Intensive Therapy Part 23

"Okay," Victoria said. "I'm getting out of the car now."

Jonas said, "Be careful on the ice. Take short steps with your feet apart. Here," he handed her a stocking cap. "Cover the fingers of your right hand with this. It should fit over the end of your cast."

Victoria proceeded slowly. Once she reached the bridge proper, sepia-toned floodlights styled to look like gas lamps illuminated the roadway every thirty feet. Bitter winds swirled off the rampaging Schuylkill River below. She gripped the handrail tightly with her good hand and fought to keep her balance.

Advancing, Victoria discerned the hazy outline of a dark figure swaying back and forth, feet dangling over the ledge of the bridge's central observation post.

"Don't come any closer," Melinda said, her voice weak and raspy.

Victoria crept forward.

"I said, 'Don't come any closer.' I mean it."

Victoria shouted something, but the wind swallowed her words. She kept moving. "Melinda, please, please listen to me," she tried again.

"Who is it? What do you want?"

"It's me, Melinda. Your mother."

"Mother? What are you doing here?"

"Don't do anything until you listen to me. You have to listen to me. Gregory's still alive."

"I don't believe you."

"I just came from the hospital. The doctors are operating on him now."

"How bad is it?"

"It's critical, but they've seen children in Gregory's condition recover."

"I know how you feel about him. You love him sooo much more than me. Why couldn't you love me like him?"

"I want that more than anything in the world. Please believe me." Victoria's tears froze on her cheeks. "Give me another chance. I'll make it better. I understand what's been happening to you. We can help make it better if you let us help you."

"What if Gregowy dies?" Melinda lisped.

Melinda never lisped. It had to be the cold. "The three of us will deal with it together. Please let us help you."

"I'm sawey," Melinda wailed. "I didn't mean to hurt him. No matter what happens, you have to bewieve that."

As Victoria progressed to within ten feet, her eyes leveled with Melinda's back. Melinda sat facing away on a slightly elevated cement slab that overlooked the river, her feet dangling over the ledge. A blast of wind sent her sliding toward the precipice; her body lurched forward within inches of perpendicular. Victoria gasped. "I know you're sorry."

"Something's wong with me, I ... I ... I ..."

"Your father and I love you. You must be so cold, honey. So cold." Closing in, Victoria saw streaks of clotted blood on Melinda's cheek.

"I'm afwaid, m.u.t.h.a. Pwease help me, Pwease. Gwegowy, Gwegowy. Pwease fuhgive me."

When the next blast of air knocked Melinda off balance, she pitched forward toward the river.

Ignoring her cast and sling, Victoria reached up from behind and hooked both hands and arms under Melinda's armpits just as Melinda slid past the point of no return. Victoria alone had hold of Melinda. Victoria held on for their lives. She was pulled forward, her feet lodging against a crossbeam at the foot of the observation post. Victoria pulled Melinda back, the pain reminding her of expelling her daughter from the womb. Melinda was still pivoting over the edge when Victoria pulled one last time with all her might. Melinda tumbled backward into her arms. They hit the ground together, in a heap.

"I'm here, honey," Victoria said. "You need someone to hold you. I'm here to take care of my girl."

After thras.h.i.+ng about violently, Melinda stopped moving. They were still too far from the end of the bridge for the police to see or hear them. Knowing she couldn't leave and run for help, Victoria reached for her phone. "s.h.i.+t," she said, realizing she had left it in the car.

Victoria removed her hat and pulled it over Melinda's head and neck, then double-plied the hat from her cast over it, too. She tugged on one of Melinda's feet until her body began sliding along the ice-caked walkway. Victoria pulled her to safety, foot by foot.

Along the way, Victoria felt faint and almost collapsed. After what seemed like miles of dragging, a policewoman jumped out of a cruiser and ran to them. Within seconds, a crew of police and EMTs lifted Melinda's half-frozen body onto a gurney, then into the ambulance standing by.

The ambulance door closed, and for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Victoria accompanied an unconscious child to the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia.

42.

