The Mill River Redemption (40 page)

It had been so long since she’d allowed herself even a single donut. She couldn’t remember the last time she had truly eaten with abandon, particularly of things that were not normally on her list of acceptable foods. She did not intend to stop with a single donut this time. Claudia chose one of the powdered sugar variety, broke off a piece, dunked it in her milk, and shoved it in her mouth. The soft sweetness was beyond delicious. It extended up around her teeth, down her throat, and out through her limbs. It was the perfect way to push away the hurt she felt, at least for a few minutes.

After she had eaten another three donuts, she paused to swig some milk. She didn’t care that cinnamon and powdered sugar dotted the front of her shirt or that crumbs littered her counter and the kitchen floor. Perhaps it was because the huge infusion of sugar was beginning to kick in, but it felt
so good
to eat.

When the box was half-empty, the first daggers of anger began to make their way through her sugar high. Claudia began to chew a little more slowly. Now that she had wised up, she resolved to act quickly to keep the upper hand and preserve what remained of her self-respect. At the very least, she deserved an explanation, and she realized how fortunate it was that Kyle was unaware he’d been caught in the act.

Claudia sniffed and lifted a plain cake donut from the box. She would blindside him with the truth. Once she had eaten her fill—which she hadn’t come close to doing yet—she would call Kyle. She would invite him, no, she would
demand
that he come over. And when he did, she would confront him over his visit to Emily.

Regardless of whether he spluttered an admission or tried to lie his way out, and even if he begged for her forgiveness, she would look him in the eye and dump his sorry ass.

R
OSE SAT IN THE WAITING ROOM OF THE SURGICAL WING OF
V
ERMONT
Children’s Hospital at Fletcher Allen Health Care. The twenty-minute flight to Burlington had been her first helicopter ride, but she’d rarely taken her eyes off Alex. Her son had remained unconscious during the flight. She’d found herself straining to hear over the drone of the helicopter’s rotors, listening for the rhythmic beeps of the machines monitoring Alex’s pulse and respiration as reassurance that he was still alive. Immediately upon landing, the crew had whisked him inside, straight into an operating room that was prepped and ready for their arrival.

She barely remembered signing the consent forms for the surgery. The surgeon who had come out to speak with her had used terms like “intracranial pressure” and “brain resection,” and she hadn’t been given any specific estimate of how long the operation might take. “At least a few hours, but we won’t know until we’re under way,” the surgeon had told her when she’d asked. Then, she’d been left in the waiting room, surrounded by a sea of impersonal blue upholstered chairs, emotionally exhausted and terrified of losing her only child.

The chair Rose occupied was in the far corner of the waiting room and well away from everyone else. She’d been sitting there for more than two hours now, and every minute that passed seemed like an eternity. Consumed by guilt and shame and fear, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall.
What have I done?

“You’re an ugly drunk and a poor excuse for a mother,” her sister had told her. And Father O’Brien’s words from just that morning had been remarkably prescient. “So many times, an addict,
particularly someone who is addicted to alcohol or drugs, doesn’t ask for help until something awful happens,” he’d said. “He or she ends up getting hurt or hurts someone else.”

He was right, and so was Emily
, Rose thought.
Alex is here because of me, because I wasn’t doing my job as a parent
. Her face crumpled as she realized the truth of what she had been told. She did have a problem with alcohol, one that had caused untold pain for people she loved and threatened to claim Alex’s life. “The doctors will save him,” she whispered to herself. “Please, please, let them save him. Please, please …”

Rose didn’t know how long she stayed in that position, but she startled when a hand touched her shoulder. She bolted up to see her aunt Ivy standing beside her, along with Emily and Father O’Brien.

“Did I doze off?” she said. “Was anyone looking for me? Did someone come to give me an update on Alex? Is he out of surgery?” Wild-eyed and slightly disoriented, she looked around the waiting room, but no doctors or nurses were in sight.

“We just got here, honey,” Ivy said, “but it doesn’t look like anyone’s come out to talk to you yet. How long has he been in there?”

