Memories Of Us

Chapter 2

~ Carl ~

"No." My steepled hands at my lips; the board falls silent. I take my time uprighting myself from the reclinable leather desk chair. My hands move to clasp one another in front of me, and I consider the state of my fingernails, my wedding band glinting off the evening sun through the panoramic window. "Our position must remain that of observation. They want us, of that we can be certain. Argyle's board wants to stay together, and they have the best chance of that with us. They're astute and talented people. We have to be patient, let them come to us." I sit back again. "If there is no contact by close of business Wednesday next, we'll revisit."

Lois starts to open her mouth, then thinks better of it. She lowers her eyes, her blonde curls falling forward. I greatly value her stance on all GEH matters, it more often opposes my own, and strangely enough, I like that. Far greater options on various dealings have been presented since she came to join the board. But she knows when to stop, and I appreciate that ever more.

"Sir." Taylor's voice interrupts from the boardroom doorway. My eyes are still flitting among the nine other pairs seated at my table.

"Yes, Taylor."

"We need to go, Sir. Now."

His tone is off. It's rare for Jason Taylor to interrupt a board meeting, and unheard of for him to issue any hint of a command in my direction. My eyes fly to his. Taylor's face is tight, ashen.

"Take over, Ros." My voice remains even. My legs obey. My heart pounds unsteadily, and we're in the elevator. Taylor pushes the button labeled G. I see the wood-paneled doors slide closed, feel us drop. "Well?" My throat closes, every nerve ending on fire.

The pause is unbearable. "It's Abi, Sir. There was an accident. She's pretty bad. Ryan just called from the ER... he said both she and Sawyer were taken to surgery.

Oh. Dear. God. No. "The baby?" I choke.

"I don't know, Sir."

Kill me. Kill me now. My legs give out and I slump against the mirrored elevator wall as the door opens on the garage level. I don't care that Taylor is supporting me as I stumble to the waiting SUV. I don't even care that he gets into the backseat with me. My heart hurts. It hurts.

"I want to drive," I struggle against him, but I'm weak and unsteady. I need to get to her.

"I can't let you, Sir. Owen knows the way."

I want to scream. My hands shake. Then my shoulders, my face is wet. No, she can't see me cry. I drag my fingers across my cheeks.

"Dr. Treveylan, I have him. We're on our way. Yes, ma'am. I understand." Taylor clicks his phone off. "Your mother will meet us at the rear entrance."

I'm only vaguely aware that Taylor is talking, much less talking to me. Abi. Hang on, baby, I'm coming. Just hold on. "My mother?"

"Yes, sir. She was there when Abi arrived."

Abi. Oh God, please let her be okay. Let her live. Let the baby live. God please...

"Sir, we're here." Taylor grips my shoulder, and I stumble after him.

"Carl!" my mother's arm is around my waist, pulling me forward.

"Mom..." I can't form words. I just let her take me. Take me to Abi, to the other half of my soul.

She pulls me into an elevator, not releasing me. We get out on some floor, and she pulls me along again. She hasn't said anything. Why hasn't she told me? Oh it's bad. It must be... God, please...

She stops to sign something, and pulls me into a room. It's small, low-lit, there's a vinyl sofa and chairs. This is the room they take you to when they have to tell you someone died. I was in a room like this once, long ago... and suddenly, a haze fills me, a numb, care-not fog. It's blissfully temperate, and I wonder why I'm here. Then everything crashes in again, the stabbing pain returns to my chest. "I've lost them," I whisper. My knees make contact with the sterile tile.

Mom grips my shoulders, hard. "Oh Carl," she chokes a sob. "Abi's still holding on. But..."

My Abi! She's... but that means... "My daughter..."

She pauses for an eternity, her hand over her mouth. "I'm so, so sorry, darling."

This can't be happening. It can't be... "No... no no no no nononononono..."

