Whisper Privileges (36 page)

Sam stared at her, a hard edge to her eyes.
“This isn’t about your parents.

“Never said it was,” she shot back.

“Not every man cheats.”

“Didn’t say they did.”

“It’s the reason you left Javier.”

“That was a preemptive strike and if you’ll
note his behavior of late, it was a good call on my part. He hasn’t
changed a bit.”

“You mean Morgan?”

“None other.”

“That girl is a blip on the radar. You don’t
know they’d have been together if you hadn’t left.”

“Don’t I? He had no intention of staying with
me. I was just his current attraction at the time.”

Sam withdrew her arm from along the seat
back. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

Sydney looked at Sam, pained by the
disappointment she saw staring back at her. “I’ll take that as a
compliment.”

Sam stood. “Take it however you like, but I’d
advise against being a slave to your pride. Ego is a cruel master.”
Flicking a stony glance her way she announced, “I’m going to find
Jen.” With that she stalked off.

Tears careened into Sydney’s eyes as she
watched her friend go. Did Sam think she wanted to feel this way?
Slumping back against the bench, wood slats cut into her spine. She
wanted to go after Clay, she did, but—

She dumped her gaze to the ground, the
sidewalk littered with cigarette stubs and dried gum. What about
using her brain instead of following her heart? Sydney kicked her
heel at a chip in the concrete. What about level-headed decision
making? Talk about a cruel master, it didn’t get any worse than
loving someone with all your heart, only to have them rip the
muscle clear out of your chest—as soon as they deemed there was
someone better out there.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Sydney’s attention bolted to the automatic
doors as they slid open. Sam breezed outside, accompanied by a slim
woman dressed in navy Bermuda shorts and espadrilles, her white
cotton blouse just as casual and setting off her sun-kissed skin.
Sydney vaguely remembered her to be the doctor friend of Sam’s, but
she looked like she was on her way to the docks for a tour around
the bay, not healing the sick and injured.

She instantly regretted causing the woman to
work on her day off. She hated to be trouble, but under the
circumstances...she needed all the help she could get.

As Sam and she neared, the doctor said,
“Hello, Sydney.”

The worry etched in her blue eyes caused
Sydney to fear the worst. She pushed up from the bench, but didn’t
extend a hand in greeting. Instead, she wound them together, then
knotted them into a knot across her chest.

“Sydney, you remember my friend Jennifer,
right?”

She squeezed arms tightly to her body. “I
do,” she said, more concerned at the moment with the doctor in her.
“How is he?”

Dr. Jennifer Hamilton reached out and touched
Sydney’s forearm. “Why don’t we sit,” she suggested.

The lump lodged into her throat, hard and
dry. Which means it must be bad. Sydney swallowed. Glancing between
the women, she sat back down. Jennifer lowered down next to her.
Sam flanked her opposite side. Grateful for the mass of clouds
collecting overhead, it cooled the stifling heat rising from the
pavement. Without a breeze, the temperature was becoming
insufferable.

Peering into blue eyes, Sydney had met
Jennifer twice in passing; once when she had stopped by one of her
volleyball games with Sam, the other at Sam’s condo. She seemed
nice enough. Pleasant. But attempts to read her body language came
up empty.
Was it bad
?

“Q had a seizure.”

“Yes.” That much she knew. “Was it bad?” she
mentally knocked herself in the head for the stupid question.
Idiot—were seizures
ever
good? She folded hands in her lap
and pressed them together. “Is he okay?” That’s what she wanted to
know. Was Q okay? Was Clay okay?

Jennifer reached over and cupped a slender
hand over Sydney’s jumbled mass of fists currently punched into her
lap. The gesture was as comforting as it was unnerving. Sydney took
the fact that she felt the need to comfort as another bad sign.

“He’s fine,” Jennifer said, though her gaze
darted to Sam and back. “He’s going to be fine.”

“Does that mean he’s not fine right now?” Was
there something she wasn’t saying?

“They’re running tests. Q’s type of autism
isn’t normally associated with seizures so they have to rule out
other possibilities.”

Sydney’s heart twisted like a steel bolt in
her chest, like a foreign object wedged into a space too small.
“What else could it be?”

