Chapter 5
Sky
My head is throbbing, my body a hollow shell. I have no idea how long I've been sitting here, trying to digest the encounter with my father.
Apparently, he was confused, even mistaking me for Mother at first. I wonder if he really meant what he said afterward to his daughter?
"Are you Sky?"
I look up and see a woman my age in a white coat with her loose hair tied back. A stethoscope hangs around her neck, and her name is embroidered on the chest pocket of her coat.
Dr. June Taylor.
She crouches in front of me. "Lil told me I'd find you here." A hesitant smile reveals the tiny gap between her front teeth. "I'm June, and I'm supposed to inform you about the patient's condition," she says in broken Swedish. If I had to guess, I'd think she's American, maybe Canadian.
She extends her hand, pulling me up. For a moment, I feel dizzy and have to lean against the wall.
"When was the last time you drank?" she asks.
Maybe on the plane? "A few hours ago."
She looks at me sympathetically, then links her arm with mine, guiding me along. "Let's see what we can do for you."
Gratitude washes over me. She's so caring, unlike the guy staring at me through the glass panel of the double doors earlier.
Something's not right with him. First, he berates me at the hospital entrance without a reason, and then that bizarre incident just now.
I shake off my scattered thoughts and follow the doctor into another hospital room where a blond man with facial abrasions lies, someone I've never seen before. The neon light on the ceiling flickers, and the walls are as sterile as the furnishings.
June points at the patient. "This is Stig Hansen, Deputy CEO atTouch av lyx."
"God dag," I nod politely. I know from previous press reports that Father has a deputy. But I haven't read a word about the fact that he was also involved in the accident. "I'm Sky," I introduce myself with a queasy feeling in my stomach. He's my father's right-hand man; he certainly doesn't keep secrets from him. Still, I'd better be careful.
He acknowledges my greeting but winces in pain, and his injuries seem severe. "The lost daughter?" he rasps, sinking his head into the pillow.
For a moment, I can't breathe. Has my father told him about me? Maybe because he missed me as much as I missed him all these years? "That's exactly who I am," I reply, trembling.
June instructs me to take a seat at the square table by the window. She places a glass of water in front of me and produces a chocolate bar from her coat.
"You need to make a decision."
A decision? Stig's eyelids flutter, threatening to close, while I'm alarmed.
"What about Father?" I ask breathlessly. "How badly is he hurt?"
The doctor smiles gently. "Is it okay if we speak English?" she asks, to which I nod. I wouldn't understand the medical jargon in Swedish anyway. "Mr. Gustavson has suffered a myelopathy." Her gaze flickers to me as if checking whether I understand the word. I probably just stare blankly at her, so she adds, "A spinal cord injury."
That doesn't sound good at all. "So he's..."
"We can't say at this point," she responds reassuringly, focusing her attention back on the file. "In addition, he has thoracic trauma, a ruptured spleen, and a rib fracture. A few abrasions, but those are hardly worth mentioning."
What does that mean? My fingernails dig into my thighs. Stig groans in pain as he attempts to sit up in bed. The doctor shoots him a warning look, likely reminding him that he needs to rest.
"The injuries mentioned are serious but not life-threatening," she continues. "His lab results could be better, but I don't see any reason to be concerned here."
If she's so unconcerned, why do those deep wrinkles form on her forehead? "But?"
She closes the file and places her hands on top of it, as if trying to prevent it from opening itself. "He has suffered a severe traumatic brain injury. Since his admission, we have been monitoring an intracranial hemorrhage that is steadily worsening."
