“Don't worry about a thing. I'll show you.” They both laughed, feeling young again, and they chatted for a while, about other things than their children for a change, his latest article, her plans for the mural at school, and his house at Tahoe. He told her also that he'd spoken to his investigative reporter friend, who was doing a little initial digging about Laura Hutchinson, and her drinking. It might not turn up anything, and it still would never prove anything about the accident. But somehow Trygve was haunted by his suspicions.
“I'll see you tomorrow,” he said finally, sounding husky again, and she wondered what he meant when she hung up, but the next day he turned up at ICU with a picnic basket and a bunch of flowers.
She had been working with Allie and the therapist, trying to stretch her muscles. Her legs were pointed out straight now, her feet rigid in their position, her elbows flexed, her arms locked, her hands tightly clenched. It took endless exercising to even help her move or bend or stretch. And her body, like her mind, seemed not to be responding. It was depressing, working with the therapist, and Page was happy to see him.
“Come on, let's go outside.” He could see how tired and down she was. “It's a gorgeous day.”
And it was, the sun was hot, the sky was blue. It was everything one expects of June in California. And the moment she got outside, she felt better.
They sat on the lawn outside for a long time, with the nurses and the medical students and residents. Everyone looked as though they were in love and lazy.
“It's spring,” Trygve announced, lying on the grass next to her, as she sniffed happily at the flowers he'd brought her. Without thinking, she touched his cheek gently with her fingers, and he looked up at her with a look she hadn't seen on a man's face in years, if ever. It made her realize suddenly what she had been missing. “You're beautiful …very, very beautiful … in fact,” he beamed, “you even look Norwegian.”
“I'm not,” she smiled, feeling young and foolish with him, “Addison is English.”
“Well, you look Scandinavian to me.” He looked at her seriously. “I was just thinking what gorgeous children we could have. Do you want more?” he asked curiously. He wanted to know everything about her. Not just how she felt about Allyson, or how strong she was, or how good a mother. He wanted to know the rest of it, the things they hadn't had time to explore as they sat in anguished vigil for their daughters.
“I used to want more children,” she answered him, “but I'm thirty-nine. It's sort of late by now, and I've got my hands full with Andy, and now Allie.”
“It won't always be that way, and you're getting into a routine with her.” She had to, for her own survival. “I'm forty-two, and I don't feel too old. I'd love to have a couple more, and at thirty-nine, you could have half a dozen.”
“What a thought!” she laughed, and then thought about it again. “Andy would like that. We were talking about it that day coming home from the baseball game, and then that night, Allie had the accident … it sure changed everything, didn't it?” He nodded. Six and a half weeks later she was no longer living with her husband, and Chloe was no longer a ballerina …not to mention Phillip, who was dead, or Allie, whose life had been changed forever. “Anyway …yeah … I'd like more kids. One anyway. I'd have to see after that. And I really want to pursue my artwork. Actually, I was thinking about what you said the other day, about doing a mural in ICU. I talked to Frances,” their favorite head nurse, “and she was going to ask someone about it.”
“Actually, I'd love to do something like that at my place. Would you take me on as a client?—A paying client that is!”
“I'd love it.”
“Good. How about a consultation tomorrow night, after dinner? You can bring Andy.”
“You won't get tired of me if you're seeing me on Thursday too?” She looked worried and he laughed.
“I don't think that I'd get tired of you, Page, if I saw you day and night forever. In fact, eventually I'd like to prove that.” She blushed as he said it, and he pulled her down next to him and kissed her. “Fin in love with you, Page,” he whispered, “very, very, very much in love with you. And I'm never going to get tired of you. Do you hear me? We're going to have ten children and live happily ever after.” He was laughing and kissing her, and she lay on the grass happily in his arms, feeling like a kid again. It was too good to be true, and she only hoped it would last and he meant it.
They sat up again finally, and she thought about going back to the ICU. It exhausted her to think about it. The exercises, the movements, the therapy, the respirator, the silence, the total apathy, the depth of Allie's coma. Sometimes it was hard to make herself go back there, but she always did. She never failed. The nurses could set their clocks by her, she came back at night and sat with her for hours, stroking her hand or her cheek, and speaking softly.
“I'll come up with you,” he said with an arm around her shoulders. She was carrying the picnic basket with the flowers he'd given her, and she looked relaxed and happy as they went upstairs arm in arm, talking quietly, and laughing.