Accident - A Novel Part 3

"I'm afraid it was. She's in Marin General now, Mrs. Clarke. You need to get there pretty quickly."

"Oh G.o.d ...thank you ..." She hung up without saying more, and frantically dialed information. They gave her the number for Marin General, and she asked for the emergency room. Yes, Allyson Clarke was there, yes, she was still alive, and no, they were unable to give her any further information. The doctors were all busy with her, and couldn't talk to Page. Allyson Clarke was listed in critical condition.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and her hands shook violently as she dialed her neighbor. She had to leave Andy with someone ...she had to call ...had to get dressed ...had to get there ...The phone answered after four rings, as Page sobbed silently, praying that Allyson would be alive when she got there.

"h.e.l.lo?" A sleepy voice finally answered.

"Jane? Can you come?" Page sounded breathless and felt as though she couldn't get enough air. What if she fainted? What if ...what if Allyson died ... oh G.o.d, no ...please, no ...

"What's wrong?" Jane Gilson knew her well, and she had never known Page to panic. "What is it? Are you sick? Is someone there?" Had there been an intruder?

"No," it was a terrible mouse squeak of terror, "it's Allie. She's had an accident ...head-on ... she's in Marin General, in critical condition ...Brad's gone ... I have to leave Andy ..."

"Oh my G.o.d ...I'll be there in two minutes." Jane Gilson hung up, and Page ran to her closet and tore on jeans and the first sweater she could find. It was the old blue one she wore to garden in, covered with holes and spots and permanently faded. But she didn't even see it as she put it on, and slipped her feet into loafers. She never thought of combing her hair, and then she ran to the pad in the den where Brad always left the name and number of his hotel when he traveled. She knew she'd find it there. She'd wait to see Allyson first, before she called, in case the news was better than she feared. But at least she could call him from the hospital, after she saw her. But this time, there was no hotel and no number. Nothing. There was a blank page. For the first time in sixteen years, he had forgotten to leave the information. It was like fate playing a bad joke on them, but she didn't have time to worry about it now. She could call someone from Brad's office and figure something out later. Right now she had to get to the hospital and see her baby.

She grabbed her bag as the front door rang, and she ran to let in Jane Gilson. Jane's arms went around her old friend. She had known the Clarkes since they'd moved in, before Andy was born, and Allyson since she was seven.

"She'll be all right ...you know she will. Page, calm down. It probably all sounds worse than it is. Just take it easy." She would have liked to drive her there herself, but her own husband was gone. He had gone camping with her kids, both home from college for their spring vacation. And there was no one else to leave with Andy. He was still sound asleep in his mother's bed, completely unaware of what had happened. "What do you want me to tell him when he wakes up, in case you're not back yet?"

"Just tell him Allyson got sick, and I had to go to the hospital with her. I'll call you from there and let you know what's happening. And if Brad calls, for G.o.d's sake, Jane, get his number."

"Right ...now go ...and drive safely."

Page ran out into the warm night, her hair flying, her purse under her arm, jumped into the car, and a moment later she shot out of the driveway. She tried to talk to herself all the way, telling herself to stay calm, to breathe, alternately rea.s.suring herself that Allyson would be okay, and begging G.o.d that she would be. She still couldn't believe it had happened.

The hospital was eight minutes away, and she parked in the first s.p.a.ce she found. She forgot her keys in the car, and ran into the building. The emergency unit was alive with lights, and people running around, dashing into rooms, and half a dozen people sat in a corridor, waiting for treatment. A woman in labor walked by looking uncomfortable, leaning heavily against her husband. But all Page wanted to see was her little girl ...her baby. She noticed the reporters then, two of them taking notes from a highway patrolman.

She went to the desk and asked a nurse where she might find her, and the woman's face sobered instantly as she glanced up at Page. She had a pretty face and kind eyes, and as she looked at Page, she felt a wave of sympathy for her. Page was dead white and shaking.

"You're her mother?"

Page nodded, feeling her body shake more. "Is she ... is she ..."

