Heart of the Matter - Emily Giffin [28]
“I can do it,” Charlie says with a frown, as Valerie remembers Dr. Russo’s advice the day before, to try to let him do things for himself, even when it’s difficult.
She releases her hold, watching his expression become gloomy as he awkwardly grips the box with his left hand. His right hand remains still, in a medicated splint, elevated on a pillow.
Valerie feels herself hovering, but is unable to stop herself. “Can I get you anything else?” she says, an anxious knot growing in her chest. “Are you hungry?”
“No,” Charlie says. “But my hand itches so bad”
“We’ll change the dressing in a minute,” she says, “And put on your lotion. That will help.”
Charlie says, “Why does it itch so much?”
Valerie carefully explains what he’s been told several times already—that the glands that produce oil to lubricate his skin were damaged.
He glances down at his hand, frowning again. “It looks terrible, Mommy.”
“I know, honey,” she says. “But it is getting better all the time. The skin just needs a while to heal.”
She considers telling Charlie about his next skin graft—his first for his face—which is scheduled for Monday morning, when he asks a question that breaks her heart. “Was it my fault, Mommy?” he whispers.
Valerie’s mind races as she tries to recall specific articles about the psychology of burn victims, as well as warnings from Charlie’s psychiatrists—There will be fear, confusion, even guilt. She pushes all of the words and advice aside, realizing that she doesn’t need anything other than her own maternal instincts.
“Oh, honey. Of course it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” she says, thinking about Romy and Daniel and how much she actually blames them for what happened, a feeling she hopes she will never reveal to Charlie. “It was just an accident.”
“But why?” he asks, his big eyes wide and unblinking. “Why did I have to have an accident?”
“I don’t know,” she says, studying every curve and angle of his perfect, heart-shaped face. His broad forehead, round cheeks, and little, pointed chin. Sadness wells up inside her, but she does not flinch or falter. “Sometimes bad things just happen—even to the best people.”
Realizing that this concept does not satisfy him any more than it does her, she clears her throat and says, “But you know what?”
She knows she is speaking with the voice of false cheer, the one she uses to, say, make a promise of ice cream in exchange for good behavior. She wishes she had something to offer him now, something—anything—to make up for his suffering.
“What?” Charlie asks, looking hopeful.
“We will get through this together,” she says. “We’re a great, unstoppable team—and don’t forget it.”
As she swallows back tears, Charlie takes another sip of juice, gives her a brave smile, and says, “I won’t forget it, Mommy.”
***
The next day, after a painful round of occupational therapy for his hand, Charlie is on the verge of frustrated tears when he hears Dr. Russo’s trademark hard double knock on the door. Valerie watches her son’s face clear and feels her own spirits lift, too; it is a close call as to who looks forward to his visits more.
“Come in!” Charlie calls out, smiling as his doctor strolls into the room. Valerie is surprised to see him dressed not in his usual scrubs and tennis shoes but in dark denim, a light blue shirt open at the collar, and a navy sport coat. He looks casual but elegant, down to his black loafers and silver cufflinks.
Valerie suddenly remembers that it is Friday night—and assumes he has dinner plans with his wife. Valerie has long since observed the gold band on his left hand, and has slowly gathered details about his life from his many talks with Charlie. She knows that he has two young children, a daughter and a son. She knows the little girl has a stubborn streak—the naughty-Ruby tales are among Charlie’s favorites.
“How’re you feeling today, buddy?” Dr. Russo asks as he musses Charlie’s curly blond hair,