Chapter Eight: Everything Has Changed

I am expecting probably one more chapter, with a brief epilogue (perhaps?) at the end. I am not entirely sure how I feel about this one but I had to get it posted before finals. I have a few other things in the works for you amazing people, which is part of the reason this one took so long (I am not sure why I thought it was a good idea to have two other pieces in the works as I not only wrote this chapter but the next too at the same time. But I digress.) You all are wonderful.

I don't own the Penderwicks.

…

Skye was woken in what she first groggily and bitterly thought to be a rather rude fashion. Hands were shaking her roughly by both shoulders and someone was saying her name through her sleepy haze. She blinked and squinted in the dark to make out the face of her attacker. Jane.

Jane was still wearing her red dress from the night before, and as Skye surfaced from her sleep, she realize that not only was she too in her dress, but she was also sprawled inelegantly on Rosalind's bed next to her older sister. They must have fallen asleep where they were last night, huddled together after the disastrous Christmas party. Rosalind, who was also apparently woken by Jane, seemed to be able to function slightly better than Skye and obediently jumped out of bed, snatching keys and shoes.

"Skye get up. There was an accident. It's Alec." Jane was saying, sounding panicked.

Alec. Alec. Jeffrey.

Skye was ripped out of her groggy state, leaping up and grabbing her worn canvas shoes.

The party congregated in the kitchen was a weary, ragtag group of soldiers. The dress consisted of everything from the three eldest sisters' party dresses to the two youngest siblings' pajamas to Tommy's sweatshirt and boxers (earning a face palm and a weary shake of the head from Rosalind). Mr. Penderwick brought peace to the chaos, sending kids to the car. Hound was told politely to stay back, and Tommy was asked to stay back as well to take care of him (both protested, but decided that it was best in the end). The rest of the Penderwicks loaded quickly in the car, and an eerie quiet settled on the group in the wee hours of the morning.

Iantha explained what had happened as they drove to the local hospital. Alec, shaken after the exchange between him and Jeffrey at the party, drove too fast for the icy roads as he left. He took a turn too quickly and his car spun out on an icy patch, rolling over twice before coming to a rest in a snow bank on the shoulder of the road. A kindred heading home for the holidays stopped to call 911 and pull Alec, bloodied and blacked out, from the car.

Mr. Penderwick drove slowly, protesting that driving too fast was what created the mess in the first place when Skye begged him to go faster. It was strange driving the dark roads, abandoned except for the occasional truck, just a blur of warm headlights in passing. The houses along the streets were dark and quiet, and every family was tucked in bed. It gave you a feeling that was something akin to driving a thin line between worlds, between universes. Like you didn't quite belong there out on the street. The trees, creaking under the weight of the snow, whispered "go home, go home." The hospital rose out of nothing, tall and ominous. The building was flat faced, with minimal windows and something about it that made you want to turn around. Batty held little Ben's hand tightly to comfort him, but secretly felt a little better herself clinging to him. Jane reached out and held tight to Rosalind. Skye kept to herself, elbows and knees drawn in, her walls up. Conceal, don't feel. She did math in her head, trig identities and long division and derivatives… numbers to hammer the thoughts of him out of her head. But her faith in math and logic was wavering as she listed in digits of pi in her head, because as she got out to the fiftieth digit, she started finding freckles and the letters of his name scattered among the numbers once blissfully removed from such things.

Skye leapt out of the car almost before it had stopped and lead the group into the hospital when the got there, bypassing a protesting secretary at the front desk. She was plunging through the labyrinth of white walls, and just as the rest of the family started to insist that they get a nurse to give them directions, Skye ran smack into Jeffrey. Before he could comprehend who-or what- he collided with, Skye wrapped her arms around him in a bone crushing hug. It took him a second for recognition, but then he twisted around her just as tightly.

"Are you ok?" Skye asked her lips close to his temple, not yet pulling away.

"I'm fine. Alec still hasn't woken up, but the doctors say he is stable."

