Distant Shores

"Hey, Daddy," she whispered, stroking his forehead. She bent low and kissed his temple. Gone was his usual scent of bay rum and pipe smoke. He smelled of stale perspiration and sickness. She closed her eyes, wondering how to reach him.

Gradually, she became aware of the smell of flowers. Gardenias, to be precise.

Slowly, she straightened, knowing she wasnt alone anymore. She turned around.

Anita stood in the doorway, wearing a tight yellow angora sweater and straight-legged black pants with high-heeled black-and-yellow ankle boots. "Birdie," she said in a quiet voice, not her usual tremblin-with-excitement sound at all, "Im glad you could get here s quick. " She went to the bed. "Hey, Daddy," she whispered, touching his face.

"Hows he doing?"

When Anita looked up, her gray eyes floated beneath a dome of electric-blue eye shadow. "Theyre hopin hell wake up. "

Elizabeth steeled herself. "But he might not?"

"The longer hes . . . out, the worse it is. Theyre pretty sure hes paralyzed on the left side. "

"God," Elizabeth whispered.

She pulled up a chair and sat beside him. Anita did the same thing, positioning herself on the opposite side of the bed. Elizabeth supposed there was a simple truth to be found in their choices. Two women who loved the same man. Hed always been between them, loving them both but unable to bring them together. For the first few minutes, they muddled through polite conversation, talking about nothing--the weather, the flight--but after a while, they gave up. Theyd been there almost two hours when the door opened.

A short, stocky man in a white coat walked into the room.

"Hey, Phil," Anita said, trying to smile. She stood up. "Hes still restin. "

The doctor looked at Elizabeth. "Im Phillip Close," he said, extending his hand. "Edwards physician. You must be Birdie. He talks about you all the time. "

Elizabeth imagined her daddy, sitting on the edge of an examining table, boring this stern-looking doctor with proud-father stories. It wounded her, that image, brought tears to her eyes. She stood up and shook his hand.

Phillip bent over Daddy, checked a few of the machines, then straightened. "Its still a waiting game. I wish I could do better than that. "

"He could be fine, right?" Anita said.

"Id never bet against the Colonel. He could wake up in ten minutes and ask for a shot of Makers Mark," Phillip answered.

Elizabeth had to know the truth; it was the only way to prepare. "Or he could never wake up, is that what youre saying?"

"Yes," Phillip answered. "There are a range of possibilities right now. Its really better not to anticipate too much, just to wait and see. As I told Anita earlier, the longer hes unconscious, the worse it looks, but hes always been a strong man. "

"Anita tells me he might be paralyzed on one side," she said slowly.

"Yes. And it took the paramedics quite a while to revive him. He may have suffered some brain injury. But, as I said, we wont know much until he wakes up. The biggest concern now is his heart. Frankly, its pretty weak. "

"Thank you, Phillip," Elizabeth said, although it seemed ridiculous to thank someone for giving you more to worry about. Still, it was good manners. The way things were done.

"Ill give you two some time with him," he said, then left the room.

Paralyzed.

Brain injuries.

Weak heart.

The words didnt follow him out; they stayed in the room.

Elizabeth stared across the bed at her stepmother. All that pancake makeup couldnt conceal Anitas pain.

"Hell make it," Elizabeth said. "Hes too ornery to die. "

Anita looked pathetically grateful for that small bit of comfort. "He is ornery, thats for sure. "