*****
By the time the boys arrived at the hospital, Robert had gorged himself with at least two trays of hospital food, ranging from roast beef to Salisbury steak. It tasted bad, he told his mom, grandma, Janie and her parents, but he scarfed it down anyway.
“We know you’re back,” Jessie said. “Your discriminating tastes are as bad now as ever.”
They all laughed at the comment since all were quite familiar with his habit of eating anything put before him, tasty or not.
The men and Nolan walked into the hospital room amidst laughter and revelry. Just over two hours had passed since Robert woke up so they were still in a state of exhilaration, thankful that God had spared their beautiful young man from death or worse, in their view: a persistent, vegetative state. He was awake, alert, and appeared to have all his mental faculties intact, notwithstanding the lingering amnesia—he still couldn’t recall Janie, though bits and pieces of their times together had begun to flash in his mind as all visited and Janie’s voice began to ignite synapses that had been ripped apart by the accident.
“You sound ornerier than ever,” Charles said right after he walked into the room, its door propped open with a doorstop. “Thank God you’re awake,” he added cheerfully as he walked to the side of Robert’s bed and gave him a hearty handshake with his right hand and gently patted his shoulder with his left.
“Ouch!” Robert said as his right hand, dangling with the rest of his arm in a temporary sling and cast, radiated pain up his arm and into his shoulder.
“Sorry,” Charles replied. “I’m just so thankful that you’re awake.”
“It’s okay,” Robert said, smiling through the pain.
Just then the telephone rang and Jessie picked it up, laughing. “Hello?”
Charles watched her facial expressions as the voice on the other end told her something that she clearly did not want to hear. “He just woke up a little while ago,” she said, loud enough to tell everyone she was very perturbed at the unwelcome telephone call. “Come by in the morning,” she finished as she slammed the telephone receiver on its base.
“Who was that?” Nancy said, leaning against the window air conditioning unit right next to the end table that held the phone.
Jessie rolled her eyes and looked at her mom and said, “Would you believe that a police officer wants to come by now to get Robert’s statement?”
They all shook their heads side to side, except Charles. If I don’t tell them now, the deputy will.
He glanced around the room and noticed that there were just enough seats for everyone to sit; he thought the news would be better received if no one fainted and fell to the ground after its delivery. Despite the deputy’s unwelcome call, the mood was still jovial, and Charles regretted that he had to alter the mood, perhaps irrevocably so.
“I’ve got something to tell you,” he said just loud enough to be sure all heard. “Please sit down.”
They did as requested. As he thought, the laughter stopped and a couple of faces grew concerned, including Jessie’s and Nancy’s. Robert, still racked with pain despite the over-the-counter painkillers he’d been given (he refused the really strong, addictive stuff) couldn’t smile well—even his laughs were tinged with a grimace. Max and Nolan continued to smile, though less than before.
“So what’s this all about?” Nancy asked.
Better to lay it all out than delay, he thought, as he considered whether he should build up to a climax before breaking the news, to lessen the impact it would have on how the family felt about his role in the tragedy. But that was self-serving, and he felt worse about manipulating those he loved, so he let it rip. After all, Brown’s stretching out the news ended up with Charles getting hit in the face with a proverbial two-by-four. “It’s my fault,” was all he said.
“Don’t be crazy,” Jessie replied, smiling. “I know why you told him to go for it. It’s not your fault.”
Charles shook his head side to side, knowing that Jessie thought his encouraging Robert to hitchhike was what he meant. The thought brought forth an unfortunate chuckle as he realized he played an even bigger part in the tragedy than the revelation at the police station revealed.
This will not go well, he thought.
“I’m not talking about that.”
“What are you talking about?”
He pulled a monogrammed handkerchief out of his left pants pocket and dabbed the now-forming tears from his eyes. “The boy who hit Robert,” he began, “was my client.”
Only Max sensed where this was going; it dawned on him why Charles was so upset in Anderson’s office. He went to Charles’s side and put his arm on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said softly.
Charles’s train of thought was broken as he looked into Max’s eyes, surprised that Robert’s dad was comforting him. He has no idea what I’m talking about.
“You don’t understand,” he blurted. “I got him off a DUI two years ago which saved his driver’s license and kept him out of prison. He wouldn’t have been driving that night if I hadn’t helped him. Heck, he wouldn’t have even been out of prison yet.”
Charles broke down and began crying profusely. Instead of blame and bitterness, he found himself almost immediately surrounded by loved ones who hugged and loved him, telling him over and over again that they understood—it wasn’t his fault. Robert tried to get out of bed to do the same, but the IVs and intense pain kept him from it. They then helped Charles to a chair and all prayed. Robert was alive and awake. At the moment, they had everything to be thankful for and had no intention of blaming anyone. There would be time enough for that later.