Chapter Eleven

Angela was disappointed, but not surprised, to find Tony gone when she woke up. He had always been an early riser, and he liked to keep busy. Always, but especially in times of crisis. Still, it would have been nice to wake up in his arms. With a little sigh of resignation, she dragged herself out of bed, put on her robe, and prepared to face the day.

She was equally dismayed, and equally unsurprised, to find Samantha violently tossing and turning in bed when she peeked into the girl's room. "Sam, honey, wake up."

"Wake up, wake up," Sam mumbled in her sleep. "Please, Mom, wake up…"

Was this an actual nightmare? Was she seeing Marie on the pavement in Jonathan's place, as she'd described last night? Or was this a bad memory from real life? Either way, she wasn't about to let it continue tormenting the poor kid. Angela shook Sam harder than was probably healthy. "Open up those eyes this instant, young lady!" she barked in the same tone of voice she used on unruly employees.

Sam's eyes fluttered open, and she sat up, looking disoriented and terrified. "Angela, you're alive!" Sam threw her arms around Angela.

The teenager was drenched with cold sweat, but Angela didn't have the heart to push her away, patting her gently on the back. "Yes. And I intend to stay that way, and I expect the same courtesy from you."

"Deal." Sam pulled away, looking a little embarrassed. "Sorry if I woke you up. I really thought I was done with nightmares for the night. Dad came in and rescued me from one about an hour ago."

Was that sweat or tears running down her face? Either way, it needed to go. Angela wiped the girl's eyes with the sleeve of her nightgown. "I was already awake. I'm more worried about you. Was it another flashback?"

"Sort of. It wasn't Jonathan lying in the street, this time. It was a real memory, though. Mom's funeral." The teenager shuddered. "The viewing. I saw Mom lying in her coffin, and then it turned into you in there. Then you guys just kept switching back and forth."

"That sounds awful." Angela scooted over to sit side-by-side on the edge of the bed with her. "I had one last night, too. About my father. He and Jonathan were in the yard playing catch." She shook her head derisively. "Which is ridiculous enough on its own. Daddy was even worse at sports than Jonathan is." That got a smile out of Sam, at least. "Daddy looked like he did the night he died, with his skin pale, and his neck all cut up, and blood running down the front of his shirt. And Jonathan was a mess too, with a big hole in his head and his brains showing."

Sam screwed up her face in disgust. "Ew!"

"Yeah, I agree," Angela laughed humorlessly. "Though it was what happened next that really gave me the willies. I tried to call them in for dinner, and Daddy said he couldn't stay for dinner, because he'd just come by to fetch Jonathan. And that was when I realized I could see through both of them. Then they faded away to nothing, right before my eyes."

"Okay, you win. Yours is slightly creepier."

"It's not a contest, sweetie." Angela patted her on the back. "Hopefully, we'll get some good news from Dr. Dennison today and sleep a little easier tonight. Why don't you take a shower and get dressed? Judging from the good smells wafting upstairs, your dad's already got breakfast in the works."

Angela followed the unmistakable scent of cinnamon and nutmeg down the stairs and into the kitchen. She found Tony at the counter, assembling three meals at once—Tupperware containers of seafood salad and sandwich bags of homemade sesame crackers, avocado tortilla wraps with cherry tomatoes and cucumber slices, and several slabs of baked oatmeal studded with dried apples and raisins. She was impressed with the variety of portable, yet healthy food he had managed to supply the household with, even under these crazy circumstances.

Michael was seated at the kitchen table, slicing baked oatmeal into serving-sized squares and wrapping them in plastic. Several recipe cards were stacked up beside him. "Good morning, Angela," her ex-husband greeted politely.

"Morning, honey." With a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure Michael was looking, Tony planted a rather heated good-morning kiss on her. She was annoyed, for a second. Then his tongue fluttered against the seam of her lips and she forgot their audience entirely.

Luckily, Michael seemed more amused than jealous. "Too bad Mona's not here. She might reconsider her frequent barbs about Angela being a cold fish."

Angela felt her cheeks heat up and cast about for a change of subject. She nodded at the pile of recipe cards. "Is that the eggplant caviar recipe you were asking about last night?"

"Along with several others," Michael confirmed. "Did Tony ever tell you he used to work at a fish market?"

"A time or fifty," Angela replied.

"Well, he turned out to be a gold mine on salmon substitutes." Her ex thumbed through the cards. "Lox made of carrots, sushi made of green papaya, fillets made of mashed red lentil. And apparently, the non-endangered steelhead trout tastes exactly like salmon if you soak it in a little olive oil and cook it for an extra minute or two. And for all the health nuts, he's got a blend of flax and chia seed oil that can do the exact same job as those disgusting fish oil capsules." Michael tucked the cards into his pocket. "These are going to add a lot of flavor to the film, no pun intended. You sure I can't pay you for them?"

