Author's Note: Greetings, my friends! To those of you in the States, I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving. My husband and I had a lovely celebration, but it was very quiet as none of our kids were able to join us. Thank you all for your reviews — your encouragement keeps me writing!
I plan to continue posting once a week for now. I've got the story written through chapter seven; once I get that far, more time may elapse between chapters, but I should be able to stick with a chapter a week.
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Spanish – English Glossary
No es apto para cerdos! - it isn't fit for pigs.
Un poco de agua, por favor. – A little water, please.
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June 15
Something prodding at Jake's shoulder pulled him back to awareness. He winced and tried to pull away, but the something wouldn't leave him alone. After a minute, he realized it was a hand shaking him. Gradually, he became aware of a voice calling to him. "C'mon young man. Time to wake up."
"But it's summer," he mumbled. "No school."
"Wake up, buddy. Come on." As he became more awake, he became aware of severe pain in his arm. And then, memory flooded back: the ground shaking, the mall falling on top of them, Pops about to cry, Ian's rough breathing… Jake's eyes flew open to see a paramedic stooping over him. "My grandparents… my brother… are they…" He coughed and it made his sides hurt. He felt his eyes get wet and he tried to blink back the tears but there were too many. They just started dripping, running down his face and into his hair.
"Hey, buddy. It's gonna be OK. I'm Reggie. What's your name?"
"Jake… Jake Stoker."
"And how old are you, Jake?"
"I'll be ten —" He had to swallow a sob before he could continue. "— in two weeks. So will Ian."
"Jake and Ian Stoker, huh? You aren't Mike Stoker's boys, are you?" The paramedic smiled down at him, then wiped the tears from his cheeks with a soft cloth.
"Yeah."
"OK, well, listen. We're going to get you into the ambulance and take you to Rampart. Your dad is already there, and he'll sure be glad to see you. Your brother and granddad are already on the way."
"And Gramma?"
Reggie hesitated before answering. "Yeah, uh… your Grandma too. Now, listen buddy. The doctor wants me to give you an IV. You'll feel a quick poke. Your arm should hurt less once this gets going, too."
"OK." Even with the paramedic right beside him, Jake felt terribly alone. He and Ian were rarely apart, and they always had their parents or their grandparents with them. Mom and Dad didn't even like letting them go to sleepovers or summer camp. He gasped a little at the sting of the needle poke. Then he felt the rush of liquid going into his arm. A minute later, he started getting drowsy again. He tried hard to keep his eyes open, but his eyelids got really heavy and sank to half-mast. At last, he stopped fighting and gave in to sleep.
When Jake woke up again, he was in bed in a hospital room. Pops was sitting next to him and on the other side of Pops was Ian, also in bed. He had a tube running into his chest and an oxygen mask. Pops had tear streaks down his cheeks.
"Pops? Where's Gramma?" Jake wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer, but he needed to know.
Pops was quiet for a long moment, but then he took Jake's hand into his own. "In Heaven, son."
"In… in Heaven? But you… you said… she was fine… that she was sleeping."
Pops stroked the hair out of Jake's eyes with rough but gentle fingers. "I know, Jake. And… she is fine. Better than any of us down here. Your Gramma fell asleep on earth and woke up in Heaven." He lifted Jake into a sitting position and cradled him to his chest.
Jake wept. Pops was crying too. "I miss her so much it hurts, Jakey."
"I know." Jake understood. His arm throbbed, but the ache in his heart was worse, and the pain meds going into his IV couldn't touch that.
After several minutes, Pops helped him lie back. "What about Ian and Mom and Dad?" Jake asked. "Will they be OK?"
Pops nodded toward Ian. "Your brother has some broken ribs and a collapsed lung. He should be all right in time. Your dad is fine — he needed some stitches, but that was all. He's with your mom right now. She has two broken legs and she's running a high fever. They're taking good care of her." Pops kissed Jake on the forehead. "I'm going to go tell your dad you're awake. He'll want to see you."
Jake nodded. "Thanks, Pops," he mumbled.
