wasn’t Mommy. ”
“She was just too hurt to close her eyes and now she’s too hurt to open them. ”
“Can I see her tomorrow?”
Liam thought about how she looked—her face battered and swollen and discolored, a nasogastric tube snaking up one nostril, all those needles tucked into her veins, the machines … It would terrify a child. Liam knew what those memories were like—he had them of his father. Some things, once seen, could never be forgotten, and they could taint an image forever.
“No, kiddo, I don’t think so. It’s against hospital policy to let a child into Intensive Care. You can see her … as soon as she gets moved to the regular ward. ”
Bret said quietly, “That’s how dead looks in the movies. ”
“She’s not dead. She’s just … resting for a little while. Like Sleeping Beauty. ”
“Did you try kissin’ her?”
It took Liam a long time to answer. He knew he would remember this moment forever, and that’s how long it would hurt. “Yeah, Bretster. I tried that. ”
Liam stayed in bed until Bret fell asleep, then he cautiously extricated himself and went downstairs. This time he made himself a cup of tea. God knew the tequila hadn’t worked.
Did you try kissing her?
Liam glanced up at the slanted wooden ceiling. “Did you hear that, babe? He wanted to know if I’d tried kissing you. ”
The phone rang.
He ignored it. On the fourth ring, the answering machine clicked on. He wasn’t ready to hear Mike’s soft, throaty voice. He squeezed his eyes shut. You have reached the Campbell residence, and the winter office of Whatcom County’s horse rescue program. No one is available right now …
When the message clicked off, another voice came on. “Hola, Dr. Liam. This is Rosa. I am returning—”