Tony shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Them fish need all the help they can get." He turned to Angela. "Michael's been telling me more about Pacific salmon, and they really are a lot more interesting than you'd think. Did you know they can smell one drop of scent in ten Olympic swimming pools' worth of water? And they can grow over a hundred pounds. Bigger than Jonathan. Think how many bagels with lox one of them bad boys would equal!"

She wasn't sure whether his enthusiasm was genuine, or he was just humoring Michael for the sake of peace in the family. Either way, the easiest thing to do was play along. "If I were a poacher, I'd think twice before attacking something that big."

"That's what I said. Hey honey, can you grab me a couple of paper bags out of the cabinet by the window?"

"Tony's putting together some food packages for a few of the other families at the hospital," Michael explained as she retrieved the stack of bags.

"For the Novaks, and the Jessmans, and especially for Marie-Ange and Amelie," Tony specified. "They're foreign, and I don't want them to think that the slop they serve in the cafeteria is what American food is like. Oh, and since I had a lot of time to kill, I baked some cookies for the nursing staff."

Angela was getting worried. "Tony, how long have you been up?"

"Since two," he admitted. "I tried to go back to sleep, but after an hour or so, it wasn't happening, so I figured I might as well get up and do something productive."

"That's not enough sleep. You'd better let me drive us all to the hospital today."

"Okay, okay." He must have been even worse off than she suspected, because he didn't even try to protest. "I'm gonna go wake Samantha." He took off his apron and shot her a warning look. "Don't touch the cookies while I'm gone, they're still hot."

She caught him by the arm and held him in place. "Sam's already up. I woke her on my way downstairs."

Tony's brow furrowed with concern. "Oh no. Was she having another nightmare?"

Angela nodded. "I got her calmed down. She's okay now." It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him not to worry, but the sad truth of it was, he was right to be worried. "Don't bother her right now," she advised him instead. "She was heading for the shower when I left her."

Tony forbade her from helping him prepare their food and pack the cooler, much to Michael's amusement, so she went to her office to review and sign the forms her mother had left on the desk for her. She was going over the minutes of the meeting with B and K Cleaners when the phone rang. With her brain in business mode, she very nearly answered with hello, you've reached Angela Bower with the Bower Agency. "Hello, Bower residence, this is Angela," she managed to say instead.

"Angela, dear, how are you?" a familiar, syrupy voice simpered at her. "This is—"

"Joanne Parker, I'd know that—" saccharine whine, she restrained herself from saying. "Voice of yours anywhere."

"It's good to hear yours, too. I'm sorry to bother you so early, but I've been trying to get ahold of you for days. I've been so worried, ever since I heard about Jonathan's accident."

Yeah, I'm sure it's keeping you up at night. "Thank you for your kind words." Now, please get on with whatever cruel punchline you're building up to so that I can get on with my day. I'm a busy woman.

"I do hope you're not blaming yourself, now. Just because you abandoned your only child for the sake of filthy lucre, and had the bad judgement to leave him in the care of some incompetent jock while you were gone, doesn't mean any of this is your fault."

The dig at her might have actually been successful in wounding Angela, if it hadn't been immediately followed by a dig at Tony. Upon hearing that, her anger on his behalf drowned any guilt on her own. "Joanne, this is no time for your stupid vendetta against Tony, so stop trying to put this on his shoulders. He loves Jonathan, and it's certainly not his fault that some fool on enough heroine to kill a horse decided to speed through our neighborhood at sixty miles an hour!"

"Goodness, Angela, you're so defensive of the man! Anybody who didn't know better would think there was something going on between you."

She didn't have the strength to feign civility right now. "And if there was? What business would it be of yours? None whatsoever, as far as I can see! No more than your ongoing affair with your dry cleaner, and your youngest son's uncanny resemblance to said dry cleaner, are any business of mine!" There was a little squeak of disbelief on the other end of the line, followed by stunned silence. "Frankly, I don't know what the man sees in you, but that's his problem, not mine." And without further ado, she slammed the phone back onto its cradle.

She raised her eyes to find Mother and Tony standing in the doorway, probably alerted by her shouts. Hopefully, they hadn't reached Samantha, too. Mother was grinning like a jack-o-lantern, and began to applaud vigorously. "That's my girl! Took you long enough to tell that old biddy off, but that performance was certainly worth the wait."

Tony was gaping at her as if she'd just sprouted another head. "So…are we telling people now?"

Angela began to blush again. Goodness, she'd done more blushing in these last few days with Tony than she had in all her years as a schoolgirl put together! "Mother, can I have a minute alone with Tony?"

"If you're planning to nail him on your desk, try to make it a quickie. I need those booking forms to take back to the office with me before you head down to the hospital."

"You're not coming with us for Jonathan's wake-up call, Mona?" Tony asked.

"We have an important presentation for Abraxodyne Chemical at noon," Mother replied.

