Page 17 of Someone Like You
Louise refused to finish the thought. “I love you, London, honey. You’re the sunshine of my life. You always have been.”
A slight cough came from the doctor. “She needs to rest.” He pushed the door open. “You can come back later.”
On the other side of the bed, Dawson still had hold of her hand. He looked over his shoulder at the doctor. “Can we pray for her?”
“Definitely.” The man let the door close again.
Dawson lowered himself so his face was near hers once more. He kissed her hand, the part that wasn’t bandaged. “Lord …” He hung his head for a few seconds. “We praise You and thank You … for London.” A tear slid down his face. “Please, God, heal her. She needs You now … In Jesus’ name, amen.” With the crook of his arm he wiped his face. He leaned close to her face and his voice became a choked whisper. “I love you, London.”
Again the doctor opened the door. “It’s time. Please.”
Desperation filled Louise. She couldn’t walk away. How could he ask her to leave her baby girl? This was her daughter, her only child. When London woke up she’d need her mother beside her. She held tight to London’s hand. Her lungs ached. How was she supposed to breathe without her girl?
Larry was beside London now, kissing her swollen cheek and wiping his tears. He turned to Louise. “Honey. We have to go … London knows we were here.”
Tears blurred Louise’s eyes as Larry led her out of the room and back down the hall.
This was a nightmare. Yes, that had to be it. A terrible, awful dream. Because London was out with Dawson, hiking Multnomah Falls. Tomorrow she and her beautiful daughter would be at their coffee shop and a photographer would come to take pictures of London in the new T-shirts.
Her modeling debut, that’s what they had called it.
Louise gripped her husband’s arm as they walked back to the terrible waiting room. When she sat down, Louise rewrote the story in her mind. They were not here and London was not in that hospital bed. She had certainly not been hit by a truck and she was not fighting for her life. She was out with Dawson, whole and healthy, young and lovely. Her precious London.
That’s what she told herself over and over and over again. Until someone brought her a blanket and she fell asleep in the chair. Even then she continued. They weren’t at the hospital. London wasn’t fighting for her life. On and on it went. Not like some ridiculous, delusional story.
But as if her own life depended on it.
6
London was still holding on.
She’d been off life support for twenty-four hours, and Dawson had spent almost every one of those here. Waiting for her to wake up. Praying for a good report. Hoping this would be the time.
He was at her bedside now. She was less swollen, less bruised, but her doctor had not been encouraged by either improvement. “It’s not her outside we’re concerned about,” he had told Dawson and London’s parents last night. “It’s her insides. Her organs.”
She had considerable internal bleeding, too much for her medical team to stop. Even so they were less worried about her brain or lungs, crazy enough. She had flown sixty feet in the air and landed on a sidewalk and somehow she hadn’t done catastrophic damage to her head. It was the reason she’d been able to talk to him in those early minutes after the accident. But since arriving here, her brain had swelled, sending her into a coma.
The machines were no longer keeping her alive, he understood that much. But her breathing sounded terrible. More labored than before. Dawson wanted to believe that was a good sign. Proof she was working to get better.
The doctors disagreed. Last night they had been clear that London’s chances weren’t good. Also, they doubtedwhether Louise really had felt London squeeze her fingers that first night. Dawson hadn’t felt any response at all. He took her hand. It still felt cold and stiff. “London?”
Nothing. No movement. Her entire body was lifeless.
“I’m here, baby.” Dawson’s voice was a hush. His words for her alone. “Come back to me, London. I’m waiting for you.”
God had done what Jeremy Camp sang about in the song. In all His mercy, He had given her Jesus. That’s what she had asked for on the sidewalk. Nothing more. Not life or healing or help in that desperate moment.
Just Jesus.
Another round of tears filled his eyes. “You have Jesus now, London. You asked. So you have Him.” He brushed at his wet cheeks with his free hand. “We still have so much to talk about. God, please let her come back to me.”
He waited, studying her. Any small movement would do. A twitch in her cheek or a flicker of her eyebrow. Movement in her arms or legs.Please, God … Please.A minute became five and then ten.
Nothing.
Dawson released London’s icy fingers and took his seat. He remembered the accident again, the way he did every hour. Who was the blond police officer? And how had he known their names? The man seemed so sure London was okay, but now …
Louise was in dialysis today, and Larry with her. Right by her side, where he’d been since the news about London. Dawson pictured Louise, the desperation on her face earlier as she left the hospital. She had begged Larry to stop her treatments. Anything that took her away from London wasn’t worth the time.
