Sandcastles Page 11

  “It’s stopping,” Regis said as Agnes relaxed.

  “Is she breathing?” Honor asked, holding her now.

  “Oh God,” John whispered. “Keep her from going away…”

  He bent down, felt his daughter’s warm breath on his ear. It was faint and unsteady. He took her hand, and it felt sea temperature. “She’s breathing,” John said.

  “Where’s Cece? Where’s the ambulance? Regis, will you check? Tell Bernie—” Honor said.

  John reached under Agnes, arms raking the sand, scooped her up against his chest. Honor gasped, let out a cry.

  “Come on,” John said. “We’ll take her in your car.”

  “Hurry, John,” Honor said, running ahead.

  His feet felt so heavy in the loose sand. He ran down, closer to the water, to get better purchase. It was more like a road here, hard and packed by the waves. To his left, the Sound was bright with starlight, and ridges of white waves crashed on the rocks. Eyes full of salt spray, he resisted his fears. He just held his daughter close, as if his heart could warm her, keep her alive.

  Regis led them up a beach trail John and Honor had walked so often as kids and later, in their marriage, leaving the girls with Bernie or Tom, sneaking down to be alone.

  The night was black, but John’s feet knew the way. As a boy he had explored all the walls and trees and caves and tunnels, loving the landscape with everything he had.

  Honor, slightly ahead, turned back to him, her voice breaking. “How is she?”

  “She’s with us,” John said, and he thought of all those nights when he’d thought the world was empty of love, but here he was walking beside his wife, and he was carrying Agnes, and Regis was with them.

  “Agnes, be okay,” Regis said, alongside again, holding her sister’s hand. “You have to be.” Then, looking up at John, her eyes wide, “She’s so cold. Was she in the water long?”

  “I don’t know,” John said. “I heard a noise, and she was there, in the water, and I pulled her onto the sand….”

  “What were you doing there?” Regis asked. “Why didn’t you come to our house?”

  John glanced at Honor. She was the reason. He wouldn’t go anywhere too close unless she said it was okay. Tom had cleaned the stone beach house, driven him here. John thought maybe Tom would have told Bernie, who would have told Honor. But if that was the case, she wasn’t letting on. She just stared ahead, her lips so thin.

  “Lights,” Honor said, before John could say anything. “They’re here.”

  The flashing blue lights looked almost like sea fire coming across the field. Faint, distant, blinking through the trees and marsh grass. The Academy chapel was silhouetted, the cross eerily lit in the sky. Regis began to run, and to call and wave her arms.

  “Over here!”

  Once the ambulance cleared the Academy buildings, the blue light turned stark and garish, and John realized that it was coming from an accompanying police car. His stomach clutched, and he held Agnes tighter.

  Ten seconds later, and everything changed. It felt like sped-up slow motion: things happening in rapid succession, yet John taking every detail in, not knowing which one might change his life, the lives of the people he loved. He had been here before.

  The vehicles stopped. EMTs jumped out, had him lower Agnes onto a stretcher. They instantly went to work—taking vital signs, repeating her name, “Agnes, can you hear me?” A man and a woman, white shirts, dark pants, strangers with stethoscopes. The police car, lights still flashing, illuminating the scene.

  Two officers slowly getting out. One with very short dark hair, a military-type haircut, the other a woman with blonde hair in a ponytail.

  “Hello, Honor,” the woman officer said, and Honor was gone in tears, sobbing something incomprehensible to John as she clutched the officer’s hands and dragged her closer to Agnes.

  Where was Regis?

  “Good evening, sir,” the male officer said.

  The policeman was young—he couldn’t be thirty. He was six feet tall, a couple of inches shorter than John. Broad, as if he lifted weights, with that laser-beam expression the police and guards always seemed to have. They could see past who you were, straight into the worst of what you could be.

  “Good evening,” John said.

  “What’s your name?”

  “John Sullivan,” he said, reading the officer’s name tag: SGT.KOSSOY.

  “How did you come to be involved in this?”

