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"Look, Miss Longchamp," he said, settling back, "this is a grave situation. I want your guardian's name and telephone number immediately." He thrust the paper at me and took the pen out of his top pocket.
"Yes sir," I said and wrote Uncle Philip's name and telephone number.
"Fine," the doctor said, taking it back. He started to turn away.
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"What about my brother?" I asked.
"He's being moved to the intensive care unit. We're hooking him up to an I.V. filled with an antitoxin. He's a very, very sick little boy," he said. He looked at Luther as if he instinctively knew Luther was familiar with the seriousness of the illness.
"Can I see him?" I asked.
"Only for a moment," the doctor said. "There's a waiting room up at ICU and a very restrictive period for visitations."
"Thank you," I said and got up. Gavin held my hand as we walked down the corridor to the examination room. When we looked in, we saw a nurse had just completed hooking up the I.V. Jefferson was already in a hospital gown, too.
"Your brother's things," she said, handing me the nightshirt and the blanket.
"Thank you." Gavin and I walked up to the gurney and looked down at Jefferson. I saw his eyeball twitch under the lid, and then his lips tremble and stop.
"Jefferson," I said. My throat ached so from my keeping myself from breaking out into hysterical tears, and my chest felt as if someone weighing three hundred pounds was standing on it. I took Jefferson's little hand into mine and held it for a few moments.
"Will he be all right?" Gavin asked the nurse.
"We'll have to wait and see," she said. "He's in good hands here," she added and offered us the first smile of hope. Gavin nodded.
"He's a strong little boy," he said, mostly for my benefit.
I leaned over and kissed Jefferson's cheek. Then I brought my lips to his ear.
"I'm sorry, Jefferson," I whispered. "I'm sorry I brought you along. Get better, please. Please, please," I chanted, the tears streaming down my cheeks.
"Christie. Come on. They're here to take him upstairs," he said.
He embraced me and we stood back and watched the orderly and the nurse begin to wheel Jefferson out of the room and down the corridor. We followed behind the gurney until they came to the elevator.
"Come up in about an hour or so," the nurse told us just as the doors were closing. We both stood there staring at the closed elevator. Luther came up behind us.
"It's gonna be a while," he said, "fore we really know somethin' substantial."
"I'm not leaving," I said. He nodded. Then he reached into his pants pocket and produced some money.
"Take this," he said, offering it to Gavin. "You'll want something to eat or drink. I'm going back to see about Charlotte. I'll tell that sister of yours the way things is here," he told Gavin. Gavin nodded. "Maybe she'll have the decency to come this way and look after you."
"Thank you, Luther."
He fixed his eyes on me and I saw the tears locked within.
"I'll be prayin' for him," he said. "He's a fine little boy, one I wished I had myself."
Gavin and I watched him walk toward the exit. After he was gone, we turned and went to keep vigil outside the doors of the intensive care unit.
I fell asleep on and off with my head resting against Gavin's shoulder. We sat on a small imitation leather sofa in the intensive care waiting room. Across from us an elderly woman sat staring out the window. Occasionally, she dabbed her eyes with her lace handkerchief. When she looked at us, she smiled.
"My husband's had surgery," she offered. "He's stable, but with a man his age . . ." Her voice trailed off and she turned to the window again. Outside, the gray skies had begun to lighten here and there and the rain had stopped.
"Has it been an hour yet, Gavin?" I asked.