"She's alive." Page's legs went weak, as the woman came around the desk and held her firmly. "She's very, very badly hurt, Mrs. Clarke. She has a severe head injury. Our neurosurgical team is with her now, and we're waiting for our head of services. When he gets here, we'll be able to tell you more. But she's hanging in." She led Page to a chair, and helped her to sit down. It was as though the whole world had turned upside down in a single moment. "Would you like a cup of coffee?" She looked sympathetically down at her, and Page tried not to cry as she shook her head, but it was hopeless. The tears instantly overflowed as she tried to absorb what the woman had said ...neurosurgeons ...neurosurgical team ...she's very, very badly hurt ...but why? How? How had it happened? "Are you okay?" the nurse asked rhetorically. It was obvious that she wasn't, as she blew her nose and shook her head, and wished she could turn the clock back. And she had been so angry at her for missing her curfew. It was unbearable to think of it. While she was being angry, Allyson was being hit head-on ... it didn't even bear thinking.

"Was anyone else hurt?" Page finally managed to croak, and the nurse looked at her sadly as she nodded.

"The driver was killed. And another young girl was severely injured."

"Oh my G.o.d ..." Killed? Killed?...Trygve Th.o.r.ensen dead? How in G.o.d's name had this happened? And as she thought of it, she saw a man emerge from one of the emergency rooms who looked astonishingly like him. He walked out of the treatment room in a daze and seemed to stare at Page, without actually seeing who she was. It was Page who suddenly realized that it was Trygve. But how was this possible? The nurse had said he was dead. Was it all a lie? A bad joke? A bad dream? Was she crazy, or dreaming? But the nightmare was all too true, as she looked at him, and she knew it. The nurse discreetly moved away, and Trygve stood looking down at Page, with tears flowing unchecked down his own cheeks.

"Page, I'm so sorry ..."He reached out and took her hand in his own, and held it for a moment. "I should have known ... I guess I should have seen it coming, but I wasn't paying attention ... I don't know how I could have been so stupid." She stared at him in horror. He hadn't been paying attention, and their children had been critically injured ...how could he even say this to her? And why had the nurse told her he was dead, when he wasn't?

"I don't understand," Page said, staring up at him in anguish, as he sat down slowly next to her, shaking his head, still unable to believe what had happened.

"I'm beginning to. I should have known when I saw her go out in that outfit. She was wearing a black leather skirt she'd borrowed from somewhere, and black stockings that must have been Dana's ...I'm a d.a.m.n fool. I was working on something with Bjorn, and I just let it slide by. She said she was going out with you, so I figured she was okay ... I wish to h.e.l.l now that I'd stopped her."

"Out with me} me} You mean ...you weren't driving?" A rush of fresh fear overcame her as she understood him. They hadn't been out with him at all. But then who had they been with, and who was the driver? You mean ...you weren't driving?" A rush of fresh fear overcame her as she understood him. They hadn't been out with him at all. But then who had they been with, and who was the driver?

"No, I wasn't."

"Allyson said you were taking them to dinner at Luigi's, and a movie. It never occurred to me that you weren't ..." And then, suddenly, as she thought about it, the pieces of the puzzle fit together for her too. The borrowed cashmere sweater, the white skirt, the fact that she scampered off to Chloe's, and didn't let Page drive her there. "How could I have been so stupid?"

"I guess we both were." He stared at her through his tears, and she began to cry again. "You should have seen Chloe when she came in ...she's got multiple compound fractures of both legs, a shattered hip, broken pelvis, internal injuries. They're removing her spleen now, and she may have damaged her liver. They have to replace the hip, put the pelvis together with pins ...she may never walk again, Page ..." His tears went unchecked. "And all she wanted was to get into that ballet school. Oh Christ ...how did this happen?"

Page nodded, numbed by what she'd just heard. Chloe unable to walk again ...and Allyson with a severe head injury. She looked at Trygve then, no longer able to blame him. "Did you see Allyson?" She was almost afraid to herself, and yet she wanted to desperately, but they had told her she had to wait until the neurosurgeons had finished their evaluation. But what if she died first, and Page wasn't there ...what if ...what if.

"No, I didn't," Trygve said soberly, drying his tears for a moment. "I asked to, but they wouldn't let me. They just took Chloe to surgery. They think it'll take six to eight hours, maybe longer. It's going to be a long night." Or not. That would be even worse, for Page. For Allyson, it could all be over very quickly.

"They told me Allyson had a severe head injury, but that was all they'd say," he said softly.

