Authors: Barbara Delinsky
"He left to head his own school in Seattle."
She felt a stab of disappointment. "What did you do then?" But Grady was watching Michael more closely. "I'd swear his eyelids just moved." He looked at Teke. "Has he done that before?" She was on her feet and hanging over the bed in a second. "Michael?
Was it something Grady said?"
"Maybe he was trying to open his eyes."
"Come on, baby," she urged, "do it again." They watched, but there was no sign of activity.
She shook him a little. "It's been a week, Mikey, a whole week. I want you to do something. Now. Do you hear me?" she begged. "Do something."
When he didn't, she put her fingers to her forehead to control the hysteria budding there. "This is the worst part, the up and down. He's becoming more active--a finger, a foot, his chin, now his eyes."
"Maybe I imagined it."
"You didn't. He teases us, then stops, gives us hope, then dashes it." Her voice grew pleading. "I know you're in there, Michael. Blink for me. Make a face." She put her fingers through his. "Give me a squeeze. Just a little one so I'll know you've heard." But she felt nothing. With a discouraged sigh, she straightened.
"Okay," she murmured, recouping, "I can wait. I can wait." With measured movements, she returned to the chair and took another bite of Grady's sandwich. It had cooled off and tasted vile, but she chewed and swallowed. Determined to carry on, she cleared her throat and addressed herself to Grady again. "After your
friend left for Seattle, what did you do?"
He had his hands in the pockets of his blazer. "I started working construction to earn money to fly out and offer him my services." She continued to work to calm herself. "Did you?"
"No. I took to carpentry, and by the time I had the money, I was liking the work too much to quit. I make canoes sometimes, but it's just a hobby."
She took a calmer breath at last. "I'm glad."
"Of what?"
"That things worked out well." She tried to picture his life now. "Are you really living in Gullen?"
"Nah. I stop by sometimes, but I'm pretty nomadic. I have most of my stuff in my truck."
"But the letter you sent was from Gullen."
"I was there briefly. I never stay long because of the memories. They were worse this last time. I was feeling down. I thought it was time I saw you. So I sent the letter." Gruffly he said, "I should've waited a week. The timing would've been different then. None of this would've happened."
He was right, Teke thought. Once, he had returned the letters she sent. It was ironic that a letter he had sent should cause such havoc. But there was no taking it back. Her existence was unreal, her inner clock ticking from one endless twenty-four hours into the next. Life was the hospital. Michael was in a coma, J.D. scorned her, Annie hated her, and Sam was distancing himself as far as he could. Grady's voice was near, low. "Teke?"
"It wouldn't have mattered," she cried softly. "I'm the problem here. I'm the poison."
"Not true."
"Then what explains it? I'm the one common element in all these people's screwed-up lives." She suddenly found his arms braced on the arms of her chair. His face was inches away. "Take you," she went on. "If you hadn't known me, you wouldn't have committed murder or gone to prison. You would have had a nice business, a nice wife, a bunch of nice children. You deserved all that."
"Who said I didn't have it?"
She went still. He hadn't mentioned a wife and kids. She had just assumed there were none.
Straightening, he put his hands back in his pockets and faced the window. "I married. We had a little girl. My wife divorced me three years ago."
Teke was stunned. She had never imagined Grady with another woman. Foolish, and selfish, but she hadn't.
"But why?" she asked. The Grady she had known would have made a perfect husband and father.
"We attributed it to lots of things--different interest, different values, different life-styles. Fact was," he said with a dry stare her way, "one too many times it was your name I called out in bed. So don't think you have a monopoly on betrayal, because you don't." That gave Teke much to consider in the long hours that followed. Annie took care to ensure that she never visited Michael alone. It was easily enough done. Even on the days when Leigh and Jana went later with Jon, Zoe was eagerly waiting on the school steps for her to drive up.
"I know I'm awful for saying this, Mom," she said on one such day. "I mean, we're going to the hospital to visit Michael, which is the worst thing in the world to have to be doing, but it's nice having you come for me. I like knowing you're here at the end of the day." Annie reached over and took her hand.
"Am I awful?" Zoe asked.
