When I See You (36 page)

Brock calls out for Max, over and over. I try to speak, but no words come out. It's another five minutes before Tate and Ashleigh arrive, but it feels like an eternity already.

Brock tells them about Henry. I listen dully from this faraway place and try to summon up sympathy for Brock and his family. But there's this uncanny sense of foreboding, a foregone conclusion, taking over. Somehow, my mind already knows there's yet another tragedy in my life's path that I must endure.

And, I can't feel anything. Nothing. It's as if I've been shattered into a million pieces already.

Brock and Tate search the shoreline from the west side while Ashleigh and I take the east. The only sounds are our frantic footsteps along the dirt and gravel path and the rustle of the tall grasses as we plow through them in search of Max.

I stop for a minute to try and catch my breath. That's when I hear this strange sound coming from the middle of the pond. I glimpse a flailing white hand and the hint of a little boy's blond head.
Max.

"Momma. Momma."

It's a faint cry, a mixture of garbled words and gurgling water. Then, there's nothing but absolute silence.

"There!" I scream. "He's there. Max!"

I point to the middle of the pond. My arms shake violently as I maneuver out of my jacket and kick off my shoes. I plow through the shallow water and start to swim with frenzied strokes when the water deepens.

"I'm coming, baby. Mommy's coming."

The murky blackness of the water attacks me from all sides. I shudder and attempt to outrun my fear.
I hate the water.
Tate and Ashleigh join me in the search, while Brock hurries to the other side and dives in.

Over and over, the four of us dive to the bottom and only surface for much-needed air before quickly diving again. The water is gloomy, foreboding. It predicts my future with every jagged breath I take at its surface. But every time, the silt bottom just runs through my fingers as I ravage its murky depths, again and again, looking for Max. A hand. An arm. Anything of Max.

Desperation takes over all control of my limbs. The urgent need to find him, to save him, becomes paramount.

Time seems to hover, to almost stop.

The muffled sounds of everyone's voices from beneath the water's surface reach at me, but seem so far away. My body feels bogged down by the water and gravity. It's hard to move and I struggle to break free of it. The gasps for air dominate. The momentum of plunging ever downward in defiance of gravity's grasp by kicking through the water becomes frenetic. We share the desperation and fight the depths of pure terror in search of him.
Max.

Max, where are you?

Max. Max, Baby, don't leave me. Please don't leave me.

Five minutes.
Too long
.

"I've got him," Brock calls out from some distance away.

I glance at my watch. It's been eight minutes since I first saw his hand.

Too long.

I swim for the shore, stopping to help Ashleigh, who's coughing and choking, as she struggles to be free of the deep water. A strong swimmer she is not. Once onshore, we both gasp for air and hold onto each other, while we wait for Brock and Tate.

Ashleigh cries out when two tall shadows emerge from the murky dark water from the other side of the pond, while I just stare. They carry a small lifeless form between them.

Brock moves into action quickly, places Max on the ground, but shields him from my view with his body.

Resolute, I get up, walk over, and sink down on the other side of Max and grab his hand. In studied fascination, I watch Brock as he breathes into my baby's lungs and begins to do steady counts of compressions on his chest. "One. Two. Three. Four. Five."

Then, he breathes into Max's lungs. "Compression. Again," he says.

I silently mouth the same words. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Compression. Again.

It's like a little prayer sent up to God each time we say it together.

On some far-removed level, I'm consoled by Brock's actions, by his continual count of five, by the way he breathes into my son, and does compressions upon Max's little chest. I take solace from these simple actions, these simple words and try to breathe.

Ashleigh sobs uncontrollably to my left. She grabs my arm and buries her face into my shoulder. I pat her head. My hair drips pond water onto Max's shirt. Some part of me registers that it doesn't matter because he's soaking wet already.

He needs a bath.

He needs more than that.

His cherub little face is streaked with mud. His eyes are closed. His hand is so cold in mine. I brush his hair with my free one. It bristles against my hand.
Like Ethan.

"Don't leave me, Max. Stay with me."

Ashleigh cries harder. I don't do anything. Parts of me seem to be scattered across the very ground. Broken. A million pieces.

Too late
chirps the little bird in my head.
Broken. A million pieces.

Does it matter?

The ambulance arrives. The paramedics take over the scene. I wonder how they found their way out to Logan's Pond. It probably isn't on any map. Logan's Pond. Ethan used to talk about Logan's Pond. He used to tell Max how he and Brock used to fish there when they were a little older than Max is now. Brock spoke about it at Ethan's funeral. And Max wanted to go. To the pond. To catch a fish. Touch the water.
Be with Daddy?

I should have read him
Cat In The Hat
. I promised I would read it to him and I haven't.
What kind of mother am I? I'll do better.

Brock helps me climb up into the ambulance after the paramedics strap Max to a gurney and slide him in. The two paramedics hover over him from each side and burst into action. They put an oxygen mask on him and hook Max up to a bunch of machines.

They're going to save him. They're going to try.

There's this brief moment where they both exchange this surreptitious look with Brock, who just nods at them, as he slides in beside me.

Brock knows one of them. Steven. He served in Afghanistan.

"Sorry about Ethan," he says.

"This is his son, Max," Brock says. "This is Jordan. Max's mother."

"Jesus. Oh God." Steven looks at me in sympathy. He squeezes my hand before returning to help his partner with Max.

The third paramedic, the driver, slams the door shut. It feels like a tomb. I can barely breathe again. It registers with me that the red lights flash, but there's no sound.