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Marco sat hunched in front of Dr. Brackett, his gaze locked on his hands, which were clasped in his lap. He didn't want to be here. Mama needed him. She had awakened a couple of hours ago, confused, cranky, and complaining of a massive headache. Charlie had already gotten a full skull series, but she really needed a CT scan. Unfortunately, Rampart's CT machine had been badly damaged in the quake. It was useless, and it could be days before they could replace it. Ever since phone service had been restored, Dixie had been calling other hospitals looking for an available CT scanner in the area, but so far she hadn't had any luck.
"Marco. I can't find a physical cause of your inability to speak," Brackett was saying. Marco listened but avoided eye contact. "You had a traumatic experience today, and I believe that's the root of the problem. It's not unusual, given what you experienced. Perhaps it would help you to see a psychologist."
Marco shook his head. He wasn't a nutcase. He didn't need a shrink. He just needed Mama and Chet to be all right.
"Marco, I —"
With a growl — that was a sound he could still produce — Marco shook his head again and got to his feet. He stomped out, heading around the hospital to the door to the open wing. Mama had been moved into a room a couple of hours ago. Her ward was right next to maternity, where baby Liliana slept in a bassinet. Marco stopped to look in the nursery window. His niece was beautiful, a healthy seven and a half pounds and eighteen inches long. He smiled at the sight of her — she had managed to work her arms free of the swaddling blanket and had plopped a thumb in her mouth. Her free hand was flailing about, and she had knocked her knit cap off her head. This one was going to be a handful, just like her mommy.
When will you marry and give me grandchildren, mijo? Mama had asked him that just a few days ago when he had supper with the family. It wasn't that he didn't want to marry. He did, and he wanted to be a father. He just hadn't met the right woman yet. He sighed. Someday. But someday might be too late. Waving to Liliana, he went on to Mama's ward. He hoped she would be asleep. Earlier, she had been yelling at him because he wasn't talking.
Hostility didn't seem right coming from Mama. She was a gentle woman — kind, compassionate, patient, cheerful. Sometimes she got frustrated or anxious, but never angry. And she never raised her voice. He heard her shouting as soon as he pushed open the door to her ward.
"You call this food? You should be embarrassed… no es apto para cerdos!"
Marco's steady steps hastened into a jog. He hoped he could get to her room before she did anything more than shout. But just before he got to her door, he heard a loud clattering and a gasp from the person she'd been yelling at. He half-expected to see a nurse or orderly come stalking angrily out of the room. But instead, he heard a soft answer. He paused just before the door to listen.
"I'm so sorry the meals aren't up to your standards, Señora Lopez," the voice said. Marco peeked in and saw an elderly nurse. Mashed potatoes and gravy dripped down her blouse, but she was smiling like she'd just had a hug from her grandkids. Grey hair hung to her shoulders in tight curls. She bent down to start cleaning the mess Mama had made.
Marco stepped in quickly, shaking his head, and moved the nurse aside. Then he went to his knees and cleaned up the mess himself. Once he finished, he placed the tray by the sink and washed his hands.
He found the nurse at Mama's bedside, plumping her pillows. "You do need to eat something, ma'am, or the doctor will order a naso-gastric tube. That's very uncomfortable."
Mama huffed. "I'm not hungry." At least she wasn't yelling anymore. She even gave the nurse a conciliatory look.
"Well, I suppose one night won't hurt. I'll check back with you a little later to see if you've changed your mind." The nurse laid her hand on Mama's. "How about some more water, though?"
"Si, si. Un poco de agua, por favor." Suddenly Mama was agreeable again. Marco smiled — this nurse was a miracle worker.
"You must be Señora Lopez's son." She looked him over, her eyes landing on his nametag. "Marco. Yes, she mentioned you."
Marco nodded. Of all the times to be without a voice. He hated to seem rude. He racked his brains, trying to remember the sign he'd learned for thank you in the sign language class the fire department had required. Finally, he put his fingers to his chin and then pulled his hand downward.
"You're welcome," the nurse said warmly. She didn't ask why he wasn't talking. Just smiled and waved and then stepped out the door.
Marco took a seat next to Mama's bed. He couldn't talk with her. She didn't know any sign language, and he didn't know much more. In fact, he felt kind of useless right now, but he also didn't want to leave her alone.
She rolled over in bed and glared at him. "Who are you? I don't know you."
Marco stared at his mother. He was desperately worried now but couldn't think of anything to do but push her call button, which he started to do.
"You look like my Marquito," Mama snapped, "but he wouldn't be so rude to keep silent instead of greeting me."