  “Involved—”

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “I was on the beach,” John said. “When I heard a splash, and a cry. Or maybe it was the other way around—”

  “A cry?”

  “Like a small scream.”

  “Was someone being attacked?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t think so—I thought she just lost her footing and fell.”

  “But you just said she screamed.”

  “She must have been afraid—once she realized…” John’s attention went to Agnes. She had begun to convulse again. He saw Honor lunge, the female officer pull her back. Honor sobbed, and the EMTs prepared a shot of Valium. They injected Agnes, and she stopped. The radio crackled.

  “May I go to her?” John asked.

  “Go to her, to the patient?” the officer asked, confused.

  “I need to be with my wife and child.”

  “I have more questions,” Sergeant Kossoy said.

  Out of the darkness, car lights emerged. And from the car, a person climbed out—it was Regis, running toward him. She was out of breath, holding her side. She took John’s hand, looked straight into the officer’s eyes.

  “We need my father now,” she said. “You can ask him more questions later.”

  And as the EMTs loaded Agnes into the ambulance, John followed Honor and Regis, and got into the car to follow it to the hospital, holding himself together as he thought of the last time he and Regis had faced the police.

  Eight

  Honor couldn’t breathe. Once they got to the hospital, she had to sit down, lean over, let the blood rush to her head to keep from passing out. Regis and Cece paced, running back to ask her and John if they wanted anything. She gave them five dollars and asked for tea with milk and sugar, just so they could feel they were doing something.

  John sat beside her. Her skin might as well have been peeled off, her nerves were so raw. Her heart was beating hard, right in the soft hollow below her throat. She had gotten tough over the years, and stopped herself from crying; now she felt all those unshed tears hardened in a knot. But as tough as she was, she couldn’t look straight at John.

  The lights were so bright in the waiting room. Too harsh for a place of such worry and heartbreak. Even the shadows seemed cruel. She looked around, saw other families huddled together. Why were they here? It was easier to imagine other people’s suffering than face how scared she was about Agnes.

  “Honor,” John said.

  She couldn’t bear to look at him—just a glimpse of his face filled her with panic. The deeply scored lines, down from his mouth. The short hair, shot with gray, so short, chopped off; she remembered when it had been so dark and wavy and handsome, so Black Irish—sexy and dangerous. He said her name again, and now she had to look: his eyes were the same pale blue. Ice blue they were called, but what a joke, when his expression had always been so warm, and was now. His gaze made her shiver.

  “I’m scared, John,” she said.

  “I know. She took a bad fall.”

  “Was it a fall, or did she jump?”

  “I didn’t see.” He paused. “You don’t mean jump, do you? You mean, did she dive in, right?”

  Honor didn’t want to face what she meant, so she just squeezed her eyes tight. Why did the only real harm that had ever come to their daughters happen when John was there?

  “Is she depressed? Has she done anything before?”

  “She’s not depressed! And she’s never done anything like it before. Did you sa
y something to her? Did you—”

  “I didn’t even know she was there!”

  “Was she going to meet you? Did she sneak out to see you?”

  “Honor, no. None of the girls knew. I just got here.”

  “I hope that’s true—because I swear, after what happened with Regis, I’d kill you if you ever did anything like that with the girls again.”

  “Honor—”

  “If you want to risk your life—I’m past worrying about you, okay? Go ahead and do whatever you want. Stand on as many cliff edges as there are. But leave my daughters out of it! I want them safe. Agnes is in there now…” Honor choked, unable to think about what might be happening.

  “I know, Honor. I know, I agree. That’s why I asked you…what made her go into the water like that?”

  “John,” she said, feeling the scream in her chest. “What does it matter right now? She’s unconscious, and she’s in there, and that’s all I can think about!”

  His eyes were full of high-velocity worry now, and that killed her. Made her shudder, thinking of all the small worries he had missed, all the minor ways the girls had gotten hurt, the emergency rooms she had sat in without him—for inconsequential things, not like Regis, and not like this. Fevers, a sprained ankle, an earache. It felt surreal to be with him now, just as for so long it had felt surreal to be without him.

