Chapter Twenty-Eight Amanda
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Amanda
It’s lucky I don’t get a speeding ticket on my way to the hospital, because my head is firing on all cylinders. I’m in panic mode, afraid we won’t make it in time, that Mom will slip back into the coma before we arrive. Or, worse, something will go wrong and she’ll die.
I glance at Connor in the passenger seat beside me. “Has Dad texted?”
“Not yet.”
“Where is he?” I ask irritably. “Can you at least text Becky and tell her that Mom’s awake?”
He thumbs a message, and within seconds, Becky calls us. I answer on the car speakerphone. “Hello?”
“Hi, it’s me. She’s awake?”
“Yes!” I shout elatedly. “We’re on our way to the hospital now.”
“I’m grabbing my purse, and I’ll be there soon as I can,” she replies.
“Do you know where Dad is?” I ask. “He said he went to the hospital this morning, but he’s not there. I don’t even think he knows Mom’s awake.”
“I’ll try the restaurant,” Becky says. “And I’ll see you soon.”
I park the car, and we get out and sprint to the hospital entrance. The elevator ride takes forever, stopping at different floors to let people on and off. But at last, we reach the ICU and are buzzed inside.
Familiar with the routine, we sanitize our hands and don yellow gowns outside Mom’s room. Her nurse comes out to greet us, and her smile is infectious. It sends an abundance of happiness into my heart.
“She’s still okay?” I ask.
“Doing great,” the nurse replies. “She’s a fighter. She made it clear she wanted to breathe on her own, so we removed the tube, and she’s able to talk now.”
“Can we go in?”
The nurse speaks gently. “Yes, but keep in mind that she’s been through a lot, and she’s still very tired and groggy from the pain medication.”
“What about her motor skills?” Connor asks, not having forgotten our initial conversation with the doctor.
“So far, so good,” the nurse replies. “But head injuries can be unpredictable, so we’ll need to keep a close eye on her for a few days.”
I’m listening, but all I want to do is see my mother.
The nurse finally ushers us into the room, where I pull to an abrupt halt. Mom is asleep on the bed, without the breathing tube. The room is quiet, and it’s a gift not to hear the ominous sound of the ventilator.
Connor and I move to either side of the bed. She must feel our presence, because she opens her eyes and looks at each of us in turn with love. I tremble and cry tears of relief. Mom holds out her arms to us, and we bend over her, crying and hugging and kissing the sides of her face.
“I love you, Mom.” I cherish her lips on my temple as she kisses my tears away.
“I’m happy to see you both,” she says in a weak, raspy voice.
I draw back and look more carefully at her. The cuts and bruises on her face seem insignificant now, blessedly superficial. What matters is that she’s awake and she knows who we are. She’s able to speak to us. But I can see that she’s weary.
“Rest now, Mom.” I run my hand over the bandage on her head. “We want you to get better so you can come home.” She nods and closes her eyes. I glance across at Connor. “She needs to sleep, but she’s okay.”
He wipes his forearm across the tears on his face.
We look around for chairs and pull them close to the sides of the bed, where we sit down and hold Mom’s hands.
Beyond the window glass, outside the room, a team of nurses and doctors stand in a circle and discuss something at length.
The nurse in charge of Mom is sitting at a portable rolling desk, on the other side of the glass, watching us.
She smiles at me, and I smile back, feeling overwhelmed by my gratitude for the care that Mom has received.
I bow my head over my mother’s hand and kiss it.
Thank you, Lord, for answering my prayers.
One moment there is light, sunshine, and warmth. Then my cell phone rings, and the whole world turns dark.
“Hello, is this Amanda?”
“Yes.”
“Hi. It’s your uncle, Arthur.”
I rise from the chair and leave Mom’s room, searching for a quiet corner somewhere in the unit. “Where’s Dad?” I ask.
He hesitates, which compounds my unease. “Sorry, kiddo. I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now, but he’s been arrested. The charge is attempted murder.”
Dread catapults into the pit of my stomach, and I cover my mouth with my hand. “No.”
“They must have felt they had enough evidence.”
Evidence. I hear the word but can’t register it.
At least not right away. Then it hits me full force—the magnitude of what he just said to me and the image of my father pushing my mother off the rocks at Peggy’s Cove, into the brutal and violent waves, to a place where the ocean is a killing machine.
“That couldn’t have happened,” I say. “There’s no way he did that.”
“I’m on my way to see him now.”
“But Mom’s awake,” I tell him, which is not a proper response to what he just communicated, but I need to cling to something good. I can’t handle a fresh new hell, nor do I want to believe this terrible thing about my father, despite whatever evidence they found.
“Did you just say she’s awake?” Uncle Arthur asks.
“Yes.”
“Oh, thank God. How is she?”
“Doing well so far. Sleeping mostly. But she can talk, and she knows who we are.”
“Does she remember what happened?” he asks. “If she can confirm that what happened was an accident, then we can get your father released.”
I face the wall and rest my forehead against it. “She hasn’t talked about that yet. She’s still groggy.”
“Amanda . . .” He pauses, and I wait uncomfortably for him to continue. “Don’t tell anyone she’s awake yet, okay? We don’t want the cops in there taking notes. I’m coming over right now. Just stay put. I’ll see you shortly.”
He ends the call, and I stare blankly at my phone. His words repeat over and over in my mind—that they have evidence to charge Dad with attempted murder.
What in the world did they discover on his laptop or in his office files? What if it’s something bad? It’s been years since he’s felt like a real father to me. He’s been a stranger, but he’s been trying to do better since Mom ended up in the ICU. Or has he just been trying to cover his ass?
With a flash of panic, I walk quickly back to Mom’s room. I barely know Uncle Arthur, but I’m afraid to trust anyone about anything.