Marco sighed with relief and let the call button go. Sitting back, he tried to figure out how to clue his mother into the fact he couldn't speak. He drew a blank.
"Now Señora Lopez," the nurse said as she came into the room again with a cup of water and a straw. "Are you giving your son a hard time?" She smiled at Marco. "He's such a nice boy, too. I should think you would be proud of him."
"My Marquito would not ignore me this way!"
"Oh, but he isn't ignoring you. He just can't speak right now." She glanced at Marco for confirmation.
Marco nodded gratefully.
"If you know any more sign language besides thank you, I could interpret for you. I've been studying it." She gave him one of those smiles that reminded him of his Tia Luisa right before she was about to pinch his cheeks.
He shook his head, but mimed writing on a pad of paper.
"Oh, of course! Why didn't I think of that? I'll be right back. Why don't you help your mother drink some water." She trotted out the door. When she came back a few minutes later, she had a pad of paper and a pencil. She handed them to Marco. "You keep those, young man."
By this time, Marco had settled back into his chair. He wrote a note to his mother, telling her he loved her and that he wasn't ignoring her. He just couldn't talk right now.
"Laryngitis, hmm?" sniffed Mama after she read the note.
Marco shrugged.
"Well, keep your germs to yourself." Mama leveled her gaze on him. "I suppose you are my Marquito." Then she turned to the nurse. "My head hurts. Can't you give me anything for it?"
"I'm sorry, Senora Lopez. You've already had acetaminophen. Stronger pain medication could cause problems when there's a head injury. But I'll let the doctor know you're hurting."
She fetched a washcloth and wet it down with cool water, then handed it to Marco. "It might help to put this on her forehead. I'll go call Dr. Early."
Marco placed the cool cloth on Mama's forehead. Then he reached into his pocket for the rosary he always carried with him. He pressed this into Mama's hand, then crossed himself and bowed his head. Mike was right — he didn't need a voice to pray.
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Mike clung to Beth's hand. He didn't want to let go. She didn't know the hard news yet, that Mom was gone. She wasn't in any state to understand right now. Medication had brought her fever down a little, but she still radiated heat. Mike had never seen a case of flu this bad. Beth needed surgery to set the fracture in her right leg, but Dr. Brackett wanted to wait until her fever came down. "She's not strong enough to withstand surgery right now," he'd said.
He kissed her hand through the mask Brackett had insisted he wear. He couldn't risk taking Beth's germs to Jake or Ian.
Pop's hand came down on his shoulder. "Jake is awake. He knows."
"Thanks." Mike stood and turned towards Pops. Neither one was normally a demonstrative man, but just for a moment, Mike wrapped his arms around his father and clung to him, the two sharing their grief. The day had been overwhelming, and they both had much more to face. At least they could face it together. Mike took in a deep breath, patted Pops on the back, and then released him.
Then Mike headed to his sons' room, somewhat comforted. Jake lay in bed, face buried in his pillow. A dinner tray sat untouched on his bedside table. Mike discarded his mask and washed his hands at the sink.
"Daddy?" Jake hadn't called his dad that for years.
Mike went straight to his son and put his arms around him. "I'm right here, Jake." He sat on the edge of the bed.
Jake's hot tears soaked through Mike's shirt. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I'm so sorry."
"Sorry for what, Buddy?" Mike stroked Jake's head, the same way he used to do when his son was five and scared of monsters under the bed.
Jake's body tensed and a confession forced its way past a sob. "It's… it's all my fault. I asked to go to the bookstore."
Mike pulled away from Jake so that he could look him in the eyes. "Listen to me, buddy. It isn't your fault. Your Gramma died of a heart attack. That could have happened anywhere, with or without a quake. Jake, no one could know what was going to happen. If you had headed for home, you might have been on the freeway when the quake hit. There were mass pile ups all over. You could have been right in the middle of one of those. You might all have been killed."
Jake sniffed. Remorse shone in his dark eyes. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure, Buddy." Mike pulled Jake close again and ran his fingers through the boy's hair. He'd comforted kids before on calls when a parent or grandparent had passed, but this was the first time he'd had to help his own child through grief, and it was so much harder. And when Ian woke up, he was going to have to do it all over again. That would be even harder — Ian and his Gramma were very close. They were so much alike. Give me the right words, God, please.
