Say Never (36 page)

I listen to the urgent voice on the other end of the line, and my heart starts pounding in my chest. I grab my purse and leap out of the booth and nearly trip over the leg of Brian’s chair. He reaches out to steady me, wrapping his hand around my wrist, and this single, casual point of contact makes me think of Matt Ryan. I banish Matt’s image before it can take hold of me and concentrate on the voice in my ear.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I say, then disconnect the call and look down into Brian’s worried, handsome face. “I’m sorry. I have to go,” I tell him. Then without another word, I race through the café and out to the street.

* * *

“Danny, it’s Meg. Where the hell are you and why aren’t you answering your phone? Call me when you get this.” I’m talking into my phone while speeding down PCH, heedless of the fact that I could get busted for not having a hands-free device. I disconnect and redial, but again, the call goes straight to voicemail.

“Shit shit shit!”

I lay the phone down in my lap, praying that Danny will call me back. My thoughts race and I feel sick to my stomach. With the windows down, my hair flaps in the breeze, ruining the blowout I gave myself this morning. I couldn’t care less.

I make it to West Coast Memorial in twelve minutes and pull into the line for valet. I toss the keys to an attendant and, seeing my panic, he hurriedly tears off a ticket and hands it to me as I run past. I practically collide with the glass partition of the ER.

“McKenna Monroe,” I bark at the bespectacled grey-haired woman behind the glass. She wrinkles her powdered nose and gives me a curt head-shake to silence me. Then she returns to her phone conversation.

“Yes, just let me look that up for you, doctor…”

“Excuse me,” I say, “but there’s a five-year-old back there bleeding from a gaping wound in her chin who needs to be stitched up, and if you don’t get me back there right now so I can sign whatever paperwork needs to be signed, I’m going to take you to civil court for impeding the treatment of a minor and causing emotional and physical distress to her person. And that’s if she doesn’t suffer complications from delay of wound care like gangrene or MRSA or a flesh-eating bacteria!” I’m talking out of my ass, but the receptionist immediately sets the phone down and types into her computer.

“McKenna Monroe,” she says, eyeing me worriedly. “Curtain Three. I’ll buzz you in.”

I hear the electronic lock of the ER door disengage and I barrel through.

“Curtain three!” I yell at a young nurse walking toward me. She points to her left.

I hear McKenna’s wails from ten feet away and I stop cold. I do
not
want to go behind that curtain, would rather jump into a pit of poisonous snakes. But I know I must.
I must
. McKenna gives an earsplitting cry and I cringe, every corpuscle in my being screaming at me to turn around and run in the opposite direction. Danny will be here soon. Danny can take care of this.

Danny has no idea what’s going on, Meg. He’s on the freaking Queen Mary or swimming with sharks at the Aquarium. Get the hell in there NOW!

I force myself to move forward, although my legs feel like lead. I reach curtain three, pull the rough fabric aside and peer in.

When I was a kid, I loved horror movies. Nowadays, I watch things like
Dexter
and
The Following
and
The Walking Dead
, so I really should be inured to gore. But seeing my niece on that hospital gurney with a wide swath of wet blood soaking into her orange and yellow shirt, fresh blood gushing out of a three inch hole in her chin that looks very much like a second mouth made of raw meat, flailing and screeching while two nurses try to hold her down is by far the most horrific thing I’ve ever witnessed. Even after living in New York for fifteen years.

Again, my body wants to flee. I know I will never be able to un-see the carnage, but at least I can escape. I’m afraid to move closer lest I faint or vomit or both.

God, where is Danny and why does freaking Caroline have to be in rehab? I did not sign up for this.

I close my eyes and try to call up my calming place. I expect to be propelled to the Empire State Building, but instead I find myself at the top of the embankment on PCH, staring across the Pacific Ocean at the blazing sunset.

McKenna’s guttural wail commands my focus, and my eyes pop open. Instantly, I steel myself and move to her bedside. I feel the grimace on my face and force myself to smooth over my features, which is almost fucking impossible the closer I get to that cavernous, bloody wound.

“I’m her aunt,” I tell the nurses in a surprisingly steady voice. They barely register this information as they work hard to calm McKenna without breaking any of her bones. I gently place my hand on her shoulder.

“McKenna. It’s me. I’m here, honey.”

Do not look at the wound. Look at her eyes.
I do, but they are shut tight as tears ooze from the corners. Her chest heaves and she starts to cough and sputter and choke for air and her face turns a frightening shade of purple. I’m worried she’s going into shock.

“McKenna, can you hear me?” I raise my voice. “McKenna! It’s Auntie Meg! I’m here. I’m here, McKenna, and you’re going to be all right! Everything’s going to be just fine. McKenna. Open your eyes and look at me. Now, McKenna. LOOK AT ME!”

She slowly opens her left eye and peers at me. Her chest heaves rapidly a few times, and then she opens her right eye. Still sobbing, she claws at me with her hand. I reach out and grab it midair, then intertwine my fingers with hers and close my other hand around them.

“It’s okay, McKenna. I’m here.”

“I fell off the jungle gym, Auntie Meg,” she cries, her voice a raspy whisper.

“I can see that. But the people here are going to take really good care of you and fix you right up.”

“I’m s-s-scared.”

“I’m right here.” Tears slide out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks. But I don’t let go of McKenna’s hand to dry them.

“Don’t go away,” McKenna pleads and I squeeze her hand tighter.

“Ma’am?” One of the nurses touches me on the sleeve. “Ma’am, we need you to move so we can assess the wound.”

I shake my head emphatically. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Twenty

Meg:
There is no such thing as an ‘ouch-less’ Band-Aid. I tried the ‘ouch-less’ brand. And you know what? It hurt like hell! What they should do is put those little airline bottles of booze in the box with the Band-Aids. That would definitely make them ‘ouch-less’.