He pulled away to look at her face. "Oh Skye, if only I hadn't yelled at him, maybe… I just… he could have died and I…"

"Don't," Skye said firmly, her face very close to Jeffrey's and her shockingly blue eyes forcing him to look at her, to hear her. "This isn't your fault."

"But…" Jeffrey dipped his head and Skye tucked her fingers under his jaw, tilting his face back up, not letting him lose sight of the sky blue of her irises. Her voice was as firm as her resolve and as hard as the blue walls of protection in her eyes.

"He will be ok."

He nodded as the rest of the family finally caught up and descended around them. Jeffrey was pulled away from Skye and squashed in a family hug. A flurry of voices asked him if he was ok and reassured him of the state of things. He smiled, a little weakly, at the family around him. His family.

"Jeffrey." Mr. Penderwick said, his voice even and calm. "Iantha and I are going to make some calls and speak with the doctors to make sure everything is taken care of for you and your family, ok? Is there anyone you would like us to call for you?"

Jeffrey shook his head, then stopped. "Maybe Turron?"

Iantha gave Mr. Penderwick a small knowing smile. "We can do that," she said.

Rosalind piped up then, looking quizzical. "You have his phone number?"

"No," said Iantha. "But I am willing to bet that your Aunt Claire does. They spend quite a lot of time together."

"Blech. Aunt Claire and Turron are… dating?" Skye asked.

Iantha smiled. Jane squealed.

"That would be great," Jeffrey said. He sounded tired, and when he spoke the mood instantly sobered again. "I'd better be getting back to his room so I can be there if… when he wakes up." He nodded resolutely and the group fragmented, Daddy and Iantha to the payphones, Skye and Jane toward the direction of Alec's room, Rosalind and the younger ones a little further down the hall to stay out of the way.

It was the worst kind of waiting. The kind where everything you know seems to sit on an edge, teetering in the most painful way between safety and chaos. Like sitting upon a cliff and giving life (or luck or fate or God) the choice to either pull you to safety or to push you off. Like driving an empty road too early in the morning between dark houses. A sort of purgatory.

Rosalind hated hospitals. She hated the patients that walk around them like ghosts. She hated the worried faces of the people passing by. She hated the sickeningly sterile smell, and the glaring white of the walls and the floor. The memories though… she hated those the most. They were so heavy they were almost nauseating, and Rosalind felt like should couldn't move. She sunk back against the blank wall and focused on not remembering.

Batty crouched down next to her, peering carefully into her face. "Are you ok Rosy?"

Rosalind nodded, but no means looked ok to Batty. Batty carefully eased little Ben out of Rosalind's arms lifted with all of her strength and settled him on her hip.

Batty carried Ben down the empty hallways talking to him about everything; about how she was glad that Turron and Aunt Claire were dating, because Turron was so nice, and how she was hoping she might get a new piano book for Christmas, and about the funny little looks that Jeffrey kept giving Skye reminded her of the way Tommy looked at Rosalind. She stopped when they came across vending machines. Batty and Ben decided that they ought to get something for Rosalind. They shook out all of their pockets and came up with $1.25. "We are a quarter short," Batty said frowning. That is when Ben pulled off his left shoe and produced a shiny quarter from where it was tucked beneath the sole. "It is a lucky Massachusetts's quarter," he informed Batty proudly. They got her Famous Amos Cookies and a cherry soda, Rosalind's favorite. Batty took the snacks back to their sister, and Ben scampered off to Iantha to play with the pay phone beside the one she and daddy were on.

Rosalind took the snacks and gave Batty a grateful smile, but her eyes were glassy like she was somewhere else, in some other time. Batty sat down next to her and took her hand, which seemed to almost startle Rosalind.

"Rosy? Tell me about mommy again."

That seemed to bring Rosalind back, pulling her through the years, away from that awful September. Rosalind reached over and tugged Batty into her lap like she was just a toddler again.

"I miss her," Rosalind said, pushing Batty's curls out of her face.

"I know. Tell me about her so I won't forget." Rosalind still seemed hesitant, as fragile as the moment, as life, so Batty keep trying. "Come on Rosy. You know the story. The one about the way she smelled on summer nights, and how she used to tie her hair back in a ribbon like the princesses in the movies."

