The Promise of Stardust (52 page)

“But—” Mom tried to argue.

“It won't even break me, Lin,” Hank said.

Mom nodded, but I could see she was choked up. We were all riding close to the edge of emotional overload. Even a sense of relief could drive us to give in to a catharsis of tears. Even my pragmatic mother. She pointed at one of the brochures. “This one's close to the hospital.”

“And it has excellent rehab facilities,” I said. Elle would never recover, but a good physical therapist could help prevent complications from immobility, and Elle did not need
any more
complications.

“No one there probably knows diddly-doo about OB,” Mom added.

“So, that's where you come in,” Hank said, leaning back in his chair. “You spread the word that we need a few good OB nurses to moonlight for a few months. We'll pay them double what they would get anywhere else if they will do private duty for Elle. We want to give her round-the-clock care.”

“Great idea,” I said. “But insurance won't pay—”

“Matt, for a brain surgeon, sometimes you're a little slow. You think I watched the real estate boom without investing in property myself? I have money. Trust me. It's the least of our problems.”

My eyes locked on my father-in-law's. I couldn't believe this, and yet I knew that if he said he could do it, he had the means.

“How fast can you make it happen?” I asked. “They want to discharge her in the next couple days.”

“Give me a few hours, and I'll let you know.” Hank stood in apparent preparation to head out the door. “Let me go do my job and hope it's as simple as I anticipate. All you have to do is rest up so you're well enough to do midnight feeds in a few months.” He clapped my back, obviously forgetting I'd recently had my chest split open.

My eyes filled with pain and with gratitude for his optimism. “Thank you.”

But I knew we still had to deal with Adam and Christopher. And I whispered one more prayer that Elle would not miscarry.

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I yanked open the duffel bag's zipper.

“I didn't take out any of the diaries, if that's what you're thinking.” Christopher played with the Indian shutters in Jake's study. “Man, if Jake ever sells this place, I want the listing. I love the architectural details. Look at that crown molding. It's gotta be eighteen inches thick. Where is Jake anyway?”

“Boston. His daughter has a gymnastics meet this weekend,” I said, looking at a picture of Janey on Jake's desk. Their house was covered in family photographs. The beach, Halloween, and birthday cakes were backdrops to a family who often were caught in the middle of spontaneous fits of laughter rather than in tightly posed-for-the-camera happiness.

“He left you alone?” Chris asked.

When you're thirty-seven years old, you generally don't expect two things: the need for a babysitter or to have open-heart surgery. “My mother stayed here last night, but she had to go into work today. Mike took me over to the hospital for a while to see Elle. And Jake will be back tonight.”

“You need anything else?”

“A chauffeur. I'm not supposed to drive for a few weeks. But it'll wait.”

“Where do you need to go?”

“Home. I need to pick up something.”

“I can drive you.”

The gray sky hung over the Harraseeket River like a shroud, low clouds but not quite ground fog. Chris pulled into my driveway in his SUV. Elle's car was parked exactly where she always left it, by the back door. Chris was right; it would have startled me if not for his warning.

“Are you up to taking the stairs?” Chris regarded the porch steps as if they were a gauntlet I had to run.

Seven stairs, a half flight—I could do it. “I'm really not an invalid. Considering everything, my heart muscle sustained very little damage.”

“That's why you kept dying.” He still looked at me as if I might keel over.

“Well, there was that, but hey, what's a near-death experience from time to time?” I grinned, but somehow the power I'd always felt over him had shifted. He was the stronger one, the more powerful player now.

“Glad you haven't lost your sense of humor,” he said.

“I'm fine. More or less.”
Less being the operative term
.

His eyes narrowed in a skeptical salute. “Let's just get what you need and take you back to Jake's.”

We entered the house through the back door into the mudroom and kitchen. The air was stale inside, as if the house knew Elle and I no longer needed to breathe. On the counter, Elle's bag, a canvas tote, sat as if she'd just come home and dropped it there. A note from Christopher lay beside it.

“Her wallet's inside. I didn't want to leave it in the car,” Chris said.

