Ivy Secrets, page 18
It sounded like her mother’s voice. But the words were muted, garbled, as though she were underwater. She tried to open her eyes. She could not. She tried to speak. She could not. Something was in her hand. It felt warm, like flesh. Like someone else’s hand. She wanted to squeeze it. She could not.
Charlie lay without moving, struggling to hear the muffled words. And then they were gone, but she was still there, somewhere, somewhere.
Over and over, she moved from darkness and quiet to gray light, gray sound. Sometimes she heard nothing, sometimes she heard the dreamlike words. Sometimes they sounded like her mother … sometimes they sounded like … Tess? The sounds were like pieces—pieces of a puzzle—a large Sunday jigsaw people spread across the lace cloth on the dining room table at Grandma O’Brien’s.
The whole family was there. Mommy and Daddy and Bobby and Danny. But wait. Where was little Sean Patrick? And Maureen? And Sheila? She turned to ask Grandma, then realized that Grandma—and Grandpa—had died years ago. Why were they here now? How did they get here?
She heard another distant voice. A man’s voice. Then a woman’s. The dining room table vanished. She tried to listen to the voices. She could not understand them. Her head felt too heavy, and she was so tired. It was easier just to lie there, stay there, and ride the tides of sleep on waves of unknown words.
Finally, Charlie’s eyes opened. She stared at a white ceiling. She heard a chair move.
“Doctor!” It was definitely her mother’s voice. Charlie slowly turned her head. Her mother stood over her bedside, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Charlie!” her mother screamed and clutched her hand. “Dear God, you’re awake. Please tell me you’re awake.”
“Mom?” Charlie asked. Her throat scratched.
“Dear God,” her mother wept, and slumped back into the chair. “Dear God, you’re awake.”
Charlie looked around. A long tube snaked from her arm up to an IV bag. The sheet drawn across her was stiff and white. A large round clock on the wall read four-fifteen.
A door pushed open and a man in a long white coat appeared. “Well, well. Looks like you decided to come back,” the stranger said as he stepped toward the bed. “I’m Dr. Chalmers. Don’t try to talk. I’d like to remove your feeding tube first.”
Charlie looked at her mother, then closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the doctor stood over her, a nurse by his side.
“Okay, Charlie,” he said. “Just lie quiet for a minute.” He smiled. “You might feel a little discomfort, but it won’t hurt. I promise.”
His hands closed around her nose, and Charlie shut her eyes again. Then she felt a tugging sensation, as though a long snake were being pulled from her stomach, wriggling its way up the walls of her insides. Finally, it stopped.
“All set,” the doctor said.
Charlie coughed.
“How are you feeling?” the doctor asked.
“Confused,” Charlie said, and settled back again.
“Do you know where you are?”
She thought of the dining room table … Grandma … then she remembered her morning run, the boy named Willie … he’d grabbed her … she’d … stumbled …
“I’m in the hospital,” she said weakly. “Have I been here all day?”
“All day?” her mother said. “Dear God.”
The doctor took Charlie’s other hand and measured her pulse. “You had a nasty fall,” he said.
“Yes,” Charlie muttered. “I remember. Willie tried to …”
“Willie Benson,” the doctor said as he shook his head. “He said he was only trying to touch your hair. It’s a good thing you fell. There’s no telling what he would have done.”
A picture of the creepy little man came into her mind. A cold chill shot through her.
“They’ve put him away again,” her mother said. “A man like that had no business being let out in the first place.”
Charlie tried to nod, but her head hurt too much to move. “Why am I in the hospital?” she asked and realized what a stupid question that was. She knew why she was in the hospital. She’d stumbled … Why wasn’t her mind working right?
The doctor leaned forward. “You’re going to be fine, Charlie. But you’ve been in a coma.”
“A coma?” she asked. “All day?”
The doctor smiled. “A little longer.”
Charlie looked at her mother, whose tears seemed to have finally ceased. “When did you get here, Mom?”