I try to wave at Ashleigh through the little window of the ambulance as we start to drive away, but my hand doesn't cooperate. I stare at it. It seems disconnected from the rest of me. I get a glimpse of Ashleigh's tear-streaked face. She's a mess, in a very un-Ashleigh-like state. She tries to wave back, but seems to have trouble lifting her arm as much as I do.

There's another ambulance at the Wainwright's as we pass, and I wonder if Henry is okay. I want to ask God to save both of them. Yes. It's a big wish. At least, one of them. Yes. A smaller wish. But I can't make myself utter the words to make either kind of wish. No, to put into words, to ask, and to receive some kind of trade for the other seems wrong.

Please God, I'll be a better mother. I'll try harder. I'll never get mad or yell or be sad ever again. I'll do better. Please God, let me have Max.

And, please God, save Henry. He's a good man, a good husband, a good father. Brock needs him.

Please God, save them both.

There. I've made my wish. I've asked for them both. Yes. It's a big wish.

I glance over at Brock. He can
see
me. I try to smile.

Thank you, God, for returning Brock's sight. Thank you, God.

But there are so many other wishes that we need. It's too much. There are too many miracles we need to pray for this night.

*≈*≈*

Chapter 21. Never to know

Brock

Dear God, if you give us Max back and save my father you can have my sight. God, can you hear me? Are you listening? Please don't take Max. Please don't take my dad. Take my sight back. Please God. Please listen.

"Any word?" Tate asks as soon as he and Ashleigh appear in the doorway of the ER waiting room.

"No."

I stand up and shove my hands in the wet pockets of my jeans. I look at him with uncertainty.

"Wow. You can see."

"I know. I guess telling the truth helps, but at what cost?" I say in a low voice. "I can't tell that story, now."

Tate nods and glances over at Jordan. "How is she?"

I shake my head side-to-side.

He closely watches Ashleigh as she goes over to Jordan, who sits in the farthest corner of the waiting room and stares at the television. There's no sound on. It's just CNN running with the usual sensational headlines and she's been mindlessly watching it for the past thirty minutes.

"What do you think?" Tate asks in a low voice that only I can hear.

I stare at his solemn expression and can't help but feel thankful that I can see it. Guilt shoots down around me from all sides like a stray lightning bolt. I wince and silently acknowledge that I just said a prayer to God, exchanging my sight for Max and my dad.

I shudder and shake my head.

"I think they're going to come through that door any minute and tell her they did everything they could, but it wasn't enough to save him."

Tate's eyes get glassy. They mirror mine.

And your dad?"

"He's in the ICU. They'll only let Mom in right now. Diana said she'd text me when something changes."

Tate nods. We lean up against the wall side-by-side and wait.

Five minutes.

Jordan stands up as soon as the ER doctor in blue scrubs appears in the doorway. He comes over to her. He takes off his mask and holds it in his left hand and reaches for hers with the other.

I don't need to hear what he says. I know what he says. Jordan stumbles backward to a chair and resumes watching CNN while Ashleigh rushes over to her.

"Get my cell phone," Jordan says to her after a few minutes.

With shaking hands, Ashleigh digs through Jordan's purse for the phone.

Jordan waves us all off.

Helpless, I watch her as she walks down the hallway, alone, and makes a single phone call.

≈ ≈

Diana clutches the sides of the hospital walls every few feet as she makes her way down the hallway as if she's having trouble maintaining her balance.

No text message.

Whatever she has to tell us, she's saying in person. And, I already know what she has to say.

Tate makes a guttural sound beside me when he sees my sister. He pushes off the wall and walks unsteadily towards her.

I close my eyes and summon the blackness. It's not there. All I see are these swimming red blood vessels and the intrusive edgy lines of fluorescent lighting as it stabs its way through to me.

I can see. God didn't make that trade.

I open my eyes. I can see that I've lost so much, all in one single night, all within a few hours.

Diana collapses in Tate's arms and starts to cry. Loud mournful cries.

I didn't have time to even text her about Max. I was waiting for the shaking to stop in my hands and for Jordan's return. Neither has happened.

My first thoughts center on my mom and how she's going to handle this. My second thoughts are of my dad and all the things I left unsaid and his profound disappointment in me and all the wrong choices I've made since Annie's death.

And now, there's Jordan. And, the loss of Max. How is she going to handle it all? How am I?

I sense Jordan even before I see her.

She walks arm-in-arm with my mom. The devastation is apparent in both of their bodies with every step. My mother makes slow passage down the hallway, leaning heavily on Jordan. They meet up with Diana and encircle her. They encircle Diana. In a daze, I stare at the three women left in my life that I love more than anyone else. Tate reaches for Ashleigh and hugs her close.

And, I stand alone and can only watch.

≈ ≈

In some strange obligatory way, the hospital accommodates Janie Wainwright and Jordan Holloway by setting up a private room where the two women sit next to each other between the two gurneys next to their dead loved ones. Janie Wainwright requests this and the hospital makes it happen. Years of charitable giving has its privileges, I guess.

In a stupor, I watch my mother as she holds on to my dad's hand, while Jordan holds on to Max's.

They sit there for hours.

Hours.

At two in the morning. I can't take it anymore. I can't watch it anymore. I leave the room without either one of them noticing and go in search of Tate and Ashleigh. Diana has already gone home to her family—to David and the kids—to mourn, to plan, to cry.