Well, here we are.
I know this one is hard...re-reading the start of this chapter before posting I realised just how much.
If you don't feel comfortable reading I understand...
The white bandage on the eye made him look goofy, like some kind of pirate trying to get over the stereotypical black patch trope just for the sake of being different. But there was nothing even remotely funny in that, and certainly not in the plastic tube coming out of his mouth, fixed to his face with lines of tape that made it look like tentacles of a clingy animal stuck to him, feeding off him.
Strangely, one of the things that disturbed her the most was the little balloon attached to the side, inflating and deflating with a regular deadly pace marking the interval of his forced breathing rhythm. More than once she ended up staring at it, hypnotised by the movement and the whispering noise it made everytime; it was numbing, it dulled her mind and she could get lost and - however briefly - forget that if that balloon stopped bad things would happen.
Then there was the big chunky bandage around his head, making it bigger than usual in a way that made her realise he was smaller than other men his age. Of course, that size consideration was also due to the fact that even after only a couple of days his body seemed to be already carrying the sign of improper nourishment.
For at least a couple of times, considering that between the bandages and the tube there wasn't much of his face left uncovered, she had wondered if maybe there hadn't been a mistake, if maybe it wasn't Cal Lightman the man slowly depleting in that hospital bed. But it was him of course: the nurses would come to check him regularly, perhaps to take a look at the bandages and change them or to put some drips in his eyes to keep them from drying up, and that was when she could see a bit more, catch a glimpse of his eye and recognise him.
Not that it helped, and after a couple of days Emily came to realise that no matter what, even if he was going to come out of that ok and fully recover, that was probably how she was going to see her father for the rest of her life.
In the end however, the worst thing was that there was nothing that she or anybody else could do for him.
There was no medication, no treatment, no medical Hail Mary they could try. He didn't need help to eat, the feeding tube took care of it, he didn't need to be entertained in the inactive boredom of the hospital. The few things he really needed - changing bandages, being washed occasionally - were up to the staff and she was glad for it. She wasn't ready for something like that, to look after her father in that way, and whenever she felt ashamed of herself about it all it took was a look at her mother or Gillian, who didn't seem any more inclined than she was to take on the task.
So all she could in that sick waiting game was to sit by his bedside, hold his hand and talk to him.
Nobody had come to tell her that it was a good idea, that he could probably hear her and that it would help: maybe it was true or maybe it wasn't, but all she wanted to do was to talk to her dad.
"The campus is big, I mean really big! Seriously, the first day Mom and I got lost between the reception point and the cafeteria. And guess what?" Emily paused for dramatic effect, a small part of her brain waiting for Cal to speak and ask 'what?' back. "There are three different cafeterias and we got to the wrong one!"
Standing by the door just outside the room, Gillian couldn't help but smile. The anecdote wasn't all that funny, but Emily's delivery complete with high-pitched voice and big bugged-eyes was over the top enough to cause that reaction. At first she had felt bad for listening in those little sessions, feeling like she was interfering in something private, but then she had realised that Emily didn't mind and that in some way it was a way for her to keep a pulse on the young girl.
Between the three of them there was always someone with him, safe at night when no visitors were allowed in the ICU. They hadn't discussed it in any specific way, sitting around a table to plan a visiting schedule had seemed like a morbid idea, but things had slotted into place rather easily. They were all there in the morning for updates on Cal's conditions - or lack thereof - before Gillian headed off to work and Emily, rather reluctantly, to school until the early afternoon. Zoe usually stayed, thanking technology that allowed her to review documents and motions in preparation for her upcoming case from there. Gillian didn't have that luxury. Of course she could check videos and documents from anywhere on her laptop when she had to, or make phone calls to clients and colleagues, but in reality with the other half of the company in hospital and in serious conditions she couldn't afford not to show herself. Clients and investors needed to know that despite the situation everything was under control, that their money was paying for what they wanted or were being put to good use, and the local authorities and organisations they worked with wanted reassurance that the group's commitment towards them wasn't going to be compromised.
And then there was the staff, the employees, people who despite all the jokes and friction occurring in the workplace had been gobsmacked when they had been told why the male boss was not coming to the office on Monday morning. She had had only a few hours of troubled sleep to adjust and recover, and when she had arrived at the office Gillian had realised that she had no intention to beat around the bush; it wasn't going to do anybody any good, so she had told them exactly what was going on. Cal had a brain tumour, it had been removed and now he was in a coma: and there was no telling if and when he would wake up, and what his conditions would be then.