"That's all they said to me too. I'm not even sure what that means. Is she brain damaged? Will she die? Could she be all right again?" Tears filled Page's eyes as she talked in circles and he listened. "She's with the neurosurgeons now."

"You just have to believe that she'll be all right. Right now that's all we have."

"But what if she isn't?" Page was grateful to have someone to talk to, and at least he knew all the terrors that she was feeling, except that Chloe was alive, and no matter how badly battered, she seemed not to be in mortal danger.

"Try not to ask yourself too many questions," he said. "I keep doing that about Chloe ...what if she can't walk ...what if she's paralyzed ...will she ever be able to walk or dance or run ... or have children? A few minutes ago, I found myself planning where to put ramps for her wheelchair. You have to force yourself to stop doing that. We just don't know yet. Live it minute by minute." Page nodded, knowing what he meant. One minute, she found herself trying to figure out what she would tell Brad if Allyson died, the next she refused to believe it.

"Do you know who was driving?" Page asked somberly, remembering what the nurse had said, that he was dead. And she had a.s.sumed it was Trygve.

"Only his name. A boy called Phillip Chapman, he was seventeen. That's all I know. And Chloe was in no condition to answer questions."

"I've heard of him. I think I've met his parents. How do you suppose they knew him?"

"G.o.d knows ...school ...one of their sports teams ...the tennis club ...they're growing up, you know. I never went through anything like this with the boys though. Not with Nick at any rate." And, of course, Bjorn would have been different. "I guess girls are a little more enterprising, or at least ours are." He tried to make her smile, but Page was beyond it. What if she never grew up? Never had a real date? Or a boyfriend? Or a husband? Or a baby? What if this was it? Fifteen brief years, and then over. Just the thought of it brought tears to her eyes again, and Trygve took her hand in his, and held it, when he saw her crying.

"Don't, Page ... try not to panic."

"How can I not? How can you say that?" She took her hand away and began to sob. "She may not even live. She may end up like the boy who was driving." He nodded miserably, and she blew her nose in terror and despair, and then looked up at him again. "Were they drinking?" It was the first thing that came to mind when she thought of a seventeen-year-old driver and an accident like this one.

"I don't know," he told her honestly. "The nurse told me that they're taking blood tests from all of them, to check the alcohol levels in their blood. I suppose they could have been," he said dismally, as a reporter approached them. He had been watching them talk for a while, and Trygve had seen him ask the nurse at the desk some questions after he finished with the highway patrolman.

Page was still crying when the man in jeans and a plaid shirt walked up to them. He had on a plastic tag from the newsroom, running shoes, and he was carrying both a small ca.s.sette recorder and a notebook.

"Mrs. Clarke?" he asked very directly, and stood very close to her, watching her reactions.

"Yes?" She was so dazed she didn't realize who he was, and for an instant, she thought he might be a doctor. She looked up at him with a terrified air, as Trygve watched him with suspicion.

"How's Allyson doing?" he asked, sounding as though he knew her. He had gotten her name from the nurse.

"I don't know ... I thought you would know ..." But Trygve was shaking his head, and then she noticed the man's badge with his photograph, name, and network. "What do you want from me?" She looked confused and frightened by the intrusion.

"I just wanted to know how you are ...how Allie is ...did she know Phillip Chapman very well? What kind of kid was he? Was he a wild guy? Or do you think ..." He pressed as hard as he could until Trygve cut him off abruptly.

"I don't think this is the time ..." Trygve took a step closer to him, and the young reporter looked unaffected.

"Did you know that Senator Hutchinson's wife was the other driver? Not a scratch on her," he said provocatively. "How does that make you feel, Mrs. Clarke? You must be pretty angry." Page's eyes grew wide as she listened to him, unable to believe what she was hearing. What was this man trying to do to her? Make her crazy? What difference did it make who the other driver was? Was he nuts as well as insensitive? She looked up at Trygve helplessly, and saw that he was furious at the reporter's questions. "Do you think the young people in the car might have been drinking, Mrs. Clarke? Was Phillip Chapman her steady boyfriend?"

