“Is she all right?” Her mother sounded stunned. Even she couldn't hide from those words, or the force they carried with them. She was a basically intelligent woman who hid that fact from everyone, and lived in a dream world.
“No, she's not. She's in a coma. She had brain surgery on Sunday. We don't know what's going to happen. I'm sorry I didn't call you, Mom. I just didn't know what to say, and I wanted to wait until things were a little better.”
“How's Brad?” Page thought it was a strange question.
“Brad? He's fine, he wasn't in the accident. She was with a bunch of kids.”
“This must be very hard on him.” It was so typical of her mother, to focus on him, not on her daughter, or whether or not Allie would survive, but on Brad. If she didn't know her so well, she would have thought she hadn't heard her correctly.
“It's hard for all of us. Brad, me, Andy …Allie …”
“Will she be all right?”
“We don't know yet.”
“I'm sure she will. These things look terrible at first, but people survive accidents all the time.” Oh God. How typical. Always escaping reality, at any price. Things hadn't changed. But maybe, without seeing her, it was hard to understand Allyson's condition. “I've read some extraordinary stories of head injuries, and people in comas, and they just walk away from it. She's young. She'll be fine.” Her mother sounded so certain. Page only wished she could believe her.
“I hope so,” Page said wanly, staring at the floor, wondering how anyone could communicate with her mother. Nothing had changed since she was fourteen. Her mother still heard and believed only what she wanted to, and not another thing, no matter what you told her. “I'll keep you posted.”
“Tell her I love her,” Maribelle Addison said firmly. “They say people in comas hear everything. Do you talk to her, Page?”
Page nodded, as tears started to roll down her cheeks. Of course she talked to her …she told her how much she loved her …she begged her not to die and leave them …”Yes,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Good. Well, tell her that her Grandma and her aunt Alexis love her.” And then, almost as an afterthought, “Do you want us to come out?” They did almost everything together. But Page answered in a single breath. That was all she needed.
“No! …I'll call if I need you.”
“You do that, dear, I'll call you tomorrow.” It sounded like a date for a bridge game. It was amazing, she was totally positive, completely confident that Allyson would be fine, and not frightened of the possibilities for a single moment. As usual, she offered no comfort, no solace, no support for her youngest daughter.
“Thanks, Mom. I'll call if anything happens.”
“You do that, dear. Alexis and I are going shopping tomorrow. I'll call you when I get home. Give my love to Brad, and Andy.”
“I will.” They hung up then, and Page sat staring at the floor for a long time, trying not to remember what it had been like to live with her …with them … all the lies and the misery …and the endless hiding from reality. Alexis was perfect for it. She played the same games their mother did. Everything was lovely all the time, no one ever did anything wrong, and if they did, it was never mentioned. The waters were always calm, their voices were never raised, and inside they were all drowning. Page had almost drowned. She couldn't wait to leave home. She had moved out as soon as she had started art school. They hadn't wanted her to, and refused to pay for it, but she had done free-lance work, and worked as a waitress in a restaurant at night just so she could afford it. She would have done anything to get out. Her survival depended on it, and she knew it.
She was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she never heard him come in, and he never saw her. Brad was halfway across the room when she stirred, and they both jumped when they saw each other.
“For chrissake! …” he said as his eyes met hers. “Why didn't you say something?”
“I didn't know you were here. Home for lunch?” she said coolly. She was still sitting on the bed in her rumpled clothes, and her uncombed hair. But she looked better and more rested than she had earlier that morning.
“I just came by to drop off some things.” He looked vague as he walked into the bathroom and put a shirt in the hamper.
“Yesterday's laundry? How soon would you like it? Or did you come home for a clean shirt so you can stay out again tonight?” Her voice dripped anger and venom. “Don't you think you could at least call? Or are we dropping all pretense of being married?”
“You weren't here anyway. What's the difference?” He looked and sounded so callous suddenly, and she wanted to strike him.
“You could have called ICU, or Jane. Andy was waiting for you. He thought you'd had an accident too. Or do you no longer care about him either? Allyson almost died last night.” She let him have it with both barrels. And he looked appropriately stricken.
“Is she okay?”
“She's holding on. But barely.”