know."
Chapter Six
Dr. Lowenstein paused for so long, Jenny thought he hadn't heard her question.
Finally, he shook his head slowly, cautiously. "I don't know, Mrs. St. Claire."
"How can you not know? You're a goddamn doctor, aren't you?"
"Jenny," Merrilee said imploringly.
"Ifs all right," Dr. Lowenstein said. "I understand." He spoke slowly, picking his words carefully. "Danny's condition is critical. There was enormous trauma to the brain. We should know more within the next twenty-four to seventy-two hours. He's a strong, healthy boy. We have to hope for the best."
"Hope, that's all I can do is hope?" Jenny asked in utter bewilderment.
"You might also pray," the doctor said quietly.
"Oh God." Jenny put a hand to her mouth and swallowed hard. "He's going to die. I know he's going to die."
"Stop it, Jenny. He's not going to die," Merrilee said firmly. "He's not. We won't let him."
"I want to see him," Jenny said.
Dr. Lowenstein nodded. "Of course. He should be out of recovery by now. I'll take you to him. He's been moved into pediatric intensive care."
"Intensive care?" Jenny echoed.
"Yes." Dr. Lowenstein looked at Merrilee and Alan. "Just Mrs. St. Claire for now, please."
Merrilee looked as if she wanted to argue, but Alan put a restraining hand on her arm, and the doctor led Jenny away. They went up in the elevator, a silent, grim pair. Although Jenny had a million questions, not one word crossed her lips.
In some ways, she thought she was in a dream, that at any moment she would wake up, and Danny would be there, smiling, laughing, whole.
When they got off the elevator, they walked down a long corridor, past colorful murals of giraffes and zebras, past a child in a wheelchair and a parent hovering outside of a hospital room, past the beeping sounds of machines and the sorrowful cries of pain.
Jenny took a breath to ease the tension, but the pungent smell of antiseptic only made her lungs constrict. It reminded her of where she was, of what she was about to face. She wondered what death smelled like -- if it smelled like this.
Stop it, she told herself. Danny was alive. The doctor had said so. She had to believe. She had to think positively.
Dr. Lowenstein led her through another set of double doors. It was quieter in this hallway, but there were more people, nurses, doctors, and orderlies, all going about their tasks with quiet efficiency. There were machines with lights and beeps, oxygen tanks, bottles of blood and other unidentified substances. The smell was stronger here, the fear of death almost tangible.
Jenny paused as Dr. Lowenstein bent his head to talk to a nurse sitting at the desk. The nurse glanced up at her and smiled reassuringly, compassionately. It didn't touch Jenny.
She looked beyond the nurse to the wall of glass, behind which lay her son. Jenny saw him in the bed, a large white bandage around the front of his head, his blond hair shaved in the front but still tousled in the back, the way it always was when he slept. But he wasn't asleep. He was unconscious. He was quite possibly -- dying.
A sharp pain cut across her stomach. Nausea warred with pain. Bile rose in her throat, but she forced it back. She felt Dr. Lowenstein's hand on her arm and turned to face him.
It helped to look at the doctor instead of Danny, to focus on his square face, his bushy eyebrows, his compassionate, intelligent eyes. He was calm, and she felt calmer just having his hand on her arm.
"Are you all right?" Dr. Lowenstein asked. "If you need some time ..."
"No, I'm okay. I want to see him. All this ..." She waved her hand in front of her. "It took me by surprise."
Dr. Lowenstein nodded and led her into Danny's room. Jenny took a deep breath and walked over to the bed. She stared down at her son. There was an angry red cut over his eye, and tubes coming out of his arms, his mouth, his head. The bandage showed streaks of blood.
In the oversized hospital gown, Danny looked small and helpless.
Chapter Six
Dr. Lowenstein paused for so long, Jenny thought he hadn't heard her question.
Finally, he shook his head slowly, cautiously. "I don't know, Mrs. St. Claire."
"How can you not know? You're a goddamn doctor, aren't you?"
"Jenny," Merrilee said imploringly.
"Ifs all right," Dr. Lowenstein said. "I understand." He spoke slowly, picking his words carefully. "Danny's condition is critical. There was enormous trauma to the brain. We should know more within the next twenty-four to seventy-two hours. He's a strong, healthy boy. We have to hope for the best."
"Hope, that's all I can do is hope?" Jenny asked in utter bewilderment.
"You might also pray," the doctor said quietly.
"Oh God." Jenny put a hand to her mouth and swallowed hard. "He's going to die. I know he's going to die."
"Stop it, Jenny. He's not going to die," Merrilee said firmly. "He's not. We won't let him."
"I want to see him," Jenny said.
Dr. Lowenstein nodded. "Of course. He should be out of recovery by now. I'll take you to him. He's been moved into pediatric intensive care."
"Intensive care?" Jenny echoed.
"Yes." Dr. Lowenstein looked at Merrilee and Alan. "Just Mrs. St. Claire for now, please."
Merrilee looked as if she wanted to argue, but Alan put a restraining hand on her arm, and the doctor led Jenny away. They went up in the elevator, a silent, grim pair. Although Jenny had a million questions, not one word crossed her lips.
In some ways, she thought she was in a dream, that at any moment she would wake up, and Danny would be there, smiling, laughing, whole.
When they got off the elevator, they walked down a long corridor, past colorful murals of giraffes and zebras, past a child in a wheelchair and a parent hovering outside of a hospital room, past the beeping sounds of machines and the sorrowful cries of pain.
Jenny took a breath to ease the tension, but the pungent smell of antiseptic only made her lungs constrict. It reminded her of where she was, of what she was about to face. She wondered what death smelled like -- if it smelled like this.
Stop it, she told herself. Danny was alive. The doctor had said so. She had to believe. She had to think positively.
Dr. Lowenstein led her through another set of double doors. It was quieter in this hallway, but there were more people, nurses, doctors, and orderlies, all going about their tasks with quiet efficiency. There were machines with lights and beeps, oxygen tanks, bottles of blood and other unidentified substances. The smell was stronger here, the fear of death almost tangible.
Jenny paused as Dr. Lowenstein bent his head to talk to a nurse sitting at the desk. The nurse glanced up at her and smiled reassuringly, compassionately. It didn't touch Jenny.
She looked beyond the nurse to the wall of glass, behind which lay her son. Jenny saw him in the bed, a large white bandage around the front of his head, his blond hair shaved in the front but still tousled in the back, the way it always was when he slept. But he wasn't asleep. He was unconscious. He was quite possibly -- dying.
A sharp pain cut across her stomach. Nausea warred with pain. Bile rose in her throat, but she forced it back. She felt Dr. Lowenstein's hand on her arm and turned to face him.
It helped to look at the doctor instead of Danny, to focus on his square face, his bushy eyebrows, his compassionate, intelligent eyes. He was calm, and she felt calmer just having his hand on her arm.
"Are you all right?" Dr. Lowenstein asked. "If you need some time ..."
"No, I'm okay. I want to see him. All this ..." She waved her hand in front of her. "It took me by surprise."
Dr. Lowenstein nodded and led her into Danny's room. Jenny took a deep breath and walked over to the bed. She stared down at her son. There was an angry red cut over his eye, and tubes coming out of his arms, his mouth, his head. The bandage showed streaks of blood.
In the oversized hospital gown, Danny looked small and helpless.
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