Page 15 of Someone Like You
Larry gave her another glance. “Honey … answer it.”
“I am.” She grabbed her phone and brought it to her face. “Hi Dawson.” Her tone sounded a little unnatural. She waited for good news, whatever it was.
Instead Dawson sounded upset. “Louise … it’s … it’s London.” Yes, he was definitely crying. “She … she was hit by a … by a pickup truck and—”
“Pull over.” Louise’s tone was sharp. “Larry, please pull over.” He did and she handed the phone to him. “Take it. I … I can’t. I can’t do this.” She buried her face in her hands and held her breath. This wasn’t happening. Everything was fine with London. They had worked at the coffee shop together this morning.
Larry held the phone to his ear. “Dawson … this is Larry.” Her husband never sounded afraid. But he did now. “What is it?”
Larry’s words blended together and Louise tunedthem out. She couldn’t begin to imagine it was true. But what had Dawson just said? London was hit by a truck? What did that even mean? And why was Dawson crying?
Gradually the sound of Larry’s conversation came to the surface. He was driving again, turning around and heading back out of the neighborhood. Faster this time. “Do you know where they took her?”
Louise sat up and looked at him. Even in the early evening shadows, Larry’s face looked white as snow. She gripped his knee and waited.
“Okay. All right, we’ll be there as soon as we can. Thanks for calling, Dawson. It’ll be okay. We have to believe that.”
The call ended and Larry turned to her. “She was still talking to him before they took her in the ambulance.” His mouth sounded dry. He stared straight ahead, both hands gripping the steering wheel. “I told him she’ll be okay. She has to be okay.”
Twenty minutes later they parked near the emergency room and ran together through the doors to the front desk. Larry did the talking, and again Louise couldn’t hear every word. She needed to see London. She would go to her side and stroke her hair and whisper a prayer over her and everything would be all right.
Someone led them through another set of doors to a small waiting room. Dawson was there. On his knees. He seemed to finish his prayer, then he stood, his eyes red, face tearstained. Louise closed the distance between them and clung to him. As if this show of support could somehow change the circumstances.
Larry spoke first. “How is she? Has anyone talked to you?”
Dawson stepped back and stared at them. “She’s … not good. They’re working on her.” He struggled to speak. “The doctor said … someone would be in soon.”
They moved to take their seats, but Louise couldn’t sit. She walked to the closed door and to the far wall. The space was boxy, the air stale. Louise couldn’t stop the whispered words that spilled from her lips. “I’m sorry, God. I haven’t talked to You in years, but I need You. Save her, please, God. I’m begging You.”
Photographs began playing across her heart, the tiny baby girl in the pink blanket the day they took her home. The purple streamers on her first tricycle and the grin across her face as she learned to ride it.
Birthdays and Christmases and first days of school. Graduations and rainy afternoons at London Coffee.
“She has to be okay.” Louise turned to Larry. “Honey, she has to.”
Larry was on his feet again, taking Louise in his arms. He ran his hand over her back. “Come sit down, love. You need to rest.”
Louise stopped and stared at him. “You didn’t say she was going to be okay. That’s all you said all the way here, and now … now you didn’t say it.”
Dawson stayed seated. He lifted his head. “She might be.” He wiped at fresh tears on his face. “They’re doing tests. The doctor will tell us.”
“Yes.” Louise nodded. That was it. She still might be okay. Larry led her to the seat between him and Dawson and then she thought of something. The thing they never talked about. The facts about her birth London never knew.
“We should have told her.” Louise dug her elbows intothe arms of the chair and hung her head. “Why didn’t we tell her?” She sounded like someone having a breakdown. Her words weren’t meant for Larry or Dawson, but for herself. “Lots of couples struggle to have a baby. So we used IVF. That’s not crazy. That was never the problem, but … London deserves the truth.” A quick pause. “I’ll tell her when she wakes up. Then she’ll know.”
She was aware that Larry and Dawson could hear her, but she couldn’t stop herself. As long as she was talking about London, her daughter had to be alive. That was it, she had to be.
“I’ll tell her about the embryos. The three frozen embryos we donated after she was born.” Tears stung Louise’s eyes. She turned to her husband. “Why did we do that, Larry? Why didn’t we try to have those babies? Those were … London’s siblings. All of them.”
Larry was still pale. He looked lost in a fog of terror and uncertainty. “I don’t want to talk about this, Louise.”
“I do.”
Larry looked pained. “You … you couldn’t have more babies. You know that.”
“I could have.” Louise was on her feet again. “I chose not to. Because of what? A difficult pregnancy?”
He apparently wasn’t going to argue with her. And all the while Dawson sat there staring at the door, hearing this.