  Just then the doctor came out, and they both stood up. She was tall and lean in green scrubs, with long brown hair held back in a ponytail and circles of Tibetan prayer beads around her wrist, and she introduced herself at Dr. Shea. Honor wanted to jump at her, pull what she knew about Agnes out of her.

  “What is it?” Honor asked. “How is she?”

  “She has a concussion,” Dr. Shea said. “And a hairline skull fracture. How long was she in the water?”

  “Just a few seconds,” John said. “I ran to her the minute I heard her go in.”

  “Do you know how long she wasn’t breathing?”

  Honor’s knees nearly gave out. This was the territory she’d been dreading. She thought of all the near drownings she’d ever read about, people who’d swallowed water, stopped breathing, stopped the flow of oxygen to the brain. She thought of her quicksilver Agnes, and couldn’t bear to think another thought. She heard herself crying, felt John’s arm slide around her shoulders, strong and solid.

  “Not long,” John said. “I started mouth-to-mouth right away. Did that for a few minutes. And then she coughed, and started breathing on her own.”

  Dr. Shea nodded. The look in her eyes was reassuring, but Honor didn’t feel it yet. She was still too shaken and nervous about that question—how long had Agnes not been breathing?

  “She’s regaining consciousness,” Dr. Shea said, “and that’s a good sign.”

  “Is she alert?” John asked.

  “I wouldn’t say alert, not yet, but she knows her name. She told me she has two sisters…”

  “She does,” Honor said.

  “We’ll give her a more complete mental status test in a little while, but I wanted to just get out here and let you know the main things. Her EKG showed seizure activity. It could be temporary, or it could last for a while.”

  “Head injuries can cause seizures,” John said, and Honor looked at him.

  “Yes, they can,” Dr. Shea said. “She must have hit her head on a rock. She has a bad cut just above her left temple—we’ve stitched it up here in Emergency, but we’ll have a plastic surgeon look in on her tomorrow. Neuro’s in with her now.”

  “Neuro?” Honor asked.

  “Neurosurgery. To evaluate the hematoma, keep track of the swelling. Swelling’s not good for the brain.”

  “Is there swelling?” Honor asked, and she felt so frantic she thought she might vaporize. John’s arm was still there, holding her steady.

  “Listen, I shouldn’t have said it like that,” Dr. Shea said, without quite answering the question. “It’s just something we look out for with head injuries. But honestly, from what I can see, this is a good head injury. There’s no appreciable swelling. She’s stable. She wasn’t without oxygen for very long. And she’s here now, you got her here quickly, and we’re watching her.”

  “Did I…” John began. He was holding on so tightly to Honor, but when she looked up at him, she saw that he was lost. His face so thin and drawn, and so tense, and his blue eyes filling. “Did I make a mistake by moving her?”

  “Moving her?” Dr. Shea asked.

  “Yes. I picked her up and carried her, instead of waiting for the ambulance. Did I do more harm? Should I have kept her lying flat?”

  “That’s what we tell people,” Dr. Shea said. “It’s probably optimal to wait for the EMTs. But she’s your daughter, right? You did what you had to do.”

  “But did I hurt her more?”

  “If she had a spinal cord injury, I’d say yes. Plenty of dives into shallow water in the dark can end up in broken necks—but that didn’t happen here,” Dr. Shea said. “The way I look at it, your carrying her got her here just that much faster, and that’s good. That’s very good. She was in shock.”

  John stared at her, waiting.

  “We want to keep her overnight, run some more tests, keep an eye on her. Okay?” the doctor asked.

  Honor just stood there. The doctor looked from Honor to John, waiting for one of them to speak.

  “That’s fine,” John said finally, once he realized Honor was frozen. “Thank you.”

  Honor wanted to say thank you too, but she couldn’t. Her throat was blocked. When she looked up at John, she saw the bruise on his cheek from where she’d hit him.

  “I haven’t done that in a long time,” John said harshly.

  Honor looked up at him. “Done what?”

