'Grace?' she said, quietly. 'Gracie?'
Nothing. Grace's face was blank. The only movement was the top of her chest which rose and fell in time with the respirator. Maybe what she had seen was merely the hand settling under its own weight. Annie looked up from her daughter's face to the stack of machines that monitored her. Annie still hadn't learned as well as Robert how to read their screens. Perhaps she trusted their inbuilt alarm systems more than he did. But she knew pretty well what the most vital ones should be saying, the ones that watched Grace's heartbeat and her brain and blood pressure. The heartbeat screen had a little electronic orange heart on it, a motif Annie found quaint, sentimental almost. The rate had stayed a constant seventy for many days. But now, Annie noticed, it was higher.
Eighty-five, flicking to eighty-four as she watched. Annie frowned. She looked around. There wasn't a nurse to be seen. She wasn't going to panic, it was probably nothing. She looked back at Grace. 'Grace?'
This time she squeezed Grace's hand and, looking up, saw the heartbeat monitor go crazy. Ninety, a hundred, a hundred and ten… 'Gracie?'
Annie stood up, holding the hand tightly in both of hers, and peering down into Grace's face. She turned to call for someone but didn't have to because two of them were there already, a nurse and a young intern. The change had been picked up on the screens at the central desk.
'I saw her move,' Annie said. 'Her hand…'
'Keep on squeezing,' said the intern. He took a penlight out of his breast pocket and opened one of Grace's eyes. He shone the light into it and watched for a reaction. The nurse was checking the monitors. The heartbeat had steadied out at a hundred and twenty. The intern took Grace's earphones off. 'Talk to her.'
Annie swallowed. For a moment, stupidly, she was lost for words. The intern looked up at her. 'Just talk. It doesn't matter what you say.'
'Gracie? It's me. Darling, it's time to wake up now. Please wake up now.'
'Look,' the intern said. He was still holding Grace's eye open and Annie looked and saw a flicker. The sight of it made her take a sudden, sharp breath.
'Her blood pressure's up to one-fifty,' said the nurse. 'What does that mean?'
'It means she's responding,' said the intern. 'May I?'
He took Grace's hand from Annie, still holding the eye open with his other hand.
'Grace,' he said. 'I'm going to squeeze your hand now and I want you to try and squeeze back if you can. Try as hard as you can now, okay?'
He squeezed, looking into the eye all the time.
'There,' he said. He passed the girl's hand to Annie. 'Now I want you to do it for your mother.'
Annie took a deep breath and squeezed… and felt it. It was like the first, faint, tentative touch of a fish on a line. Deep in those dark, still waters something shimmered and would surface.
Grace was in a tunnel. It was a little like the subway except that it was darker and flooded with water and she was swimming in it. The water wasn't cold though. In fact it didn't really feel like water at all. It was too warm and too thick. In the distance she could see a circle of light and somehow she knew she had the choice of going toward it or turning and going in the other direction where there was also light, but of a dimmer, less welcoming kind. She wasn't frightened. It was simply a matter of choice. Either way would be fine.
Then she heard voices. They were coming from the place where the light was dimmer. She couldn't see who it was but she knew one of the voices was her mother's. There was a man's voice too, but not her father's. It was some other man, someone she didn't know. She tried to move toward them along the tunnel but the water was too thick. It was like glue, she was swimming in glue and it wouldn't let her through. The glue won't let me through, the glue… She tried to call out for help but she couldn't find her voice.
They didn't seem to know she was there. Why couldn't they see her? They sounded such a long way off and she was suddenly worried they might go and leave her all alone. But now, yes, the man was calling her name. They had seen her. And although she still couldn't see them, she knew they were reaching out for her and if she could only make one final, great effort, maybe the glue would let her through and they could haul her out.
Chapter Four
Robert paid in the farm shop and by the time he came out, the two boys had tied the tree up with string and were loading it into the back of the Ford Lariat crew-cab he'd bought last summer to ferry Pilgrim up from Kentucky. It had been a surprise for both Grace and Annie when he drove it, with its matching silver trailer, up to the house early one Saturday morning. They came out onto the porch, Grace thrilled and Annie quite furious. But Robert had just shrugged and smiled and said come on, you couldn't put a new horse in an old box.
He thanked the two boys, wished them a Merry Christmas and pulled out of the muddy, potholed parking lot onto the road. He had never bought a Christmas tree so late before. Usually he and Grace would go out the weekend before and get one, though they always left it until Christmas Eve to bring it inside and decorate it. At least she would be there to do that, to decorate it. Christmas Eve was tomorrow and Grace was coming home.
The doctors weren't totally happy about it. It was only two weeks since she'd come out of the coma but he and Annie had argued forcefully that it would be good for her and finally sentiment had triumphed: Grace could go home, but for two days only. They were to collect her at noon tomorrow.
He pulled up outside the Chatham Bakery and went in to pick up some bread and muffins. Breakfast at the bakery had become a weekend ritual for them. The young woman behind the counter sometimes babysat Grace.
'How's your beautiful girl?' she asked.
'Coming home tomorrow.'
'Really? That's great!'
Robert saw others were listening too. Everyone seemed to know about the accident and people he had never talked to before asked after Grace. He noticed though how no one ever spoke about the leg.
'Well, you make sure you give her my love.'
'I sure will, thanks. Merry Christmas.' Robert saw them watching from the window as he got back into the Lariat. He drove past the animal feed plant, slowed to cross the railroad, and headed for home through Chatham Village. The store windows along Main Street were full of Christmas festoonery and the narrow sidewalks, strung above with colored lights, were busy with shoppers. Robert exchanged waves with those he knew as he drove by. The creche on the central square looked pretty - undoubtedly a violation of the First Amendment - but pretty nonetheless and hey, it was Christmas. Only the weather seemed not to know it.
Since the rain had stopped, on the day Grace mouthed her first words, it had been ludicrously warm. Fresh from pontificating about hurricane floods, media climatologists were having their most lucrative Christmas in years. The world was officially a greenhouse or at least upside down. When he got back to the house, Annie was in the den, on the phone to her office. She was giving someone, one of the senior editors he guessed, the usual hard time. From what Robert could gather, as he tidied the kitchen, the poor soul had agreed to run a profile piece on some actor Annie despised.
'A star?' she said, in disbelief. 'A star? He's the complete opposite of a star. The guy's a goddamned black hole!'
Robert might normally have smiled at this but the aggression in her voice was dispelling the seasonal glow he had come home with. He knew she found it frustrating trying to run a chic metropolitan magazine from an upstate farmhouse. But it was more than that. Since the accident, Annie had seemed possessed by an anger so intense it was almost frightening.