Cutler 04 - Midnight Whispers

pocket and produced some money.
    "Take this," he said, offering it to Gavin. "You'll want something to eat or drink. I'm going back to see about Charlotte. I'll tell that sister of yours the way things is here," he told Gavin. Gavin nodded. "Maybe she'll have the decency to come this way and look after you."
    "Thank you, Luther."
    He fixed his eyes on me and I saw the tears locked within.
    "I'll be prayin' for him," he said. "He's a fine little boy, one I wished I had myself."
    Gavin and I watched him walk toward the exit. After he was gone, we turned and went to keep vigil outside the doors of the intensive care unit.
     
    I fell asleep on and off with my head resting against Gavin's shoulder. We sat on a small imitation leather sofa in the intensive care waiting room. Across from us an elderly woman sat staring out the window. Occasionally, she dabbed her eyes with her lace handkerchief. When she looked at us, she smiled.
    "My husband's had surgery," she offered. "He's stable, but with a man his age . . ." Her voice trailed off and she turned to the window again. Outside, the gray skies had begun to lighten here and there and the rain had stopped.
    "Has it been an hour yet, Gavin?" I asked.
    "A little more than an hour," he said. We got up and went to the ICU door. I took a deep breath and then we entered. The nurse at the desk in the center of the room looked up immediately. We saw patients hooked up to oxygen, one with his legs and arms in casts.
    "We're here to see Jefferson Longchamp," Gavin said.
    "You can stay only five minutes," she replied curtly.
    "How is he?" I asked quickly.
    "No change," she said. "He's down at the end on the right." We walked through the intensive care unit. I tried not to look at the other patients, all very seriously ill; but the sound of the heart monitors, the subdued murmur of the nurses' voices, the occasional moan and groan, the sight of bloody bandages and the row of semi-conscious and unconscious people was overwhelming. It made my heart heavy and every breath an effort. I couldn't help feeling we were treading on the boundary line between the land of the living and the land of the dead. My little brother was tottering.
    Jefferson was in a separate room in an oxygen tent. The light was off so that the room was darkened. He looked the same, only they had him hooked up to a heart monitor as well as the I.V. now. The wound in his leg had been cleaned and bandaged. Gavin held me close as we both looked at him.
    "I never dreamed he was this sick," Gavin said. "We should have done something last night."
    "It's my fault; I completely forgot about him cutting himself on that nail."
    "Don't you go blaming yourself," Gavin ordered perceptively.
    We turned as a nurse entered to check Jefferson's I.V. and take his pulse.
    "How is he?" Gavin asked quickly.
    "It's a good sign that he hasn't had any more convulsions," she replied.
    We remained until the nurse advised us to leave and then we went out and downstairs to the hospital cafeteria. I wasn't very hungry, but Gavin thought we should put something into our stomachs or we would just get weak and sick ourselves. I had some hot oatmeal and ate about half of it with a cup of tea. Afterward, we returned to the intensive care waiting room where we spent most of the day, going into the ICU whenever we could.
    Other patients' relatives came and went. Some were talkative, most were not. Gavin and I slept on and off, thumbed through some magazines and simply stared out the window at the ever-clearing sky. The sight of blue patches and more foamy, cotton-like clouds warmed my heart. The next time we went into the intensive care unit, the head nurse told us that with every passing hour, he was improving.
    "He's not out of the woods yet by far," she said, "but his condition hasn't worsened."
    Cheered by her words, we returned to the hospital cafeteria. With improved appetites, we both ate a good deal more.
    "I half-expected Fern might show," Gavin said. "I thought even she isn't that low."
    "I hope they're not tormenting Aunt Charlotte and Luther," I said.
    "I think Luther's about ready to heave them out," Gavin replied.
    When we returned to the intensive care waiting room, we found Luther had returned and he had brought Homer along with him. Homer was dressed in a clean pair of slacks, a white shirt and tie. He had his hair brushed down as neatly as he could. He looked frightened and sad, but his eyes widened with pleasure when he saw us come