“Don’t talk like that,” Becky firmly says. “She’s going to wake up.”
I button my jeans and move to my dresser to find a clean pair of socks. “I hope so.”
The sound of the shower lets me know that Dad is awake, so I tell Becky I have to go.
“Text me when you get to the hospital,” she says, “and let me know how she’s doing.”
“I will.”
We end the call, and I return to the bed to snuggle with Oscar for a moment and gather strength to face this horrible day.
In the car on the way to the hospital, I’m influenced by my brother’s anxieties at breakfast and succumb to the temptation of social media—in particular the hundreds of comments on Oblique’s Facebook page.
It’s shocking to me that my mother’s ordeal at Peggy’s Cove has gone viral. As of this morning, a whole new group calledThe Peggy’s Cove Murderhas been established. So far, there are 350 comments, and some are from people who were there and saw my parents arguing.
The way they describe it makes it sound heated, like Dad was going to beat her up or something. I’m trying not to believe everything I read, especially stuff like this, because that’s not the dad I know. But it still scares me because ... what if Idon’treally know my dad?
Other comments leave condolences, thoughts, and prayers.
By the time I skim through everything, it appears to have become a battle of yes or no. Did he do it or not? Half the commenters think he’s guilty, while the other half believes this is a ridiculous conspiracy theory and our family deserves privacy.
With all these comments to read, the drive to the hospital passes in a millisecond. When I glance up from my phone, I discover that we’ve arrived and Dad is pulling into a parking spot.
I quickly put my phone away, but my stomach keeps burning with anxiety. It’s physically painful, like acid churning. This is all too much to take. I need yogurt or something.
Dad shuts off the car and unbuckles his seat belt. My eyes are wide open, like a couple of Ping-Pong balls, as I watch him and think about some of what I just read on that awful Facebook page.
At the ICU, we learn that Mom’s condition is still critical, and her blood pressure dropped this morning. They took her for a CT scan, which revealed some bleeding with swelling around her brain. The doctorexplains that it’s not because of drowning and being deprived of oxygen but a result of the skull fracture she received when she hit the rocks.
The news breaks me. I burst into tears and turn to Connor, who gathers me into his arms.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” Dad says, rubbing my back. “She’s getting the best care.”
“It’s not a lost cause,” Dr. Malik adds.
At this, I wipe my eyes and face him.
“We’ll be taking her to the OR this morning to relieve that pressure and will see how she responds.”
“Is there a chance she might wake up after you do that?” I ask.
“I can’t say anything for sure. Just know that she’s in good hands. The whole team will do everything we can for her.”
“Thank you,” Dad says.
He tries to wrap his arm around my shoulders, but I shrug away from him and start walking to Mom’s room.
Moments after Mom is taken to the OR to prep for surgery, we gather our belongings to go down to the cafeteria and wait, but a nurse walks into the room. She isn’t one of Mom’s regular nurses, and she has a commanding air about her.
“Mr. Palmer?”
Dad looks up. “Yes?”
“You’re wanted outside the unit.”
“What for?”
She clears her throat with authority. “There are some people here who would like to talk to you.”