After the dire public announcement, Gillian had been glad that nobody had come to ask for further information or updates. Not that they didn't care, it was clear that they did, but somehow they must have understood that there was nothing any of them could do besides joining the waiting club, or most of them recognised that keeping the group working in Cal's absence was something he would have appreciated.
So the past couple of days had gone by with a simple routine for her; stopping by at the hospital in the morning, a phone call to Emily around lunch time to check in and then she would go to the hospital again as soon as she was able to clear her afternoon schedule. She was well aware of the fact that their staff had taken it upon themselves to double the effort so that she could leave earlier and go see Cal, and was grateful that all of that could go on without needing to talk about it out loud. It was already too hard, too complicated and difficult to deal with, and as much as she would appreciate the attention and care of the people close to her she also appreciated that she didn't have to bear looks and questions.
And that little thing, watching Emily telling a very personal version of her bed time story to her father, was something she found incredibly soothing. It was a much needed semblance of normality, of things being as they should: a girl telling her father about her day. Being older and wiser than Emily didn't make her much different, much like the girl Gillian kept waiting for Cal to wake up and grumble something about the boys she kept mentioning.
"But I really liked it, Dad, more than Berkley. It's just-" Emily paused for a moment absently brushing off something off her father's face. "I don't know if it's because there is some kind of rivalry with Berkley but Stanford seems a bit more pretentious, you know what I mean? I've seen a lot of rich kids, they were looking down at my group of visitors and giggling…you know, like that study on social initiation you showed me last month? So I don't know, maybe I wouldn't fit in with that kind of crowd. What do you think? You and Mom raised me better than that, right?"
Gillian felt it coming even before Emily did. It was the little shift in her voice, the way it slowed down and went lower as the words trailed off. At first she thought it was the dangerous hope Cal would wake up and say that yes, of course they had, but then Gillian saw Emily look down, her shoulders and whole upper body deflate. Gillian could only see Emily's back but noticed the hand coming up to her face, lingering there likely brushing off tears or trying to keep them at bait, and then her shoulder shaking for a few seconds as the emotions threatened to overtake her.
Gillian was about to break cover and step inside the room but Emily seemed to recover, but it only lasted a moment because when the girl started talking again her voice had lost all the cheerfulness and enthusiasm.
"Come to think of it, what if it's California?" She babbled on, the words cracking with emotions she couldn't hold back anymore. "Everybody looks so tanned and happy all the time there, almost fake. What if I can't make any friends? And it would be so far from the ones I have here, and everything else…" She stopped and took a deep breath, her hands first sliding on her father's chest and then suddenly gripping at him. "Wake up Dad. Wake up now and tell me it's a bad idea to go to college that far and I will find something closer. Just wake up, ok?"
Gillian knew that was her cue, although she really wished Zoe was around, then stepped inside the room. Emily immediately turned around, unbothered by the fact that she had been caught in the act: it was Gillian after all, so she felt no need to wipe off her tears or act like what she had been doing was something to be ashamed of. And since it was Gillian, Emily didn't have any issue with what the older woman said as she came closer.
"Maybe you should try with something else," Foster hinted, gently wrapping her arm around Emily's and giving her a quick squeeze. "How about you've met someone special and you're planning to get married as soon as possible?"
"Now that would be cruel!" Emily chuckled, honestly grateful for the silly assist, then sighed and looked down at her father. "No changes."
"I know, but the doctors are still happy with his overall conditions."
Gillian was saying that more to herself, a little mantra she was hanging on to. It was true, at the very least Cal wasn't getting any worse, and since nobody had talked about what would happen in that scenario she found genuine comfort in the stability of his conditions for the time being.
"He's strong," Emily mumbled then, holding her father's hand. "He's stubborn, he's not going to give up easily."
"Of course not," Gillian smiled softly, absently looking around the room that had been discreetly adorned with cards, flowers and even a couple of stuffed animals sent by employees and acquaintances. Then she picked up a strange looking animal she couldn't identify, staring at the toy's wide open eyes as if they were holding some magic answer. "I bet the moment he wakes up he will call us all out for doubting him."
Emily nodded to herself, taking the stuffed animal from Gillian's hands when she offered it and immediately clinging on to it for comfort. They stayed like that for a few minutes, silence between them and the regular noises of the machines keeping Cal alive all around them, Emily still perched up on the bed by his side and Gillian slowly moving around the room to go through the latest arrivals. It was a task she had slotted into in without even noticing, realising only later that it made it a lot easier to spend time in the room with Cal; as stupid as it might sound, looking after withering flowers and get well soon cards made her feel slightly more helpful than just sitting there and wait for a miracle.