Barry:
What an interesting idea.

* * *

So. It turns out that baby poop is not the grossest thing about parenting. The absolute most disgusting aspect of parenting is witnessing your child get stitched up. The rational part of your brain knows he or she can’t feel it, as he or she has been numbed with lidocaine. And you also know you shouldn’t watch the actual procedure, as it will be burned into your memory forever and inspire nightmares for the rest of your life. But for some reason, you cannot look away as the doctor pierces the precious kid-flesh with his needle, tugging at the wound as he yanks at the nylon thread, then ties each stitch with the help of his scissor-like instrument only to puncture the skin yet again.

Your mouth hangs open and you almost forget to breathe and your stomach flip-flops, but watch, you do, because you’re right there and there’s nowhere else to look, and your child is watching
you
to see how it’s going, since they can’t see it for themselves. If you frown or grimace or look away in horror, your child will notice and he or she will likely get hysterical. Meanwhile, it
is
horrific, so you have to stifle the horror, push it deep within you where it will certainly do harm one day in the not-so-distant future.

But you do it. Because you have to. And that totally sucks.

* * *

Not surprisingly, Danny shows up after the doctor has finished, when McKenna is clean, bandaged and dozing comfortably. He appears at the edge of the curtain, his face ghostly pale in the fluorescent light save for the dark circles under his eyes. He glances over at me where I’m seated next to McKenna, still holding on to her for dear life. I lift my free hand and press my index finger to my lips.

He crosses to the other side of the bed and bends down to kiss his daughter’s forehead, stroke her hair, smooth her curly bangs, and whisper in her ear how much he loves her. He inspects the gauze and surgical tape adorning her chin, then meets my eyes, his expression tortured.

“She’s okay?”

I nod, then whisper, “Fourteen stitches.” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down a few times. “They gave her a low dose of Tylenol to help with the discomfort, but she can go home any time.”

“Daddy?” McKenna croaks.

“Hi, pumpkin pie,” Danny says, smiling down at her.

“Hi.”

“How are you feeling?” my brother asks her and she stifles a yawn.

“Okay. I fell down and broke my chin. The doctor sewed me up.”

“He sure did.” Danny’s eyes shimmer.

“Auntie Meg held my hand the whole time. She said I was a totally brave kid.”

“She was absolutely right,” he agrees with a solemn nod. “You are a totally brave kid.”

“It hurt, but Auntie Meg was here. She held my hand. She didn’t let go one time.” McKenna yawns again and her eyes flutter closed.

“Where’s Cera and Tebow?” I ask, but Danny doesn’t answer.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Meg.”

“Just shut up, Danny. Don’t get all sentimental or I’ll have to punch you in the head like when we were kids.”

“Seriously, sis, I don’t…I mean…what would I have done…what would have happened if you hadn’t been here?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s all good. Now, where are the other two kids? And more importantly, how was the Queen Mary?”

“Cera’s got Tebow in the waiting room. And the Queen Mary is basically just a really big boat.”

We grin at each other, then Danny’s face turns serious. “Thanks, Meg. Really, thanks.”

“What are sisters for?”

* * *

At McKenna’s insistence, ‘Family Dinner’ is still a go. Apparently, Buddy brings treats for the kids every time he comes for a visit, and my niece isn’t about to miss out on hers tonight, especially after her brutally harsh encounter with the school blacktop. It was only fair, she told her dad, that she get a new toy. (And it better be a good one, she’d added.) Once we got the thumbs up from the ER doc, Danny finally agreed. We decide that he will take the kids home and get them settled and order the food, and I will pick up Buddy after a quick stop at the rehab to reassure Caroline that McKenna’s okay.

Tebow is watching SpongeBob SquarePants from his vinyl chair in the waiting room when we emerge from the ER. Cera immediately jumps out of her seat and rushes over to McKenna. Her relief is palpable at seeing her younger sister in one piece, and my eyes well up with tears. I swipe at them and roll my eyes at my own display of emotion.

“Are you okay?” Cera asks, and McKenna looks up at her wearily.

“I got sewed up,” she announces, pointing to her chin. “It hurt before, but it just feels weird now.”

“How many stitches did you get?”

McKenna looks up at me. “Fourteen,” I tell her.

“Wow,” Cera says. “That’s a lot.” She flicks at her own chin. “I only got twelve when I popped my chin open.”

“How’d
you
do yours?” McKenna asks, her eyes round with intrigue.

“Bicycle accident. I was going really fast down a hill. So, did you cry?”

McKenna deflates and bites her lip, and I can tell she doesn’t want to reveal her weakness to her big sister. “Maybe a little,” she admits, embarrassed.

Cera bends at the knee so that she is face to face with McKenna. “I totally cried my eyes out when it happened to me. Like you can’t believe. They had to give me a sedative.”

“What’s that?” McKenna asks.

“I don’t know,” Cera whispers. “But it made me stop crying for sure!”

“They didn’t have to give me that,” McKenna says proudly.

“That’s so cool. You’re totally awesome.”

“Okay,” Danny says, smiling at the girls as he struggles not to cry. “Let’s get this show on the road.” He lifts Tebow off the chair, then puts his hand out to McKenna.

“She can hold my hand, Danny,” Cera tells him. “If she wants.”

McKenna looks at her older sister with unabashed reverence, then nods her head as enthusiastically as her wound allows. Cera stands and takes her hand and leads her through the sliding glass doors.

I hike my purse onto my shoulder. As I reach the glass doors, the nurse who directed me to Curtain Three calls to me from behind the partition.

“Ma’am? Your daughter left her Dora bag.”