Chapter Six #2
I looked at Grandfather. He had been through terrible experiences, including my mother’s fatal accident, and his face wasn’t going to betray any hope. He honestly wasn’t sure, and he certainly was not going to candy-coat what was happening just to make me feel better.
“Can we stay?” I asked him. He looked at Jamie’s parents. They were so close to me, so caring; it was sometimes like they were my parents.
“Just immediate family here,” his father said.
Grandfather nodded. “We’ll take a room at the Bar Harbor Inn. Murphy will stay in the hotel lobby and come to us immediately with updates.”
Aunt Frances appeared and looked at everyone. Before she could speak, Grandfather offered Jamie’s parents her services if needed.
“Do what you have to do to be on hand,” he told her. “Let’s go to the inn,” he said to me after Jamie’s parents and sister went back to the surgical area.
“Why is he critical, Grandfather? Can’t I give him blood or…”
“He’ll get transfusions,” Aunt Frances said, growing serious and more professional now. “You don’t give people just anyone’s blood. Type has to match.”
“Why does he need blood, anyway?”
“It’s just that operating on someone who’s lost lots of blood endangers blood pressure and…”
“That’s enough,” Grandfather told her. She seemed disappointed, as if she enjoyed telling people hard things. “Okay, let’s go. We’ll rest, keep updated, and return,” he told me.
I felt more like I was floating, like I had lost all contact with everything and everyone around me. Mommy would call this kind of day a “yin-yang.” The day had started out bright and beautiful, full of excitement, and then suddenly turned dark and ugly and full of fear.
Grandfather called Daddy from the inn and told him what had happened and where we were. When he hung up, I could see he was unhappy with the call.
“What did Daddy say, Grandfather?”
“He said the Fullers had a contract to produce and deliver a certain number of pounds, and if they didn’t, we should cut their price.”
I stared at him a moment and let the words sink in.
“He’s not your son, Grandfather.”
“I know. Think I can get my money back?”
I found a laugh, and he smiled.
“I’ll get us an update in an hour. Just try to rest,” he said, and left for a while.
All sorts of memories of Jamie rambled through my mind. I hated that I was thinking of them. It was like preparing myself for another tragedy. “If you have bad thoughts,” Mommy had told me, “tell yourself to stop thinking of them. Act like there is someone else inside you that you want to shut up.”
I closed my eyes. I didn’t know how much time had passed, but suddenly Grandfather was shaking my arm.
“The operation is over,” he said. “He’ll be in intensive care for days, so we’ll go home.”
“How is he?”
“He’s stable. They put the rod in his leg. It’s too early to tell how that will be.”
“When can I see him?”
“They’ll call us. As soon as you can, you will,” Grandfather promised.
I felt helpless leaving Bar Harbor without seeing Jamie. Once we were out at sea again, the reality set in. This was our gold mine; everything we owned we owed to the sea and the fishermen. But it could be so treacherous. Weather ruled our lives as much as or more than those of most people.
And yet, like anything as vast and unpredictable, the sea held its majestic beauty.
Birdies grew up with it practically in their blood.
I wanted to hate it for what it had done to Mommy and Jamie, but I couldn’t deny the colors of the water, the gracefulness of calm waves, the birds and the fish that would rather be nowhere else.
How many calm days had Mommy and I and Jamie spent sailing on calm waters, feeling the ocean breeze in our hair?
Its singing put us to sleep, and the moonlight turning it into sparkling jewelry comforted us.
I knew that, despite what had happened to him, Jamie could never hate the sea.
It was our home.
We didn’t hear from the hospital until three days later, and that was because of Aunt Frances, who served as Jamie’s private-duty nurse.
Grandfather paid for it. I wanted to go see Jamie that day, but we had exams. He had no phone by his bed in the ICU.
I was so frustrated that I almost forgot the last sheet of questions on the English test.
The hours were restrictive, but I could go the next morning. They permitted only two at his bedside, so I had to wait in the lobby for his parents to come out.
“Oh, we’re so happy you came, Lisa. Jamie’s very depressed.” His mother hugged me. I could feel how shaky she was.
“You’ll cheer him up,” his father said. That suddenly loomed as a big challenge. “You’ve come through a bigger tragedy.”
I’m not through it, I thought, but I nodded and walked in toward the ICU. I saw Jamie lying back and staring up at the ceiling. I knew what all this meant to him. He would lose his dream just as I was marching ahead with mine.
He sensed I was coming and looked at me with a face full of guilt. Aunt Frances stepped in front of me before I reached his bed.
“He’s on a sedative,” she said. “It won’t work if you rile him up.”
“Why would I rile him up?”
“I’m just telling you,” she replied, and walked away.
“Olive Oyl,” I wanted to shout at her, but I just continued to Jamie.
“Why do only rich people have good luck?” he asked as soon as I was at his bedside.
“They buy it,” I said.
To my joyful surprise, he smiled.
“What kind of fisherman has only one good leg?” he asked.
“Captain Ahab. Moby-Dick.”
“Serves me right for not paying attention in English literature class,” he said. He turned away for a long moment.
“Jamie?”
“You know this changes everything. Captain Ahab or no Captain Ahab.”
“Let’s wait and see.”
“Your aunt is pretty realistic. She said I’ll need close to a year of therapy, and then who knows?”
“My aunt is an expert in depressing people, probably because she is always depressed herself. The only reason she became a nurse was to lord it over people. She just happens to be good at nursing.”
Jamie thought a moment and then suddenly brightened. “I forgot all about your painting. Did you see it in the museum?”
“Yes. It’s a great honor.”
“Maybe you’ll make a lot of money selling paintings and support us both,” he said. “I don’t mean it,” he quickly added. “A man should be able to support his family.”
“Why can’t a woman?”
He closed his eyes. I watched him for a moment and realized he was drifting off. My aunt came up to my side.
“You should let him rest. It’s when he’s healing.”
“Okay,” I said, rising.
I waited a moment, but he didn’t open his eyes.
“How long are you here?”
“As long as I have to be and your grandfather pays for it,” she said.
“Did you ever do anything for anyone without being paid for it?”
She stared at me a moment and then gave me that wry smile of hers. “I sold Girl Scout cookies once,” she said, “but ate a box myself.”
I walked away. Grandfather’s driver, Arthur, and car were waiting to take me to the dock.
“Please take me to the Doyle Art Gallery,” I asked him.
I didn’t want to ride home with this air of sadness. Good news was like sunshine after a storm. I wondered if I was being selfish thinking of bringing joy to myself while Jamie was lying back there in the hospital.
You’re no good to him with this dour look on your face, I told myself.
The moment I walked into the gallery, Mr. Doyle popped out of his office.
“What a coincidence,” he said. “Kyle Wyman doesn’t start for months, but he was on someone’s yacht and they pulled into the harbor, so he thought he’d stop by and look at your painting on the wall.”
“Really?”
“That’s what he said, but maybe he’s looking at his own,” he whispered, and winked. “To be an artist, you have to be very confident and proud of yourself. Maybe a little arrogant,” he added.
I wasn’t sure I liked hearing that. It sounded a little too much like my father.
I reined in my excitement and followed Mr. Doyle to meet his artist. Since he had chosen my painting, perhaps he would look at me differently from the way he looked at other young admirers.