Mom holds me, but I just can't bear it any longer. I push her away as gently as I can mAbige, falling back, wrapping my arms around my knees. My wife may still die... my child, my poor, poor baby girl will never open her eyes upon the world. My family is falling apart...

"Teddy?" I blurt out, despair turning to panic.

"Gail has him, Sir. He's just fine. Carter is with them."

Taylor's still here. I hadn't noticed. I press my forehead to my bruised kneecaps, willing this all to be a terrible nightmare, and not the reality it surely is.

Time passes. My father is there, my brother, my sister, they sit by me in turn. I hear the word 'breakdown' uttered. I can't look at them, can't see them. Mom leaves, and my fists clench. She'd only leave for an update, and my aching heart rips open, fresh in the agony of waiting to hear my dear Abi's fate.

"She's still stable, Carl," her voice soothes me, and I choke on another sob, curling into myself once again.

"Carl."

That voice rattles my anguish briefly enough, and I look up. "John."

"I came as soon as I heard." Dr. John Flynn often sits cross-legged in his office chair, and now, here he is, in much the same fashion on the floor beside me. "Where are your thoughts, Carl?"

I know this exercise. I'm vaguely aware that everyone has left. I imagine my father called him. They must think Abi's going to... No. No! "She can't die, John, she can't..."

"Your mother told me Abi's doing a bit better. She'll be out of surgery soon. Let's focus on that, all right?" He lowers his face, looking up toward me, like trying to coax compliance from a child.

"My... my baby..."

"I heard. I'm so sorry."

The words... I struggle to string them together. "Abi... I can't... I can't lose her, John. I can't."

"She's still with us, Carl. You know how strong she is."

I nod, my aching head bobbing like a doll. "She's the strongest person I know. So much more than I am. She's my life..." I swallow another sob.

"Breathe, Carl."

I suck in a ragged breath, and weary, sick relief floods my body. I hadn't noticed I was holding my breath. I haven't done that since I was a child... since I drove her away... since that fucker Hyde...

"Keep talking," he prods.

"I don't know what to do. I always know what to do, I always have a plan." I shudder. A new despair washes over me. "What am I going to tell her?"

Flynn shakes his head. He's at a loss, a reaction I'd never seen from the man before. "That you love her," he decides. "That it happened, that you're here for her, and that you'll get through it, together." He pauses. "I know, it's standard and clinical, but it's all I've got. There really is no easy answer sometimes."

My mother knocks lightly at the cracked door.

Flynn straightens, indicating for me to rise with him. My sore knees resist, but the rest of my body doesn't... I can't seem to make any decisions at the moment. He gestures me over to a vinyl couch, and then sits beside me. I put my head in my hands. I can feel Flynn looking at me. "Your mother would like to bring your daughter to you. It would be good... for you, and later for Abi... to be able to say goodbye to her." He pauses, and his voice softens further. "It might be your only chance before hospital procedures take over."

"She's..." I can't finish the thought.

"Carl," my mother says softly from the doorway. Her eyes are watery, filled with sorrow. "Would you like to see her?"

When I woke this morning, I saw my child's eyes. Laughing, gentle blue eyes. He was going to be a big brother. I could see him, envision him holding her hand, helping her learn to walk, to run, playing together. And now, I see him, alone in our meadow, picking flowers to place on her grave. I see Abi, sobbing beneath the great maple tree, a place she'd gone to daydream about our children. I see our family growing distant, isolated, lonely. And I see a little angel, my little Phoebe, a perfect miniature of her mother, with tears in her eyes. No. I won't let this tear us apart. I won't let her be forgotten. I want to remember my child.

"Yes, please Mom. I want to see her."

John stands and excuses himself. I hear him murmuring to my father in the hallway. My mother... I've never seen her this shaken, not since the Charlie Tango incident. She pulls the door closed behind her and approaches me, almost apprehensive, a white bundle in her arms. Tears shine in her eyes. She lowers herself to sit beside me.