"I want Gramma back." Still crying, Jake burrowed closer to Mike's side. "She promised to read The Hobbit to us tonight. And she was gonna come for our birthday and bake us a dragon cake."
Mike's eyes welled with tears. He hadn't taken time yet to think about all the things that his mom was going to miss out on — and all the things they would miss out on without her. She had always been a spot of bright color in their lives, imaginative and whimsical. Her boundless love had helped Mike and Beth through those difficult days after the twins were born. She had taught the boys to read well before kindergarten and kept them well supplied with good books. When Beth had come down with flu, she volunteered herself and Pops to come help out so Mike wouldn't have to take time off. The ache of losing her went deep. Guilt cut through Mike like a knife. Why hadn't he told her no, that they'd be fine? "I know, Buddy. I know."
Jake shuddered and a flood of hot tears soaked into Mike's shirt. "Why did God take her? We love her so much. We need her."
"Oh, Jakey, I wish I had an answer. God has ways we don't understand. Here's what I do know. He loves you and He loves Gramma. And we're going to see her again." Mike wanted to believe it. He tried to believe it, but he just wasn't sure. He wished he had Beth's or Mama's certainty.
"He won't take you or Mom or Ian, will he?" Jake held his father tightly, as if that could keep God from stealing him away.
It was tempting to sugarcoat things, but Jake deserved honest answers. Mike would honor that. "Not right now, Jake. But no one can know what will happen in the future. That's why we have to treasure every moment we have with each other. And you do a good job of that, Son, so you have nothing to worry about."
"I love you, Daddy." Jake scrubbed his good arm across his face. "Will you tell Mom I love her? Dr. Brackett says I can't see her 'cause of germs."
Mike smiled and settled Jake back into his pillows. "You bet I will, pal. Now listen, you need to eat your dinner. Look, they even cut it into bite-sized pieces since you can't manage that right now."
Jake made a face. "Hospital food is gross." Then his stomach rumbled. He sighed. "Oh, fine. I guess I am hungry." He glanced over at Ian, who was still sleeping. "When will he wake up, Dad?"
Worry flickered across Mike's features. The longer Ian remained unconscious, the worse his prognosis. "I don't know, Jake. Soon, I hope."
Jake ate a bite of his chicken. He grimaced, but manfully swallowed it and took another bite. Mike's heart swelled with pride. "I'll watch out for him, Daddy. You go back to Mom. She needs you." He rubbed away a few more tears.
Mike leaned over and kissed his son's cheek. "I love you. Finish eating and then try to sleep. OK? Pops will be back to turn out the light."
"OK." Jake yawned. "Love you too."
Mike walked to Ian's bed and leaned over him. He brushed a lock of dark hair out of the child's eyes, then blinked back more tears. Mom had been going to take the boys for haircuts while she was out here. They both needed them. "Ian, you need to wake up, Son. We need you. I love you." He kissed Ian's cheek, hoping to see a reaction, but there was none. Sighing, Mike quietly crossed the room.
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Ian was caught in a dream. At least, he thought it was a dream. It had an otherworldly feel to it. He was on a mountainside with Gramma. Jake and Pops liked beaches best, but Ian and Gramma had always agreed that the mountains were the prettiest, most relaxing place to be, especially if there was also a forest. They both loved trees, and the trees here seemed more alive than any he'd seen before— he half expected dryads to come out of them, all swirling with leaves and blossoms. This mountain wasn't like anything Ian had ever seen in real life, only in his imagination when Gramma was reading to him and Jake. It was just the way he'd pictured Aslan's mountain in The Chronicles of Narnia books, the one where Jill and Eustace found themselves after running away from the bullies and stepping into another world through a door in a wall. The Silver Chair was one of Ian's favorite books. Well, he loved the whole series, actually.
Last year for their ninth birthday, Gramma had given him and Jake the set of seven books, and she'd read it all to them. No one else could do voices when reading aloud the way Gramma could. Whether she was giving voice to the Pevensie children or Tumnus the Faun or the Parliament of Owls, she brought the characters to life and made them more than words on a page. Her favorite character was Puddleglum the Marshwiggle. "Puddleglum is brave and steadfast," she said, "a hero who lived by faith and not sight."