The treacherous drive from the Strawberry Mansion Bridge into town afforded Jonas little release in tension. His energy drained by hours behind the wheel and the drama leading to Melinda's rescue, he thought about Jennie and his children. The car bore the faint scent of Victoria's perfume, which felt like it didn't belong, like a violation of his and Jennie's privacy. Jonas felt guilty about how compelling Gregory and Melinda's fates had become to him. That he'd been sitting contentedly at the Bodenheims' dinner table earlier that evening seemed utterly incomprehensible.

Victoria's description of her pregnancy and her difficulty bonding with Melinda preoccupied him, as did the memory of the packed emergency room full of parents and children traveling in pairs like they were on their way to Noah's Ark.

He said to himself, "It doesn't matter whether w.i.l.l.y Speller is dead or alive; I will always be his son. Is Gil really my son? Do I even know what that means?"

Victoria called to say that she and Melinda had made it safely to the hospital. Jonas drove by the Brauns' town house. Yellow tape cordoned off the area, which the authorities must have designated a crime scene. The nauseating vision of Gil tumbling down the steps headfirst went through his mind.

Jonas parked in view of the Rittenhouse Square gazebo, which the ice storm had turned into a giant snow cone. He tried to quiet his mind. Instead, he recalled a warm July day after he and Jennie moved to New York. By then, Jonas had joined the faculty at Mount Sinai Medical School and was starting his private practice.

Jennie had called, leaving a terse message: "Come home now." The intensity in her voice made his blood ran cold. He rushed home with his heart pounding.

"There's a lump in my breast," Jennie told him the minute he walked in. "I can feel it. I had a mammogram and the radiologist sent me immediately to a breast surgeon who said the lesion looked malignant but most likely curable by mastectomy. He wants to operate right away, followed by radiation and chemotherapy. Do you understand what this means?" Jennie had begun to cry. "No one will ever prescribe fertility drugs for me again. The surgeon said flat out not to get pregnant because estrogen and progesterone could make the cancer come back." She stared out their picture window overlooking Roosevelt Island. "What are we going to do?" she said.

Jonas held her close. He said, "It's all right. You're all that matters. If we want children, we'll adopt. Or we can go the surrogate mother route."

"Suppose she decided to keep the baby or wanted visitation, and we wound up in some terrible legal mess? I can't bear the thought of someone raising my child. I'm so sorry, Jonas. I know how much you wanted a son to name after your father," she wept.

The prospect of losing Jennie was unbearable. "Don't think about that now. I'll call the chairman of surgery in the morning and find out whom he trusts at Sloan-Kettering. We'll get you scheduled as soon as we can." Jonas poured himself a scotch. "I can't believe I made you take that G.o.dd.a.m.n Clomid. I saw what it did to you."

"n.o.body made me do anything," Jennie said. "I wanted it as much as you."

"It's like pouring gasoline on a smoldering fire. That's what I tell my patients about fertility drugs. Why didn't I take my own advice?"

"It's n.o.body's fault." Jennie clutched him tightly. "I'm scared. I don't want to die young. There's so much I want to do, so many places I want us to go."

"Without you, nothing matters," Jonas said, and he meant it. "No more about children for now. That settles that."

But did it?

Still thinking of that day and all that had followed it, Jonas called home. It was 2:47 AM.

Jennie picked up on the first ring. She sounded wide awake. "Where are you and what happened? I've been worried."

Jonas choked up. "Yeah, I'm okay," he managed. "Well, not really. It's been a very hard day. I hope you understand."

"What is it?"

"I just want you to know how much I love you and our children."

"Of course you do. We know that." Jennie cleared her throat, as she did when she was troubled. "Are you all right?"

The question gave him pause. The sequence of events that brought Jennie and Jonas together s.h.i.+ned on Jonas like Venus on a moonless night. Had Victoria not inspired him, Jonas wouldn't have left Dr. Fowler, and his relations.h.i.+p with Jennie's father wouldn't have blossomed, which meant they would have never been introduced.

"This is the twenty-third anniversary of the day we met. Remember? You wore your grandmother's emerald. I couldn't take my eyes off you."