Jennifer paused. She checked with Sam. With a
nod, she prodded her to continue. “Seizures can be caused by a
number of things, such as organic lesions, cranial bleeding,
stroke, vascular malformation. The doctors are running a full
workup—EEG, MRI... They’ll know more once the tests come back.”

None of which made any sense to Sydney. “That
can’t be good.”

“We don’t know that. Sometimes seizures can
occur for no other reason than a child enters into puberty. They
believe the influence of hormones in their body can trigger a chain
reaction in their brain cells and a new onset occurs.”

Q was twelve. A little early for puberty but
who knows—maybe in his family history they hit the “gangly” years
before most? “Does that mean the seizures could be temporary?”

“We don’t know. I’m afraid there’s so much we
don’t know about autism, we’re still learning new things all the
time.”

“You’re a cardiologist...” Sydney murmured as
her gaze fell away.

“Jen volunteers over at St. Theresa’s
Children’s Hospital,” Sam chimed in. “She knows a lot about illness
and kids, beyond the field of cardiology.”

“I’m no expert,” Jennifer objected quickly.
“But I can tell you what I know.” That pulled Sydney back to
attention. “Autism can be a tricky disease. Some kids can make
great strides over the years and go on to live full and independent
lives while others seem to remain locked in their minds with no
means of escape. We don’t know why some fare better than others,
why they can make connections others can’t, or why we can reach a
few, but others not at all...” Jennifer’s features were soft and
refined, yet Sydney felt a quiet strength running through her as
she spoke. “It’s an ongoing area of research. We can only work on
the knowledge we have and right now, Q is making progress. He’s
still in the ER but will be moved to a room soon. They’ll keep him
overnight for observation. If he doesn’t have another seizure
within twenty-four hours, his prognosis improves.”

Sydney’s hope plummeted. Now they wait. It
felt like the doctor had just draped a chain coat around her
shoulders and secured it tight—to the point she became immobile.
Helpless. Is this what Clay went through? Each and every day of his
life, did he have to worry and wonder what was going on with his
child? He said swimming had made a difference for Q. Is this what
he meant—the difference between his child making the connection
while others did not?

She couldn’t imagine having a child with whom
she couldn’t communicate. It would be awful. Horrible.
Heartbreaking
. Even when you thought your child was making
progress, things could change. Stop everything dead in its tracks.
Sydney dragged her thoughts back to the doctor and fought visions
from earlier; Q’s body jerked and twisted before going straight
under. It had been hideously unnatural, gut-wrenching. She didn’t
know how a parent was supposed to handle it, let alone the medics
who did so with a calm presence of mind. Her heart rebelled against
the unfairness. Innocent children shouldn’t have to suffer that
way! Sydney breathed in and out, deep as she could, her emotions
cluttered in disarray. “Thank you for telling me.”

Jennifer’s eyes shone, a glittery reflection
of compassion in oceans of blue, as though tears were mere moments
away. “I hope it helps you understand what your friend Clay is
going through right now. It’s a tough game of wait and see.”

She nodded and an unexpected flow of tears
filled her lids. She wouldn’t wish it upon her worst enemy.

“You may come in and see Q if you’d like. I
told his dad you were here.”

His dad. Clay. “Yes, please,” she said
eagerly and wiped her cheeks. She very much wanted to see him—see
both of them.

“Okay.” Jennifer rose and Sam mirrored her
movements. “Follow me.” She gestured quietly.

Sydney forced some rigidity into her legs as
she hauled herself up from the bench. Her muscles felt like a
gobbledygook mess of weak knees and willowy thighs but she wanted
to be strong—strong for Q, strong for Clay. Last thing she wanted
was to take a tumble on the sidewalk and fall flat on her face.

Sensors registered their entrance and glass
doors opened ahead of them. Jennifer led the way into the emergency
room, the atmosphere bright, busy; sterile. Lined with cubicle-like
rooms, beds were sectioned off by curtains; people in varying
degrees of dress were here with patients in a range of conditions,
all of them plucked out of whatever activity they had been engaged
in before the crisis descended and deposited here. Sydney fought
the urge to peer inside, to compare and contrast their emergency
with hers. She wanted reassurance hers wasn’t that bad. “They’re in
bed three,” Jennifer directed. She paused feet from the enclosure
and Sam remained in place with her.