"Oh my God, my presentation!" Angela cried in horror.

"It's my presentation now," Mother informed her. "Don't worry. I have your note cards and your storyboard. I may make a few changes to make it a little more suited to my speaking style. You know, jazz it up a little. But I'm not going in blind."

That was true enough. And Mother was an excellent public speaker. Still, it felt wrong. Dumping this on her, with all the other work she'd been taking on. Not to mention the fact that her only grandson was in the ICU, and she was likely suffering almost as badly as Angela herself. "Are you sure you're up to this, Mother?"

"Of course I am. Stop worrying." She raised her eyebrows expectantly. "And you're welcome, by the way."

Angela hugged her mother. "Thank you, Mother. Truly." Mother had come a long way at coping with times of crisis since Daddy's death. She still wasn't good at talking about her feelings, but she was good at finding practical ways to express her love and support.

"Yeah, thanks, Mone. I'll call you the second we have news," Tony added.

"Good man." Mother left them alone.

Tony came around to the back of her desk, leaning thoughtfully against it. "Well, I guess the secret's out now. Joanne's gonna take your failure to deny it as a full-blown confession that we're together. Especially after that crack you made about her youngest."

Was Tony happy about that, or upset? For her part, she was relieved. Joanne would have it all over town by dinnertime, and she and Tony would be spared the hassle of explaining themselves to everyone individually. She probably should have talked to him before spilling the beans, but she'd been dangling at the end of her rope. "Well, he is the spitting image," she replied defensively.

"Yeah. The curly hair and them jug ears are a dead giveaway." Tony favored her with a small smile.

She took his hand. "So you're not upset?"

Tony considered the question for a moment before answering. "With everything that's going on, it seems stupid to worry about people slinging mud at us."

"I was never worried about that," Angela insisted, not wanting to leave any room for insecurities to creep in later. "It was the kids I was worried about."

"Jonathan's too busy fighting for his life to notice what people are saying about us right now, and Sam's too stressed and sleep-deprived to care." Tony sighed. "I guess if we can get them to a point where they have the capacity to be offended or embarrassed, we can count it as a win."

"It was nice when that was our biggest problem, wasn't it?" She squeezed his hand.

"We'll get there again," he said. And it sounded for all the world like a promise.

After leaving Angela to finish signing off on whatever Mona needed for her day at the office, Tony peeked into Jonathan's room to check on Spike, Goldie, Wink and Blink, only to find Michael had beaten him to the punch. "How long has Jonathan had these rhinoceros beetles?" the boy's father asked.

"A couple of months. He raised them from grubs he found in the woodpile. They were part of a science project." Tony grinned at the memory of the teacher's face when he'd first brought the terrarium with the two giant maggots into her classroom.

Michael tapped on the side of the terrarium. "They look a little listless. What's he been feeding them?"

"No idea," Tony replied unhappily. "I know a bit about caring for Spike and Goldie, since I helped Jonathan look after them after he busted his shoulder—"

Michael gave him a double-take. "Jonathan broke his shoulder? I never heard about this."

"Sure you did. The kid wrote you a letter and sent you a picture of him in his cast. Angela tried to call you a few times, too, but I think you must have been away on a shoot."

"Maybe. When was this?"

"A little less than a year ago. Eight, nine months, maybe."

"Oh." Michael nodded absently. "That makes more sense. Heather and I were off on a second honeymoon in Fiji. Things had already started to go south, and we were trying to rekindle the spark." He was trying not to let his dismay about the whole affair show up on his face, but it was bleeding into his voice pretty heavily. "It was supposed to be two weeks, but then we got a commission from the Fijian government to do a film about their national animal, the banded iguana, and it turned into two months."

Thanks for letting your kid know so he didn't think you were ignoring his pain. Real considerate of you, Tony managed to restrain himself from saying.

Michael's brow furrowed in confusion. "How'd my little tiger manage to break his shoulder, anyway?"

"It was at his first gymnastics meet. He went too hard, too fast, and ended up dismounting onto his shoulder instead of his feet."

Michael stared at him uncomprehendingly. "My son's on a sports team?"

"Wasn't his idea and before you say anything, it wasn't mine, either," Tony was quick to let him know. "But he stuck with it and he's been giving it his all. The rings are his favorite, but he likes the parallel bars, too."

"But…gymnastics requires coordination. And he's Angela's son."

Tony laughed. "With enough guts and determination, I think he just might overcome that, someday. Or maybe he'll move on to something else. The kid's young."

Michael responded with a pathetic excuse for a smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Yeah. Third grade's a little early to start deciding the course of his life, huh?"

"Fourth grade," Tony corrected, unable to keep a hint of exasperation from his voice. God above, how long had it been since this jerk had thought about his son?

"Fourth grade?" Michael counted on his fingers briefly. "That can't be right. The school year's more than half over, and he's only ten."

