My heart sinks. I was thinking— Oh, it’s silly. I don’t know what I was thinking—that, maybe while I was at the airport getting Summer, some sort of miracle would happen and she’d be awake when we got back? I give myself a mental shake. Being morose won’t do Mama any good. We all need to remain positive. “I’m just sure it won’t be long before she’s awake and talking our ears off.”
He nods, but the expression on his handsome face seems like he’s humoring a silly child. Irritation flares inside me.
“It’s been nearly forty-eight hours,” I say. “Can’t you give us a prognosis?”
“Comas are notoriously unpredictable. A person can be out for hours or years. There’s really no way to know when or if a person will come out of one.”
Summer goes pale. “Are you saying our mother might be like this for the rest of her life?”
Dr. Travis rubs his chin. “Unfortunately, that’s a possibility, though not a probability. You see, brain injury severity is described using a scale of one to eight, with one being a deep coma and eight being a normally functioning uninjured person,” he said. “Your mother is currently functioning at a level three, which means she’s in a light coma. She can probably even be jostled awake by loud voices.”
Summer frowns. “If she can be jostled awake, how come you can’t just wake her up?”
He shrugs. “Therein lies the mystery of comas. Only time will tell. After that, it’s anybody’s guess. Let’s go inside so you can see her.”
We walk in and Summer gasps. “Oh, Ginny.”
It’s terrible to see her lying there black and blue and vulnerable, amidst the IV tubes and beeping, wheezing equipment. I know how hard this first glimpse of her is and I put a hand on Summer’s shoulder. She doesn’t pull away.
Ginny’s eyelids flutter a bit and the sheet rustles as she moves her left foot.
I edge closer and touch her sheet-covered leg. “Mama? We’re here. Summer and I are both here.”
When she doesn’t open her eyes, we turn to Dr. Travis, who is writing on her chart.
“Coma patients open their eyes sometimes, but it doesn’t always mean they’re awake. Such as what I mentioned earlier about voices rousing them.”
“So what’s next?” Summer demands.
“Depending on the severity of her head injury, we might need to get her into an inpatient rehabilitation center.”
“A nursing home?” Oh, my Lord. The thought hitches my breath. I suppose it’s better than the alternatives: Death. Or moving in with me. Oh, how can I even think selfishly like that at a time like this? Still, the thought of Mama in one of those places knocks me for a loop. At fifty-eight, she’s too young for a nursing home. She has too much life left to live.
We hear the sheets rustle again and turn to see her blinking at us, looking annoyed, as if we’ve interrupted her afternoon nap.
“I am not going to an old folk’s home.”
CHAPTER 3
Summer
Ginny’s awake. Thank God.
“Mama?” Skye hurries to Ginny’s bedside and grabs her hand. “Oh my goodness, we were all so worried. Look, Summer even flew down.”
Skye gestures toward me, but Ginny’s gaze skips over me, as if searching for someone else.
“Where’s Jane?” she asks. “Is Jane here?”
A burning, metallic taste similar to the antiseptic smell of the hospital room creeps up the back of my throat. Suddenly, I’m eleven years old again. Small. Insignificant. A disappointment to my mother.
Skye darts a panicked glance at me, then at Dr. Travis, standing there as if he’s watching a soap opera unfold. This irks me. Dammit, shouldn’t he be doing something, especially given the cost of health care these days?
I move beside my sister. “Sorry, Ginny, Jane’s not here. You’re stuck with Skye and me.” I can’t keep the bitterness from my tone.
Skye nudges me and hisses. “Summer. Shh.”
Thank God, the doctor finally comes to life. “Welcome back. Do you know where you are?”
Ginny squints at him as if she’s trying to place him.
“I’m Dr. Travis and you’re in Dahlia Springs Memorial Hospital. You were in a car accident. Do you remember anything?”
“Jane?”
“No, Mama, it’s Skye and Summer.”
She looks confused, gazing at us as if she can’t quite place us. “I don’t want you. I want my baby. I want my Jane.”
I flinch. Her words are a punch to my gut. I’m a sucker, a fool for coming all the way down here against my better judgment. I hate myself for letting her get to me, letting her rejection matter.
God, I need a cigarette.
Skye clears her throat. I can actually see her regroup, straightening and plastering on that I’m-in-charge-and-everything’s-just-wonderful smile before she looks at Dr. Travis.
“Why don’t you give us a few minutes?” He smiles. “In fact, go relax and have a cup of coffee while I examine her. By the time you finish, we should be ready for you.”
For a moment I fear I’m slipping, that I might succumb to a dizzying spiral of emotion.
Skye touches my arm, and for some odd reason, that yanks me back from the brink. Oh, God. Not another panic attack.
“Mama, you just rest,” she says. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Ginny closes her eyes.
Dr. Travis walks us to the door. Despite my sister’s all-is-well smile, I know Skye’s just as flummoxed as I am because she’s quiet. My sister is rarely quiet.
“Just give us fifteen minutes,” he says before calling in his students so they can watch and listen. It reminds me of a carnival sideshow freakapalooza.
Step right up. See the woman who ate her young and hear the amazing story of how the children lived to tell about it.
Out in the hall, the air feels lighter. Free of the essence of Jane that was crowding Ginny’s room, edging us out. But I still have an annoying ringing in my ears.
Finally, Skye breaks the silence. “Well, how about that?” Her voice is low and conspiratorial.
“Yeah, how ’bout that. We’re here, and only Jane will do. Some things never change.”
She pushes the button on the elevator and crosses her arms. Her lips are pressed into a thin line and she’s eyeing me with that disapproving-mother look.
“Actually, I was talking about our mother regaining consciousness.”
Oh, get over yourself. This act might work on her kids, but I’ll be dammed if she’s going to make me feel like a schmuck. “Look, I’m glad Ginny is awake, but don’t you get tired of the same old sorry song and dance? She wants Jane. You know where Jane is, so call her or go get her or something. Whatever it takes to make that woman happy. I certainly don’t have it in me.”
Skye sighs as if she’s so exasperated she can’t contain her disgust.
Fine. Whatever.
I turn my back on her and, with a shaky hand, pull out my cell phone and dial information. “Connect me to American Airlines, please.”
“What are you doing?” Skye says the words to my back.
“Calling to change my flight.”
She