Her mother flicked her gaze toward the doctor, then back to Charlie. “Almost three weeks ago,” she answered. “The same day it happened.”
Charlie looked back to the doctor. “Three weeks?” she asked, as though her mother might not be telling the truth.
“Comas are unpredictable,” he said. “I like to think they’re nature’s way of helping us heal without suffering the pain.”
Charlie closed her eyes. Three weeks? She’d been lying in this bed for three weeks? Three weeks of her life? Her eyes flew open again. “Peter.”
Her mother nodded. “Peter has been here every night. He’s a nice boy.”
“How did … how did he know?”
“Your friend Tess called him.”
Charlie closed her eyes again. Tess, she thought. Poor Tess.
“Tess has been here every day,” Charlie heard her mother say. “And Marina. Dear Marina.”
“I’m very tired,” Charlie said quietly, so quietly she barely heard her words. “I’m so very tired.”
The next thing Charlie knew the clock on the wall read seven-thirty. It was dark in the room, except for a small light glowing in the corner.
“Mom?” she asked.
She felt a hand touch hers again. “I’m here, honey.”
She realized the pain in her head had gone. “Mom, I’m thirsty.”
Her mother snapped on the light over Charlie’s bed and poured water from a blue plastic pitcher. She put in a straw and held it to Charlies lips. Charlie sipped slowly. The water was cool, soothing.
“I think I feel better,” Charlie said. “How long do I have to stay here?”
“That depends,” her mother said, as she relaxed in the chair beside Charlie’s bed. “Your father and I think you should come home.”
“Home? I can’t, Mom. I’ve got classes …”
“Your health is more important than your classes.”
Her mother was right. And the thought of her soft, warm bed at home was much more inviting than the hard mattress on which she now lay. Then, Charlie thought of Peter.…
“No, Mom. I want to stay here. I want to finish the semester.”
Her mother patted her hand. “We’ll talk about it later,” she said, as the door to Charlie’s room opened.
It was Peter.
He came to her bedside. He looked so handsome in his white turtleneck and gray flannel pants. He looked … older.
He is older, you fool, Charlie thought. He’s three weeks older than when you saw him last. He’s three weeks older and so are you.
She tried to smile.
Her mother stood. “I’ll leave you two alone. I’ll be out in the hall if you need me.”
She left the room. Peter sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair. He grinned but didn’t speak. Then he reached down and hugged her.
“I must look awful,” she said.
“You look beautiful.”
She reached to touch the tightness she felt on her forehead. He moved her hand away.
“You have stitches there,” he said.
“Oh,” she moaned. “Am I going to have a scar?”
Peter smiled. “A battle scar, maybe. You can tell everyone you won the war.”
Then, for the first time since she’d awakened, Charlie began to cry.
“It’s okay,” Peter whispered as he stroked her hair again. “You’re going to be fine. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“It happened so fast,” Charlie said.
“I’ve been so worried,” Peter said.
“I thought he was trying to rape me.”
“It doesn’t matter now. He’s gone.”
“Hold me, Peter.”
“I am holding you.”
“Kiss me, Peter.”
He kissed her hair, her forehead, her dry lips.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he said.
She touched his cheek and looked through the lenses of his glasses, into his soft brown eyes. Behind them, within them, she saw love.
The days became a whirlwind of physical therapy to rebuild her strength, naps to rebuild her soul, and plenty of visitors to rebuild her spirits. More than a week after she’d awakened, Charlie settled back on the pillow her mother had just plumped, as she tried to convince her to return to Pittsburgh.
“I’m fine now, Mom. I want to stay here.”
“I thought mothers were supposed to know what’s best.”
“I’m sure they do. But you’ve raised me to be independent, to think for myself. I want to stay at Smith, Mom. I’ve worked too hard to leave now.”
Connie picked up the blue plastic pitcher and poured Charlie another glass of water. Then she straightened the daisies that Marina and Tess had sent.