"He turned eleven on the twelfth," Tony reminded him. "This is 1987. He was born in 1976."

Michael visibly started when the unhappy realization hit him. "Oh no. I think you're right." He swore lavishly. "And I forgot to send him his birthday card, too."

He felt lousy, Tony observed. Good. He deserved to. Maybe it would motivate him to do better. "If I know Jonathan, he'll be more interested in his birthday money. Give him that when he wakes up, and I think he'll forgive you for just about anything."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Michael snapped. "Are you saying my son is greedy?"

Annoyed as he was with Michael for being so surprised that his son's life had gone on since they'd parted ways, insulting Jonathan was the last thing he'd intended. "I wouldn't say greedy. Just that he likes money and he's good at managing it. He didn't get his mom's hand-eye coordination, thank God, but he did inherit her knack for financial stuff. If being a herpetologist don't work out for him, maybe he'll be a businessman."

"Herpetologist? Businessman?" Michael's head was literally spinning. "I thought he wanted to be a zookeeper?"

That was three years ago, you dingbat! Tony was doing his best to keep his cool, but his head was starting to throb, and he could feel the veins in his neck starting to bulge out. "For a while. But then he saw this show on PBS about endangered frogs and toads, and he made up his mind he wanted to find a way to help them when he grows up."

"Interesting," said Michael neutrally. "For future reference, adult rhinoceros beetles like to eat fruit and tree sap. Ripe bananas are usually a hit with captive specimens. They also go nuts for maple syrup." He headed for the door. "Come on. I'll show you how to feed them."

Tony followed him. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

They piled into the van and dropped Mona at the train station before proceeding to the hospital. "Tell my grandson I said hello, Samantha. Tony, remember, you promised to call me. And Angela, if the kid ends up needing an organ transplant, I know a guy who can off Michael without damaging the contents of his thoracic cavity."

"I love you, too, Mona," said Michael facetiously.

"Sam, did you remember your copy of To Kill a Mockingbird?" Tony called over his shoulder at his daughter as Angela shifted back into drive and took off. Samantha was in the farthest seat back, tapping her feet so vigorously that it was making the whole vehicle vibrate. "Mrs. Ryerson wanted you to be up to Chapter Twenty-Two by Monday."

Sam groaned. "I never thought I'd say this, but can I work on geometry instead?"

"No geometry for you until you finish your English, young lady."

"Do you think she'd let me pick a different book? I don't like this one."

"We've all gotta do stuff we don't like from time to time, sweetie. You think I like scrubbing toilets? Or that Angela liked hawking them horrible dead-fish rice cakes? Or that Michael, here, likes crawling around in the mud with the slugs?"

Sam was unmoved. "It's a depressing book and life is sad enough right now."

Tony dearly wished he'd read the book himself, back when it had been assigned reading in his own senior-level English class. Instead of spending the entire class period passing love notes to Marie. Oh well. It had been time well-spent, at least. Since he wasn't capable of intelligently refuting her complaint, he ignored it. "No excuses. Your education comes first."

"How far along are you now, Samantha?" Angela inquired as she shifted into drive.

"I just started chapter thirteen."

"A little over a third of the way through, then." Angela made a face. "Yeah, that part of the book was pretty hard to get through. Everyone's barking racial slurs and setting houses on fire. Talk of rape and lynching is all over the pages. And you've got that nasty old lady who dies of a drug overdose, and the creepy stalker next door…"

Tony was growing more horrified with every word. "Drug overdoses? Stalkers, rape, lynching? What kind of garbage is the school letting our kids read?!" As Parents' Association president, he had half a mind to have the book banned.

"Tony, it's a story about the horrors of prejudice, social injustice and lost innocence. It was never meant to be an easy read," said Angela. "Would you expect the school to tack a happy epilogue onto the Diary of Anne Frank to make the Holocaust a little more upbeat?"

"Well…no," Tony admitted. "But it sounds a little intense for kids."

"Like I said, it can be, in places." She looked at Sam in the rearview mirror. "But it has a nice ending. The little heroine makes a new friend, and the jerk who caused all the trouble ends up getting what's coming to him."

"Okay," Sam relented. "I do like seeing jerks get what's coming to 'em, so I'll stick it out a while longer. But can I go in and see Marie-Ange for a little while before I get started on that?"

"I'll give you an hour," said Tony. "After that, no visiting until you've gotten through four chapters."

Dr. Kelly was still on duty when they arrived in the PICU's central hub. "Hi Tony, Angela. Jonathan's had a wonderfully uneventful night, I'm happy to report. His vitals are holding steady, no signs of infection, and he just finished his very last dose of propofol. Well, until we start the next round of surgeries, anyway." He flashed a smile at Samantha. "Samantha, dear, I want to thank you for taking the time to talk with Marie-Ange and make her feel welcome here. She's been noticeably calmer, since your visit. For what it's worth, I think you'd make a fine doctor someday, if that's something you're ever interested in. You've got the bedside manner down. Not many youngsters, or adults, for that matter, are able to keep their cool around illness and injury like you."

