29. Henry
Chapter twenty-nine
Henry
T he world blurred and slowed with the creeping destruction of overly diluted watercolors. Moment bled into moment as the ambulance crew lifted Mother from the daybed to the rolling gurney—so slight, her lips a dusky blue before a medic slipped an oxygen mask over her mouth. Henry lost his hold on her fingers, cold and slack and terrifyingly familiar.
“Mrs. Webb? Can you hear me, Helen?”
A penlight flashed across Mother’s face. Perhaps only a trick of the light made her eyes huge, fearful, as she labored to breathe. Her rattling rasp had woken him. She could hardly form his name; no sound emerged when she tried to speak.
The crew raced through the hall, their cargo far too delicate for such speed and far too precious for wasted seconds.
Henry kept well back, out of the way, though Lina wasn’t here to hold his shoulders this time. “It’s all right, Henry. Let them work. We’ll follow in the car.”
The flashing lights whirled in the driveway. The siren had brought a handful of neighbors to their doorsteps, porch lights flicking on at half past one in the morning as he stood in his matching pajama set, the sort Jay insisted only grandparents wore.
He returned inside and closed the door with a soft click . Clothes first. He couldn’t follow to the hospital without proper clothes. A numb lassitude seeped into his limbs. His body had grown heavy, his brain thick with the syrupy paralysis of shock.
If he believed in such things, he’d label the conservatory ill-omened. Thirty-two years ago, he’d come flying into the room, running in the house though it wasn’t allowed, eager to tell Mother of some trifling accomplishment at school he couldn’t now remember. But she’d been lying on the tile as if she’d fallen from her chair, one arm outstretched, her eyes closed, her face still, and he’d shouted for Lina with all the volume his seven-year-old lungs could muster. He’d torn the sleeve on his jacket fighting with the fabric as he yanked it off and threw it over Mother’s chest, curling his body behind hers, desperate to make her warm. Wake up! Wake up, Mother!
His fingers stumbled down the row of buttons on the front of his pajamas as he climbed to his bedroom. His things were there, his bag at the end of the bed though he’d slept only a few nights in the room before Mother’s discharge from the hospital.
Pants. Shirt. Socks. Shoes would be downstairs, lined up neatly by the front door. He’d tracked snow in the house with his bare feet from watching the ambulance depart. Narrow, elongated puddles marked the path between the stairs and the front hall.
The drive took no time at all, the streets empty, the moon drifting toward the horizon. Just as well, since he’d nearly run two stop signs as if he’d never driven the route to the hospital before.
Stale coffee and fear sweat soured in his nostrils as he entered the waiting room. He’d carried his coat in his arm. Neglected to put it on. That wasn’t like him, not at all. He identified himself at the desk and prowled along the windows. The lighting reflected the interior, broken up in places by the outdoor security lights and the patches of sidewalk they illuminated. So many lights to keep the dark at bay. But it lurked regardless.
His phone rested in his pocket. He had no cause to wake Alice or Jay yet. No news to give them, nothing but his own fears and ghosts. Better that they sleep through the night. A hypocrite’s rationalization; were they to experience distress at any time of day or night, he would insist they alert him immediately. But that was his role. To come as close to omniscience as humanly possible. To weave every detail into a dazzlingly clear picture so that he might anticipate and nullify negative outcomes.
His head throbbed in time with his steps.
Two hours passed before a young man in clean scrubs emerged and led him on the familiar path to the cardiac care unit. “—stabilized with supplemental oxygen, but we’ll keep her here until Doctor Clark can talk with you both about heart failure and the route forward. She can answer any questions that my explanation didn’t cover.” He gestured Henry toward bay four. “Sleep is the best thing for her. The chair at the bedside reclines, and if you need anything—”
“Ask Amy at the nurses’ station, yes, thank you. We’re acquainted.”
The younger man nodded, his eyes soft and dark. Shaggy black hair spilled across his forehead. “You did the right thing, getting help so fast. This was just a setback.” The chipper voice, the hint of a smile—reality wavered, painting Jay’s features atop a stranger’s face. “With the right care plan, your mom’s gonna do great.”
A fierce longing crashed through him, for the comfort of turning over in bed and seeing his loves sleeping peacefully, their warm breath pulsing in steady intervals. He rocked back on his heels, waving off the young man’s assistance. “Thank you, yes. I’ll sit with her now.”
He slipped inside, into the hushed glow of the monitor tracking his mother’s life in every peak and valley. Shadows bruised her eyes. The full oxygen mask covered her nose and mouth once more. Her bed rested at an angle, elevating her to a nearly seated position, but she slept nonetheless.
With the seven-year-old howling inside him, he settled heavily into the chair and silently wept.