As they wandered amid the giant trees, Ian slipped a hand into Gramma's. He didn't say anything, though. Gramma wouldn't mind. She appreciated that two people could enjoy being together without filling the air with chatter. The silence of this place felt holy somehow, like when Ian was in church in that space after taking Communion, when he felt that God was all around him, holding him close. He watched carefully, looking amid the trees for any glimpse of a tawny Lion striding through the woods with them. Would he have the courage to approach Aslan if the opportunity arose? Surely he wouldn't be frightened of a dream Aslan the way Jill was in the book when she first met the Lion. Still, his heart thumped at the thought of it.
Before long, he saw a familiar face in the distance. He couldn't think of the person's name, but he'd seen her with Uncle Roy. She was walking arm in arm with a tall grey-haired man, but when she saw Gramma, she pulled free and opened her arms wide. "You're here too?"
"Isn't it wonderful?" Gramma said. To Ian's surprise, her quiet words didn't violate the sacred silence, but seemed to flow into the beauty of the place. They belonged. Ian felt like he didn't belong, not the way Gramma and this woman and her friend did. He felt as if something were tugging him away and he didn't want to go, so he resisted.
Soon, he heard a noise in the distance. He listened carefully, trying to figure out what it was. Running water! There must be a stream nearby. He tugged Gramma's hand, pulling her with him as he followed the sound. He was desperate for a drink of water.
He stopped suddenly, frozen in his tracks by a sharp pain in his chest. Pain seemed so out of place in these woods, like it was trying to tear him out of his dream. Gramma wrapped him in her arms and rocked him gently until the pain eased. Then they moved onward. Every step in this place was delightful. Some of the trees had giant white blossoms. Ian thought they were big enough that he could curl up inside one of them and take a nap if he wanted to. With every breath, he soaked in the fragrance of honeysuckle and jasmine and lilac.
At last, they reached the stream. There, at the edge of it, sat a Lion. The Lion. Ian would know him anywhere. Big and golden and solemn and staring right into him. He trembled, holding tight to Gramma's hand. A moment ago, he had thought himself brave enough to face Aslan and look him in the eyes. But now he didn't dare. He could feel those great eyes studying him, seeing every wrong thing he had ever done. His knees knocked together and he sank down on the bank of the stream, kneeling like he did at the Communion rail. Suddenly, he was alone with Aslan, aware that Gramma was no longer with him, but not really thinking about her. Instead, he was thinking about how he had argued with Mom the last time they'd talked, and he'd asked Pops to buy him the Atari 2600 even though Dad had told him not to. He'd argued with Dad about that, too. And how instead of cleaning his side of the bedroom like he was supposed to, he just shoved his mess under the bed so they could leave sooner with Gramma and Pops. I'm sorry. He didn't speak the words, but he knew the Lion heard them.
"Come and drink, my son," Aslan said. His voice washed over Ian, cleansing him, refreshing him, drawing him close. What was it Mr. Beaver had said about Aslan? He isn't safe, but he's good. Ian felt the truth of that. Still kneeling, he inched toward the stream. Bending low, he filled his hands with water and drank. It tasted fresh and sweet, and it filled him with strength.
When his thirst had been quenched, Ian looked up. A wild hope sprang into his heart. "Will I live here with you now, Aslan?"
Aslan shook his head, tossing his golden mane side to side. "No, son. You've only come for a visit and to say goodbye."
Ian's forehead wrinkled up. "Goodbye? What do you mean?"
The Lion bent over him. He felt its warm breath on the side of his face, filling him with a Lion's courage. "Your grandmother will remain with me, but you must go home to your family. Do not fear, son. You will see her again."
Suddenly Gramma was next to him again. Her face was shining, full of light and joy. She looked like Gramma, but somehow she also looked younger. Her hair was no longer gray and thinning, her wrinkles had all smoothed out, and her eyes danced with delight. She was more alive than ever. She wrapped him in a hug. "It's all right, Ian. You'll be back. Tell them all that I love them. Tell them I'm happy here."
"Tell my son… your Uncle Roy," Gramma's friend said. "This is a good place. I hope to see him here one day."
"But I don't want to go!" Ian wrapped his arms around Gramma and held tight. "Please don't make me go."
