The Motherhood Intervention: Book 3 in the Intervention Series Page 14

  “I gave you a chance,” she said. “I tried. But it’s not going to work out. You need to get out. Today. And don’t come back.”

  Willow looked up and made eye contact with Summer. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  To Summer’s absolute horror, Willow’s face crumpled and she began to cry.

  “You have to be kidding me,” Summer said. “Where the hell were you before this? If you recall, I haven’t seen you for fifteen years. And obviously, you’ve been somewhere. Because you’re still here. Drinking. Smoking. Acting stupid.”

  Willow sniffled. “So I’m not welcome in my own daughter’s house?”

  “I don’t even consider myself your daughter.”

  “You don’t understand,” Willow said. “I can’t leave. I just can’t.”

  Summer shook her head. “No. You don’t understand. I can’t have you here.”

  “Can I stay just a little longer? Please? Just a few more weeks. That’s all I’m asking.”

  Summer expected her to say something like, “I’m in grave danger,” or, “the Mafia threatened my life,” or, “I’m dying and I have only weeks to live. Days, actually.” But she didn’t. The clock ticked. Neither of them spoke. Winter’s soldiers were waging a battle with Summer’s reasonable side. In her effort not to be like Willow, she was, in fact, being like Willow—kicking her own flesh and blood out of her house. But Willow is an enemy, Winter’s soldiers shouted. She’d made herself an enemy fifteen years ago, and became only more fierce during the course of her ongoing absence.

  The right thing to do, Summer’s reasonable side argued, was to let Willow stay. That’s the opposite of what Willow would do. Letting her stay created a huge opportunity for Disaster (with a capital D) to strike.

  But Summer had raised herself. And she’d raised herself to do the right thing.

  “Fine,” she said. “A few more weeks. But we’re going to lay some ground rules. No drinking. At all. And no smoking on my property. And don’t expect me to leave my kids with you again. What if one of them had woken up and found you passed out on the patio? Is that how you want them to see you?”

  Willow shook her head, still staring into her coffee. “Of course not. Of course it isn’t.”

  “You have three weeks. And then you’re out. For good.”

  Winter’s war-hungry soldiers stuck their spears into Summer’s reasonable side even as her reasonable side declared victory.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The next Sunday, the day before Luke’s surgery, Summer found herself in a state of near-hysteria. She couldn’t believe it, but she was actually grateful for Willow’s presence. It served as a good distraction when all the kids were home. Derek had taken an extra overnight shift in order to be off the next day for Luke’s surgery, so Summer was on her own.

  While she scrubbed every surface in the house with disinfectant wipes—the walls, the kitchen counters, the furniture, the door handles—Willow played board games with the older kids and, true to form, pointed out spots Summer missed. After an interminable afternoon and evening, Summer tucked the kids into bed while Willow went for a walk and a cigarette.

  Once all five children were asleep, Summer sat on the couch and stared at the TV, which was turned off.

  Tomorrow. The surgery is tomorrow.

  Even though she’d fixated on the operation since she found out about it, tomorrow had sneaked up on her. It was already here. She’d been so busy cleaning and dusting and fretting and vacuuming that she hadn’t done what was truly important: spend time with Luke. He didn’t seem to notice. Time passed, and life remained the same for him. He went to school, came home, played with his siblings, did homework, ate dinner and went to bed.

  And what did Summer do? She cooked, cleaned, folded laundry, cleaned, fit in a little work here and there. Cleaned some more. Now, in the depths of her worry, she realized how little she actually interacted with her children every day.

  Today she had. Today she’d kissed each one in turn, noticing Sarah’s thick eyelashes, the tiny freckles across Nate’s nose, the way the ends of Luke’s white-blond hair curved to the right, Hannah’s chubby little cheeks and Olivia’s perfect crescent-shaped toes. But she noticed these things only because she was terrified she’d lose Luke tomorrow.

