Midnight Valentine(93)

She breaks off into choked gasps and can’t go on.

“Okay, take it easy now, girls,” murmurs Coop. “We don’t know anything yet. Theo could be just fine.”

“Excuse me.”

A man’s voice from the doorway makes us all jump. It’s a doctor, tall, silver-haired, grim-faced. He looks over the three of us with a weary eye. “Which of you are with Mr. Kennedy?”

Colleen stands shakily. “That’s me.”

“Will you take a step outside, ma’am? The police are here. They’d like to talk to you.”

Colleen goes pale. “How is he?”

Sighing, the doctor smooths a hand over his hair. “Physically, he’s fine. He suffered only a few minor cuts on his face. But if he has an attorney, you should call him.”

“He’s being charged with drunk driving?” says Coop.

The doctor looks at Coop for a moment, his gaze steady. “For the time being.”

I know exactly what he means. I hear a low, agonized moan, but don’t realize until Coop hugs my shoulders that the person making it is me.

“What about Theo Valentine? What’s his condition?” Coop’s voice is as harsh as fingernails scraping down a chalkboard. When the doctor hesitates, Coop snaps, “Just fuckin’ tell us, man, we’re family!”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t look good.”

Colleen bursts into a fresh round of sobs, Coop curses, and I make that sound again, the one like an animal dying.

The doctor says, “His internal injuries are too severe for him to be moved safely at the moment, but as soon as he’s stabilized, we’ll have to fly him to our sister hospital in Portland.”

“Why?” barks Coop, the only other person in the room capable of speech.

“They have a neurosurgical unit there. We have to relieve the pressure of the subdural hematoma—”

“I don’t speak doctor!” Coop roars.

After a beat, the doctor says quietly, “His brain is bleeding. His spleen is ruptured. He has half a dozen broken bones, including a shattered rib that punctured and collapsed a lung. Blood is filling his pleural cavity, which could collapse the other lung. Most importantly, his brain wave activity is minimal. His situation is very grave. I’m sorry to have to ask you this, but does he have a DNR?”

Though Coop has reined in his temper, he’s staring at the doctor with a dangerous look in his eyes. “What’s a DNR?”

At the same time, Colleen and I whisper, “Do not resuscitate.”





28





There was no room on the helicopter for anyone but the pilot, an EMT, and Theo, so when he’d finally been stabilized, Coop, Colleen, and I watched the copter take off from the roof of the hospital and head east until it disappeared into the horizon.

They wouldn’t let us see him. I took that as a terrible sign.

We did see Craig, however.

After the police gave him blood and urine tests for alcohol and interviewed Colleen, they led Craig out of the emergency room in handcuffs, shuffling and disheveled. Coop had to physically restrain me from attacking him.

Poor Angela, the woman behind the desk. She was so frightened by my banshee shriek and wild flailings as I lunged at Craig, she fled down the hallway and never looked back. A tall, burly orderly replaced her, giving me a hard stare when he sat down.

My reputation in Seaside must be growing legendary.

Colleen insisted she wanted to make the drive to Portland with me and Coop, but I ordered her to go home and rest. “You’ve got to take care of yourself,” I whispered. “For the baby, okay? I’ll call you as soon as we know anything.”

We embraced for a long time in the parking lot, crying in each other’s arms.

There was a chance Theo would pull through, but knowing God like I did, I wasn’t holding my breath for any more miracles. He was a bully who’d give you candy only so he could laugh at your tears when he stole it away.

Coop and I made the long drive together to the hospital in Portland in silence broken only by the radio playing a blues station.

When “At Last” came on, I had to switch it off.

There’s only so much pain a person can take.



* * *

The surgery took twelve hours, some of the longest and darkest of my life—which is saying a lot. When the doctor came out afterward and found Coop and me in the waiting room, it was almost midnight.

“We’ve done what we could,” he said, at which point my knees gave out and Coop had to carry me to a chair. I listened to the rest crying quietly on my back on a row of plastic hospital seats, all welded together and hard as winter ground.

“He’s in a medically induced coma. That was necessary because of the swelling in his brain. We’ll know more in a few hours, but I have to be honest with you…be prepared for the worst.”