I used to tease her that she carried half the world in that stupid bag. She'd stuff a towel in it and go to the beach, or pack a lunch and come to my office to kidnap me for a picnic. She kept student papers and her laptop. Now all that was left were her wallet, sunglasses, a package of sugar-free gum, and her car keys. God, I missed seeing her walk through the door and shed her keys here, her shoes there. As bright as she was, she could be a little scattered and forget to take care of the details in life. Why the hell did that stuff bug me?

“Where did you leave the rest of the letters?” Chris asked.

“Check the dining room table.”

“I could have picked this up without you,” he said, heading through the butler's pantry.

“Yeah, probably.” But after having died, I wanted to see if the world had changed, transubstantiated, developed depth and color. Looking out the window, I saw the lawn certainly had transformed into a field, but the world hadn't developed deeper hues. If anything, it looked a little flatter, paler, emptier. The reality of Elle's accident had set in. It was autumn. Everything was dying away. A wave of pessimism broke over me as I scanned our empty kitchen. Then I told myself that new life came in the spring and the baby was due in spring. I wandered into the living room.

“Got them,” Christopher said, returning through the doorway.

“I just need a minute.”

On the fireplace mantel, there was a snapshot of Elle and me that someone had framed as a wedding gift. I was probably eight, and Elle was five or six. Our families had gone camping together. Alice, who had loved black-and-white photography, shot us with fast grainy film. We were backlit by the campfire, and sitting nose to nose, we were silhouettes, cameos. Except for our eyes, which caught the light, a spark between us even then.

“Carrie looks like Elle,” Chris said from behind me. His four-month-old daughter did indeed resemble her aunt.

“Tell her that when she's old enough to understand.”

“Of course I will.” Christopher's voice broke.

I turned toward him. “This baby might look like Elle, too.”

“That's low, Matt.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's manipulative.”

I sat on the arm of the sofa. “Why? It's the truth. Elle's carrying a baby, her baby, a part of her that could live on. The baby won't be Elle, but you know how much she wanted a child. Just think about what Elle was like. She took care of you when you were a scared, motherless, little boy. She put off her own dreams for you, Chris, for you. She took herself off a tether in space, going seventeen thousand miles an hour, three hundred and fifty miles above the earth, to save another astronaut. She would do anything to save someone she cared about.” My voice cracked. “She would have loved this baby. She would even stay on life support for her child.”

“I don't know.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I don't know. One of my clearest memories is of Elle crying. Mom was sick. And Elle was sitting with her. Then suddenly Elle got up and ran into the kitchen. She kept saying that it was wrong, that we were torturing my mom, and there was no point to it.”

“There's a difference. Your mother was going to die no matter what happened, and the only thing to come out of keeping her alive was that she suffered longer. Elle is pregnant. There is a point to keeping her alive until the baby is born. What about the baby? Doesn't the baby matter? And Elle isn't in pain. She doesn't know what's happening to her body. And afterward …” I paused, trying to find a way to wrap my tongue around the words. “I'll make sure she finds peace. I'll petition the court to discontinue her life support.”
Or
, I didn't say,
I'll slip something into her feeding tube so she never will feel pain or suffer again
. I dropped my head into my hands.

“Let's not fight about this. Let's just go,” he said. “You're okay, right?”

I nodded. I wasn't having another heart attack, but I needed another minute more, so I stalled. “Do me a favor. Walk through the upstairs. Make sure the windows are closed. I probably shouldn't go up a full flight yet.”

“Sure.” He took the front staircase two steps at a time.

“Show-off,” I muttered as I lumbered back into the kitchen. I removed Elle's car keys from her bag and went outside, planning to move the car into the barn. I thought I could manage that much.

I couldn't say I slid into the driver's seat. My body was still moving like an old man's, but I hated that I needed a chauffeur. I crawled inside and closed my eyes while I waited for the muscles to stop hurting. When I slipped the key into the ignition, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something purple on the passenger seat. No. Not purple. Indigo blue, faded from the sunlight through the windshield to purple.

“Jesus,” I said aloud as I flipped it over. It was a baby book. And a ballpoint pen was stuck inside it like a bookmark.

I read the page and knew this was exactly what I'd been searching for.

“Matt?” Chris called.

I rolled down the window. “I'm here. Come read this.”

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