The memory keeper's daughter - Kim Edwards [72]
They laughed together. David felt a wave of gladness.
“Put the camera away,” she said, her hand on his arm.
“Yes,” he said. “I will.”
Bree had wandered over to the maypole and picked up a royal purple ribbon. A few others, intrigued, had joined her. David started back to the garage, watching the fluttering ends of the ribbons. He heard a sudden rush and stirring of the leaves, a branch cracking loudly. He saw Bree lift her hands, the ribbon slipping from her fingers as she reached up into the open air. A silence grew for a long instant, and then Norah cried out. David turned around in time to see Paul hit the ground with a thud, then bounce once, slightly, on his back, the sea lily necklace broken, the treasured crinoids scattered on the ground. David ran, pushing through the guests, and knelt beside him. Paul’s dark eyes, were full of fear. He grabbed David’s hand, trying hard to breathe.
“It’s okay,” David said, smoothing Paul’s forehead. “You fell out of the tree and lost your wind, that’s all. Just relax. Take another breath. You’re going to be okay.”
“Is he all right?” Norah asked, kneeling down beside him in her coral suit. “Paul, sweetie, are you okay?”
Paul gasped and coughed, tears standing in his eyes. “My arm hurts,” he said, when he could speak again. He was pale, a thin blue vein visible in his forehead, and David could tell he was trying hard not to cry. “My arm really hurts.”
“Which arm?” David asked, using his calmest voice. “Can you show me where?”
It was his left arm, and when David lifted it carefully, supporting the elbow and the wrist, Paul cried out in pain.
“David!” Norah said. “Is it broken?”
“Well, I’m not sure,” he said calmly, though he was nearly certain that it was. He rested Paul’s arm gently on his chest, then put one hand on Norah’s back to comfort her. “Paul, I’m going to pick you up. I’m going to carry you to the car. And then we’re going to go to my office, okay? I’m going to show you all about X-rays.”
Slowly, gently, he lifted Paul. His son was so light in his arms. Their guests parted to let him pass. He put Paul in the backseat, got a blanket from the trunk, and tucked it around him.
“I’m coming too,” Norah said, sliding in the front seat beside him.
“What about the party?”
“There’s lots of food and wine,” she said. “They’ll just have to figure it out.”
They drove through the bright spring air toward the hospital. From time to time, Norah still teased him about the night of the birth, how slowly and methodically he had driven through the empty streets, but he could not bring himself to speed today either. They passed the ROTC building, still smoldering. Wisps of smoke rose like dark lace. Dogwoods were in bloom nearby, the petals pale and fragile against the blackened wall.
“The world’s falling to pieces, that’s how it feels,” Norah said softly.
“Not now, Norah.” David glanced at Paul in the rearview mirror. He was quiet, uncomplaining, but tears streaked his pale cheeks.
In the ER, David used his influence to hurry the process of admission and X-ray. He helped Paul get settled in a bed, left Norah reading him stories from a book she’d grabbed in the waiting room, and went to pick up the X-rays. When he took them from the technician, he saw his hands were trembling, so he walked down the halls, strangely silent on this beautiful Saturday afternoon, to his office. The door swung shut behind him, and for a moment David stood alone in the darkness, trying to compose himself. He knew the walls to be a pale sea green, the desk scattered with papers. He knew that instruments, steel and chrome, were lined up in trays below the glass-fronted cupboards. But he could see nothing. He raised his hand and touched his palm to his nose, but even so close he could not see his own flesh, only feel it.
He groped for the light switch; it gave at his touch. A panel, mounted on the wall, pulsed and then filled with a steady white light that bleached things of their color. Against the light were negatives he’d developed the week before: a series of photos of a human vein, taken