Jared was in recovery for several hours, but Amanda wasn’t allowed to see him until he was finally moved to the ICU. Though it was normally closed to visitors overnight, Dr. Mills made an exception for her.
By then Lynn had driven Frank home. He claimed to have developed an intense headache from the blow to his face, but he promised to be back the following morning. Lynn had volunteered to return to the hospital afterward to stay with her mom, but Amanda had vetoed the idea. She’d be with Jared all night.
Amanda sat at her son’s bedside for the next few hours, listening to the digital beeps of the heart monitor and the unnatural hiss of the ventilator slowly pushing air in and out of his lungs. His skin was the color of old plastic and his cheeks seemed to have collapsed. He didn’t look like the son she remembered, the son she’d raised; he was a stranger to her in this foreign setting, so removed from their everyday lives.
Only his hands seemed unaffected, and she held on to one of them, drawing strength from its warmth. When the nurse had changed his bandage, she’d caught a glimpse of the violent gash that split his torso, and she’d had to turn away.
The doctor had said that Jared would probably wake later that day, and as she hovered at his bedside she wondered how much he would remember about the accident and his arrival at the hospital. Had he been frightened when his condition suddenly worsened? Had he wished that she’d been there? The thought was like a physical blow, and she vowed that she would stay with him now for as long as he needed her.
She hadn’t slept at all since she’d arrived at the hospital. As the hours passed with no sign of Jared waking, she grew sleepy, lulled by the steady, rhythmic sound of the equipment. She leaned forward, resting her head on the bedrail. A nurse woke her twenty minutes later and suggested that she go home for a little while.
Amanda shook her head, staring at her son again, willing her strength into his broken body. To comfort herself, she thought of Dr. Mills’s assurances that once Jared recovered, he would lead a mostly normal life. It could have been worse, Dr. Mills had told her, and she repeated that sentiment like a charm to ward off greater disaster.
As daylight seeped into the sky outside the ICU’s windows, the hospital began to come to life again. Nurses changed shifts, breakfast carts were loaded up, physicians began to make their rounds. The noise level rose to a steady buzz. A nurse pointedly informed Amanda that she needed to check the catheter, and Amanda reluctantly left the ICU and wandered to the cafeteria. Perhaps caffeine would give her the energy surge she needed; she had to be there when Jared finally awoke.
Despite the early hour, the line was already long with people who, like her, had been up all night. A young man in his late twenties took his place behind her.
“My wife is going to kill me,” he confessed as they lined up their trays.
Amanda raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”
“She had a baby last night and she sent me here for coffee. She told me to hurry, because she was getting a caffeine headache, but I just had to make a detour to the nursery for another peek.”
Despite everything, Amanda smiled.
“Little boy or little girl?”
“Boy,” he said. “Gabriel. Gabe. He’s our first.”
Amanda thought of Jared. She thought about Lynn and Annette, and she thought about Bea. The hospital had been the site of both the happiest and saddest days of her life. “Congratulations,” she said.
The line crawled along, customers taking their time with their selections and ordering complicated breakfast combinations. Amanda checked her watch after finally paying for her cup of coffee. She’d been gone for fifteen minutes. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to bring the cup into the ICU, so she took a table by the window while the parking lot out front slowly began to fill.
When she had drained her coffee cup, she visited the bathroom. The face reflected in the mirror was haggard and sleep deprived, barely recognizable. She splashed cold water on her cheeks and neck and spent the next couple of minutes doing the best she could to make herself presentable. She took the elevator back up, then retraced her steps to the ICU. When she neared the door, a nurse stood and intercepted her.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t go in right now,” she said.
“Why not?” Amanda asked, coming to a standstill. The nurse wouldn’t answer, and her expression was unyielding. Amanda felt the coils of panic tighten inside her once more.
She waited outside the door of the ICU for almost an hour, until Dr. Mills finally emerged to talk to her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but there’s been a serious development.”
“I was j-j-just with him,” she stammered, unable to think of anything else to say.
“An infarction occurred,” he went on. “Ischemia in the right ventricle.” He shook his head.
Amanda frowned. “I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me! Just say it so I can understand!”
His expression was compassionate, his voice soft. “Your son,” he finally said, “Jared… he had a massive heart attack.”
Amanda blinked, feeling the corridor close in. “No,” she said. “That’s not possible. He was sleeping… he was recovering when I left.”
Dr. Mills said nothing and Amanda felt light-headed, almost disembodied as she babbled on. “You said he was going to be fine. You said the surgery went well. You said he’d wake up later today.”
“I’m sorry—”
“How could he have had a heart attack?” she demanded, incredulous. “He’s only nineteen!”
“I’m not sure. It was probably a clot of some sort. It might have been related to either the original trauma or the trauma from surgery, but there’s no way to know for certain,” Dr. Mills explained. “It’s unusual, but anything can happen after the heart sustains such a serious injury.” He touched her arm. “All I can really tell you is that if it had happened anywhere other than the ICU, he might not have made it at all.”
Amanda’s voice began to quiver. “But he did make it, right? He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?”
“I don’t know.” The doctor’s face was shuttered again.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“We’re having difficulty keeping a sinus rhythm.”
“Stop talking like a doctor!” she cried. “Just tell me what I need to know! Is my son going to be all right?”
For the first time, Dr. Mills turned away. “Your son’s heart is failing,” he said. “Without… intervention, I’m not sure how long he’s going to last.”
Amanda felt herself stagger, as if the words were actual blows. She steadied herself against the wall, trying to absorb the doctor’s meaning.
“You’re not saying that he’s going to die, are you?” she whispered. “He can’t die. He’s young and healthy and strong. You have to do something.”
“We’re doing everything we can,” Dr. Mills said, sounding tired.
Not again, was all she could think. Not like Bea. Not Jared, too.
“Then do more!” she urged, half-pleading, half-shouting. “Take him to surgery, do what you have to do!”
“Surgery isn’t an option right now.”
“Just do what you have to do to save him!” Her voice rose and cracked.
“It’s not that simple—”
“Why not?” Her face reflected her incomprehension.
“I have to call an emergency meeting with the transplant committee.”
Amanda felt her last threads of composure give way as he said those words. “Transplant?”
“Yes,” he said. He glanced toward the ICU door, then back to her. He sighed. “Your son needs a new heart.”