CHAPTER 8: Stacey
When Sam and I arrived at the hospital, we saw everyone else in the waiting room, and they were just in shock by the events of the evening. There were two empty seats by Andrew and Emily, so Sam and I sat down. Emily was clinging to Andrew's arm and quietly sobbing. "Any word yet?" I asked.
Elizabeth shook her head. "Are you all right, Kristy?" she asked. I could tell she was worried about the possibility of the stress causing Kristy to lose the baby, and that was the last thing she needed.
"Mom, I'm fine," Kristy said through clenched teeth as she fought to keep her voice steady. "I called Dr. Wright's office before we left, and he says I'm far enough along that I don't have to worry about a miscarriage."
"Okay, honey."
A few minutes later, two doctors came out. One of them, of course, was Janine Kishi, Claudia's sister. She introduced the other one as Dr. Kendall, who told us to sit down.
Just then, I saw Hannah and her parents coming toward us. Hannah's right arm was in a cast. "Holy Mother of God," Jason whispered.
"How did this happen?" I asked as they sat down across from Sam, Andrew, and me.
"I was leaning against the door when we were hit, and broke my wrist," she told us. "I'll have to be in a cast for the next six weeks. I'm just glad I'm left-handed." Then, turning to the doctors, she asked, "How are Karen and Nancy?"
"Well, Nancy has a broken leg and possibly a concussion, so we're keeping her overnight for observation," Dr. Kendall answered. "However, Karen's in a coma."
"Oh, God, no," Hannah murmured in horror. With her good hand, she gripped her mother's. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jason take hold of his real father's ID tags and cross himself.
"We won't know anything more until Karen comes out of the coma," Janine told us.
"How long...?" David Michael asked. He wasn't crying yet, but I could see two faint streaks running down the sides of his face. Janine shook her head as if to say, "I don't know."
"Would it be all right if Stacey and I saw her?" Sam asked, fighting the tears.
"Yes," Janine answered. "You certainly may, but you don't have to if you don't feel up to it, you know."
"She's my stepsister, Janine," Sam answered. "I have to see her."
"This way," Janine said gently, and led us down the hall to Karen's room.
Nothing could've prepared us for what we saw in that room: this beautiful young girl was lying on her back, hooked up to a heart monitor, IV, and a pulse oximeter on her left index finger. Her face was a mess of scabs and bruises, her forehead had a big white bandage plastered across it, her nose was broken, and her right index finger was completely taped up. I was shocked, because I just couldn't believe that this badly damaged little body was Karen Brewer. Neither of us could.
I looked at Sam. His jaw and fists were tightly clenched, his blue eyes were blazing, his body was shaking, and a tear was cascading down his face. In all the years I'd known him, I'd never seen him like that before.
"Sam..." I started to whisper, but suddenly, and without warning, he grabbed a silver basin off a nearby table and threw it across the room.
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" he screamed as he threw it. Like a guided missile, it struck a little glass picture frame, shattering it, and knocking it to the floor. His scream was so loud that it could've woken the dead, but when I glanced at Karen, she never moved or blinked an eyelash. Then Sam slumped down into the chair beside the bed, and the next thing I knew, he was bawling in hysterics. I hadn't heard anyone cry that much since Taylor DeWitt fell off the monkey bars and broke his collarbone.
"How can this be happening, Stacey?" he sobbed. "And why Karen? Why, dammit?! How can anyone be so irresponsible!"
"Oh, honey, I know," I said, sitting on his lap and wrapping my arms around his neck. I was also crying by now, and not just for Karen, but also for the rest of the family. I also remembered the day I'd found out that my former best friend, Laine Cummings, was involved in a hit-and-run on the corner of Park and 73rd the summer before we started our senior year of high school. She'd survived, but was paralyzed from the waist down, and suffered permanent brain damage, namely losing half of her senses of taste and smell, not to mention color-blindness. As for school, I heard from the facility she was staying at that she was able to finish online with some help from the occupational therapists, and she still got her diploma. Nowadays, she lives in an apartment complex for disabled people on West 81st Street, and has an assisted-living provider. Since then, she and I have been in the process of burying the hatchet. Or at least trying to.
You see, we'd had a big falling-out when we were in eighth grade. I'd invited her to spend her school break with me in Stoneybrook, and she'd acted like a snob the whole time, namely insisting on calling me by my birth name, Anastasia, when she knew perfectly well that my name was Stacey. After she returned to New York, we broke up our friendship, and started making an effort to rekindle it after her accident.
I spent a very long time in that room, trying to comfort my husband, worrying about Karen, and wondering how Laine was doing. I also said a prayer for Karen, hoping she'd be spared from a fate similar to Laine's, or God knows what else.