  “Made a decision about one of my daughters.”

  As the doctor walked away, the waiting-room door swung open and Regis and Cecilia ran in, Regis holding the tea and looking up at her parents as if she were five, with big round eyes waiting for them to make the world keep turning.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “She’s doing well,” Honor said.

  “Are you sure?” Regis asked.

  “When can she come home?” Cece asked.

  “Probably tomorrow,” Honor said. “They want to keep her here for observation.”

  “Can I see her?” Regis asked.

  “The doctors are still with her. They’ll tell us when we can. Come here,” Honor said, holding her arms open. In one quick move Regis put the tea down and threw herself into her mother’s arms. Honor felt her shaking. She herself felt unsteady. She looked across Regis’s shoulder at John, saw him watching them. Cece approached him, and he looked surprised and happy.

  Cece handed him the tea she’d brought up from the cafeteria.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “It’s hot,” Cece said. “Don’t burn your mouth.”

  “I won’t,” he said, staring at her, trying to smile.

  Honor closed her eyes and swayed. They had been so happy. John had loved them all so much. She raised her eyes to look at him now, but what she saw made her heart clutch. His face looked so hard, his jaw set, his cheekbones so gaunt. He looked like a man who had spent time in prison. But his eyes streamed with tears. He coughed, turned away.

  Not before Regis saw. Her mouth open slightly, she put her hand on Cece’s shoulder. Now both girls looked shocked. John and Honor stood with only a few feet of space between them, but it was a hopeless gulf. She couldn’t comfort him, because her tenderness had instantly melted, and she felt herself locked up again. So much hurt and pain because of his recklessness.

  “Dad, it’s okay,” Regis said.

  He shook his head. “It isn’t,” he said.

  “All that matters is that we’re together again,” she said. “Now.” Regis looked to Honor for support, but she couldn’t nod, or in any way give it.

  They weren’t together, not in the way Regis meant. Tonight fate had brough
t them to the same place, but that was all it was. Honor’s eyes fell on Regis’s left hand, on the engagement ring Peter had given her. Honor had taken her ring off long ago, and that said everything. Her heart was pounding as both girls were looking up at her, waiting for her to make everything right.

  She knew she couldn’t. Her silence was like a ticking bomb, and it went off with Regis exploding out of the circle, running through the ER door, into the enclosure where Agnes was.

  “Regis!” John called, but she didn’t stop. She wouldn’t, Honor wanted to tell him. Regis always went places she wasn’t supposed to, where she wasn’t allowed.

  It was a lesson she had learned from her father, long ago.

  The lights were so bright. The cubicles were separated by curtains, some of them not drawn. As Regis hurried past the nurses’ station and down the row, she looked in on an old man, a young woman, a child, none of them Agnes. It was very late; all of the doctors and nurses seemed to be busy with patients. No one stopped her, even though she was wearing a T-shirt and her drawstring pajama bottoms—soaked and sandy from kneeling over Agnes on the beach.

  When she got to the last cubicle, she saw feet moving behind a closed curtain. Hesitating, she peeked through the crack. There were two doctors standing there, one of them shining a light into Agnes’s eyes. Her sister was lying there, head bandaged. She must have been unconscious, because the doctor had to hold her eyelids open.

  Regis ducked behind a linen cart, her heart smashing around her chest. She wanted to run right in, but she knew she had to wait for the right moment. A few minutes later, she heard the doctors leave, and she ducked behind the curtain.

  Agnes’s eyes were closed. She had a turban of gauze on her head. Lying on the floor was a pile of shaved hair and squares of bloody gauze. The sides of the bed were up, so Regis reached over, took Agnes’s hand. It felt so cold, even though Agnes was covered with heated blankets.

  “Hey, Agnes,” Regis whispered. “Wake up.”

  When her sister didn’t stir, Regis leaned over, put her mouth next to her ear. “Did you see him? Dad’s home. He’s really here.”

  Agnes’s lips twitched. Regis saw—she was sure it was her sister trying to smile. Her eyelids flickered. There—a flash of recognition.