Sydney thrust a look to her as if to ask,
you’re not coming? But realized, just as quickly, there was no
reason. Sam didn’t know Clay and Clay didn’t know Sam—other than
one night in a bar. A night of carefree chitchat and flirting,
Sydney recalled and so far removed from this scene. Her heart
weighed heavy at the prospect of speaking with him now. What would
she say? She didn’t know anything about hospital visitations or
sick people. Doctors and nurses and medical treatments were worlds
away from her everyday life. Her chest constricted. Unlike Clay.
He’d probably been here before, and not once, but too many
times.

Walking toward the bed, the back of his blond
head came into view. He sat in the sole chair at the end of Q’s
bed. Sydney tried to settle the flutter in her breast, the cluster
of bats dodging this way and that as they sought escape. She wanted
to be calm for Clay. This had to be difficult for him and if she
appeared upset it would only make it harder for him. Slowing, she
craned her head to peek inside. Her heart jumped into her throat.
Q’s thin body was lying in the bed, white cotton sheets tucked in
all around, outlining the length of him. She closed the final
distance, she noted his eyes were closed, an IV attached to his
arm.

Clay caught sight of her. “Hey. Come in.”

“Uh, sure,” she replied, sounding as though
she were surprised by the invitation. Idiot!
Be the rock
.
Be the strong one
. Can’t you see he’s hurting?

“Thanks for coming by,” he said.

“No problem,” she replied, hating the dull
tone of his voice. She stole a glance in Q’s direction. “How is
he?”

“Q had a seizure. Did the doctor tell you?”
No longer carefree and flirtatious, his eyes were hollowed, the
line of his mouth grim.

She nodded. “Yes, she did.” She wanted to
sound intelligent on the matter, but didn’t know the first thing
about seizures, about autism, about any of this.

“He’s had them before.”

“He has?” The news caught her like a fist to
the chin. If Clay knew this could happen, why in the world would he
let Q swim?

“Twice. Years ago. Q was four at the time.”
Clay turned back to his son. “But then no more.”

Sydney’s heart cramped. Clay sounded beaten.
Lines carved his forehead adding years to his age. The stark
fluorescent lighting didn’t help, only colored the room in bleak,
his eyes in anguish.

“Can you stay?”

“Sure,” she said in automatic reply.
Actually, she wasn’t even supposed to be here. Events continued and
she was supposed to be available. But, too late to worry about
logistics, she’d have to rely on Charlie. He promised to check into
the other venues for her, allowing her some leeway. Over the phone,
he’d been so willing to help, so accommodating, which was unusual
for him. But rather than guess at his motives, she took him at his
word. His reasons didn’t matter. His offer to assist gave her the
opportunity to be here, so she took it. Sydney sat. A quick survey
of the space revealed screens and tubes, equipment she knew nothing
about, a small square bedside table beneath them. It shouted
business; the business of healing. Crossing her arms for lack of a
better thing to do, she waited for Clay to speak. Above the bed,
the repetitive dash and dip of Q’s rhythm caught her attention. At
least he was alive, she ruminated. They had that much going for
them.

Eerily detached, Clay stared at his son, lost
in a faraway gaze. He made no motion toward her, no attempt at
speech. There was no smile, no expression to paint a picture of
good news or bad. Nothing existed between them but the reassuring
presence of pulse-tracking monitors, the comforting din of doctors
and nurses going about the business of life-saving emergency care.
She wondered if he’d forgotten he’d said anything to her at
all.

“Q’s gonna be okay,” Clay said finally. “This
is just a minor setback.”

So random and matter-of-fact, she hoped he
was right. She hoped it wasn’t the desperate attempt of a loving
parent to grasp at the nearest lie when the reality was far
different. “I’m sure it is.”

“He had the gold.”

And where she expected so see pleasure and
pride, she saw nothing but dismay. “I’m sorry,” she replied. “I
know how much it meant to him.”

He nodded and Sydney thought he struggled
with tears. Upon closer inspection, his lids were reddened, as
though he’d already been crying. “It did. Does,” he corrected.
“He’ll be out swimming again before you know it, you wait and
see.”