“Besides, Mom,” Charlie continued, “what about the other kids? You’ve been gone a long time. I’m sure they miss you.”
With a small sigh and a shake of her head, Connie folded her arms across her stomach. “I was so frightened. You’re my baby, too, you know. I was so frightened.”
Charlie reached out and touched her mother’s hand. “I’m okay now, Mom. I promise I’ll call every day.”
Connie scowled. “Every day?”
“Every day.”
Reassured by the doctors that Charlie was on the mend, and satisfied that her daughter’s friends would look after Charlie, Connie kissed Charlie’s cheek and finally departed for home.
Marina and Tess brought Charlie her books and assignments; Peter spent countless hours helping her catch up on her work and helping her fill out endless insurance forms. Thankfully, her medical coverage was sufficient to pay the mounting bills. Three weeks into her rehabilitation—six weeks since the accident—Charlie’s doctor proclaimed her ready to leave the hospital. The night before her release, there was a knock on her door.
“Come in,” Charlie said, as she stood facing the mirror, trying to cover the deep purple scar on her forehead with a lock of hair. She expected to see Peter or Tess or Marina, but standing in her doorway was Vance Howard.
“You don’t look sick to me,” he said.
Charlie smiled. “I’m not. What are you doing here, Vance?”
He laughed and thrust a bouquet of white roses at her. “Are you kidding? You’ve been the talk of both campuses. ‘Smith sophomore saves herself from abductor,’ I believe the headlines read.”
Charlie groaned. “God, how embarrassing.” She took the roses. “These are lovely,” she said. “Thank you.”
“I wasn’t sure if I should come. I know you and Peter Hobart are … well …”
“Well, you’re right. We are.”
Vance nodded. “I just wanted you to know if there’s anything I can do, please call me.”
Charlie frowned. “Thanks, but I don’t think—”
He cleared his throat. “I mean through my father’s office or anything. He pulled some strings, you know. Got Willie Benson put away where he belongs.”
Charlie nodded. “I knew he’d been caught, but I didn’t know your father …”
Vance shrugged. “All in the line of duty to his constituents.”
“Well. Thank you.”
Vance nodded toward the books spread across Charlie’s bed. “How are you doing? With your schoolwork?”
“Not great. It would be easier to catch up if I didn’t have such a full load. Plus, I’m switching my major to economics. So that doesn’t help.”
“You could stay for summer school.”
Charlie laughed. “Sorry, I have to go home and work this summer. Help pay my expenses next year.”
“I thought about that,” he said. “And I want you to know that if you’d like to stay here, I’m sure I can get you a job in my father’s office.”
“Really?”
The door opened and Peter walked in. At the sight of Vance, he shot a look at Charlie. “Sorry. Didn’t know you had company.”
“I was just leaving, Hobart. Don’t get nervous.” He tipped a hand to Charlie. “My offer’s open,” he said and he ducked past Peter.
“Thanks, Vance,” Charlie answered. “I’ll think about it.”
Peter asked as soon as the door had closed behind Vance, “What offer?”
Charlie shrugged and stepped into his arms. “Is that any way to say hello?”
“I don’t want you to stay in Northampton this summer,” Peter said. “Especially with Vance Howard.”
They were sitting on the peacock bench outside Morris House. It was a warm spring day, but Charlie felt a cool breeze on her neck. The first thing she did after her release from the hospital was cut her hair. Short.
“What I do this summer has nothing to do with Vance,” Charlie protested. “Besides, I don’t even think he’s going to be here.”
Peter stared at the ground. “His father only made the offer because it’s good public relations. He saw the chance to make himself look good—to help out the poor Smith sophomore who was almost killed but survived the terrible tragedy.”
Charlie smiled. “I doubt Willie wanted to kill me. He didn’t push me down that hill, Peter. I fell.”
Peter shook his head. “I don’t care. I don’t trust politicians and I don’t trust their sons.”