"I'm sorry about the other day," Emily said all of a sudden, still wrapped around the stuffed animal with her eyes fixated on the father but at the same time lost into the distance. "When we got here…I didn't mean to-"
She didn't quite finish the sentence, guilt strangling words in her throat, and Gillian immediately stopped what she was doing to look at her. They hadn't talked about it, about Emily's outburst and attacks towards her, mostly because after the initial hours of comprehensible shock the girl had realised she might have been misdirecting her fear. The people around Cal needed each other, that sentiment had soon replaced everything else and they had just eased back into their usual dynamic. Gillian wasn't sure what made Emily bring it up after a few days, but after all things were getting more and more difficult to deal with every day so it shouldn't have been all that surprising.
Still careful and mindful of her role in the girl's life, Gillian gave her a few moments before approaching and taking her hand, gently motioning her to move away from the bed so that they could both sit at the small table by the window.
"Don't worry about it Emily. You just got hit with all of this, of course you were upset."
"I know but-" She sighed and closed her eyes, shaking her head slowly. "It's you, and Dad. I know you've kept things from me in the past when he did something stupid and that you usually try to shield me from what he gets himself into… but I also know that you wouldn't have let him do this without telling anybody."
"I don't think I would have, no," Gillian reassured her. "A lot of the things your dad does…as frustrating as they are, usually there is an altruistic reason behind them. Whether it is a case to solve or someone to protect, they are not really about him. But this," It was her turn to sigh and glance back at Cal in his bed, "this was all about him and if I had known I would have told him how important it was for his family to know what was going on."
Emily seemed reassured, she had likely come to the same conclusion on her own, but then a thoughtful frown appeared on her face.
"I guess I just don't understand why he didn't tell you. He always opened up to you about things, stuff he wouldn't even tell Mom… And one thing was not telling you before the surgery but he didn't even want them to call you after."
Gillian swallowed hard, glad that Emily wasn't looking at her at that moment because that was a subject she wasn't exactly keen on discussing. Along with how she had not caught anything that much out of ordinary with Cal in the weeks leading up to his secret surgery, the reason why he had cut her off the loop was not something she particularly liked to talk about.
"He probably thought the surgery was going to be a success with no complication, and that he'd only be in the hospital a couple of days." she offered then. "Maybe he figured that even if the recovery took longer we'd all be too relieved to be mad at him."
"Well as far as I am concerned he would have been wrong!" Emily rebuked with a nervous energy in her voice that made Gillian chuckle, just before another sudden mood change took over. "I can see how you didn't notice anything, though. I didn't either, none of us did but how could we? He's always been a bit…over the top, I guess."
"I think there's a chance that once he knew what it was he tried even harder to hide it." Gillian felt horrible trying to sell that half-assed explanation to Emily, but at that point self-preservation was kicking in and she pushed further. "Trust me, there is no reading your father when he really wants to hide something."
Emily nodded slowly and grimaced, then got up and went back to the bed, suddenly lost in her thoughts as her hand absently brushed the little flock of her father's hair that had escaped the bandage around his head.
"Come to think of it, he was a bit off this past week or so." She said then, almost talking to herself but still loud enough for Gillian to hear her. "He was a bit absent, and seemed to have something on his mind. Then he said something to me…he could have tried to lie but he didn't, and I thought it was great because I was sure he'd never be sincere about it, not with me." Gillian approached carefully, surprised and confused by the dreamy smile appearing on the girl's face and feeling a sudden wave of panic running through her. "I guess it's kind of sad, that the fact he opened up might have been just a sign of something wrong?"
"Emily, the fact that there was something wrong with him doesn't mean that nothing was right." She tried that one on for size, wrapping her arm around the young woman. "He always tells you when it really matters, when you can do something about it. He told you about his mother, didn't he? And that is a big part of who he is. So whatever he told you, he must have been pretty sure about it."
Gillian didn't quite know what to make of the flash of hope and happiness appearing on Emily's face, two very strange emotions to display considering the situation, but it was a refreshing change from the doom and gloom so she brushed it off. She had been very careful in avoiding hope herself, let alone engaging when Emily would dare to ask if her father was going to recover, but she was gladly going to enjoy any kind of positive vibes coming her way.
Even if she knew how dangerous hope and happiness were.
Two more days went by, with little to no change.
The routine, the beeping of the heath monitor, the whispering noise of the respirator: nothing changed, if not for the fact that despite not moving and not speaking Cal looked different.
Worse, not just different.
Thinner in his face, thinner under the hospital gown and bedding…weak, a word hardly anybody would have associated with Cal Lightman. But that was the truth, and they were all reminded of it anytime a nurse would come into the room to look after him, changing the gown and making sure his arms and legs got some movements in order not to lose muscle tone.