"Not at all," Annie answered. She needed to hear things like that. She needed to feel she was doing something right. Of course, that didn't say much for what she'd been doing before. "Does it bother you that I work so much?"
Zoe considered that. "It doesn't 'bother' me. I'm proud of what you do, and you love your work. It's just that I wish I had you more to myself." She settled onto the passenger's seat with a smile. "This is nice. Just the two of us."
Annie felt a tugging at her heart.
"Maybe it would have been different if I was an only child," Zoe went on. "Then I'd have you to myself whenever you weren't working. Well, I'd have to share you with Daddy, but that's different." The tugging Annie felt this time came from the agony of being estranged from Sam. They barely talked. Not that he didn't try. But she couldn't say much. She was angry, and hurt, and read into everything he said.
"Do you feel that Jon crowds you?" she asked Zoe.
"No," Zoe said with conviction. "Jana and Leigh do. Jana especially. I mean, I love Jana, she's my very best friend in the world, but she talks to you about all the things I want to talk to you about."
"Oh, baby. I'm sorry."
"Why can't Jana go to Teke with her problems?"
"Because she's used to coming to me, just like you're used to going to Teke when you need something to wear for a dance. She's good with clothes. I'm good with problems."
"There are times when I wish we weren't so close that way. I mean, it's fun being with the Maxwells-and Jon would scream if we went on vacation without them--but I'm telling you now, I wish we could do that once, just once, go on our own family vacation, just us four." She paused and repeated, "Am I awful?"
"You're not awful at all," Annie said, and felt a new sadness. She had always thought they were doing the right thing, sharing their lives with the Maxwells. One big happy family, the more the merrier, one for all and all for one. Or was that the need of four adults, none of whom had come from big families themselves? She wondered if the Maxwell kids felt the same way Zoe did.
At least Zoe's timing was right, Annie mused. Popewell vacations were very definitely on hold.
She sighed. "I'm glad you've told me this."
"Can I tell you something else?" Zoe asked quickly.
"Sure."
"I'm doing awful in math this term. I don't know what happened, I must have missed something early on, and I can't seem to get anything right now." She raced on. "They're sending a pink slip home to tell you that I have a D average, but I want you to know that I'll bring it up, I promise I will. I made an appointment for extra help Thursday afternoon. Is that okay?"
"Of course it is," Annie said, "and I'm not angry." She was disturbed that Zoe had kept the worry to herself. "Did you think I would be?"
"It's a D, Mom. That's embarrassing."
"Math was my worst subject, too."
"Jana's so good at it."
"So was Teke, but they both struggle with the English courses that you and I breeze right though. Don't sweat it, honey. Just do the best you can. And by all means, go for extra help Thursday." That was how Annie found herself driving to the hospital alone. She might have waited and taken Zoe in later, but Jon had offered to do it after practice, and since Annie had to stop at the supermarket, the dry cleaner, the library, and the drugstore before she turned in for the night, she figured she would visit Michael first, then do all the rest. Her life was hectic enough. She didn't need Boston at the rush hour.
Michael was nine days into his coma. The strain of it had begun to show on them all in short fuses and long faces, but it was nowhere more noticeable than in Teke. She was giving Michael a rubdown when Annie arrived. Her movements were tired, the voice that kept up a monologue strained.
Annie watched for a minute from the hall. For a split second she imagined Teke's hands on Sam. The image was so vivid that she might have actually turned and left if Teke hadn't looked up just then and seen her.
Trying to act confident when she felt awkward and unsure, she approached the bed. "How is he?"
Teke kept at her work. "He's moving more. In one breath the doctors say he may be trying to break out. In the next they say it may be nothing."
Annie was appalled by how thin Michael's leg looked. She guessed he had lost ten pounds since the accident.
Teke must have followed her thoughts, because she said, "As of last night, I've been feeding him some. I spoon ice cream and protein drinks into his mouth, and he swallows. Not that it's making much of a difference. He looks emaciated."
"You'll notice a difference in a day or two," Annie said. "Even if you can keep him from losing more weight, it's worth the effort." Teke nodded.
Annie wondered what it was about her that had appealed to Sam. Yes, Teke looked cute in her celery-colored tunic and tights, but her face was drawn
and gaunt. "You've lost weight, too."