Rose glanced at her watch. “Going on two hours. You didn’t have to come,” Rose said, glancing back at the priest and her sister. “I didn’t expect any of you to come.”

“All of us love Alex,” Emily said.

“And we love you, too,” Ivy added, although Rose noticed how the comment prompted Emily’s mouth to press into a firm, flat line. “Did you get ahold of Sheldon yet?”

“Yes, finally. He’s trying to get a flight, but the only nonstop one left today doesn’t leave until after ten tonight,” Rose said. “Driving’s the fastest way for him to get here, but even if he left right after we talked, he won’t be here until—”

She stopped speaking as a man wearing scrubs and a surgical cap entered the waiting room. A white disposable mask was still tied around his neck, as if he had just pulled it down from his face.

“Ms. Frye?” the man asked as he looked straight at her. It was the same surgeon who had spoken to her briefly when she’d signed the consent forms.

“Yes? How’s Alex?”

“He’s out of surgery, and everything went well. He’s heading into the recovery room right now, and you’ll be able to see him there very soon. One of the nurses should come get you in just a few minutes.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“I wish I could give you a definitive answer, Ms. Frye, but it’s too soon to say. We were able to elevate his skull fracture and remove the blood clots that were putting the pressure on his brain. We also stabilized the skull with a microplate and screws and inserted a drain before we closed him up. Alex will be transferred to the pediatric intensive care unit once he is out of recovery. If all looks good after a day or so, we’ll slowly bring him out of sedation and attempt a neurological exam. Only then will we get a better idea of what kind of recovery to expect.”

Rose was fighting tears again. “Do you think he’ll recover completely?”

“He very well could,” the surgeon said, “but, again, it’s too soon to make any assessments or predictions. It’s also very possible that Alex will have some permanent brain damage from the injury. You should prepare yourself for a range of potential outcomes.”

Rose nodded. “Thank you, Doctor. Thank you so much, for all you’ve done for him.” The room started to swirl around her, and she tried to stay focused on the surgeon’s sympathetic eyes. He reached out and touched her arm.

“You know, I have a son and a daughter. I know how difficult this must be for you, and I want you to know that there are a couple of things that may improve Alex’s chances. First, kids are resilient, and they heal quickly. And, time is always of the essence in cases like his. You got him here for surgery very quickly, which was crucial. It’s lucky for him that you were there.”

But I wasn’t
, Rose thought.
I wasn’t
. She barely registered the surgeon patting her arm before he left.

“It’s gonna be okay,” her great-aunt said. She felt Ivy’s hand on her back, but just then, a nurse came through the double doors.

“Ms. Frye?” she asked, and Rose nodded. “You can see your son now. Someone else can come with you, too, if you’d like.”

Rose looked behind her, at Ivy and Emily and Father O’Brien. She met the priest’s gaze and raised her eyebrows. He nodded slightly at her unspoken question.

“Could Father O’Brien come with me?” Rose asked.

“Of course,” the nurse replied. “Please follow me.”

Rose’s breath caught in her throat when she got her first look at Alex in the hospital bed. He seemed so small and weak as he lay in the center of it. His head was wrapped in a white bandage that extended down over his forehead. Tubes protruded from his mouth, held in place by white medical tape below his nose and on his cheeks. Several electrodes were also taped to his chest. The only sounds in the room were the beeps coming from the equipment surrounding his bed and the quiet hiss of the ventilator.

She leaned over his face, looking for any sign of movement or awareness.

“Alex, baby, Mommy is here. You’re in the hospital, but you’re going to be just fine. Can you hear me?”

She got no response, no eye or facial movement. There was nothing except for the rhythmic sound of the ventilator breathing for her son.

“Alex.” Rose bent lower over his face, low enough to brush her lips against his cheek. “I’m here, baby, and I love you,” she whispered. She wiped her eyes frantically as she straightened up.
It always upsets him when I cry
, she thought.

“Rose,” Father O’Brien said softly, “take my hand.” The priest held his hand out to her. When she grasped it, Father O’Brien bowed his head and began to pray.