"She's very small..." she says, unable to go on, and gently passes the bundle into my arms.

I sniffle. "Thank you, Mom."

And she is small. I pull back the blanket. Her tiny body is dark pink in color, and covered by a light dusting of white, downy hair. I remember reading about this in one of Abi's pregnancy books... this is my daughter.

"Hello, Phoebe," I begin. "My beautiful baby girl. You were always wanted. Always loved. And always will be." I lift her and place a soft kiss on her tiny forehead. Her skin is cold, and that does me in. I bring her body to my chest and hold her, rocking her, rocking myself. My mother holds me. She must have been through this other times with other patients, but this is different. This was her granddaughter.

I feel as helpless as I did when she and I first met. I turn to the woman who saved my life, and her expression mirrors mine. "Is she in Heaven, Mom?"

My mother nods, absolute conviction in her eyes. "I know she is."

~oOo~

More time passes. I'm unsure how much time. I tearfully relinquished my daughter's body back to my mother, with her word that she'd be kept safe and sound. My father said something about taking care of arrangements, and not to worry. Flynn spoke in my general direction for a while longer. I missed much of what he said, and then he went home, saying something about being on call if I needed... whatever I needed. Mia and Ethan brought food, but it felt like an incendiary device had gone off in the pit of my stomach. Mia cried. For the first time in my life, I couldn't bear her to be near me.

My mother walked me up to Abi's room in intensive care, explaining her injuries and what to expect, but the whooshing in my ears from my racing heart was such that I heard about every seventh word. It didn't really hit me until I saw her.

It was worse than after Hyde's attack, so much worse. She was hooked up to a multitude of machines, beeping, clicking, whirring, all keeping her alive. Her entire right arm encased in plaster, head bandaged, her blanket covering any number of other injuries. Dark circles ringed her eyes. A tube taped to her mouth, her chest rising and falling to the sucking sound of a ventilator.

I feel my knees weakening again, and my mother takes my hand, squeezing my fingers. "She'll be asleep awhile. You should talk to her though," she says.

I settle into the chair by her bed and lean against the railing. She's so badly broken, I'm afraid to touch her, and after feeling how cold and lifeless our daughter had been, I'm terrified Abi will feel the same way to me. It's irrational, I know. "Tell me again, Mom. please. I'm sorry, I wasn't able to pay attention the first time." And I brace for the rundown.

~oOo~

My vigil is arduous. 'Awhile' turned to 'indefinitely' when her brain began to swell. On day six, as Abi lay comatose, I left her side for an hour to bury our daughter. I pray she won't hate me for doing this without her, but it was for our daughter's peace, not for mine or anyone else's, that I moved forward with her burial. We'll do a memorial when she wakes up, whatever she wants. Whatever will help her to forgive me.

If she wakes up. And this is becoming a bigger, graver if.

Gail brings Teddy by every day, and I see him in the waiting room. Children aren't permitted in the ICU. The hole in my heart rips open every time he asks about his little sister, and every time I soothe his 'I want Mommy' tears. I can't let him see his mother this way, even if he were allowed in. I know exactly how confusing and frightening it would be for him.

Mom called Dr. Sluder in to take the lead on Abi's case. She's been subjected to MRIs and other various tests every afternoon, but the results are never conclusive and rarely encouraging. I can recite the contents of her chart by heart, and while I don't have a very firm grasp on this kind of medicine, the neutrality of the vitals and orders written on the page pick at my desperation to take action, though there is none to take. None that I can take, that is.

Ray arrived late evening on the first day. Carla arrived on the second day and neither has left except to sleep and clean up I booked them in the dual suite at the Fairmont. Maybe that was inappropriate on my part, putting them together, but I really didn't care at the time, much above and beyond seeing that everyone was taken care of. Sawyer went home on bed rest after surgery to remove a ruptured spleen and was back for light duty after the second week. Ryan, quickly recovered from a minor concussion and bruising, insisted upon taking shifts at the door to the ICU. We spoke briefly, he voiced his feelings of guilt over what part he could have played in driving the SUV, but as the police report concluded, it wasn't his fault. The other driver, a known repeat-offender of drug and alcohol abuse, got behind the wheel that afternoon to buy cigarettes. They found his mangled body across the street.