"What are you doing here?" She stood up, and stared him in the eye with a look of outrage. "My daughter may be dying, and it's none of your business how well she knew that boy, or who the other driver was, or how I feel about it." She was sobbing so hard, she could hardly get the words out. "Leave us alone!" She sat down and dropped her face into her hands, as Trygve moved between her and the reporter.

"I want you to leave us alone now." He was as immovable as a wall between Page and the young man from the newsroom. "Get out of here. You have no right to do this." He growled at him, wanting to sound ominous, but like Page, his voice was shaking.

"I have every right. The public has a right to know about this kind of thing. What if they weren't drinking? What if the Senator's wife was?"

"What's the point of this?" Trygve said angrily. What were these people doing there? This had nothing to do with the public, or anyone caring about the truth, or their rights. It had to do with prying, and bad taste, and hurting people who were already deeply wounded.

"Did you ask for an alcohol check on the Senator's wife?" His eyes fought his way back to Page, and she stared dumbly up at both men. It was all too much for her at this point. All she could think about was Allie.

"I'm sure the police did everything they were supposed to, why are you doing this? Why are you making trouble here? Can't you understand what you're doing?" Page asked him miserably. He seemed to be refusing to leave them.

"I am seeking the truth. That's all. I hope your daughter will be okay," he said without emotion, and then sauntered off to talk to someone else. He and his cameraman were in the waiting room for another hour, but they didn't bother Page again. But Trygve was still outraged by the man's att.i.tude and his daring to pursue Page at a moment like this one. And he resented the inflammatory, sleazy style and implications that were designed to enrage them. It was utterly disgusting.

They were both shaken after the reporter walked away, and at first they didn't even notice a redheaded boy approach them half an hour later. Page had never seen him before, but he looked vaguely familiar to Trygve.

"Mr. Th.o.r.ensen?" he asked nervously. He was very pale, and looked a little dazed, but he looked directly at Chloe's father as he stood before him.

"Yes?" Trygve looked at him without any warmth or recognition. It was the wrong night for people to come up and chat with him. All he wanted to do was wait for Chloe to come out of her surgery, and pray that her life wouldn't be ruined forever. "What is it?"

"I'm Jamie Applegate, sir. I was with Chloe in ... in the accident ..." His lip trembled as he said the words, and Trygve looked up at him in horror.

"Who are you?" He stood to meet him then, and the boy looked sick as he faced him. He had a mild concussion and had had a few st.i.tches over the eyebrow, but other than that he was untouched by the horror that had changed the other three lives forever.

"I'm a friend of Chloe's, sir. I ...we ...took her out to dinner."

"Were you drunk?" Trygve fired at him without mercy or hesitation, but Jamie shook his head. They had just done a blood test on him to prove that. And he had pa.s.sed it very respectably, as had Phillip.

"No, sir. We weren't. We went to dinner, at Luigi's in Marin. I had one gla.s.s of wine, but I wasn't driving, and Phillip had less than that, maybe half a gla.s.s, if that, and then we went to have cappuccino on Union Street, and came home."

"You're all under age, son." Trygve said quietly, but he made his point. "None of you should have been drinking. Not even half a gla.s.s of wine." Jamie knew he was right, as he went on to explain what had happened. "I know. You're right, sir. But no one was drunk. I just don't know what happened. I never saw it. We were in the backseat, talking ...and the next thing I knew, I was here. I don't remember what happened, except that the highway patrol said someone hit us, or we hit them. I just don't know. But Phillip was a good driver ... he made us all wear our seat belts and he was totally sober." He started to cry as he said it. His friend was dead and he had lived through it.

"Do you think it was the other driver's fault?" Trygve asked him calmly. He was touched by what the boy had said, and Jamie was obviously very badly shaken.

"I don't know ... I don't know anything, except that ...Chloe and Allyson ...and Phillip ..." He began to sob, thinking of his friends, and without hesitation Trygve put his arms around him. "I'm so sorry ...I'm so sorry ..."

"So are we ...it's all right, son ...it's all right ...you were a lucky boy tonight ...that's fate ..."It chooses one, it crushes a life, then darts away. It strikes like lightning.

"But it's not fair ...why did I walk away from it, and they ..."

"Sometimes it just happens like that. You have to be very grateful." But all Jamie Applegate felt was guilt. He didn't want Phillip to be dead ...or Chloe and Allyson to be so badly hurt ...why did he only have a little b.u.mp on his head? Why couldn't it have been him behind the wheel instead of Phillip?