The Lion spoke close to his ear, love echoing in his deep growly voice. "It's not time, my son. You have work to do in your world. Look for me there — you will find me. I will be with you always." And suddenly they were on the edge of a great cliff and the Lion was blowing on him.
He found himself floating away from the mountain. Just like Eustace and Jill, he thought. He leaned back on the current of air, resting on it as it carried him away. Gramma and the Lion were standing on the cliff, watching him, getting smaller and smaller by the second. Soon, Ian grew tired. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened by the beeping of machines.
Ian opened his eyes. The mountain and the woods were gone. Gramma was gone. He was in a hospital room and Dad was just walking out the door. Ian's chest hurt when he breathed. "Daddy," he called, but he couldn't manage more than a whisper. Something really uncomfortable was clamped over his face. He moaned and reached to pull at it.
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"Dad! He's awake!" Jake yelled.
Mike spun around, relief surging through him. He hurried back into the room and to Ian's side. He pulled Ian's hands away from the oxygen mask. "Hey, kiddo, you gotta leave that alone. Welcome back! How are you feeling?"
Ian reached for Mike's hand. "Hurts." The mask muffled his words.
"Yeah, I know. You've got a punctured lung and some broken ribs. Don't talk if it hurts too much. Just rest, pally." Mike reached for the call button and pushed it. Dr. Early would want to know Ian was awake.
Dixie stuck her head in a minute later. She was doing some overtime in pediatrics because they had a shortage of nurses. "Everything OK in here, Mike?"
"You bet! Look who's awake!"
Dixie looked around Mike and smiled broadly. "Well, look at that. Welcome back, Ian. It's good to see those eyes open. Let me get your vitals, and then I'll let Dr. Early know he should pay you a visit." She moved deftly around Ian's bed, checking the machine for his heart rate and getting his blood pressure. "I'm going to take that mask off you and put in a nasal cannula so you can eat supper. The orderly will bring it in a minute. And Dr. Early will be here soon." Then she slipped out.
Ian looked much more comfortable with the cannula instead of the mask. Determination shone in his eyes. Mike recognized that look — it meant his son had something he needed to do, and he was going to do it no matter what. "Message… from Gramma." Ian winced. "She said… tell you… she loves you… an' she's happy." His dark eyes filled with tears. "I'm… gonna miss… her, Dad." He rubbed the tears away and a rueful smile tugged his lips upward. "But she looked… so pretty… an' her eyes… were dancin'."
Jake's fork clattered on his tray. "You saw Gramma?"
"Yeah… Roy's mom… too. Message… for him."
Mike stared at Ian in confusion. How could the boy know about his grandmother's death? And had he really seen Harriet DeSoto? "Thank you for telling me, Son. I know Gramma is happy. We're all going to miss her." He reached down to give Ian a careful hug.
"We'll see her… again. Aslan… said so." He sighed, his face lighting up with some wonderful memory he wasn't up to sharing yet.
"Aslan?" Mike and Jake echoed in unison. That explained everything. Ian must have had a vivid dream and some of their conversation about Gramma had filtered into it. The Chronicles of Narnia had long been the twins' favorite books, so it was natural Ian's dreams would take him there.
The orderly came with the food tray. Ian ate a few bites, then pushed it away. His forehead scrunched up. "What… happened? Don'… remember."
Mike blew out a breath. "There was an earthquake and part of the mall fell on you, your brother, your grandparents." On a lot of other folks, too. Most hadn't made it. But Ian didn't need to know that.
"That's… why Gramma… went… to Aslan's mountain?"
"Yes, Son. She had a heart attack during the earthquake. She had a bad heart, you know." When Mom first got the diagnosis last year, Beth and the boys had prayed the rosary for her.
"Yeah."
Mike nodded. "Pops is OK and Jake has a broken arm. Now, you need to rest and be still and do what the doctor says. Dr. Early is treating both of you."
"Your father is right." Dr. Early came in and took a seat next to Ian's bedside. "Rest is precisely what you need." He pointed to the chest tube. "This tube helps remove air that's outside your lung, putting pressure on it. Once the lung re-expands, we'll remove the tube. You'll be our guest for a while, young man."
Ian looked up at his dad. "Where's… Mom?"
Mike tousled the boy's hair. "Mom is here in the hospital. The roof of our house fell on her. She has a couple of broken legs and she's still sick, but she's going to be all right."
