Excerpt
What Dreams May Come
Prologue
FEBRUARY 14, 1980
“I can’t accept that.”
“You have to. It’s been nearly two months; his condition hasn’t changed in any way. We’ve called in every specialist available, and they all agree.”
She stared out the window of the hospital waiting room, oblivious to the bleak, gray midwinter scene but feeling as cold as the rain trickling down the panes of glass. Unwilling to look at the familiar compassion in his tired eyes, she didn’t turn to face the doctor.
Not again. She had gazed with desperate hope into those eyes day after day for weeks, praying for a different response from him. But day after day the doctor’s weary eyes had remained pitying, offering no hope, and, with a tiny shake of his head, he always indicated there was no change.
The tearing pain and dreadful fear had turned into cold numbness, and she was grateful for it. It had been too much to bear, the pain and fear—and grief. Losing her brother so suddenly, and at the same time facing the possibility of losing Mitch as well. The first week had been the worst because nothing had been able to blunt the shock, and there had been so many things she’d had to take care of, arrangements to be made. Her parents had been devastated, and it had fallen on her to do what had to be done.
She had gotten through the funeral somehow, just as she had packed up Keith’s things and put them in storage. She had dropped out of college for a semester, dividing her time between home and the hospital. The weeks had passed with agonizing slowness, and yet it seemed that only yesterday she had been eyeing gaily wrapped packages underneath a Christmas tree and waiting impatiently for Mitch to arrive at her house; Keith had gone to pick him up because Mitch’s car had broken down the day before.
They never made it home that night. And now she was here, listening to a compassionate doctor’s gentle voice telling her that the date she had made with Mitch on Christmas Eve would in all probability never be kept.
“He’s alive,” she said huskily without turning, clinging to that slim hope. “He’s breathing on his own. And you said—you told me he wasn’t brain dead.”
The doctor sighed. “His brain is functioning, but we can’t be sure there’s been no damage. A coma of this duration almost inevitably means damage—”
“Almost,” she murmured.
“Miss Russell, I can’t be positive about anything. There’s still so much we don’t know about the brain. And, yes, people have survived comas of extended duration with little or no lasting damage. But those cases are so rare, they’re only footnotes in the medical journals. The probability is that John Mitchell will never regain consciousness.”
She was silent.
“I’ve spoken to his father,” the doctor said tiredly. “He wants to move his son to a private constant-care facility.”
“Why should he make that decision?” Her voice was tight now. “He never gave a damn about Mitch; he hasn’t even been here since the accident.”
“He has the right to make the decisions for his son because the court granted him legal guardianship; you know that. I understand they were estranged, but he has assumed responsibility for his son’s welfare. The facility he’s chosen is the best—but it’s also five hundred miles away. There’s no objection to your continuing to visit Mr. Mitchell.”
“How kind,” she said bitterly, knowing that visits would be nearly impossible once Mitch was moved so far away. She had to return to college, and to her part-time job; her family had little money.
The doctor drew a breath and made a final attempt. “Miss Russell, if you were my daughter, I’d give you the same advice I’m about to give you now: Get on with your life.”
After a long moment she said, “Thank you, Dr. Ryan.” Her voice was quiet, toneless.
He left the room, knowing that the attempt had failed. Kelly Russell wasn’t prepared to bury John Mitchell.
Feeling very old, she stood at the window, her eighteenth birthday just months behind her. She pressed her fingers lightly against the cold glass and watched the rain trickle down. On the third finger of her slim hand a diamond solitaire caught the faint light and glittered.
They were too young, her parents had said worriedly. Especially she. But they had known Mitch since he and Keith had met in high school, and since he had told them quite firmly on Kelly’s fifteenth birthday that he’d marry her as soon as she was old enough, they couldn’t say they hadn’t had time to get used to the idea. In love with her brother’s best friend for as long as she could remember, Kelly had never wavered in her feelings—and neither had Mitch.
He had gone to college, working just as Keith had to put himself through school. Only after he graduated and found a good job had he announced—with Kelly’s entire family present—his intention of marrying her. Reassuring her somewhat dazed parents, he had promised they’d wait until after Kelly graduated from high school. He had even been willing to wait while she went to college, but Kelly had protested that she could continue her schooling after they were married.
And so the date had been set. They had, she thought now dully, done everything right. Mitch had a good job with a healthy income and a promising future; he had been living in the apartment they’d chosen together while she continued to live with her family. They had seen each other on weekends and occasional evenings, spending the time planning their life together. They had done everything right. But they hadn’t counted on fate.
She stared at the bright diamond on her finger, and for the first time in weeks felt the wetness of tears on her cheeks.
Today should have been her wedding day.
“Mitch,” she whispered.
