Mama couldn't do that. She talked incessantly, commenting to everyone who would listen, complaining about the waiting, the world today, the criminals out there, her poor husband's miserable fate, moaning and groaning, drawing all the sympathy she could to herself until finally, exhausted, she sputtered like some boat running out of fuel on some lake, her words growing farther and farther apart, half spoken, and soon altogether stopped.
She stared along with the others and waited and looked at me and took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Time tormented us. Minutes took longer. Hours stretched. We were stuck in forever, until eventually, almost like an afterthought brought back from some dark corner of the hospital, the doctor made his way toward us, his face glum, a doctor's face full of ifs and maybes.
Daddy was still alive. The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours were critical. If he lived, it would be a long recuperation with a lot of therapy. He would most likely regain his ability to walk, too, but it was all somewhere way out there like a promise at the end of a rainbow.
It was best we went home and returned the next day. There wasn't much left to do, but wait.
"He's a strong man. Mrs. Goodman," the doctor told her. "A lesser man would be gone by now," he said. I could see he meant it sincerely.
Mama nodded. For once, she seemed
speechless. She threaded her arm through mine and we left to get a cab to take us home. All the way she rested her head against my shoulder. As soon as we arrived, she went right to sleep.
I sat in the living room for a while, looking at Daddy's empty chair and humming some music to myself. Finally, I went to bed and fell asleep, too exhausted to entertain a single dream.
I was up and out of bed the moment my eyes snapped open in the morning. Mama was still asleep. I went right to the phone and called the hospital. When they heard I was immediate family, they forwarded my call to the nurse on dim, who told me Daddy was stable, but there was nothing more to say until the doctor came to evaluate.
I rushed about the apartment, putting up some coffee first because I knew Mama wouldn't budge without some. Then I called to her and woke her. She mumbled and cursed and cried, but finally rose. I showered and dressed and had her coffee poured and waiting when she emerged from her room, practically sleepwalking to the table. I told her I had called the hospital and what the nurse had said.
"We've got to get there as quickly as we can. Mama. We've got to talk to the doctor."
"Why rush? All they do is make you wait and wait until they're good and ready," she said.
"We don't want to miss him." I insisted. "If you're not ready, I'll leave without you," I threatened.
She looked up at me with surprise and then shook her head and complained all the rest of the time and all the way to the hospital, moaned about how I had hurried her so much she couldn't fix herself properly to face the world. I was to be blamed for her mediocre appearance. I worked hard at closing her out of my mind and soon her words bounced off my ears like raindrops off the top of an umbrella.
I was right about being there as soon as we could. The doctor was on his way to another hospital after seeing Daddy and we wouldn't have gotten any direct information if we hadn't been there.
"He's improved far faster and better than I had anticipated," he told us. "I believe he's out of danger, but he's going to begin a long recuperation. Prepare yourselves for that," he warned, his eyes on Mama as if he could sense how difficult it was going to be for her, maybe even more difficult than it would be for Daddy.
He told us we could see Daddy later in the day when he was conscious. I had the hardest time keeping Mama at the hospital to wait for the opportunity. She wanted to go home and dress herself all over again. We ate some lunch in the hospital cafeteria and then went back to the ICU waiting room and waited for the nurse to come out to get us.
"You can stay ten minutes," she said. "He's conscious now."
"Well, Hallelujah!" Mama muttered.
We followed the nurse in to Daddy's bedside. Even on his back with all the tubes and monitoring devices attached to him, he still looked big and powerful to me.
He smiled when he saw us.
"Now look what you've gone and done," Mama told him immediately. "I bet you didn't have to stick your big neck out. Cameron Goodman. I bet you just couldn't wait to be a hero. huh?"
"Hi Daddy," I said. I kissed him.
Mama looked around, held her face of chastisement, but kissed him. too.
"Now, what are we supposed to do?" she asked him.
"Mama." I whispered. "Don't cause him any worry now,"
"You'll be fine," Daddy said. "Money comes in anyway. Insurance. Don't worry." he said.
"Great," Mama said. "And you have a long recuperation. You'll be hanging around the house playing that music all day and night now. I'm telling you right now, Cameron. I'm no good as a nurse," she warned.
Daddy smiled at me.