"Once she gets over her flu, you'll be able to see her, Ian." Dr. Early checked the chest tube as he talked. "We don't want to risk you getting the flu on top of your injuries."
"Hug her… for me, Dad," said Ian. "Tell her… Gramma sends love."
"I'll do that." Mike squeezed Ian's hand.
Ian yawned. His eyelids were starting to sink. "I'm… gonna sleep," he said.
"Best thing for him," Dr. Early said as Ian's eyes closed and he drifted off.
Mike watched Ian sleep for a little while, wondering at the message his son had given him. Could Ian have been with his grandmother somehow? He shook his head at the thought. He wasn't much for mysteries like Beth was. Ian too — he'd always been more spiritually sensitive than other kids his age. If anyone would have an experience like that, he was the one. But Mike just couldn't believe it had been anything more than a dream. He kissed Ian and then kissed Jake again and moved the boy's empty dinner tray out of the way. "Get some rest, buddy." He turned off the light but stood in the doorway for a moment watching his boys. Finally, he headed back to Beth's room. He wanted to tell her that Ian was awake, even if she was too feverish to understand.
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With a disapproving sniff, Julia Frazier looked in on her daughter. Julia had emerged from the bedroom once she heard JoAnne tucking the children in. With the paper-thin walls in this house, it was impossible not to hear every word spoken in any of the upstairs rooms. JoAnne had cried herself to sleep with Megan in the bed next to her. Daniel Jesse was in his crib across the room, babbling to himself but wide awake. The little imbecile didn't even know the difference between night and day. He belonged in an institution where he wouldn't interfere with the development of his older siblings.
Chris and Megan had both become downright snippy lately. Julia could hardly say a word about the trouble with Daniel Jesse without one of them contradicting her. If Julia had ever spoken to her own grandmother that way when she was a child, she'd have been whipped for it, and no mistake. But JoAnne let it pass. In fact, JoAnne did more than her share of contradicting, too. Julia blamed Roy entirely. He encouraged his entire family to disrespect her. Well, she supposed she couldn't expect much more from a child of Harriet DeSoto. Full of spit and vinegar, the lot of them.
Jim had pulled out the sofa bed and said he would sleep there. His way of making sure Julia knew which side he was on. He'd always taken JoAnne's side against Julia, especially when it came to Roy. Well, if he wanted to suffer the discomfort of that flimsy mattress, so be it. Julia wasn't going to feel sorry for him when he woke up in the morning stiff as a board. She had just gone back into the bedroom when the phone rang. It really was too late to receive calls. Most likely it was news about Roy. Julia didn't want the ringing to wake anyone, so she picked up the receiver of the phone beside her bed. "Good evening," she said curtly. "Frazier residence. Julia Frazier speaking."
"Hello, Mrs. Frazier? This is Joe Early at Rampart Hospital. I'm sorry to call so late. Is JoAnne available?"
"She's sleeping." Julia allowed her tone to drip with disdain. These were Roy's people, after all. His colleagues. He had them all thoroughly fooled. She'd met them before, and they'd raved about him. "It is after ten o'clock here, Doctor."
"I know. Again, I'm sorry, ma'am. I thought JoAnne might want to talk with Roy. He's awake right now, and he's anxious to hear her voice."
"Dr. Early," Julia huffed. "You can tell that no-account son-in-law of mine that JoAnne has no interest in talking with him. She doesn't need a disabled husband. She'll be staying here — I'll see to that. Now, goodbye." She slammed the phone down.
"You think you're so much better than everyone else," Jim's voice said from the doorway. Julia looked up, startled. She hadn't expected him to overhear her side of the conversation. "Well, I've got news for you, Julia. You're wrong."
He strode across the room, opened the closet, and pulled his suitcase down from the upper shelf. Then he started filling it with clothes from his dresser and the closet. "I'm driving JoAnne and the children home. We're leaving first thing in the morning."
Julia glared at her husband. Then she moved in and started unpacking his clothes. "No, you are not! I won't let you! Don't you get it? This is our chance to have our daughter home with us! To see that our grandchildren are raised properly! To ease JoAnne's burden by putting that… that boy in a home."