Charlie took Peter’s hand. “Staying here will give me the chance to make up a few credits I’m going to miss, and it will give me the chance to earn some money. I have to earn money, Peter, you know that.”
He broke away from her grasp and stood. “I’ll give you the damn money.”
Charlie laughed. “No, you won’t. I have to do this myself.”
“Why? To prove to me you’re not after my money?”
“No,” Charlie answered, but did not add, to prove it to myself.
“But I won’t be here!” Peter began to pace. “I told you, I have to work in the business this summer.”
“I’ll see you in the fall. When you’re at Harvard.”
“The fall is a long way off.”
Charlie scanned his lean body as he stood now, his back to her. Beneath the thin knit of his polo shirt, she could see the outline of the hard muscles that spanned his shoulders—crew muscles they called them, from the hours of rowing that Peter endured. She wondered how it would feel to touch those muscles, she wondered how it would feel to touch his entire body—naked. They had not yet made love. She felt they had barely known each other before the accident, yet now it seemed they had been together for years. Tragedy, she reasoned, must bring people closer.
Charlie sighed, then reached out and touched Peter’s waist. “What’s really bothering you, Peter?”
He paused a moment, then turned to look at her again. “It’s Vance,” he said. “I’m afraid he’s going to steal my girl.”
He’s jealous, Charlie thought with not a small feeling of joy.
“Peter,” Charlie said. “Trust me. Please. Next year I’ll need you more than ever. Marina has decided to go to London for her junior year. And Tess is determined to go to Italy, even though her mother is against it. She wants to be an artist. She’s going to learn to blow glass.”
“We’re not talking about Tess or Marina. We’re talking about you. Us.”
Charlie stood quickly. Her head went light, her vision blurred. She steadied herself against Peter. “Damn you. You’re not listening. I want to stay here and study. I want to stay here and work. It’s a perfect solution.”
He brought his hands to her face. “There’s a better solution,” he said. “Marry me.”
Charlie caught her breath. “What?”
“You heard me. Marry me.”
“Peter …”
He turned his back to her again. “I love you, Charlie. Marry me.”
“Peter …” she moved close to his back and put her hand on his shoulder. “Peter, I have to see this through. I want an education.”
“What about me? Do you want me?”
She ran a finger across the nape of his neck. “Yes. I want you. I want you very much.” She lightly kissed his shoulder. “I love you, too.”
“You don’t need a college degree to marry me.”
Charlie said nothing. She didn’t have the courage to tell him how she really felt: that a Smith College degree might prove to Peter—and his mother—that she could “make it” on her own, that she didn’t need the Hobart fortune to find her way in life.
They stood for a moment in silence.
Peter raised his head as if studying the cloudless sky. “I love you so damn much, Charlie.”
She put her face against his back. “We’ll get through this. But it’s too soon to get married.” As she said the words, Charlie wondered why she was saying them. Wasn’t Peter the man she wanted? Wasn’t the life he offered the one she’d dreamed of? Then Marina’s sapphire and diamond ring came into her mind, and the humble look of pride on her father’s face when he accepted it. “I’m not saying I won’t marry you,” she continued. “I’m only saying I want to wait. I need to feel healthy again. I need to get strong. Can’t you understand that?”
He turned and took her in his arms. “Yes. I’m just so jealous of Vance Howard I can’t stand it.”
“And I,” Charlie said, “can’t stand him.” Then she kissed his lips, and he kissed her back, and they held each other tightly for a very long time.
The summer passed quickly. Charlie attended classes in the morning, worked in the afternoon, and studied at night. There was little time to do anything else and few people around to do anything with. Vance was interning in Washington for the summer, much to Peter’s approval and Charlie’s relief. As Peter predicted, Congressman Howard had made the most of the situation, with photos of him with a fatherly arm around the “unfortunate” Smith sophomore appearing in newspapers throughout the state. Charlie didn’t care. She only knew she had two more years to get her degree; Peter had two years ahead of him for his master’s. And she prayed he wouldn’t change his mind about marrying her by then.