Sam shrugged. "Well, my mom got sick and died when I was pretty little. I guess I learned how to handle it then." Tony reached out to give his daughter's shoulder a squeeze. At least she'd picked up one good thing from that whole nightmare. "

Dr. Kelly glanced at Michael. "Who do we have here?"

"This is my ex-husband Michael," said Angela. Without enthusiasm, but without malice, either. "Jonathan's father."

"Oh, so the other dad is in the picture?" said Dr. Kelly. "I'd wondered, but I figured it wouldn't be polite to ask. Well, that's wonderful, then." Dr. Kelly shook Michael's hand politely. "I'm glad that you made it. Your boy needs all the love and support he can get right now. I'm Dr. Kelly. I mostly work the night shift around here. Normally, I'd already be gone by now, but Dr. Dennison's running a bit behind. He's the one who's going to be overseeing the proverbial wake-up call, and probably the best man to answer any questions about that process. In the meantime, did you have any questions about his condition or progress thus far? Or has the rest of the family filled you in already?"

Michael was squirming like a schoolboy who'd just been handed a pop quiz he hadn't prepared for. "Well, they told me he has a head injury and a spinal fracture, that he's been in a coma and that he's coming out of the coma today. Is there anything else I should know?"

Dr. Kelly gave him a worried look. "Well, first of all, there's no guarantee that he'll regain consciousness immediately. We're taking him off the sedatives, but you need to be prepared for the chance that he won't regain consciousness today. Or tomorrow. Or at all. His injuries were extensive and life-threatening. He wouldn't be here right now if Tony hadn't performed CPR immediately and flawlessly."

Michael gave Tony a long, thoughtful look. Tony didn't respond, though he desperately wanted to remind Michael that he could apologize for the nasty remark he'd made about Tony being on Angela's payroll at any time. "But it's a small chance. Right?" Michael persisted hopefully. "It's more likely that he'll eventually be fine."

Dr. Kelly cleared his throat in a blatant attempt to stall for time. "'Fine' is a very broad and imprecise word. It's most likely that he will eventually regain some form of consciousness. What that looks like is anyone's guess. You need to prepare yourself for the likelihood that your son is going to be facing long-term, potentially lifelong effects from these injuries."

"What kind of effects?"

"It's anyone's guess, right now," said Dr. Kelly with a shrug. "The worst of the brain damage was to his left temporal lobe. The portion of the brain that controls language comprehension, auditory processing, visual recognition, memory…"

Michael was properly horrified. "Auditory processing? Are you saying he might wake up deaf?"

"It's a distinct possibility. Even if he keeps his hearing, he still might not be able to mentally process verbal communication, or sounds in general. In the same token, he might keep his sight, but not be able to make sense of anything he sees."

Angela seemed more worried about the last item on the doctor's list. "You said it might affect his memory. Does that mean amnesia? He won't remember us?" She clutched Tony's arm tightly.

"What is this, some kind of soap opera?" Sam scoffed.

"Relax," said Tony with confidence. "I've seen a fair few soap operas in my time, and I recall them all mentioning that most amnesia's temporary." Everyone, including Angela, Sam, Michael, the doctor, and a couple of passing nurse aides turned to give him quizzical looks. "Don't look at me like that. I'm home alone all day and there's nothing else on!"

Dr. Kelly pursed his lips awkwardly, as if fighting a smile. "Getting back to your son's condition, Michael, there's also the spinal injury to consider. Some level of paralysis is a very real possibility. So are muscle spasms, chronic pain…" Michael's face had gone very pale. The doctor gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. "I know it's a lot to take in. Why don't you go in and say hello? Let your son know you're here and pulling for him. I'll let Dr. Dennison know you're all here as soon as he arrives."

"Angela, do you want to go in there with him, or should I?" Tony whispered.

Angela blinked in surprise. "I was thinking we'd send him in on his own and go in together when he's done. Look at him. He's not going to last long."

Tony nodded gravely. "That's why one of us needs to keep an eye on him. Paulette's gonna be busy keeping an eye on Jonathan."

Angela sighed. "I'm the idiot who chose to marry and reproduce with him. I suppose it should be me."

Tony hesitated. "Are you sure you can be civil?"

"For my son, I could be civil with Satan himself." In fact, the Prince of Darkness probably would have been a lot easier to treat with courtesy. He'd never impregnated and abandoned her, or replaced her with some hot young bimbo. "Just don't ask me to like it."

Tony snorted derisively. "You think I want my girlfriend palling around with her ex, a man she already got back together with once? Fat chance, baby. Just try not to hit him again, is all I ask."

Angela smiled and reached up to touch Tony's face. "Tony, did you hear what you just said?"

