Chapter 7 #2
“Mr. Paris’s daughter’s condition has been stabilized.
Fifty per cent of her body is burned, mostly the lower extremities.
We’ve done several escharotomies.” He turned to Paul Paris to explain, “Those are the lengthwise incisions along the burn wounds necessary to allow room for the swelling of muscle and skin tissue. Her wounds have been dressed and she’s on massive doses of IV fluid now.
” It was part of Roxanne’s job to help provide information to the press and though she listened attentively, she shuddered inwardly, and tried to repress the heartbreaking image of the little girl.
Before Roxanne had a chance to ask any questions, a door was opened and a gurney surrounded by a team of people came through.
It rolled to a stop beside them. On it lay the same small six or seven-year-old girl she’d seen on the news.
Lindy Dennis had looked hopelessly injured on television, but here Roxanne saw a small light in the child’s eyes when she gazed up at her stepfather.
Paul did not move toward her, but only tried to reassure her in a dispassionate voice.
The little girl looked at Roxanne and met her eyes directly.
“Mommy?” Lindy barely whispered, but Roxanne had not mistaken the word. Her mouth dropped and she reached her hand out to touch the child. Lindy smiled then, and closed her eyes.
The attendants and doctors moved the stretcher forward, mumbling something about her being in shock.
Dr. Davis went with them. Roxanne knew the routine.
They were bringing Lindy to the burn center to rest before her surgery in the morning when they would remove the burned tissue.
They would also then remove one-inch strips of an infinitely thin layer of skin from another part of her body in order to grow a culture for skin grafts.
This procedure would have to be repeated many times.
She would be placed in a Bacteria Controlled Nursing Unit—a BCNU.
It was basically a plastic tent-like cube, completely enclosed and through which sterilized air constantly flowed from the ceiling through to the floor.
It would protect her from infection, a burn victim’s number one enemy.
Paul Paris was left standing there. Roxanne could not bring herself to look at the man. She was afraid her tears would show. She had the urge to shake him. But then she realized he might be suffering from a kind of shock himself.
When she looked up, she saw him stare blankly down the hall after the receding gurney bearing the child’s bandaged body.
The teardrops escaped from her eyes this time without her caring now, and Roxanne turned to Paul and took his arm.
She said nothing, but he eventually looked down at her, then shook his head as if trying to bring himself back from his fog.
“Have you slept, Mr. Paris? Let me have a doctor look at you. Maybe you could use a sedative.” She led Paul easily to one of the doctors on duty and he was duly accompanied into a room for treatment.
A while later, after pacing at least a mile along the hallway near the emergency room, she wondered how long she could stall the press conference while she waited for Brian.
She headed for the door to get some air and spotted his tall frame jog toward her down the hall from the other direction.
He had come in through the front door away from the emergency entrance.
Smart man. She steeled herself as he approached. Do not cry.
“How is she? Can I see her?” He stopped directly in front of her, taking her by the arms and squeezing. “I took a helicopter from the airport to get here as soon as I could.”
“The best medical team they have at CMH is taking care of her. They’re bringing her to rest now. You might be able to catch her before she goes out.”
She directed him down the hall and they sped along the path where the gurney had gone, mindful only of getting him a glimpse of his daughter—and getting the little girl a glimpse of her father.
Unfortunately they didn’t escape the attention of some reporters who’d come inside and saw them heading off.
The reporters followed at a trot to catch up.
“Mr. Dennis, how do you feel about your ex-wife’s death?”
“Are you going to take permanent custody of your daughter now? How will all this affect your game?”
Brian ignored the harangue of questions, so she figured she should too, although it killed her not to slap one of them. He rushed ahead of them now, dragging her along. But there was one last question hurled at their backs.
“Hey Brian, did you win last night?”
Brian turned, stopped moving and said, “Of course we won. And I performed the way I always do, the way everyone fucking expects. Now get the hell out of here and leave me alone.” He would have turned back, but a number of them caught up and one of them jumped in front of Brian and took a picture.
Brian shoved the man aside, and none too gently.