“Heavenly Father, watch with us over your child Alex, and grant that he may be restored to that perfect health which is yours alone to give …”

In that moment, as she stood with Father O’Brien, it was as if she were her seven-year-old self, dressed in a white gown ready to make her First Communion. She still remembered that day at the little stone church in Mill River. She had been a little nervous, standing up in front of the congregation. When it had been her turn to receive a wafer, the smile on Father O’Brien’s face had put her completely at ease.

He was so much older now. What remained of his hair was sparse and white. His hand clasping her own was not nearly as steady as it had been when he had placed the first Communion wafer in her mouth. And yet, the kindness and warmth that had always emanated from Father O’Brien still reassured her as completely as they had when she was a child.

“Father?” she whispered. When he turned to her, she looked into his elderly face and felt a nonjudgmental, unconditional love. “Everything you said to me earlier today … was true. If I had been … if I’d been awake to see Alex leave the house, he wouldn’t have gotten hurt. If he has brain damage, or if he … doesn’t wake up, it will be because of me … because of my drinking.” She took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady in Alex’s presence. “I need help. I want to be a good mom.” Her voice became quieter and raspy. “Alex might not wake up. If he does, if I get a second
chance, I won’t take it for granted. But I’m not strong enough to do what I need to do myself.”

Father O’Brien smiled at her in the same way he always had. “Of course I’ll help you. And, I have great faith that when your son wakes up, so will he.”

I
N THE KITCHEN OF HER LITTLE HOUSE ON
M
AIN
S
TREET
, Claudia put her hands on the counter and closed her eyes. The glass of milk she had poured for herself was empty, and there was one plain donut left in the Entenmann’s box that was open in front of her. She’d taken a bite from it, but she just couldn’t finish it. Her stomach felt as if it would explode.

She closed the donut box and shoved it up into her cupboard. At the moment, she couldn’t even stand the sight of it. She took a sponge from the sink and methodically wiped up the crumbs and powdered sugar that were scattered on the countertops and floor around her. When she was satisfied with her cleanup, she walked into her bedroom, pulled off the powdered-sugar-smudged shirt she was wearing, and took a clean top from her closet. Finally, she went into the bathroom to wash her face.

This is what gluttony looks like
, she thought as she wet a washcloth and looked into the mirror. The tears that had run down her face while she was eating had mixed with cinnamon, powdered sugar, and bits of donut. The whole pasty mess had caked around her mouth and on her chin as if she had a white mustache and goatee.

Once she had washed away the evidence of her gorging, she picked up her phone and dialed Kyle’s number.

“Hey, sweetie!” he said when he heard her voice. “I was just thinking about you. How was your shopping trip?”

“Fine,” she said, trying to keep her voice as normal as possible. “I’m not feeling too good now, though.”

“You’re sick again? Is it the same thing as last night?”

“Um-hmm, I think so.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

Claudia hesitated before answering. He sounded so genuinely concerned, and knowing what she knew, it hurt to answer him.

“Could you?”

“Of course. Let me see if Ruth can keep an eye on Rowen for a little while, and I’ll be there.”

It took him only minutes to arrive at her front door. When she let him inside, he kissed her forehead and immediately embraced her, but she stiffened in his arms.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping back and looking down at her.

She looked up into his face for the first time. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

“Uh, okay.” He looked bewildered, and Claudia was impressed by his acting skills.

“I want you to listen to me without interrupting,” she began. “This isn’t easy for me. I never thought I’d end up in a situation like this with you, but here I am.”

Kyle opened and closed his mouth as she held up a finger.

“I know about you and Emily.” She was trying her best to sound stern, but her voice was halting, and she was on the verge of tears. “I’ve suspected something’s been going on with you for a while now. The way you were talking to her at the police station that day, and I know you were over at her place to talk to her about the vandalism, even though you never mentioned that to me. I told myself I was imagining things. I almost had myself convinced of it, until I saw you leaving her house earlier today.”

Kyle started to say something, but she cut him off.

“I don’t want excuses or denials. I just want to know the reason you did it.”