  Why didn’t she take the time, steal these small moments, to notice them every single day? Willow came back in and sat on the couch next to Summer. For once, she didn’t come up with something she thought was clever to say.

  An hour passed, the two of them sitting side by side without sharing a conversation.

  Summer stood up. “I’m getting ready for bed.”

  She went into the bedroom to change clothes, but knew she was too restless to sleep. So instead of laying down, she went into the bedroom the boys shared and sat at the foot of Luke’s bed. Although she’d always thought it was creepy when she heard about moms doing it, she watched him sleep—the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his arm laid across his stomach, his fist curled loosely. He always slept on his back, with his right leg bent and his left leg straight, one arm across his stomach and the other above his head.

  His mouth was slightly open, but he breathed through his upturned nose, which was covered in a light sprinkling of freckles. More than anything, Summer wanted to pick him up and hold him, to rock him like she had when he was a baby. He’d loved to hear “Singin’ in the Rain,” how it had soothed him when he cried, which was often.

  She scooted up towards his torso until she was sitting right next to him and scooped him into her arms. He curled his body into hers, resting his head on her chest. She whispered the lyrics to “Singin’ in the Rain,” all the while crying and wondering how mothers coped with the death of their children.

  If Luke died tomorrow, her mind would still feel the imprint of all the precious things he’d done. The way he cocked his head just slightly to the right whenever he didn’t understand what someone said. The way he overreacted to the smallest things, stomping off with a quivering lip when she said they didn’t have any more oatmeal, only to return moments later in a ninja costume, swinging some weapon. The way he found absolute joy in teaching Hannah to walk, holding her hands and stepping carefully backwards to lead her throughout the house.

  Within a few moments, she found herself sobbing, soaking his hair with her tears and wiping her nose on her shirt. She put him back down, tucked the sheet up under his chin and laid down next to him, stroking his head and his arm. How could she possibly emerge from this a whole person? When a child dies, so does a part of his mother.

  Eventually, the sobbing quieted, and Summer felt her body relax. She managed to doze off a couple of times, but she repeatedly jerked herself awake to check the clock. She saw one a.m., two a.m. and three a.m. come and go.

  When she was awake, listening to him breathe, she planned Luke’s funeral, mentally flicking through images of flowers she’d seen at the shop downtown. He hated pink. The Universe should have made more blue flowers. What would she say at the funeral? Maybe someone else would speak so she wouldn’t have to. What would the kids wear to the funeral? She didn’t think they owned any black outfits. What would it be like to go shopping for clothes for your youngest son’s funeral?

  At some point after three a.m., she drifted to sleep with her hand over Luke’s heart. She breathed in time to his heartbeat, imagining she could fold his body back inside of hers, so he was perfectly protected and safe, breathing her breath, her heart beating life into his.

  But when she woke up at six, he was still separate, his body making its own indentation on the superhero sheets. She blinked herself awake, laying there a moment longer before gently lifting herself off the bed to brew coffee.

  All she could do now was fake strength and bravery, and somehow get through today.

  ***

  Both Delaney and Josie texted her just after six, while she measured coffee grinds into the filter. Josie was asking how Summer was, and Delaney was asking i
f she was up yet. Summer heard a quiet knock on the door just a few moments later, and after getting Chuck to stop barking, she smiled when she opened it to the girls, holding a steaming to-go cup and bakery bags from Ground Up, her favorite coffee shop.

  “Oh my God, you look like shit,” Josie said. Delaney shot her a dirty look and she winced.

  “Did you sleep at all?” Delaney asked.

  Summer shook her head, and Josie thrust the coffee into her hand. “It’s mostly decaf with a few pumps of regular. Go shower. We’ll get the kids ready.”

  Summer nodded. She felt like crying (yet again), this time with gratitude, but her body was completely parched from all the tears it had expelled last night. Instead, she took a long drink of coffee, swallowed it and said, “Thank you,” on a big sigh.