He grabbed Roxanne by the arm and dragged her with him as they swiftly aimed at the door at the end of the corridor.
She hadn’t been sure how he’d react, or what kind of relationship he had with his daughter, but from what she’d seen so far, he was exhibiting all the symptoms of a typical parent under the circumstances.
The relief that came to her at this realization surprised her.
But it didn’t matter now. They’d arrived at the room where Lindy had been brought.
He couldn’t believe how fast his heart was beating. He put his hand to his chest in an unconscious gesture as if to slow it down, before they entered the room where they brought his little girl. He pushed through the door.
“Jesus.” He breathed the word as he saw her lying there bandaged, connected to tubes and contraptions and surrounded by concerned-looking doctors and nurses. One of the white-coated men turned to him.
“Mr. Dennis, she’s sleeping now. She’s been stabilized.
” The man beckoned him to approach the bed.
He was afraid to look too closely, and his stomach churned, but he forced himself.
Her face still held the angelic look he’d come to cherish.
But he’d never spent enough time with her.
He always told himself it didn’t matter because she’d been happy living with her mother…
“Jesus, he repeated. He put his hand to his face and swiped at the beads of sweat that had formed. Lindy had no mother anymore. He was all she had now. His stomach thundered its revolt at this sudden realization.
Then Paul Paris walked in the room. He glanced at the man without a greeting.
She had Paul too, Brian supposed. He turned to the doctor.
Taking a deep breath, he asked. “How bad is she, doctor?” Roxanne had told him only the general picture, saying he should get the details from the doctors.
He heard it now and blanched at the long and painful treatment and recovery prognosis described to him.
Skin grafts. BCNU. Months in the hospital.
“And most important of all to the patient’s recovery will be family love and support.
Especially under the circumstances here.
She’s not only suffering physical loss with all its impact, but there’s also the emotional impact of the loss of her mother to deal with.
We’ll have a child psychologist and counselors working with her and the family of course, but…
” Doctor Davis turned from him to Paul Paris and back.
The man didn’t know whom to address as the family, Brian thought.
“But what?” It was Paul who prompted the doctor. Brian looked at him sharply.
“But we normally have the parents involved in day-to-day care.” The doctor eyed them both. He seemed skeptical. And why not? What had he ever done for her really?
“I’m sure we’ll do our best to handle the situation, Doctor. At least I know I will,” Paul said and turned to him.
Brian felt like he’d been slapped with a white glove. The sting of shame felt more vivid than the challenge to rise to the occasion. He had to say something. He was no monster. He was a good father to Lindy and he could be better.
“I’m sure Brian shares your sentiment Mr. Paris,” Roxanne began in his defense.
“Damn right. You have something you’d like to say to me, Paris?
” His voice was quiet, but he shifted further away from the sleeping child.
He didn’t feel quiet. Emotions stormed within him and he needed to give them vent.
He kept his eyes on Paris who suddenly seemed threatening to him, like his own conscience brought to life.
And he reacted defensively, instinctively, like any red-blooded Marlboro man would, challenging him to a fight.
He knew it was all wrong, but he didn’t give a crap at the moment.
“Yes I do, as a matter of fact, and it concerns that little girl over there. You’ll have to pardon me if I’m skeptical about you showing up every day when you haven’t even spent what little time with her that you were supposed to in the past.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I never canceled one single visit with my daughter. Ever.” His voice was still quiet. He felt Roxanne’s eyes on him.
“What about last Saturday? You were supposed to spend the day with her then?” Paul lifted his chin belligerently. The others in the room hadn’t said a word yet, but Brian felt their growing anxiety.
Still, Brian had to do it. He had to meet the challenge, fully aware that this wasn’t the time or place. “Your wife canceled that visit, not me. I guess she failed to mention that to you.”
Surprise showed on Paul’s face. Then the man turned red and scowled.
“Look, none of this matters now,” Roxanne said, tugging on Brian’s arm to lead him toward the door. But he stood firm to take whatever Paul Paris wanted to dish out.
“You’re lying,” Paul said and stepped closer to him.
“No. Your wife is the liar,” Brian said it automatically, without a thought.