Rosalind closed her eyes, memories flicking across the insides of her eyelids like a motion picture. Her mom looks frail in the last frames, her face thin and her skin like paper that had been folded too many times. She was weak with sickness that the doctors said had spread everywhere in her body but her heart. Her mother laughed at this, smiling triumphantly down at little Rosalind. "See baby?" she said. "Cancer may get my body but it can't get my heart." Then she leaned in really close so that only Rosalind could hear her, like they shared some great secret. "It's because it is so full of love for you and daddy and your sisters there isn't any room for cancer."

Rosalind opened her eyes. And she leaned toward little Batty like she had some great secret.

"On summer nights, mommy used to put old Tracy Chapman CDs on while she was making dinner after she spent all day in the gardens. She always wore this blue satin ribbon in her hair, and she was an expert and pulling all of her hair back into it like snow white does in those old movies. She would also always steal daddy's old plaid shirts for gardening, and in the spring and summer, she smelled of dirt. No in in bad way, just earthy. Daddy would always pretend he couldn't find his shirts and she would laugh every time…"

…

Skye was sitting with her back against the wall next to the door to Alec's room. She was bent forward with her arms and head resting on top of her knees, her dress hitch up in an unladylike fashion. She looked up when Jane's familiar red canvas shoes came to a squeaky stop in front of her on the well waxed hospital floor. Jane was tragically beautiful in her dress slightly rumpled and hair slightly frizzy.

"Hey," Skye said. Her voice sounded weird.

Jane plopped down next to her and studied Skye's face carefully. "Are you ok?"

Skye gave a weak attempt at a smile. "Of course I am, you bimbo."

Jane stretched her legs out in front of her. "No you aren't. I think we have known each other for long enough Skye, you don't have to keep playing the tough guy for me."

Skye laughed, a sound that we awkward and alien in the halls of the cold, sterile smelling hospital. She bumped Jane with her shoulder.

"I am fine really. It's just… I was…" Skye, being Skye, could not seem to physically get her lips around the words that she wanted to say. It was as if she were anatomically incapable of such sentimentality and gooeyness.

Jane offered up some help. "Scared for him?" she asked, nodding toward the direction of the room where Jeffrey was surely waiting anxiously at Alec's bedside.

"Yeah."

Jane was quiet for a moment as they listened to a baby cry from somewhere down the hall that seemed to stretch on forever.

"Call in your royal heart, tell it bravery cannot be measured by a lack of fear," Jane said, with a rhythmic cadence that fit the poem that she knew by heart. "It takes guts to tremble. It takes so much tremble to love."

Skye looked at her sidelong as she turned over the words in her mouth. Then, with a sudden burst she turned to fully face Jane. "Jane! Your poetry contest! It's today isn't it?"

Jane shrugged, and patted Skye's knee with a little half smile. "There are more important things."

Skye still looked unsure, but she nodded and settled back against the wall. "I still don't want you to miss it. Was that little bit from your piece?" she asked.

"No, that was Andrea Gibson. She is a recent favorite."

"It was good."

Jane grinned. It was rare to get even mild appraisal from Skye on matters of literature.

Skye rolled the words bravery and love around on her tongue like they were foreign. They didn't taste the same to her. Jane seemed to read her mind. "Skye, it's really brave you know…" she trailed away and a wicked grin pulled the corners of her mouth up. "… loving him."

Jane eyes were twinkling even after Skye administered a shoulder bump strong enough to topple her. She giggled, still splayed across the cold tile floor, pinned there by a murderous glare from Skye. Skye groaned then and her murderous look turned to one of exasperation. "Can we just forget I said that? It was a moment of rare weakness."

Jane sat back up, stray bubbles of laughter still tickling her throat. "No sister dearest, you are not ever going to live that one down as long as you and I are siblings. Besides, we all knew it anyway."

Skye made a sound like that of a strangled cow and buried her head in her arms again. Jane found this terribly funny and, as she erupted into laughter yet again, she scooted away from Skye to avoid another shove.

