“They told me Allyson had a severe head injury, but that was all they'd say,” he said softly.
“That's all they said to me too. I'm not even sure what that means. Is she brain damaged? Will she die? Could she be all right again?” Tears filled Page's eyes as she talked in circles and he listened. “She's with the neurosurgeons now.”
“You just have to believe that she'll be all right. Right now that's all we have.”
“But what if she isn't?” Page was grateful to have someone to talk to, and at least he knew all the terrors that she was feeling, except that Chloe was alive, and no matter how badly battered, she seemed not to be in mortal danger.
“Try not to ask yourself too many questions,” he said. “I keep doing that about Chloe …what if she can't walk …what if she's paralyzed …will she ever be able to walk or dance or run … or have children? A few minutes ago, I found myself planning where to put ramps for her wheelchair. You have to force yourself to stop doing that. We just don't know yet. Live it minute by minute.” Page nodded, knowing what he meant. One minute, she found herself trying to figure out what she would tell Brad if Allyson died, the next she refused to believe it.
“Do you know who was driving?” Page asked somberly, remembering what the nurse had said, that he was dead. And she had assumed it was Trygve.
“Only his name. A boy called Phillip Chapman, he was seventeen. That's all I know. And Chloe was in no condition to answer questions.”
“I've heard of him. I think I've met his parents. How do you suppose they knew him?”
“God knows …school …one of their sports teams …the tennis club …they're growing up, you know. I never went through anything like this with the boys though. Not with Nick at any rate.” And, of course, Bjorn would have been different. “I guess girls are a little more enterprising, or at least ours are.” He tried to make her smile, but Page was beyond it. What if she never grew up? Never had a real date? Or a boyfriend? Or a husband? Or a baby? What if this was it? Fifteen brief years, and then over. Just the thought of it brought tears to her eyes again, and Trygve took her hand in his, and held it, when he saw her crying.
“Don't, Page … try not to panic.”
“How can I not? How can you say that?” She took her hand away and began to sob. “She may not even live. She may end up like the boy who was driving.” He nodded miserably, and she blew her nose in terror and despair, and then looked up at him again. “Were they drinking?” It was the first thing that came to mind when she thought of a seventeen-year-old driver and an accident like this one.
“I don't know,” he told her honestly. “The nurse told me that they're taking blood tests from all of them, to check the alcohol levels in their blood. I suppose they could have been,” he said dismally, as a reporter approached them. He had been watching them talk for a while, and Trygve had seen him ask the nurse at the desk some questions after he finished with the highway patrolman.
Page was still crying when the man in jeans and a plaid shirt walked up to them. He had on a plastic tag from the newsroom, running shoes, and he was carrying both a small cassette recorder and a notebook.
“Mrs. Clarke?” he asked very directly, and stood very close to her, watching her reactions.
“Yes?” She was so dazed she didn't realize who he was, and for an instant, she thought he might be a doctor. She looked up at him with a terrified air, as Trygve watched him with suspicion.
“How's Allyson doing?” he asked, sounding as though he knew her. He had gotten her name from the nurse.
“I don't know … I thought you would know …” But Trygve was shaking his head, and then she noticed the man's badge with his photograph, name, and network. “What do you want from me?” She looked confused and frightened by the intrusion.
“I just wanted to know how you are …how Allie is …did she know Phillip Chapman very well? What kind of kid was he? Was he a wild guy? Or do you think …” He pressed as hard as he could until Trygve cut him off abruptly.
“I don't think this is the time …” Trygve took a step closer to him, and the young reporter looked unaffected.