“How is he, Mom? Did he say anything?”
“I think he's better. He's trying to talk a little bit. And I told him you were both here.” Cindy was shocked by what he had said to her. His first words had been for Isabelle, and she couldn't help wondering how much Isabelle meant to him. It was surely more than just chivalry that had caused him to ask for Isabelle the moment he woke up.
“What did he say?” They were thrilled. They were ecstatic that their father had survived.
“He blinked twice,” she said, with a smile, covering her own pain.
“Can he talk?” Jane asked, looking like her mother's mirror image. It was Olivia who was the portrait of Bill. They were both like two clones of Bill and herself.
“He said a couple of words, but it's still hard work for him. I think he's resting now.” She sounded strangely subdued as she promised the girls she'd be back in a minute, and then walked to the desk and spoke to the nurse. “How is Mrs. Forrester?” she asked quietly. If nothing else, she could tell Bill what he wanted to know. He had a right to that, if he cared about her, and even if they were just friends. They had been to hell and back together. The least she could do for him was give him news of Isabelle, since he had struggled so hard to ask about her.
“She's not doing very well, I'm afraid. She's about the same. She had a fever again last night. Her husband is with her now.”
“Has she regained consciousness?” Cynthia asked dutifully.
“No, but that's not surprising given her injuries and the surgery the other night.” Cynthia nodded, and thanked her, and then walked back into Bill's room to see if he was awake. But he was snoring softly as she stood next to him. And then as though he sensed her, he stirred and opened his eyes. He had been dreaming of Isabelle again. He had been for two days.
“I asked about Isabelle for you. She's about the same. She's been in a coma, and she hasn't come out of it yet, but I hope she will.” He blinked his eyes as though he wanted to nod at her. And after a long time, he started working on another set of words.
“Thhh … ankk … youuu, Cinnn … I thought… you … were her,” he said, closed his eyes again, and drifted back into a dream about Isabelle. He had no desire to see his wife, or talk to her.
“Do you want to see the girls?” Cindy interrupted his dream again, and this time, he blinked three times, and she smiled. “I'll go get them, they're just down the hall.” And a moment later, they were in his room, chattering at him, and Cynthia actually saw him smile. And when he talked to them, it took less effort than it had before. His ability to speak was coming back, it was just a little slow, but his mind was obviously clear.
“I… love … you, girls….”
“We love you too, Dad,” Olivia said as Jane leaned down and kissed his hand. He had an IV running into it, and another one in the other arm. He was still covered with monitors and tubes, and IVs. But the girls were just happy he was alive.
“Greatt… gggirlsss,” he said to Cynthia when they left.
“You're pretty great yourself” was all she said, and he looked surprised. “You scared us for a while,” she went on. “Do you know what happened to you?” she asked. It had occurred to her that he might not know.
“No.” He had no memory of it at all, only of the evening he'd spent with Isabelle before the accident.
“Your limousine got hit by a bus. It took them a couple of hours, I gather, to get both of you out.”
“I… was … afraid … she … died.” He struggled with the words, and Cynthia couldn't help thinking how odd it was that he was talking about Isabelle to his wife, but he didn't seem to mind. His eyes filled with tears as he looked at her.
“I think she came very close to it.” Cynthia didn't tell him that she still might die. “Her husband is here with her now.” As Cynthia said it to him, it was almost like a warning to Bill that he also had to return to real life. Isabelle had a husband. And he had two daughters and a wife. It was their turn now. He knew that, no matter how much he loved Isabelle, he had a responsibility to them. But he had been dreaming of Isabelle for days.
The nurses came back into the room then, they had things to do to him, and Cynthia went back outside to join the girls. She had to digest what had just happened with Bill. There was no question in her mind. Isabelle Forrester was important to him, she was no stranger, as her husband had hoped, or even a casual friend. Asking about her had been Bill's first words. And his eyes were full of anguish and concern for her. He had even thought he was seeing Isabelle when he woke up, and not his wife.
And as she sat in the waiting room, waiting for the nurses to finish their tasks with him, Cynthia picked up a copy of the Herald Tribune, and saw that there was an article about the bus accident in it, and she was startled to see a photograph of Bill and a woman, next to the photograph of the badly mangled bus. The article said that eleven people had died, and well-known political power broker William Robinson had been in the limousine that had been hit by the bus. The caption under the photograph said that the picture had been taken just moments before. It said that he and an unidentified woman had been at Annabel's, their car was hit only blocks away, and their driver had been killed. But it didn't mention Isabelle's name, or whether or not she'd been injured in the crash. But Cynthia knew as she looked at her face that it had to be her. She looked attractive and young, with long dark hair, and she'd obviously been startled by the photographer as she stared at him with wide eyes. And in the photograph, Bill was smiling with an arm around her shoulders. It made Cynthia catch her breath as she saw them together that way. They looked happy and relaxed, and Bill looked as though he were about to laugh. It brought the potential seriousness of the situation home to her again. She wondered if Gordon Forrester had seen it too. Whatever it was that his wife and her husband had shared, it was unlikely, as far as she was concerned, that it was inconsequential to either of them. Particularly now.
The girls exchanged a glance as they saw her reading the article. They didn't say anything, but they had seen it too. But they couldn't even be angry at their father now, for whatever he had done with her. What had happened was so much more serious that they could forgive him almost anything. And Cynthia felt the same way. What worried her was not what he had done, but the possibility that he really cared about Isabelle. The look in his eyes when he asked about her had told Cynthia that this was no casual affair. She found it hard to believe that they were just good friends. She and Gordon would have been even more stunned to know that they had been confidants for more than four years.
One of the nurses came back to get them then, and Cynthia followed her daughters into Bill's room. She noticed just before the door closed that Gordon Forrester was leaving Isabelle's room. She didn't dare, but she would have liked to ask him if he'd seen the Herald Tribune. But he looked as if he had bigger things on his mind.
Isabelle was showing no sign of recovering, and although the doctor said she could remain in a coma for a long time, Gordon was increasingly worried that she would be brain-damaged if she survived. In addition, they had just told him that her heart was beating irregularly, and she was developing fluid in her lungs. There was a growing risk of pneumonia, and Gordon knew that if that happened, Isabelle would die. The situation seemed to be worsening. He had been there for an hour, talking to the doctors about further surgery, and he was on his way back to the hotel when Cynthia saw him leave Isabelle's room.
It was only after Cynthia and the girls left late that afternoon that Bill asked about Isabelle again. His speech had come back to him through the day. The girls hadn't stopped talking to him, and he had been forced to respond. This time Bill asked his nurse how Isabelle was, and she was cautious about what she said.