Eventually Emily ran out of bad jokes to provoke her father into waking up, Zoe engaged in daily phone call fights with her associates because she couldn't give work her full attention and Gillian started to spend more time at the hospital. It was an oxymoron. One would have thought that with the other professional half of the company not getting any better her presence at the office would have been even more needed; but she was only human, and after having caught herself drifting away with her thoughts in the middle of an interrogation more than once Gillian had realised that perhaps forcing herself to work wasn't such a good idea. It was easier when she could look at recordings, pause and rewind if she happened to get distracted, and thankfully everybody was stepping up in Cal's absence.
But there wasn't much she could do, after nearly a week of waiting and trying to stay positive it was getting harder to keep up hopes. What was easy, way too easy, was to start considering the worse case scenario. Cal wasn't getting better, yet technically he wasn't getting any worse either; but Gillian couldn't stop thinking that one way or the other things were bound to change. Maybe it was just psychological self-preservation, her mind refusing to accept that Cal would stay like that forever, slip from coma to a full on vegetative state and never wake up, or maybe she just couldn't get over the sense of impending doom that filled her while awake and haunted her dreams while asleep.
Then, almost a week after Cal's secret surgery, Gillian turned the corner in the hallway to Cal's room and stopped on track. Zoe and Emily were there, just by the door of his room, talking to Dr Schultz. Well, he actually seemed to be doing all the talking while the two women held onto each other for dear life. And when she took a step forward and saw Emily burying her tears in her mom's embrace she felt her legs go numb.
Somehow, hanging on to the fact that Dr Schultz seemed to be very calm and that there wasn't a flock of nurses panicky rushing inside the room to placate alarming emergency sounds coming from the machines, Gillian managed to steady herself and walk down the corridor, ready to catch any glimpse of the conversation as she got near. Things didn't get much better when she did, minus the tears Zoe looked every bit as distraught as Emily was and Dr Schultz had just said something about 'clear instructions' that Gillian immediately disliked. For her benefit, but twisting the knife deeper in the other two women, the physician gave her a brief summary once she joined them. In his commitment in keeping people in the dark about his tumour, Cal truly had thought about the worse case scenario. He had left clear dispositions for his medical proxy, including signing a DNR for good measure, clearly stating that should his condition worsen or not getting any better he didn't want to be kept on a ventilator. Gillian was shocked enough to hear that, to process what it really meant, then Schultz piled up on it offering yet another peek into Cal's uncharacteristic and sudden penchant for preparation and programming by informing her that Lightman had put a clock on it too.
And time was about to run out.
Emily had to walk away, her young age finally showing and cracking under the weight of hearing for the second time that if her father didn't improve or wake up soon decisions were going to be made on whether to unplug him or not. On the other hand, Gillian was grounded by the doctor's calm explanation of the terms set by Cal, and by the thought that within a couple of days someone was going to have to make the dreaded call.
And by the fact that it wasn't going to be her.
She might have been Cal's emergency contact, but her responsibilities - duties that had been taken away from her because Cal had ordered the doctors not to call her - ended there, because Zoe was the one left with the short straw of making the ultimate decision on her ex-husband's life.
Understandably, that left the lawyer with a number of questions which she struggled to put through to the doctor. Unable to listen, unwilling to pay attention, Gillian zombied her way inside Cal's room in some sort of daze, looking at him with different eyes for the first time in days. She had never thought he looked ok, but all of a sudden whatever thin veil of optimism there might have been came crashing down and all she could see was a weak middle aged man wasting away one artificial breath at the time.
She wanted to cry, she hadn't yet and it would have probably done her some good, although it wouldn't have helped any in the overall situation. But tears didn't come, they threatened too but stopped when Gillian heard Emily's sobs approaching and decided that one weeping woman in the room was enough. She held her breath and waited, watching Emily step closer to her father's bed with her arms folded, bracing herself to chase away the pain. Gillian gave her some time and then wrapped her arm around Emily's shoulder, standing next to her.
"What is your mom going to do?"
It was wrong, so wrong of her to ask that to Emily but it seemed to Gillian that there was no more room for playing cautious with feelings.
"I don't know," Emily sobbed. "I don't think she knows either. Not yet."
"It's-" Gillian inhaled sharply, fighting back tears. "It's not an easy decision."
"No, it's not." Emily sighed and took Cal's hand, leaning down to kiss his cheek as she spoke like Gillian wasn't even in the room. "I think that's why he didn't leave it up to you."