And Abi... there's been no change. Twenty-three days, and other than the bruises fading and staples removed, she hasn't moved, hasn't taken a breath on her own, her eyelids don't even flicker as she sleeps. Mom uses long clinical terms to describe her lack of progress in the most gentle way she can, but I know better. The longer she sleeps, the less likely she is to wake. Devastation doesn't even begin to describe my grief. The reality that Abi may never open her eyes seeps into my soul like the blackest ink. It is poison.

Dad visits every morning and evening and makes me leave Abi to clean myself up, to change clothes at least once a day. I don't see the point, I'm not here to impress anyone, and I don't believe I smell. He visits for a while, mentioning things like DNR orders and living wills. I tune him out. Taylor takes orders from him in my stead; we haven't said more than five words to one another in days. Mia brings food and stays until I eat, though what she offers goes down like wood pulp. Next to me, Abi wastes away on a cocktail of intravenous fluids. Ros brought some paperwork by for my signature, but I said something harsh and she hasn't returned.

The nurses see fit to quarrel with me daily over Abi's treatment. Something about an electrode current therapy, which in layman's terms to me meant electric shocks. How barbaric, and this is supposed to be a hospital, where people go to heal from things like car accidents. My mother had to leave a patient to explain the procedure to me and to convince me to let the staff do their jobs. My behavior has supposedly grown increasingly atrocious, but I really don't care.

I can feel Abi slipping away. John stops by every afternoon, but for the first time as my therapist, he's of no help. I think my father is paying him to be sympathetic. Mark and Tricia took Teddy to stay with them after I insisted Gail not bring him by the hospital anymore. I hate myself for whatever damage this will do to my relationship with my son, and I miss him terribly, but it's what's best for him.

The swelling in Abi's brain subsided in the third week, and they attempted to end her coma. Abi stubbornly refused. I was told that it isn't unheard of considering the extent of the trauma she sustained. She now sleeps of her own free will. I hate and I love and I hate how stubborn she can be.

I rest against Abi's mattress, her uninjured hand in mine. I talk to her, read to her, though I'm sure she can't hear me. I have to do something... anything.

"Abi, baby... please, please come back to me," I whisper, pressing kisses to her fingers. "I miss you. I need you. I love you."

And on the thirtieth day, her fingers moved.

I startled. Perhaps it was my imagination. I brushed her knuckles lightly with my thumb, and waited, what seemed like forever. And she twitched again. An alarm goes off, one of her machines. An orange light on the ventilator... Christ, no! I furiously punch the alert button on the wall. Seconds later, two nurses scurry in.

"Don't be alarmed, Mr. Green. Abi's just trying to breathe. The ventilator doesn't like it when patients try to breathe on their own," she says, almost cheerfully. Nurse Two... I never bothered to learn their names... is disconnecting the breathing tube, and I see Abi's fingers move again, curling into her palm.

Oh God, it's happening. My mind sails into a joyous, if ever possible, panic mode. She's actually waking up... what do I say? What do I tell her? Will she hate me? Why didn't I prepare what I'd say to her? I chastise myself for this most selfish stream of consciousness. She's waking up, that's what matters. That's all that matters.

Nurse One moves down to check the chart, and I pick up Abi's fisted hand. "Baby, I'm here," I say to her.

"Please stand aside, Mr. Green," Nurse One bustles back over to Abi, and I practically leap away as she reaches toward my chest to urge me out of the way. I haven't reacted quite that violently to a stranger's attempted contact in years. They're checking her pulse, checking everything, when Dr. Sluder strides in.