Tony narrowed his eyes at her. "I said, try not to hit him. Quit pretending you didn't hear me. It ain't fooling anyone."

"Not that." She swatted his arm. "You called me your girlfriend."

"Well, yeah. Ain't you?" Tony fidgeted nervously, the hand still holding hers growing sweaty.

"Yes. But you've never said it out loud before."

It was Tony's turn to blush. "Did you like it? Or would you have preferred 'domestic partner,' 'significant other,' 'inamorata,' 'fly girl,' 'paramour,' 'old lady-'"

She poked him in the ribs. "If you ever want to score with me again, I wouldn't go with 'old lady.'"

Tony winked at her. "All right. Girlfriend it is." Then he looked around with a frown on his face. "Hey, where's Samantha?"

"She ran off toward Marie-Ange's room five or six synonyms ago."

"Guess I can't blame her there, huh?" Tony hung his head sheepishly. "Well, I was going to pass around some of this extra chow we brought with us while you and Michael are in with Jonathan." He nodded at the cooler tucked under his arm and the paper bag clasped in the hand not holding hers. "Might as well start with Marie-Ange and Amelie."

She walked into Jonathan's room to find Paulette standing between Michael and Jonathan, her face a mask of outrage. "Oh, good, Angela. Is this guy with you?"

Hell no! she wanted to yell. Though she knew Paulette hadn't meant to ask whether they were together in a romantic sense, answering in the affirmative seemed wrong. And Paulette seemed ready to call security if she answered in the negative. "This is Michael, Jonathan's father."

"Oh, the other dad." Paulette relaxed a bit. "Sorry, Michael, I know it must be upsetting, seeing your child like this, but it's not safe to remove his helmet right now. Please leave it alone. His skull is badly fractured. If he had a broken leg, you wouldn't pull his cast off, would you?"

Michael didn't answer. "What's that on his face?" he choked out weakly.

"An oxygen mask," Angela replied. "Remember? I told you about the punctured lung."

Michael's eyes were still on Jonathan, and as horrified as ever. "What's that thing rammed up his nose? Is that part of the mask?"

"That's his feeding tube," Paulette explained. "Depending on how today goes, we may be able to remove it. If he can swallow food or liquids, he won't need it anymore. If he fails to regain consciousness, or shows any signs of dysphagia, the doctor will likely want to surgically implant a gastric feeding tube going directly to the stomach. There's less risk of complications, long-term, with a gastric tube than a nasal one."

Michael frowned. "Then why didn't he get one of those from the start?"

Paulette raised her eyebrows. "Well, we try not to punch a hole in the wall of a patient's stomach unless it's absolutely necessary."

"Are you serious?!" Michael sputtered hysterically. "That's your brilliant solution for someone who can't swallow?! Cut a hole in his guts? A goddamn hole!" He had the same look on his face Samantha had been wearing last night, during his lecture about banana slugs. Revolted, shocked, and more than a little nauseated.

"Michael Bower, stop yelling at Jonathan's nurse, and sit down before you have a heart attack," Angela commanded, pulling a chair up to Jonathan's bedside and giving her ex the gentlest of pushes into it. It didn't take much force at all to knock him off his feet, all-told. "Sorry, Paulette. Tony and I tried to warn him, and so did Dr. Kelly, but I don't think the extent of the injuries hit home until he saw them for himself."

Paulette looked unworried. "I'd be more concerned if he wasn't a basket-case right now. Don't worry about it. But Michael, you've got to get yourself under control, for your son's sake. You don't want to scare him."

Angela nodded. "I know it doesn't seem like it would matter, but coma patients can be sensitive to what they hear going on around them." It had sounded ridiculous to her, at first, but over the past few days, she had noticed distinct changes to Jonathan's vital signs on the monitor while she'd been reading to him.

Michael's eyes were glazed as a shell-shocked soldier's, and full of unshed tears. His nose began to twitch. "What's that smell?"

Angela wasn't sure how to break it to him, so she looked imploringly at Paulette. Paulette simply hiked up Jonathan's blankets and peered into his oversized diaper as if nothing were amiss. "Oh dear, I think he needs a brief change. And right after bathtime, too. Bad timing, but no matter. Angela, did you want to clean him up yourself, or are you going to let me do my own job, for a change?" The nurse's eyes flicked pointedly to Michael, who looked to be in grave danger of vomiting. Please get him out of here before he pukes on my patient, she seemed to be silently requesting.

Angela nodded. "I'll let you field this one, Paulette. I think my ex-husband needs some air." She hauled him back to his feet and led him to the door. "Come on, Michael." He followed her as mindlessly as any dog on a leash.

She led him around nurse's station, down the hall, to the skybridge. By the time they emerged into the fresh air, he was hyperventilating. "None of that," she ordered him sharply. "One Bower in the hospital is quite enough. Take a deep breath, and then count to four before breathing out." She'd overheard one of the nurses using that trick on Sarah Novak's mother yesterday.