"Is someone taking you home?" Trygve asked him gently, unable to be angry at him, in the face of what had happened.

"My father'll be here in a minute. But I saw you sitting here, and I just wanted to say ... to tell you ..." He glanced from Trygve to Page, and started crying again.

"We know." Page reached up and squeezed his hand, and he bent to hug her, and she found herself sobbing as she embraced him. His father finally came for him, and there was anger, and tears, and reproaches. Jamie's father, Bill Apple-gate, was understandably upset by what had happened, but also relieved that Jamie had survived it. He had cried when they told him Phillip Chapman had died, but he was also deeply grateful that his own child hadn't. He was a respected man in the community, and Trygve had met him a few times at school events and sports games.

He talked to Page and Trygve for a while, piecing together what had happened, and he apologized on behalf of Jamie for the deception. But they all knew it was too late for apologies, it was too late for anything, except surgery, and miracles, and prayers. They all knew that. And Bill Applegate said he'd be in close touch with them, to check on Allyson and Chloe. And before they left, he also asked Jamie if they'd been drunk, and Jamie continued to insist that they weren't, and for some reason, they all believed him.

Trygve looked at Page after the Applegates left, and shook his head. "I feel sorry for him ...except a part of me is still so angry." He was angry at everyone, Phillip for getting them into the accident, Chloe for lying to him, and the other driver, if it was her fault. But who knew what had really gone on? Who would ever know? The head highway patrolman had explained to him a short while before that the force of the collision had been so monumental that it was going to be next to impossible to determine who was at fault, and from the position of the cars, they couldn't tell for sure who had slipped over the line or why. The blood tests showed alcohol in Phillip's blood, but not enough to consider him drunk. And the Senator's wife had appeared to be sober, so they hadn't even bothered. They could only a.s.sume that Phillip had gotten distracted, maybe by Allyson, and perhaps the accident had been his fault after all. But nothing would ever be certain.

All Page could think of was the condition that Allyson was in, and how badly she wanted to see her. It was another hour before the nurse approached her again. The neurosurgeons were ready to see her.

"Can I see Allyson?"

"In a minute, Mrs. Clarke. The doctors would like to see you first, so they can explain her condition to you." At least there was still something to explain, and as she stood up, Trygve looked at her with a worried expression. He was a good friend, they had met at a thousand school events, sports teams, and an occasional picnic, and although they had never been close friends, she had always liked him, and their daughters had always been bosom buddies, ever since the Clarkes had moved to Marin County.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" he asked, and she hesitated, and then nodded. She was terrified by what they were going to say, and even more so of seeing her daughter. She wanted to see her more than anything, but she was desperately afraid of what she would have to face when she saw her.

"Do you mind?" Page whispered apologetically as they hurried down the hall to where the neurosurgical team was waiting for them.

"Don't be silly," Trygve said as they began to run. They looked like brother and sister as they hurried down the hall, both of them so blond and Scandinavian-looking. He was a pleasant man, with healthy good looks, and a gentle manner. It was easy to be with him. She had never felt as comfortable with anyone. They were partners in disaster.

The door to the conference room looked ominous as they pushed their way through, and there were three men in surgical gowns and caps waiting around an oval table. Their masks were down around their necks, and Page noticed with a shudder that one of them still had blood on his gown, and she prayed that it wasn't her daughter's.

"How is she?" She couldn't restrain the words, it was all she wanted to know. But the answer was not as simple as the question.

"She's alive, Mrs. Clarke. She's a strong girl. She sustained a tremendous blow, and an ugly injury. A lot of people wouldn't have made it this far. But she has, and we hope that's a good sign. But there's a long way to go right now.

"What she has sustained are essentially two kinds of injuries, each with its own particular complications. Her first injury occurred at the moment of impact. Her brain was decelerated against the skull, and to put it simply, pretty badly shaken around. It may well have been rotated, and in the process, nerve fibers probably got stretched, and arteries and veins would have gotten torn. This can cause a tremendous amount of damage.