"Seriously though," Jane said, wiping her eyes and throwing a sloppy arm around Skye, who stiffly accepted the half hug. "He will be ok."

"I hope you are right."

The two sisters sat there for what felt like ages, watching tired and weary faces passing them, some obviously concerned loved ones, others in wheel chairs or flimsy paper gowns that branded them as a patient. Their mood sobered as the hours became longer, and eventually they fell into a reluctant sleep against each other.

They awoke when hurried footsteps of a doctor in shoes that Jane groggily deemed "swanky" echoed down the hall. He burst into Alec's room, and the girls jumped to their feet to peer through the window.

Inside they saw Alec blinking, opening his eyes and giving Jeffrey, who was sitting at his bedside holding his hand, a weak smile. Jeffrey started crying and crumpled forward slowly against Alec's chest in a hug. Mrs. Tifton came up behind both of them and placed a hand on Jeffrey's back and on Alec's shoulder. The doctor was beaming and nodding as he tinkered with the machines that Alec was hooked up to.

Watching the scene on the outside of the cold glass was like watching a silent motion picture. Jane was immediately overcome with emotion, calling joyfully to the rest of the family, singing of good news as tears of relief sprung from eyes as they did Jeffrey's. Skye however, did not move. She felt incapacitated, awash in emotion. Her entire body felt like it had been shocked, the relief like a battery being touched to your tongue. Skye was only vaguely aware of her father's hands on her shoulders, of Rosalind's relieved laughter in her ear. She leaned forward slowly, pressing her forehead against the hard glass, and just watched the happy scene unfolding inside.

Aunt Claire and Turron arrived two hours later, rushing in looking haggard and worried. Jane ran out to meet them because the sisters decided that she was the fasted runner out of all of them, with Skye only grudgingly putting aside her pride and admitting this. Jane crashed in Aunt Claire who suspiciously jumped away from Turron when she saw her come flying around the corner (holding hands perhaps?).

"Hey kiddo," she said, hugging Jane tightly.

"He is ok," Jane said, breathless and slightly muffled because Aunt Claire had her squashed in her arms. "He is awake." Relieved by the news, Aunt Claire only squeezed her tighter. Jane didn't mind so much.

There were technicalities of course, and what Mr. Penderwick called the Mount Everest of paperwork, but with the whole family together. Deep crimson poinsettia flowers crowed the corners of the hospital room, some brought by Turron and Claire, others ordered by Iantha, and the room was redolent of Christmases past. People too, crammed into the small white room, giving it color with red cheeks and black coats and knit hats of all colors. When the doctors came in to discuss logistics and preparation for Alec's release and the little room became especially crowded, the kids slipped outside.

Jeffrey sat down on a handful of stairs a little down the hallway, stretching his legs out in front of him and closing his eyes, obviously relieved. Skye and Jane plopped down on either side of him, and Rosalind sat down next to Skye. Batty and Ben played on the wheelchair accessible ramp that ran besides the stairs.

Skye was vague aware of the way Jeffrey's hand slid over just enough so that their pinkies were touching. Rosalind rested her head on Skye's shoulder, the adrenaline and anxiousness from waiting finally fading to exhaustion. Skye let her. Jane threw a friendly arm around Jeffrey's shoulders. Golden shafts of light were beginning to pierce the grey dim of the hospital and the sunrise broke the horizon.

"I guess everything has changed now, hasn't it?" Jeffrey asked finally.

Skye smiled. "Yes."

Behind them, there was a flurry of warm voices spilling out into the hallway as their family poured out of the room. Alec was among them in a wheelchair that Mrs. Tifton was pushing herself. He was laughing at some joke unheard by the kids, but it had the same infectious result nonetheless.

"Jane?" Skye asked suddenly, eyes wide with plans forming in her head. With epiphany. "What time is your poetry slam at?" Jane's eyes widened to match Skye's.

Jeffrey glanced down at his watch that his mother had insisted he wear. For the first time, it was actually useful. A goofy grin spilled across his face.

"We just might make it."