Michael's throat was bulging unnaturally as he struggled for breath. "Can't—"

"In the nicest way possible, do it or I'll slap you again." Violence had never been her style, but a slap in the face would be much kinder than letting him spiral into a panic attack.

Michael stared at her, and upon determining that she was serious, sucked in a deep breath and held it. Angela kept her eyes on her watch, counting four seconds. "Good, now let it out. One, two, three, four. In, one, two, three, four. Hold, one, two, three, four…"

By the time Michael got his breathing under control, he was drenched with terror sweat and shivering in the cold winter air. He looked like he'd aged a decade in the last fifteen minutes. "A vegetable. Dear God, my son is a vegetable!"

A surge of outrage rushed through Angela. She knew he was going through a terrible shock, but did he have to use such a demeaning, dehumanizing word for their child? "He's not a vegetable. He's a human being. A human being you helped bring into this world, who needs your love now more than ever."

Michael shook his head frantically. "I can't do this, Angela."

She tried not to be too judgmental. She'd felt the same way, countless times, over the past few days. "I know it's a lot to deal with. But please don't forget he's the same child you've loved all these years." Michael's lips were starting to turn blue as his sweaty clothes froze in the icy breeze. "You're shivering. Let's go back to the family waiting area. We brought blankets and hot breakfast. Once you've had a chance to collect yourself, you can go back in and give it another try." Holding her ex-husband's hand wouldn't have been her first choice on a good day. With him being drenched with cold sweat, the prospect was even less appealing. But in his current condition, she didn't trust him to walk back to the PICU on his own, so she was stuck. She took him by the hand and towed him awkwardly back to the waiting room.

After bundling her ex in a soft fleece blanket and settling him on the sofa with an oatmeal bar and a cup of hot coffee, she looked around for Tony. She stumbled across Dr. Dennison, emerging from the nurses' station with a cookie in hand. "Morning, Angela!" he greeted around a mouthful of chocolate chips. "Your husband's a heck of a baker. He could give Mrs. Fields a run for her money."

"You don't have to tell me. I gained five pounds the month I met him," Angela recalled ruefully. He'd made a pan of brownies on his first day in her home that had singlehandedly prevented her from firing him during the debacle with Grant.

Dr. Dennison laughed merrily. "I'll just bet. Did you have any questions for me about what to expect with Jonathan today?"

"No, you've done a pretty good job of preparing me already, I think. But Jonathan's father is with us today, and I think he might have some questions."

"Oh, sure. I'd be happy to go over the whole process with Tony." The doctor looked around with a frown. "Where is he, anyway?"

"Actually, I was referring to Jonathan's other father, my ex-husband." She pointed toward the waiting room. "He's in there. His name is Michael, and he just flew in from the West Coast last night. This has all been a terrible shock for him, as I'm sure you can imagine."

Dr. Dennison nodded, sympathy in his eyes. "That's only natural. I'll go talk to him. See if I can help him understand what's happening and what to expect."

"Thank you," she said sincerely, resuming her hunt for her boyfriend.

She eventually found him standing with a plump woman and a pre-teen girl outside room 6F, the three of them happily chowing down on some of Tony's fresh-baked oatmeal squares. "Good morning, Angela." The woman waved.

Angela smiled politely. "Hello Celia, Charlotte. How's Connor this morning?"

Celia seemed to be in good spirits today. "Breathing much easier after that last steroid drip. Dr. Kelly says he can try a little solid food today, and your husband was nice enough to bring him some peanut butter fudge cookies." She held up a small paper bag.

"He's in for a treat. My Tony's the best cook in town," said Angela proudly, taking Tony's arm.

Tony glowed under the praise. "I don't like to brag, but yeah."

Angela poked him in the ribs. "Who are you kidding? You love to brag."

Samantha popped out of Marie-Ange's room, her hair done up in a multitude of tiny braids, each adorned with two or three pink and purple beads. "Did I hear someone say 'peanut butter fudge cookies?'"

"Yes, I brought some for you, too. You can have them after your reading is done," Tony bargained.

"You look beautiful, by the way, Sam," Angela complimented her.

"Yeah, cool hair, Sam!" said Charlotte enthusiastically. "You look like Janet Jackson."

"Thanks, Charlotte. Marie-Ange, over in 9I, showed me how to do them." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the doorway she'd just emerged from. "Bet she'd show you, too, if you want. She's really nice."

Charlotte looked up at her mom, who nodded. "Go on with Sam, sunshine. Your brother will still be here when you get back."

The two girls scampered off to 9I, leaving the adults to their own devices. "How's Jonathan this morning?" Celia went on. "Tony tells me he's coming out of the coma today."

"We're really hoping." Angela crossed her fingers.

Celia's hand went to the small silver cross around her neck. "He'll be in my prayers, and so will you."

