Good Harbor
“It wasn’t your fault. And it isn’t your fault that you’re going to survive breast cancer and Pat died from it.”
“No?” Kathleen said sharply, then relented. “I suppose not.”
They drove in silence as the mountains grew greener in the afternoon light. Kathleen asked, “Do you know what absolution means?”
“I think so.” Joyce blew her nose. “Does Hal feel guilty?”
“Why would Hal feel guilty? He was five years old. There was nothing he could have done.”
“There was nothing you could have done, either. That didn’t stop you from making it into your fault.”
Kathleen shook her head. “We tried to protect Hal from Danny’s death. These days, the child psychologists tell you that’s the wrong thing to do. But back then, I didn’t want to frighten him all over again or make him relive it. Besides, I was too guilty.
“Oh, dear,” Kathleen said, her eyes filling with tears, “I think Hal must feel guilty.” She remembered what he had said the other day, about not being home with her.
“I was wondering when you’d finally spring a leak,” Joyce said, handing her a tissue.
They drove on for a few minutes. Kathleen pointed to a road sign for Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center.
“Oh, God,” Joyce said, almost moaning, thinking the worst. Permanent nerve damage? Suicide attempt? Brain injury?
“It’s going to be okay,” Kathleen said as they pulled up to the emergency room entrance. “Go ahead. I’ll park the car and be right in.”
JOYCE SPENT FIVE frantic minutes trying to locate Nina. The woman at the front desk couldn’t locate her name in the computer, then sent Joyce to the wrong room. When she finally opened the right door, she found Frank and Nina sitting on the bed, calmly watching TV. Nina’s arm was in a sling, her hair pulled into a neat bun. For a moment, she looked composed and grown-up, but the moment she caught sight of Joyce, she dissolved into tears. “Mommy.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Joyce said, sitting down on the bed. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m sorry it took me so long. It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Nina said, snuffling.
“Just as long as you’re okay.” Joyce looked over Nina’s head and raised her eyebrows in a question mark. Frank nodded slowly, but without smiling, signaling that he’d give Joyce the full story later.
“No cast?” she asked.
“Not for the collarbone,” he said.
Nina clung to Joyce with her good arm, nestling against her chest like a baby. When a nurse came in to check her vital signs, Joyce signaled for Frank to move out into the hallway.
Frank hugged her close. “I’m so glad you’re here. She really wanted her mother.”
“I’m sorry, Frank,” Joyce whispered. “I got here as fast as I could.” She pulled back, tucked her hands into her armpits, and asked, “So what exactly did the doctors say?”
“She wasn’t groggy after she came to, and they don’t think the concussion will have any lasting effects. Since I couldn’t find a motel room close by, they’re going to let her stay here the night. We can stay with her. We have to wake her up every hour or so.”
“Mommy?” Nina called in an urgent voice. Joyce and Frank rushed back; Nina was pointing to the TV screen. The Simpsons was about to begin, a rerun of one of the show’s many Halloween specials. “Halloween in August?” Joyce asked.
“Why not?” Nina said with a flash of impatience.
Joyce and Frank sat on either side of the bed and the three of them watched as aliens devoured Bart. Frank reached for Joyce’s hand behind the pillow, and she held on tight.
Downstairs, Kathleen found a bathroom. Using Joyce’s hairbrush and some paper towels, she cleaned herself up as best she could before searching for Nina’s room. Waiting for the elevator, someone grabbed her elbow from behind.
“There you are,” Buddy said.
“What are you doing here?” Kathleen yelped.
r /> “Nice welcome,” he said as they got on the elevator together.
“Buddy, how did you get here?”