Brendan said, “I love you, Jennifer. Who wouldn’t love the most beautiful girl in the world? One way or the other, I will see you.”
He smiled that wonderful smile of his and gave me a double thumbs-up as the orderly wheeled him down the long hallway to surgery. Then Brendan let loose with one of his famous go-jump-in-the-lake screams.
I clapped my hands together and laughed. “Bye,” I called. “Bye.”
Brendan looked back, smiled again.
Just before he disappeared, he yelled, “Bye!”
Seventy
BYE?
Don’t let it be bye.
I slid down into an upholstered chair in the corner of the hospital waiting room and began to imagine the operation going on six floors below me when Shep arrived with Brendan’s mother and father, whom I had never met.
“He didn’t want us to come,” said Mrs. Keller. “He’s trying to make it easier for us. Or so he thinks.”
“He’s always been that way,” said Brendan’s father. “He broke his hand once in high school and didn’t tell us until it was nearly healed. I’m Andrew, by the way. This is Eileen.”
We all hugged. Then Brendan’s mother and father went straight to tears. I could see how much they loved their son, and it touched me.
The rest of the day crept by at an excruciatingly slow pace. I glanced down at Brendan’s watch every few minutes, and the hands almost didn’t seem to move. Brendan’s father told jokes, which wasn’t much of a surprise. My favorite was, “How do you recognize an extrovert computer geek? He looks atyourshoes.”
Other visitors drifted in and out of the waiting room, a few of them crying, most looking worried. The television flickered with never-ending images of the news, CNBC, ESPN.
As we waited I wondered if Shep might be Doc. But he hadn’t raised his children alone. So hewasn’tDoc—unless Sam had pulled a fast one.
At about four I left the waiting-around room for a while. I wandered down to the Peace Garden in the St. Marys compound, a square filled with bright flowers and a statue of Saint Francis. I heard a carillon concert, the bells ringing out a pretty rendition of “Amazing Grace.” I got down on my knees and prayed for Brendan. Then I called Sam and told her about the day so far.
Finally I returned to the waiting room. My timing was excellent. Ten hours after I had kissed Brendan good-bye, a young doctor with dark hair and a cherubic face appeared. He announced that he was Adam Kolski. He didn’t look old enough to be a surgeon, let alone “practically a goddddd.”
I tried to read his face, but my journalistic skills weren’t working very well that day.
“Things went as well as could be expected,” Dr. Kolski said. “Brendan survived the surgery.”
Seventy-one
VISITORSwere permitted to see patients in the ICU for just a few minutes. One person at a time. After the Kellers and Shep took their turn, I went in. Adam Kolski came along with me to check on his patient. “He’s doing better than he looks,” Kolski warned.
Brendan was unconscious. His head was swaddled in bandages, and his face was black and blue. Dr. Kolski explained that Brendan had been tubed and that machines could keep him alive, just in case.
There was a tube in Brendan’s nose, another in his throat; a catheter led to a bag under the bed; and IV towers dripped saline and sedatives into his veins. Electrodes were stuck all over him, sending reports on his vital signs to several monitors; a blood pressure cuff on one arm inflated and deflated automatically.
“He’s alive,” I whispered. “That’s the only important thing.”
“He is alive,” Dr. Kolski said, and patted my shoulder. “He did this for you, Jennifer. He told me that you’re worth it and more. Talk to him. You might be the medicine Brendan needs right now.”
Then Kolski stepped out of the room and I was alone with Brendan. I took off the watch he’d given me and gently buckled it over his wrist, right next to the plastic bracelet with his name on it. I squeezed Brendan’s fingers and leaned close to his face.
“I’m right here,” I said, willing him to hear my voice. “You know, I’ve loved every minute I’ve spent with you this summer.But especially this one.”
Seventy-two
IT SEEMEDas though my precious five minutes with Brendan was over in about five seconds. I was holding his hand, and then I was pulled away by a polite but firm nurse who sent me reeling out to the waiting room again.
Mr. and Mrs. Keller and Shep wanted to take me to dinner, but I was emotionally and physically wasted. I couldn’t leave Brendan right then. When they left, I sank into a chair and let the tears sheet down my cheeks. I had restrained myself most of the day, but now I had no reason to hold back. All kinds of thoughts and voices were inside my head.Brendan could die soon. Well-meaning people would say, “Jennifer, you’re still young. Grieve, but you have to move on. Don’t shut out love.”