"D.J. has a home. With his parents and his siblings. That's where he belongs." Jim grabbed his shirts out of her hand and put them back in the suitcase. When she tried again to unpack them, he blocked her way. "I've never struck you, Julia. I never want to. But I'm going. You can't stop me."
"It's too long a drive. You'll have to come all the way back alone." Julia stared at him. How could he do this to her?
"Who says I'm coming back?" He zipped up his suitcase and tugged it off the bed. "We're done, Julia. And you have only yourself to blame."
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His heart pounding from the encounter with his wife, Jim Frazier looked in on his daughter before heading downstairs with his packed suitcase. She was sound asleep. If the argument he'd just had with Julia hadn't wakened her, he was pretty sure she wouldn't wake up enough to talk on the phone. He crossed the room quietly and reached into the crib to pat on D.J. "Hey, little buddy. Grandpa loves you, honey."
D.J. grinned up at him, then yawned and settled down under his grandfather's touch. Jim stroked the little boy's back. "Good night, buddy. Sleep well."
He headed down the stairs and to the phone on his desk in the den. There, at least, he could talk without Julia listening in. When they'd moved here five years ago, he'd gotten a separate line for farm business. He dialed Information and requested the number for Rampart Hospital. The agent gave him the number, then put the call through. A minute later he was asking to speak with Dr. Early. Soon he heard the doctor's voice on the other end of the line. "Hello, Dr. Early? This is Jim Frazier, JoAnne DeSoto's father. I want to make sure you don't pass my wife's message on to Roy. JoAnne is sound asleep right now and I really think it best not to waken her, but I'd be glad to talk with him."
"May I ask, Mr. Frazier, what you wish to say to Roy?" The doctor's tone was calm, but with a slight edge that indicated to Jim that he was ready to go on the defensive on behalf of his patient if he needed to. "He doesn't need to hear any hurtful messages right now."
"I know, doctor." Jim sighed heavily. "My wife has made a lot of mistaken assumptions. I'm sorry for the way she treats Roy. If you ask him, he'll tell you that he and I have a good relationship. I just want to let him know that I'll be driving JoAnne and the kids back to California. We're leaving first thing in the morning. I tried to get her a flight, but she would have to drive a considerable distance, and she can't do that with three little ones, not as anxious as she is right now."
"Good." The edge had disappeared from the doctor's tone, replaced by a friendly warmth. "If you wait a moment, Mr. Frazier, I'll have the nurse transfer this call to Roy's room. I'll just go in there to help him with the phone."
"Thank you."
Jim waited. Three minutes later, the call went through to Roy's room. Dr. Early answered. "Mr. Frazier?"
"Yes."
"Here's Roy."
"Hi, Jim." Roy's voice was weak and raspy.
Jim's heart went out to his son-in-law. He wished there wasn't a long drive between here and Rampart, but that couldn't be helped. "Hello, Roy. Listen, JoAnne is sleeping pretty heavily right now. I don't want to wake her. But I know she sends you her love. I'll be driving her home starting first thing tomorrow morning. It'll take us some time, but I think it's the best way to manage it. We'll be there as soon as we can."
"Thanks. Tell Jo… I love her."
Then Jim heard Early's voice again. "He's drifting off. Dropped the phone. Thanks for calling, Mr. Frazier."
"Thank you, Doctor." Jim shifted in his seat, then found a notepad and picked up a pen. "Listen, tomorrow morning Jo will want to know how Roy is doing. Can you give me any information about his condition?"
"Of course." The doctor cleared his throat. "We surgically set Roy's broken leg. It should heal well. At this point, though, he is still paralyzed below the waist. We are hopeful that this is temporary, but it's too soon to say for certain. We'll know more when the swelling around his spinal column goes down. Finally, he has a moderate concussion. It's causing him some double vision, headaches, and ringing in the ears, but that should resolve with time."
"Thanks again, Dr. Early. I appreciate everything you're doing for him." Jim said goodbye, then hung up the phone. He capped the pen and looked over his notes about Roy's condition. "Well, God," he said quietly. "You've got your work cut out for you, that's for sure. I know Roy's not the only one hurting right now." He sighed. "I feel guilty leaving Julia, but I don't know what else to do. She's so bitter she can't think straight and nothing I say gets through to her. So, I'll just leave her to you, God. My baby girl needs me more right now. Help us through this, please."