"Jonas, what is going on down there?"

He interlaced his hands on his lap the way he did when he was in psychoa.n.a.lysis. "It involves a woman I knew years ago, a clinic patient. We became close. Don't take that wrong, Jennie. You know I would never do anything to hurt ..."

"You don't have to say that."

Jonas felt his heart breaking, but he had no idea why. "She has two children-a girl, and a boy a few years younger than ours. She showed up in pieces the other day, because her daughter had fallen apart. Tonight, the children got into a fight. Both of them wound up in intensive care at Children's Hospital. I'm heading there after we talk. It made me realize how fragile this whole thing is, our wonderful life. It could all fall apart in a minute."

"That's why we have to cherish every moment," Jennie said. "Every single one. That's why you drove to Philadelphia tonight. It made a difference, didn't it?"

"We saved her daughter's life."

"I'm so proud of you. No one could have done that but you, could they? Dad always knew you had a big heart. So did I."

"Once the situation is stable, I'm going to crash at your parents'. I have a key and the alarm code. I'm so tired I wish I could go there now, but there's more to do. Once things are okay tomorrow, I'll head back to New York. Everything's canceled tomorrow anyway, so there's no big rush."

"Please drive carefully, Jonas. You know, I can always take an early train to Philadelphia, and we can drive home together."

"I don't know what I'd do without you." Jonas began to feel better. "Plan something for the weekend that the four of us would enjoy."

"I could try to land tickets for The Nutcracker. Everyone likes that. There are usually three performances on holiday weekends, so we might be able to wiggle our way into one of them. How's that sound?"

"I don't care if we go window-shopping on Fifth Avenue, as long as it's something everyone enjoys. I just want us to be together. I'll be back in time for dinner. I'll call from the road. I love you, Jennie."

"Come home safe, you hear. I love you, too."

43.

When Jonas returned to CHOP, the families of patients in critical condition were waiting in designated rooms outside intensive care. Comfortable chairs and recliners allowed family members to sit quietly or even to snooze. Jonas understood the layout all too well; the curtained Plexiglas walls were soundproofed, so that a doctor could deliver bad news privately. Martin and Victoria were pacing one of the rooms when Jonas entered and met Martin for the first time.

Before long, a white-coated man with an olive complexion, older than the typical intern or resident, emerged from the intensive care unit. Jonas bolted to intercept him.

"I'm Dr. Jonas Speller, Mrs. Braun's doctor."

"I'm Dr. Carlos Meninas, senior pediatric ICU fellow. I'd like to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Braun."

"Is there anything I should know before you speak with them?"

"You understand, Dr. Speller, that I'll need their permission before I talk with you," Dr. Meninas said.

"Dr. Goodman, the chairman of psychiatry, granted me temporary privileges."

"Oh. Good, then. Glad you're here. As you probably know, both children are in critical condition."

"Melinda, too?"

"Her body temperature was so low in the ER that we needed an esophageal probe."

"How low?"

"Seventy-eight degrees."

"Wow, that low? Is she stable?"

"For now, yes. We're watching her very closely."

"And Gregory?"

"He's stable, too."

Jonas breathed a sigh of relief. "At least they're both alive. Have you been in touch with your attending?"

"We inform Dr. Renehan of every admission. He goes over every protocol."

They went over to the Brauns, and Dr. Meninas introduced himself to Martin and Victoria.

Martin said, "I'm glad we're all here. Dr. Speller can clarify anything we don't understand."

Dr. Meninas closed the door. "Gregory remains comatose after surgery, but his vital signs are normalizing, which is what we were hoping for. The ventilator is working well. His oxygen saturation is ninety-eight percent. So far there's no seizure activity on his electroencephalogram. Neurosurgery is happy with the post-op CT scan; thankfully there's no more bleeding. Once he's more stable, we'll get an MRI, which is much more sensitive in a.s.sessing tissue damage. He has a mild leukocytosis that is normal post-operatively."

"That means Gregory's white blood cell count is slightly elevated-that's normal after an operation-" Jonas said, "and that his brain is getting enough oxygen."