Part 15 (1/2)

Keely walked to where he stood and stared at him, unaware of the whiteness of her own face. The doctor noticed, however, and guided her to a quiet cubicle where he pulled out a chair and gently pushed her shoulders down. ”Here. You've had a terrible shock. Sit . . .”

Obediently, Keely sat.

”Your son is stable now,” he a.s.sured her. ”He's in no danger.”

The whoos.h.i.+ng, which had grown almost deafening, subsided.Dylan will live,she repeated in her head. The doctor sat down opposite her.

”That had to have been a nasty scene to walk in on,” he said sympathetically.

”I thought he was dead,” she said.

The doctor sighed. ”Well, he was lucky,” he said. ”The method he chose-dragging that utility knife across his neck-was gruesome but ultimately less effective than many others he could have tried.”

”You're sure . . .” she began. ”Could it have been . . .? I mean-the police were asking me things like . . . if there were any signs of a breakin. I mean, it probably sounds stupid, but . . . could someone else have done it?”

”Don't be embarra.s.sed. I understand that this is very difficult for you. Of course, I'm not a forensic M.D.,” he said, ”but . . . it's quite clear it was a suicide attempt. The sight of the blood and the pain put him into shock and prevented him from cutting into his neck any deeper than he did.”

Keely nodded, although his words crushed her.

The young doctor shook his head. ”Luckily . . . luckily, he missed both the jugular vein and the carotid artery. If he'd severed either one, it might have proved fatal. He did manage to gouge his larynx, nick the cords. We did a temporary tracheostomy to bypa.s.s the wound. He has a nasogastric feeding tube and a drainage tube and an IV for antibiotics. We don't want any infection getting in there. And, of course, he won't be able to speak for a few days, but it's not permanent. He was in deep shock when they brought him in, but he's coming out of that now. We've got him stabilized.”

He's alive,she reminded herself.He's not going to die.”When can I take him home?” she asked.

The doctor's sympathetic face a.s.sumed a guarded expression. ”Of course, he needs some recovery time, and then . . . well, he may need to be hospitalized elsewhere . . . for a while.”

”Elsewhere?” she said.

”I'm not really the one to talk to about that. You'll be contacted in a day or so . . .”

”Contacted about what?” she asked, confused.

The doctor took a deep breath. ”There are certain . . . procedures related to minors when there's a suicide attempt . . .”

”What procedures?” Keely asked, alarmed.

”As I said, there will be someone in to talk to you about it. A social worker. And the police will want to ask Dylan some questions.”

”Not the police,” Keely protested.

”I'm afraid it's hospital policy. They need to talk to Dylan. And to you.”

”Oh no,” she said. ”Why?”

”They need to complete their investigation,” he explained. ”But I'm not really the person you want to talk to about this. I'm concerned with his physical recovery. Right now, the important thing is getting your son back on his feet. Why don't you go and look in on Dylan now.”

”Yes,” she whispered. ”Please . . .”

He laid a hand briefly over hers. ”Try not get upset. He looks worse than he is. We were lucky,” he said. ”Are you all right? If you need something to calm you down . . .”

”I'm all right,” Keely said, although her heart was crying,No, no, I am not all right. My son, my baby, tried to take his own life. How can I ever be all right again?She stood up and followed the resident, who opened the door and indicated that she should go inside.

Slowly, she walked in. Beside a black-screened monitor where multicolored fluorescent lines leaped and pulsed, Dylan lay on the bed, his eyes closed. There was an IV line in his arm, a tube up his nose that looked b.l.o.o.d.y around one nostril, and a tube emerging from the bandages around his throat. His bald head looked fuzzy and as fragile as an egg against the pillow. His complexion had a grayish hue. His mouth hung open, as if he were too exhausted to close it. She looked at the bandages, then looked away.

She bent over and kissed him on his cool, damp forehead. Then she lifted a chair and put it quietly beside him. Snaking her hand through the bars that formed a guardrail around the mattress, she reached up and took his chilly hand in hers. She rested her own forehead against the cold stainless steel of the bars and closed her eyes. First, shethanked G.o.d for her son's life. And then she silently addressed her sleeping boy.Oh, Dylan,she thought.My poor baby. My darling son. How could it come to this?She thought back over the last few days, wondering how she had not seen it coming. She imagined him tonight, alone in the house, filled with such despair that he was not willing to face another moment. How could it be? Her mind shut down at the idea.

In every way possible, she blamed herself. She had wanted to go out, so she had left him alone-after they'd argued so bitterly. And she'd known he was depressed. Worse than that, more frightening, was the fact that it had not occurred to her that he might try to harm himself. It was just like Richard all over again. She hadn't seen the signs. She was so blind that she seemed to have no understanding of the people she loved. It had never crossed her mind. Not with either one of them.

Oh, I am a failure,she thought.I have failed you so completely. If only you had let me know. Or maybe you did, and I was so absorbed in my own problems that I didn't notice.Dylan s.h.i.+fted in the bed and his body jerked, as if the anxiety of her thoughts had penetrated to his slumbering consciousness.

Don't,she thought.Don't make it worse.She lifted his limp hand to her lips and kissed it. ”It's going to be all right,” she whispered, even though she felt as if nothing would ever be all right again.

His subconscious was not fooled. He s.h.i.+fted uneasily on the bed again.

The door opened and a nurse came briskly in, not acknowledging Keely. She was a young woman with broad, high cheekbones, wearing a cheery, pink-flowered smock and pants and a nametag that readLUZPERON, RN.She glanced at the monitor, went to the IV and adjusted it, and checked his pulse against her wrist.w.a.tch.

”How is he?” Keely asked humbly.

”He'll be okay,” said the nurse. ”We're going to move him in a few minutes. Up to a regular room. You need to clear out of here.”

”Can I stay with him tonight?”

”You'll have to ask the night nurse on his floor.”

Keely gazed at Dylan's pale face. ”I don't want him to wake up all alone.”

The nurse's face betrayed no feelings. ”I don't know about that.” Then she relented. ”Sometimes they'll put a cot in the room for you.”

Keely looked up at her helplessly.

”Why don't you go home and get your stuff if you're going to stay the night. He won't wake up for a while yet.”

Keely hesitated, feeling incapable of making another decision. But it was necessary. She stood up and leaned over the bed, kissing him again on his cool forehead. ”I'll be right back, sweetheart,” she said fiercely, tears in her eyes. ”I'll stay right here with you tonight.”

”Go on, now,” said the nurse kindly. ”I'll mention the cot at the nurse's station when we take him up.”

KEELY OPENED THE DOORand walked into the dimly lit foyer of her house. Ingrid, who was staring at a magazine in the living room, dropped it as if it were hot and leaped to her feet. She hurried up to Keely, who was taking off her coat.

”How is he?” Ingrid asked.

Keely nodded and sighed. ”He's going to be okay,” she said squeezing the older woman's outstretched hands. Keely took a deep breath. ”He just missed cutting an artery,” she said, faltering at the last word.

”G.o.d in heaven,” Ingrid moaned, and she swayed slightly.

”Let's sit down,” said Keely. The two women returned to the living room and sat facing each other from the chairs they had chosen.

Tears rolled down Ingrid's cheeks, and she looked away.