I reenter the room and find Mom still sleeping. Connor glances up from his phone. “Who was that?”
“Uncle Arthur. He said Dad’s been arrested.”
Connor lowers his phone. “What?”
“He’s on his way here, and he wants to talk to Mom and find out what really happened.” Feeling protective, I sit down beside her and take her hand. “Mom? Are you awake?” She doesn’t stir, so I gently shake her shoulder. “Mom?”
Her eyes flutter open, and she looks at me.
“Can you talk to me?”
She nods.
“Do you remember what happened at Peggy’s Cove?”
“I fell in the water, and I drowned,” she replies.
“Yes. But do you remember why you were in the water?”
Her eyes glisten with a mixture of sadness and fear. She slowly shakes her head on the pillow.
“Were you arguing with Dad?” I ask.
She turns her face away.
I don’t want to upset her, but I need to know what happened. I need to know the truth. Leaning close, I whisper in her ear. “Mom. Did Dad push you off the rocks?”
Her eyebrows pull together with anguish, and she shakes her head. “No. He’d never do that.”
“But do you remember?”
Her gaze darts uncertainly toward the window, then back at me. “I’m not sure . . . I . . .” She blinks a few times. “Everything’s fuzzy. I think I might have gone to heaven.”
Her words crash into me. I lose track of what I was just asking her. I glance across the bed at Connor, who stares at me with wide eyes.
Mom’s chin begins to quiver, and she fights tears. I rub the back of her hand. “It’s okay. We don’t need to talk about this right now.”
She starts to cry. “It was very beautiful.”
My heart races wildly because I can’t bear to think of my mother in heaven. That would mean we’d truly lost her. But this is not news to me. I was told that she’d had no pulse for at least twelve minutes before she was resuscitated on the rocks. Maybe I’d been in denial about that.
Heaven . . . “Did you see Nanny or Granddad?” I suddenly ask.
“No, but I felt them. They’re waiting for me.” Her brow furrows with amazement. “There was so much love there. You wouldn’t believe it. I never felt anything like it.”
The door to Mom’s room opens, and Becky walks in. She takes one look at Mom and bursts into tears as she moves around the bed. I get up from my chair to let her take my spot, and she bends to hug Mom. They both cry and cry.
“Thank goodness you’re okay,” Becky says.
They keep hugging each other and crying, and I feel nothing but love in this room—and immense gratitude for Mom’s return.
The nurse opens the door and peeks her head in. “There’s someone outside the ICU who wants to come in, but we can only have three visitors at a time.”
“Who is it?” I ask.
“Arthur Palmer. He says he’s your mother’s brother-in-law.”
I catch Becky’s gaze and shake my head.
“Ask him to wait for a bit,” Becky tells the nurse, who backs out of the room and closes the door.
Mom’s eyes fall closed, and I know she is tired and needs sleep. Becky kisses her on the forehead and turns to me. “Do you want to go out and talk for a minute?”
“Yes. Stay here, Connor,” I say. We both get up and leave the room to stand outside the door. “Dad’s been arrested,” I whisper. “Uncle Arthur said they had enough evidence to charge him with attempted murder.”
Becky places her hand over her heart. “Oh, my God.”
“Arthur’s defending him, and he’s here because he wants to know what Mom remembers. He wants her to say that Dad didn’t do it.”
“But is that true?” Becky asks.
“I don’t know. I’m so confused right now.”
She ponders this. “We need to ask her.”
“I already did. She says she doesn’t remember. She also said . . .” I pause because I don’t want anyone to think my mother is delusional. They might send her to the psych ward.
“Tell me,” Becky whispers, and I trust her like I always do.
“Mom believes she went to heaven,” I quietly say. “She felt Nanny and Granddad there.”
Becky stares at me, speechless.
“She said it was beautiful.”
Two male doctors in blue scrubs walk past, and we move closer to the wall to speak more privately.
“She was clinically dead,” Becky whispers, and I’m relieved that she seems to have an open mind about this. “Did she mention seeing anyone else?”
Becky stares at me with desperate eyes.
“I’m not sure,” I reply. “She didn’t say much more than that. I’m mostly worried about what happened before she fell in the water, because that’s what Arthur wants to know, and he’ll be asking Mom the same question. But she doesn’t remember.”
Becky turns to scan the unit. “I’d like to talk to her doctor about her memory. Is he around?”
I spot Dr. Malik at the nurses’ station, but he starts heading for the exit. I point. “That’s him.”
“I’ll be right back.” Becky hurries and catches him just before he pushes through the doors.
I watch and wait while they talk. A moment later, she returns.
“What did he say?” I ask.
“He said it’s normal to forget the details of a trauma like that, and it could just be temporary.
Her memory could return in the next few hours or days.
Or possibly never. We just have to wait and see.
But the good news is that she’s stable and they’ll be moving her out of the ICU tomorrow morning. ”
“That is good news,” I reply, exhaling with relief. “But what do we do about Uncle Arthur?”
Becky ponders this. “Do you have his number in your phone?”
“Yes, he just called me.” I retrieve it from my back pocket and hand it to her.
Becky starts texting. “I’m telling him that your mom’s sleeping and she can’t receive any visitors, and that he should go home and call later.”
“What about my dad?” I ask. “He’s stuck in jail.”
Becky hands my phone back to me. “If there’s actual proof that he pushed your mom off the rocks, then that’s where he belongs.”
She starts back to the room, and my emotions start to spiral because I don’t want to believe that he did this. I just want my old dad back—the one who used to carry me on his shoulders and take me to swimming lessons at the pool. I want the father he once was, before he opened his restaurant.
But maybe that man doesn’t exist anymore.
I hurry to follow Becky back to the room.