"Trying to wake up today, are we, Mrs. Green?" she drawls, briefly consulting the chart Two is holding up for her and then feeling Abi's pulse.

"What's happening?" I demand.

"Your wife is regaining consciousness, Mr. Green," she says without looking at me. "Will you draw the shades for me, please." This is not a question.

"Why?"

Dr. Sluder is scurrying around, adjusting machines and checking Abi's reflexes. "Waking coma patients don't like bright lights, Mr. Green. Please, the shades."

Stunned, I do as I am told. I move cautiously toward the bed, then stop about halfway. I am disembodied with uncertainty.

"Come on, darlin'," Dr. Sluder encourages, her fingers gently prodding my wife's cheeks.

Abi's eyelashes flutter. I'm dimly aware that I'm holding my breath, and in the time it takes to remember how to exhale, she's blinking slowly, sleepily.

"Good to see you, Abi," Dr. Sluder says to her. "You're in the hospital. You were in an accident. There's a tube in your mouth that was helping you breathe, we'll take it out in a minute. If you understand, can you give my hand a squeeze?" She seems satisfied with Abi's minimal response and has a third nurse, who has exchanged places with Nurse Two, remove tape from Abi's face. 

"When you're ready, take a deep breath and then blow out, Abi." Dr. Sluder waits as Abi's chest rises, and then gently pulls the tube. Abi's cough is dry and weak. I'm glued to the spot, heart pounding, as Nurse One offers Abi water through a straw.

"Mr. Green, come on over," Dr. Sluder waves toward my recently vacated bedside seat. Abi is so weak, so groggy, she doesn't... or can't... turn her head to look for me. I wonder sadly when she'll notice the flatness of her abdomen, and hear myself choke back a sob.

Abi closes her eyes, breathing somewhat laboredly, but the slow opening and closing of her pale, chapped lips tells me she's still awake.

Dr. Sluder and Nurse Three exchange acronyms and statistics for a minute, and then she tells me she'll be right back.

"Mrs. Green, I'm going to make you a little more comfortable, all right?" Nurse One tells Abi. I see her name badge, Sharon. Anyone who makes my wife comfortable is worth remembering.

"Who..." Abi rasps, eyes opening, barely slits.

"What's that, Mrs. Green?"

"Who's... Mrs. Green..." Abi whispers.

The air leaves my lungs.

"That's you, honey," Nurse Sharon's cheerful demeanor replaced with instantaneous and dutiful concern. Her eyes flit to mine, gauging my reaction, or lack thereof.

What the f**k just happened?

"Abi, baby..." I say softly, leaning in toward her, picking up her good hand.

Her eyes take me in, brow furrowing a bit, lips parted in a small, confused 'O'. She pulls her hand from mine.

My heart plummets.

"Mr. Green, may I see you outside?"

My head turns mechanically. Dr. Sluder's hand is extended toward me. It appears she's been back long enough to assess the situation. I turn back to Abi. Her eyes... is that, no... fear? I rise slowly, swallowing the rising sawdust from whatever Mia has fed me this morning and back out from the room. Abi's eyes are still locked with mine, and then she looks away. Nurse Sharon adjusts her pillows. I can't hear what she tells Abi, but she looks frightened. My Abi...

"Memory loss was always a possibility, Mr. Green," Dr. Sluder is telling me, but my eyes refocus on the form of my mother jogging toward me up the hall.

"Mom... she's..."

"Awake?" my mother interrupts. "Yes, Taylor just paged me."

"No, listen... Mom, she's, she's..." I can't form the words. I don't want to. I can't accept it. I'll fall apart again. I've done that enough in the last thirty days to last ten lifetimes. I'm Carl Green, CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation, I. Do. Not. f*****g. Lose. It. I clench my jaw, Smithing my soul. "She doesn't know me."

My effort holds for a moment suspended in time, but in the end, it's worthless. And again, in as many weeks, my world comes crashing down.