She was in the intensive care unit. Having suffered multiple fractures, the most severe to her skull, she was unconscious. The prognosis was bleak.
Walking down the hall with Sam toward the ICU, Susan could feel his anguish radiating through the fingers that held hers so tightly. She was close enough to him to know what he was feeling far more than fear for his mother’s life. He hadn’t seen the woman in fifteen years. At that moment, he was deeply regretting the separation.
Susan paused at the door to the glass-enclosed unit. When Sam glanced quickly at her, she whispered, “You go in. She doesn’t know me.”
But he tugged on her hand. His eyes were wide, pleading in the way of a man not accustomed to pleading.
Susan didn’t hesitate any longer. She’d made a decision back in Providence, when she’d put away the scotch, that she wanted to be there for Sam. He needed her now.
Janet Craig looked pale and fragile against the pristine white sheets. A small woman, she’d reached her midfifties with a minimum of wear. Only the finest of lines, sprinkled at the corners of her eyes and mouth, marred the softness of her skin. Her hair was the same natural brown shade as Sam’s.
While Susan saw all that, Sam only saw the bandages that swept diagonally around her head, the tube that was taped to her mouth, the machines by her bed, the needles that forged entry to her veins. She was his mother. He knew what she was supposed to look like, and it wasn’t this.
“Mom,” he whispered. Dropping Susan’s hand, he bent over the still figure on the bed. “Mom?” He cleared his throat and forced himself to speak louder. “Mom? It’s Sam.”
His voice cracked at his name. Afraid she would cry, Susan pressed a fist to her mouth. Her throat was so tight that she doubted she’d have been able to say a word. But Sam either had greater strength than she, greater determination, or both.
“I’m here, Mom. Just got in a little while ago. The doctors are taking really good care of you. You’ll be fine. Just fine.” He paused. “Can you hear me, Mom?”
His mother showed no sign of awareness.
Sam wore a look of raw fear when he glanced up at Susan, but there was little she could say to ease his grief. The doctor hadn’t left much room for hope.
With the lightest of hands, Sam touched his mother’s cheek. His fingers trembled on her hair, then on her arm. Taking care around the intravenous needle, he slipped his fingers through hers.
“When I was little,” he murmured, moving his thumb over her pale skin, “she used to hold my hand. I always thought it was because she was afraid I’d run off and get lost, and she probably was, but I liked it when she did it. She wasn’t an openly loving person, but when she held my hand I felt safe. Loved.”
He leaned close again. “I’m here, Mom. I’m going to take care of you. Just open your eyes and look at me. Know I’m here.”
Susan pressed her fist harder against her mouth.
“It’s Sam. Can you hear me, Mom? It’s Sam.” He held his breath, watching in vain for a response that didn’t come. After an interminable minute, he let that breath escape. “I’m going to see Dad now.” His voice broke again, but he forced himself on. “I’ll be back, Mom. You work on getting better for me. Okay?”
Tears were pooling on his lower lids when he turned to face Susan. He took her hand again, then, as though knowing that he needed more, drew her close and held her tight. His voice was a ragged whisper by her ear. “It shouldn’t have happened this way. Not this way.”
Susan didn’t know whether he was talking about the accident or his reunion with his family. Neither should have happened that way, she knew. “Don’t give up hope,” she whispered. “Modern medicine can do wonders.”
“They think she’s already brain-dead.”
“Wait till they know it. Don’t assume the worst until then.”
Dragging in a ragged breath, Sam straightened. He glanced back at his mother, called, “I’ll be back, Mom,” then took Susan’s hand again and led her out to the hall, where he looked down at her. “Do you want to go somewhere to wait?”
Susan knew where he was going. He had to identify the bodies of his father, sister, and brother-in-law. It promised to be a heartrending task. He was giving her an out.
But she shook her head. “I’d rather stay with you.”
“You don’t have to. I’m okay.”
“I want to.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
He didn’t smile; she doubted he was capable of it just then. But the way he held her hand, keeping her close by his side as they walked toward the elevator, told her that he appreciated what she was doing, and as long as that was the case, she knew she’d do whatever she could to ease his pain, even if it meant increasing her own.
The elevator opened. They entered it and began the short trip to hell.
