Look Again - Lisa Scottoline [106]
“Thank God. How about his heart?”
“All good.” The doctor looked sympathetic. “You’ve gotta get over that, Mom. He’s fine now. Don’t worry so much.”
I’ll get right on that.
“I’d like to admit him and keep an eye on him overnight.”
“Sure, better to be on the safe side. I can stay, right?”
“Yes. We’ll get him a room and put in a cot for you.”
“Great.” Ellen looked down at Will. “He’s sleeping so soundly.”
“I gave him a light sedative, and he’ll rest until morning.”
“Good, thanks.” Ellen pulled up a chair. “You know, he saw terrible things tonight, people getting shot right in front of him, and in the next few weeks, there will be a major disruption in his life. Can you give me the name of some counselors that can help him?” Her throat went tight. “With the transition?”
“I’ll have the social worker make some recommendations.” The doctor moved away, touching her lightly on the shoulder. “Take care.”
The nurse left with him, saying, “We’ll let you know when we have a room for him.”
“Good, thanks.” Ellen turned to the other nurse. “Would you tell the man in the waiting room that he’s okay?”
“All right, but only as favor to you. Don’t like him, myself.” She scuffed off, and Ellen took Will’s hand.
His breathing was slightly congested, and his crusty nose bubbled away.
Ellen closed her eyes, to listen better.
The sound of him breathing.
It was the sweetest thing she had ever heard.
Chapter Eighty-one
Two hours later, Ellen cuddled Will in a private room, holding him close in the darkness while he slept and the TV played on mute, showing photos of Ellen’s own house. DOUBLE HOM I CIDE IN BABY DRAMA, said the red banner on the screen, and she read the closed captioning, its spelling occasionally funky:
Police report that Narberf resident Ellen Gleeson was attacked in her home in an attempt to kill her and her baby, who she adopted but who was really Timothy Rravermark, a child kidnapped from wealthy Miami socialites . . .
Ellen looked away to the snow swirling outside the window. The hospital was quiet, and the only sound was the faint talking of the nurses down the hall. The door was partway closed, and she felt the world at bay. Snow inched up the panes, making a drift with an icy edge, thin as a knife. Steam heat fogged the glass, blurring the lights outside. She and Will had come full circle together, ending up in a hospital. She wondered how they could ever be separated, if that were even physically possible, but she’d insulate herself from thinking about that as long as she could, surely as the snow insulated the room, the hospital, and the world entire.
Somewhere out there was Marcelo, who had been trying to call her, but she couldn’t take the call and had switched off the cell phone. Hospital signs read that cell phones interfered with the equipment, and she wanted to spend the time alone with Will.
She thought fleetingly of her father, still off in Italy, but she’d call him tomorrow when they got home. She wasn’t sure when he was coming back. She had no idea how she’d tell him the news, which would crush him. She’d have him over to say good-bye to Will and she couldn’t imagine that scene.
He’s Will. He’s ours.
She thought of Connie, too, and how upset she’d be. The babysitter loved Will and would feel his loss almost as acutely as Ellen would. There would be no see-ya-later-alligator, this time. She worried most of all about how Will would cope. He loved Connie, as surely as he loved her, and he would need help to deal with the trauma and the transition. The child had known, and lost, three mothers in three years. She would get one of those therapists that the doctor recommended as soon as she got him home.
Will stirred in her arms, breathing deeply, and Ellen gazed down at him, his bandaged head on her chest. Multicolored lights from the TV flashed across his face, mottling his features like a kaleidoscope, but she could make out the gentle hillock of his cheek, his cheekbone still buried under baby fat, the contours of his face yet to be formed