  She embraced the girls tightly before heading into the bedroom to shower. Derek was sleeping. His overnight shift ended at three a.m., so he’d get a few hours’ sleep this morning before heading to the hospital. Which meant they’d both be tired and cranky today.

  Perfect. Well, at least we’ll be together.

  She imagined the shower rinsing off all the negativity she’d felt laying in Luke’s bed last night, and emerged feeling somewhat refreshed and a little more ready to face the day.

  ***

  Summer would never understand why nobody made hospitals more hospitable. She and Derek sat in a waiting room a few hours after leaving the house, adjusting and readjusting their positions in creaky chairs with worn out cushions.

  Derek drifted off to sleep, and Summer felt a mixture of jealousy and irritation. How could he sleep at a time like this? And why couldn’t she? Luke had been off the wall this morning, overly goofy, running around the house in his underwear with his shirt on his head like a headdress, putting on Summer’s high heels once he got into his pants and entertaining everyone through breakfast with a crazy song and dance. In the car on the way to the hospital, though, he sat quietly in the backseat, staring out the window.

  “Your brother and sister and I put together that special box for you, for after the surgery,” Summer said at a red light, twisting around in her seat to talk to him.

  He nodded.

  For the millionth time, she ran through the morning’s schedule with him: “We’ll go into a room where they get you ready, and then we’ll have to leave you with a nurse—”

  “Mom. It’s fine. I know. I’ll see you …” his eyes got big and he spoke in a spooky voice “on the other side.”

  Summer and Derek both laughed, and Summer felt immensely grateful and chastened that her little boy was the one making her laugh this morning. Luke had his pre-op nurses in stitches with his movie character impressions, and when Dr. Karlsen came into the room in her scrubs, he grinned like they were old friends.

  The doctor had hugged Summer hard, and said, “We’ll see you in a bit.”

  That was that. Now they waited. Summer brought a book to read, but found she couldn’t concentrate on it. She read and reread the same paragraph several times before putting the book back in her purse and looking around at the landscape paintings and pastel wallpaper. It took every bit of mental strength she had not to imagine a giant saw cutting through Luke’s sternum, or his heart being pumped by a giant, sci-fi-worthy machine.

  A volunteer manned the desk in the waiting room, and every few minutes he’d answer the phone on his desk and then deliver a message or update to one of the families in the room. Every time the phone rang, Summer jumped.

  An hour and a half after Luke’s surgery should have started, the volunteer approached her and Derek. She swatted Derek’s chest and he jerked awake, looking around the room like he was in a war zone, about to be attacked. Summer rolled her eyes.

  “You’re Luke’s parents, right?”

  Summer nodded and felt her throat constricting. The old man grinned at them, his face creasing in such a friendly way Summer wanted to hug him. He probably smelled like Old Spice.

  For the briefest of moments, Summer’s memory flashed on a moment from her childhood when she had leaned into a man’s chest. He was wearing a flannel shirt and he smelled like Old Spice, and she had hugged him.

  “The surgery is over,” the volunteer said. “It went well, just as expected. No complications. Dr. Karlsen will be out here to talk to you in a while. You won’t be able to see your boy for another couple of hours. He’s in recovery now.”

  Summer sagged in her chair, the feeling of relief so immense. Derek grasped her hand. When the volunteer walked away, Derek spoke. “I’m so relieved.”

  His voice broke, and Summer felt tears sting her eyes. “Me, too,” she said.

  There, in the uncomfortable, creaky hospital waiting room chairs, they embraced, crying. Summer held onto Derek, burying her face in his neck, and thanked the universe, God, whoever had watched over Luke, for keeping him safe. Derek squeezed Summer’s hand and settled back in his chair.

  “Wow,” he said. “I didn’t realize how worried I was.”

  Summer had realized precisely how nervous she was, and the relief was exhilarating.

  “I’m exhausted,” Derek said. He closed his eyes.

  “Me, too,” Summer said. She followed his lead, and as her mind slowed down enough for her to relax into sleep, she wondered about the mysterious Old Spice man. He’d probably been the father of one of her friends, or a teacher maybe. Although teachers didn’t really hug students, did they?