"Her second injury actually appears to be more frightening than the first, but may not be. She has an open wound where the skull was cut through, and the bone of the skull had been broken. Her brain is actually exposed right now, in that area, probably where she was struck by some sharp piece of steel in the car just after the impact." Page made a horrifying little sound as she listened, and clutched Trygve's hand without thinking. She felt ill thinking of what they had just said, but she was willing herself not to faint or throw up. She knew she had to absorb what they were saying.

"There's a good possibility ..." the chief surgeon went on relentlessly. He knew how unpleasant this was for them, but he also knew that he had to explain it. They had a right to know what had happened to their daughter. He was a.s.suming that Trygve was Allyson's father. "There's a good chance that the area away from the open wound is actually undamaged. We often see very minor long-term disability from these open head wounds. It's the first injury that has us worried. And of course, the obvious complications from both situations. She's lost a fair amount of blood, and her blood pressure would have dropped severely anyway from the trauma. She's badly weakened by the blood loss. In addition, there's a loss of oxygen to the brain. How much we don't know, but the damage could be fairly catastrophic ... or very slight. We just don't know yet. Right now, we need to get in there and help her. We need to lift the bone that was depressed in the fracture, to relieve some of the pressure. We need to address the wound. And there's some additional repair work we're going to have to do around the eye sockets. She sustained a tremendous blow, which could ultimately blind her.

"We have other concerns too. Infection, of course, and she's having quite a bit of trouble with her breathing. That's to be expected, in this type of injury, but again it could cause some catastrophic complications. We're keeping the breathing tube through her trachea that the paramedics put in and we've had her on a respirator since she got here. We've already done a CT scan on her which gave us some very important information." He looked at Page, who sat staring at him, and for a moment he wondered if she had understood him. She looked totally dazed, and the girl's father seemed no better. He decided to try talking to him, since the girl's mother seemed so unable to absorb it.

"Have I made all of this clear, Mr. Clarke?" he asked hopefully, sounding frighteningly calm, and almost without emotion.

"I'm not Mr. Clarke," Trygve croaked, as overwhelmed as Page by what he had told them. "I'm just a friend."

"Oh." The chief surgeon looked disappointed. "I see. Mrs. Clarke? Do you understand me?"

"I'm not sure. You're telling me that she has two major injuries, basically a shaking of the brain, and an open wound which results from a fracture of her skull. And as a result of the damage, she may die, or she may have permanent brain injury ...and she may be blind ... is that about it?" it?" she asked with tears welling up in her eyes. "Did I understand it?" she asked with tears welling up in her eyes. "Did I understand it?"

"More or less. Our next concern after the surgery will be a possibility of what we call 'third' injury. There could have been second injuries as well, but she avoided them by wearing her seat belt. In third injuries, we look for acute swelling of the brain, blood clots, and severe bruising. This could be a very serious problem. It's not likely to occur until at least twenty-four hours after the injury, so it's a little difficult to predict at this moment."

Page asked the one thing she'd wanted to ask ever since she'd heard, but she was also afraid to hear the answer. "Is there any chance she'll ever be okay again ... I mean normal? Is that possible, given all that's happened?"

"Possible, as long as we all understand that there are degrees of normal. Her motor skills could be affected, for a time, or even indefinitely. They could be affected in in minor ways, or very major ones. Her reasoning processes can be affected, her personality could change. But on the whole, yes, if she is very, very lucky, and blessed with a small miracle, she could be normal." But he didn't look to Page as though he thought it likely. minor ways, or very major ones. Her reasoning processes can be affected, her personality could change. But on the whole, yes, if she is very, very lucky, and blessed with a small miracle, she could be normal." But he didn't look to Page as though he thought it likely.

"Do you consider that likely?" She was pushing and she knew it, but she wanted to know.

"No, I don't. I think it's unlikely to sustain this extensive an injury and not see any long-term ill effects, but I do think that if all goes well, they could be relatively minor ...if we're lucky. I'm not making you any promises, Mrs. Clarke. Right now, she's in a lot of trouble, and we can't ignore that. You're asking me for best case, and I'm telling you what's possible, but not necessarily what will happen." I'm not making you any promises, Mrs. Clarke. Right now, she's in a lot of trouble, and we can't ignore that. You're asking me for best case, and I'm telling you what's possible, but not necessarily what will happen."

"And worst case?"

"She won't make it at all ...or if she does she'll be severely impaired."