A Family To Cherish. Carole Gift Page
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herself for behaving this way, hated the terrible dead-end course their marriage had taken, but she felt powerless to change anything. It was as if she and Doug were actors on a stage, spewing words they didn’t mean, words forced upon them by circumstances beyond their control.
Barbara had felt powerless since the day Doug had told her there was nothing they could do to save Caitlin. It seemed the only power she or Doug had these days was to inflict hurt on each other. It was what they were best at. What irony that the wounded had become so skilled at wounding one another. What hope was there for healing?
Barbara was nearly asleep when she heard Doug come up to bed. She lay still, her back to him as he climbed in beside her and rolled onto his side, away from her. She felt the weight of his body on the mattress, heard the springs creak. She waited, her breathing slow and rhythmic, pretending to slumber. Would he touch her? What would she do if he did? Should she risk letting him know she was awake and needed his closeness?
Barbara’s questions faded when she heard her husband’s deep, steady breathing. She lay in the darkness, listening, waiting. Doug was so close to her that she could feel his warmth as he lay stretched out beside her under the covers. And yet he had never seemed more distant. And she had never felt more alone.
In the middle of the night the telephone rang, startling them both out of sleep. With a muffled snort, Doug sat up and grabbed the bedside phone. Barbara sat up, too, her mind still shrouded in the gauzy cobwebs of a dream. She turned on the lamp and tried to focus on what Doug was saying. By his tone she knew something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
“Yes, this is Douglas Logan,” he was saying. “Nancy Myers? She’s my sister. What? When? Good Lord, no! Where did it happen? Are they—? Yes, I’ll be there. What hospital? All right. We’ll catch the next available plane.”
He hung up the phone and looked at her, his face drained of color, the lines around his eyes taut, distorted with shock and fear. She knew that look; it was coldly, frighteningly familiar; she had seen it a thousand times in her memory. That look had shattered her life, turned her world upside down. And now it was happening again. Her heart pumped with dread. “What happened?” she demanded.
His voice was tight, hushed. “That was the police. It’s Nancy. Their car crashed just south of San Francisco.”
Her skin prickled with an icy foreboding. “Oh, Doug, no! Are they okay?”
“They’re in the hospital. In some little rural town. A suburb south of San Francisco. We’ve got to go.”
“Of course. I’ll throw a few things in a bag.”
He nodded. “I’ll call the airline.”
It was amazing how in sync she and Doug could be when an emergency demanded it, she thought as she packed a suitcase, tossing in underwear, sleep-wear, toiletries, and a couple of changes of clothes for each of them. She made sure she had their address book, checkbook and a credit card, and put out enough food and water to last Tabby for a couple of days.
“I’ve got us booked on a red-eye special out of Burbank at four a.m.,” said Doug, as she ran a brush through her hair. “They’ll have a rental car waiting for us in San Francisco.”
Barbara and Doug said little to each other during the drive to the airport and the flight to San Francisco. Each was tight-lipped, their thoughts turned inward, their emotions on hold.
They arrived at San Francisco International shortly after five a.m. The airport was nearly deserted, with only a few passengers milling around or catching a catnap on some iron bench. The huge superstructure with its endless high-ceilinged corridors was so silent and everyone so hushed that Barbara had the feeling she was walking through a mausoleum. The only immediate sound she heard was the echo of her own heels on the hard tile floor as she and Doug traversed the long hall to the baggage carousel. After retrieving their suitcase and securing their rental car, Doug got directions, and they drove the twenty miles to St. Mary’s Hospital north of Hillsborough. Again, mostly in silence.
It was nearly six a.m. when they entered the hospital lobby. Daylight was already filtering through the windows, giving the room a smudged, hazy cast, as if the darkness were reluctant to relinquish its hold. Doug went straight to the information desk and asked where he could find his sister. The receptionist checked her charts and directed them upstairs, to the third floor, the Intensive Care Unit. “Dr. Glazier is on call.”
They took the elevator upstairs to the ICU nurses’ station, and Doug asked to see his sister, his voice tight with anxiety and impatience.
“I’ll page Dr. Glazier,” said the nurse. “Please have a seat in the waiting room.”
Doug held his ground. “I just want to know if my sister and her family are okay. Can’t you tell me that much?”
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to speak with the doctor.”
Doug’s tone hardened. “Listen, I am a doctor. A surgeon. And I want some answers. Now.”
“Dr. Glazier is on his way, Doctor. Please have a seat.”
Doug was about to protest again, but instead he threw up his hands in a gesture of futility and muttered something under his breath. He and Barbara crossed the hall to the waiting room and sat down on a green vinyl couch beside a tall potted palm. Nearby stood a table with a carafe of coffee and foam cups. Barbara got two cups of black coffee and handed one to Doug. “Maybe this will help.”
“Thanks. Some news would help even more,” he snapped. “All I want is a little information about Nan, and you’d think I was after top government secrets or something.”
Barbara thought of something. “What about Pam and Benny? I wonder if anyone’s called them.”
“Let’s wait until we have some news to report.”
Finally, a lanky man in a white lab coat approached; he had a narrow face, thinning hair, and a small black mustache. He held out his hand to Doug. “Mr. and Mrs. Logan? I’m Dr. Glazier.”
“It’s Doctor Logan,” said Doug. “How’s my sister?”
“I won’t sugarcoat it, Dr. Logan. It’s serious. Your sister has sustained multiple injuries, including a lacerated liver and spleen. We operated immediately, but there was too much damage. She’ll need further surgery, but at the moment she’s too weak. If she can gain some strength in the next day or two…”
“What about her husband, Paul?”
Dr. Glazier’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry. Your sister’s husband was killed on impact. A drunk driver crossed into their lane and hit them head-on.”
“And their daughter?” asked Barbara, choking back a sob. “Did she make it?”
Dr. Glazier’s voice brightened slightly. “Yes. She was asleep in the back seat. She sustained only minor injuries. She’s in the pediatric wing. Barring any complications, we should be able to release her in a few days.”
“When can I see my sister?” asked Doug.
“The two of you can see her now, but just for a few minutes. She’s in module 2A.”
Barbara and Doug instinctively clasped hands as they entered the small, unadorned room. In the large hospital bed lay a pale figure connected to a maze of blinking, whirring machines. Barbara clasped her hand over her mouth and whispered, “Oh, Doug, she looks so bad.”
Doug approached the bed and put his hand on Nancy’s arm. His voice rumbled with emotion. “Hey, sis, it’s me, your big brother.”
Nancy’s eyes fluttered open, but her gaze remained unfocused. “Doug?” she murmured through pale, swollen lips.
“Yeah, it’s me, baby. Barbara’s here, too.”
Nancy struggled to speak, her lips forming a faint smile. “Didn’t think…you’d see me again…so soon…did you?”
“Can’t