  She leaned her head back on the chair and fell asleep.

  ***

  Summer jerked awake when someone tapped her lightly on the shoulder. She hadn’t even realized she’d fallen asleep.

  “Mrs. Gray.”

  Dr. Karlsen stood in front of her, smiling. Summer noticed she looked tired, though. Lines etched in her forehead and between her eyebrows. At first, Summer panicked, thinking something was wrong. But her rational mind reminded her that this woman, a mother just like she was, had just spent several hours with Luke’s life in her hands. Of course. She was probably exhausted. Summer shook Derek awake. He didn’t startle this time, thank goodness.

  “Dr. Karlsen, hi,” Summer said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep much last night and when the volunteer told me everything went well, the exhaustion just overcame me.”

  Dr. Karlsen’s smile widened. “Yes, everything went well. We replaced the valve and there were no complications. You can see him now. He’ll still have a tube in his throat and he’ll be sleeping. But hopefully seeing him will be reassuring. You’ll be able to talk to him in another couple of hours.”

  ***

  Exactly two hours later, another volunteer, this one an old woman, gently shook Summer awake and said they could see Luke. A nurse led them back to his post-op room.

  He looked so tiny in the hospital bed, especially with all the tubes and cords running to his body from various machines and drip bags. The sparkle he’d had in his eyes all morning was gone, since he was on heavy pain medications and the anesthetic was still wearing off. But he smiled when he saw his parents, and Summer’s own heart beat a little faster. She rushed to the side of his bed and took his hand in both of hers.

  “Hi, Momma,” he said. His voice sounded scratchy.

  Euphoria rushed through her body, making her want to sing or cry or laugh or all three. He’d survived. He’d woken up. He was okay.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The euphoria didn’t last long.

  Anxiety set in almost immediately. Within moments, Summer worried about Luke getting a blood clot, being in pain or falling and cracking his sternum open. She worried about his incision becoming infected. She worried about him having an allergic reaction to one of the medications.

  Although she and Derek had previously agreed that they’d alternate staying with Luke and going home to take care of the other kids, she insisted on staying at the hospital around the clock.

  It was her duty to protect him, and she watched over him continuously, as if, with laser focus, she could keep h
im safe. She could stop anything dangerous from hurting him. For the millionth time, she straightened his covers and dusted the railings on the bed.

  She’d talked Derek into bringing disinfectant wipes so she could clean the room’s hard surfaces at least twice a day. “To prevent infection,” she told Derek, who looked at her with some level of suspicion before nodding very carefully as if she were a bomb he was afraid to set off.

  At one point, Dr. Karlsen came to check on her patient and after declaring his recovery “perfect so far,” she turned to Summer and said, “But I’m a little worried about this patient’s mama. I think you need some recovery time.”

  Summer smiled, and a brief flash of clarity told her the smile was a bit too wide, a bit crazed, even.

  “Get some rest, okay?” Dr. Karlsen said.

  Summer nodded. Winter chimed in: You’re a maniac.

  ***

  The intense vigilance lasted five days and by the time the doctors released Luke, Summer’s entire body vibrated from overstimulation and lack of sleep. As she drove Luke home from the hospital, she cringed every time she had to step on the brake pedal. He sat quietly in the back seat, his hospital-issue, heart-shaped pillow tucked between his body and the seatbelt.

  “I can’t wait to get home and play with Nate,” he said. “But do you think I’ll be able to play?”

  “Dr. Karlsen said you need a few more days’ rest, and you have to be pretty careful about what you do with your arms. I’m sure you could play some quiet games. Board games. Card games. Stuff like that. We can do lots of movie nights.”

  She managed not to say anything about the dangers of him tripping over toys, bracing his fall with his arms and re-opening his sternum. She managed not to choke out her greatest fear that he would suddenly go into cardiac arrest while walking through the house.