Teke set Michael's leg down. "I can't eat much. I'm too upset." Typical Teke, Annie thought. She had always been that way, unable to eat during final exams, or in the days preceding her wedding, or when the kids had chicken pox all at the same time.
She had an idea. "Why don't you leave." It seemed the perfect solution for them both. "I'll stay here with Michael. Go for a ride, go to a restaurant, go home for a rest."
Teke ran an arm across her forehead. "I'm all right."
"Go on. I'll stay with him."
"I want to talk with you, Annie. I want to explain, apologize." Annie shook her head. "No--"
"There's so much to say. You're my best friend. I need you to listen."
"I can't," Annie begged. "Not yet. But I can talk with Michael. Go. Please."
"I'm so sorry--"
Annie put her hands over her ears. She didn't want to hear an apology. She wasn't sure she would believe one.
After a long, beseeching stare, Teke took her bag from the floor and left. In her wake, Annie felt worse than ever. One stupid mistake, Sam had called it, but what harm it had done, and the harm kept compounding itself. She wondered where it would end.
Turning to Michael, she said, "Why is it we hurt the people we love?
Can you tell me that?" She sighed and scrubbed his arm with her fingertips. More softly she said, "I'm sorry. It's just that it's so difficult out here. Part of me envies you, lying in there with your eyes shut to the world. Why must things be so complicated?" Michael didn't answer. He didn't blink. He didn't try to escape the scrubbing of her fingertips.
"I always wanted a career. From the earliest, I loved literature and poetry. When I was a little girl, I used to have discussions with my local librarian, then with my teachers, then, at college, with friends. I knew I wanted to teach. That meant getting an advanced degree, and Sam agreed. He was totally supportive. So I did it, Michael--slowly, granted, when you kids were little, but I did it. I got the degree, then I started to teach. The older you guys got, the more I increased my load. Then I was given tenure. What a coup for the woman juggling a family and a career."
She gave a self-derisive snort. "I had it all, I thought. Now my daughter says she's been missing me. She says she's flunking math, and I didn't know anything about it. She couldn't tell me, because she couldn't get me alone for a minute. That's terrible, don't you think?
And then there's Jon, who is always out of the house at football practice or with Leigh. Is he there because I'm not around? Sam came right out and said it. He said I should have been home that Tuesday. He said none of this would have happened if I'd been home.
"That hurts," she whispered. "I really thought I was doing things well, and what I couldn't do, Teke could, what J.D. couldn't do, Sam could, and vice versa. The relationship between our families was unique. It was practical and efficient, a neat little package. I thought it was perfect."
She moaned softly. "Well, let me tell you, that neat little package has fallen apart. Your house is a mess, my house is a mess. My office is a mess, I can't concentrate on work. My life is a mess." She caught sight of Sam at the door and went still. He was looking as tired as everyone else, but so dear
and familiar and concerned that the fact of his betrayal was all the harder to believe.
"Are you telling him something good?" he asked. A slight hesitation in his voice kept his words from being glib. He paused on the threshold, as though caught by a moment's fear, before entering the room.
"I'm complaining," she said, returning her eyes to Michael. His expressionless face was easier to take than Sam's vulnerable one.
"Complaining about what?"
"Feeling overwhelmed. I hadn't realized how much I depended on Teke. I have a list of errands a mile long. I was going to run them later, but now that you're here to stay with Michael, I'll go."
"Don't," Sam said quickly. "Visit Michael with me."
"He does as well with monologue as with dialogue."
"Then talk to me, Annie. Please. Don't keep running away." She took a shaky breath. Being with Sam like this was an agony, but for the life of her, she couldn't meet him halfway. The wound was still too raw. "You've already apologized. There's nothing more you can say that will help right now."
"There's years' worth of thoughts."
"None of which relate to what I'm feeling."
"They should."
Angrily she raised her head. "How so? They had to do with love and caring and feeling, not bitterness and anger. We never talked about hurting each other. That was supposed to be impossible." She thought she had him when he ran a hand through his hair, but he came right back with, "Right, which was why I wasn't prepared for what happened. Don't you see, Annie? It never occurred to