Angela wasn't religious, but she'd take any help she could get. "Thanks, Celia."

Tony waved at someone behind her, and she turned to see Michael coming down the hall. His face was pale and haunted, but at least he was breathing normally and walking under his own power. He seemed a bit lost, so she beckoned him over. "This is my ex-husband Michael, Jonathan's father."

Celia gave him a sympathetic smile. "Nice to meet you, Michael, and sorry to meet you here." Michael shook her hand feebly.

"Michael, this is Celia Jessman," said Angela. "She has twins, Connor and Charlotte, who just turned eleven, like Jonathan.

For some reason, the mention of their son's age made Michael flinch. Tony shook his head at her and placed a hand on Michael's shoulder. "Hey Michael. Where'd you come from? I thought you were still in with Jonathan."

"Paulette was changing him, and you know how men are around dirty diapers." Angela rolled her eyes good-naturedly, trying to make Michael's nervous breakdown sound less serious than it had been, and let him keep his dignity.

"I'll say." Celia chuckled. "My husband turned into a magician, the first year after the twins were born. Disappeared into thin air every time they started to smell a little off."

"Ay-oh, that's gender stereotyping and it ain't okay," Tony protested with exaggerated indignation. "Why don't we get out of here and let the ladies chat, Michael? Before they start persecuting us again. Come on, Paulette should be finished up with Jonathan by now." He led Michael away without waiting for a response.

Paulette gave Michael a wary look as they entered Jonathan's room. Tony wasn't sure what had gone down the first time Michael had come in, though from the phony smile Angela had been wearing when she'd mentioned it, he had a feeling it was more than just male squeamishness. He gave the nurse his best reassuring nod. Don't worry. If he gets out of line, my muscles are bigger than his and I ain't afraid to use 'em. She seemed to understand his meaning, relaxing her stance. "Good morning, Tony. Welcome back, Michael. Jonathan's all cleaned up and ready to visit."

Michael lingered uncertainly near the door. Tony gave him a gentle push toward the tiny figure in the bed. He took the hint and shuffled closer. Paulette gave him an encouraging nod. "It's all right, Michael. You can touch him. It's safe. Hug him, kiss him, hold his hand, whatever you like. Just don't undo his helmet or back brace, be careful of his IV port, and look out for his feeding tube." She moved a long, slender plastic hose out of the way. "If that pops loose, it'll be a terrible mess."

Michael seemed uncertain how to proceed, so Tony decided the best thing to do would be to set a good example. "Morning, pal-o-mine," he greeted Jonathan. "It's Tony. Sorry your mom and I have been away for a while. Kate threw us out and tried to make us sleep. Well, Tony Micelli ain't bossed around so easily! I slept for a little while, but then I got up and spent the rest of the night baking cookies." He patted the boy's chest gently. "I had a lot of time to kill, so I made several batches. Peanut butter fudge, oatmeal raisin, snickerdoodle, and of course, your favorite, chocolate chip." If the promise of cookies didn't get through to him, nothing would.

"Anyway," he continued, trying to infuse his voice with excitement. "You'll never guess who else is here to see you. It's your dad, all the way from California. And between you and me, he's worried sick about you, so if you could try to come out of the coma and show him that you're okay, I know he'd appreciate that."

Michael came around to stand on the other side of Jonathan's bed, taking the child's hand in his, as gingerly as if it was made of spun glass. "Hey little tiger. It's me, Dad."

Well, he was talking again. That was progress. "Tell Jonathan about the slugs," Tony prompted. "He'll like that."

"Sorry I'm late. I was in the Redwoods, making a film about banana slugs. You would have loved it."

"Michael, don't talk to the kid like he's dead," Tony snorted. "He will love it. Sooner or later."

"You'll love it when you see it, little tiger," he said without much conviction. "You should have seen the size of some of those things. I found one that was nine and a half inches long, if you can believe that."

"Atta way, Michael. Keep talking," Tony prodded. 'Tell him more of them disgusting facts that made my daughter throw up."

"Did you know that they can rappel down the trunk of a tree like a mountain climber? It's a fascinating process. First, they secrete a mucus plug from their tails, which they stick to the surface of the tree like a hook. Then, they generate a cord of slime which functions as the rope…"

"Good job. In fact, I think I'm gonna puke." Tony began slowly backing toward the door.

"Something I just learned recently is that they're also edible for humans, if prepared correctly," Michael went on. "There's a town out in California, along the Russian River, that actually has cooking contests every year for the best banana slug recipes. Last year, the winner was jellied slug in aspic, served over kale…"

"Mm, banana-flavored escargot! Yum yum." Stomach gurgling, Tony finally reached the door. "Jonathan, Michael, you guys keep up the chit-chat." He rubbed his stomach uncomfortably. "Ugh. I'm gonna go hit the nurses' station and see if they can spare me a dose of Pepto."