Part XVIII

Ronan finally woke up for real, of his own accord, about an hour after Sean left. It was nothing like what happens in so many movies, where the victim groggily inquires what happened, or where am I, in a Hollywood-perfect scenario. His eyelids fluttered a few times and finally stayed open, with an occasional blink to break his unfocused stare.

I drew close. “Ronan?”

His lips moved as if he might speak, but he only sighed.

“Are you in pain? Do you need anything?”

He stared blankly in response, his eyes boring through me as if I wasn’t there.

“Can you hear me?”

Still, he stared into space, not acknowledging me.

I was dangerously close to tears. “Ronan, please!” I begged. “Can’t you—oh, I don’t know! Blink if you can hear me?”

At that, he did turn his head slightly towards me and, very deliberately, he blinked.

“Oh, thank God! Do you know who I am?”

He blinked again, and tears pooled in the corners of his eyes.

I leaned down and embraced him carefully, mindful of his injuries. By then I had talked with his doctor and learned that there were three broken ribs and numerous contusions, in addition to the concussion and the broken arms. Still, I felt a desperate need to offer comfort.

His response—a sharp, shallow intake of breath—told me I had given him more pain than comfort. I pulled away and cautiously sat down on the edge of the bed, gently touching the fingers of his left hand. Even that slight contact made him flinch.

“Ro, isn’t there any way I can touch you without hurting you?”

His lips shaped a word, but no sound came out. “No.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

This time his answer came out in a faint whisper. “No.”

The doctor had forewarned me, and so had Sean. Ronan’s ability to recall recent events really was impaired, and would be for quite some time. He might never remember exactly what had happened, and I was beginning to think that might be a blessing. It was enough to know that he had been assaulted, without encouraging him to dredge up nightmarish memories of the experience. Far better for him, if he could simply heal and move on, and leave it all behind.

***

Eventually, I did have to leave him, though I hated to. He was sleeping soundly once again when I kissed him goodnight, and I hoped he wouldn’t wake up suddenly in my absence, and wonder where I’d gone. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have worried about that, but he was so muddled from the concussion and the effects of the pain medication, I figured he’d be upset and frightened if he woke up alone. The nurse and the aide assigned to him both assured me they would keep a close watch throughout the night, and then I knew for certain that he was in good hands. Everyone involved in his care seemed kind and sympathetic, and that eased my mind considerably.

It wasn’t until I got home and saw the light flashing on my answering machine that I realized I had forgotten to call work and let them know what was happening. I was listening to the third frantic message from the office, with many more to come, when I heard the doorbell ring. I stopped the answering machine, turned to the intercom, and pressed the button. “Yes?”

“Sarah!” Emily’s voice came crackling through the speaker. “You’re home! Can I come up?”

“Yeah.” I pushed the buzzer, then opened the door and waited.

Emily’s footsteps came pounding up the stairs. “Sarah!” she exclaimed breathlessly, as she reached the landing and ran to me. “God, I’ve been worried sick!” She flung her arms around me. “Where have you been? Didn’t you get the messages I left on your cellphone?”

My cellphone. It lay on the telephone table, still connected to the charger.

“I guess I forgot it when I ran out this morning. Come in. I’ll make tea.”

Emily’s brow puckered. “You look like hell, Sarah. What’s wrong? Isn’t Liam—he isn’t off at Sean’s again, is he? I thought Jon told me he and Sean were wrapping things up last night.”

“They were. They did. Ronan’s not at Sean’s.”

“Then where—oh, never mind! You look like you’re about to fall apart. Tell you what: you have a seat in the kitchen and fill me in while I make the tea.”

I followed her and sat down at the little gate-legged table, in the chair Ronan usually occupied, and watched as she bustled around. On the table, to my left, the clock-radio that had turned my life upside-down flashed its display in bright red digits.

Ten-fifteen.

Twenty-four hours ago, I had been stepping into a hot, fragrant bath, expecting that Ronan might be home around midnight.

Twenty-four hours ago, Ronan had still been hard at work in the studio with Sean, the beginning of his ordeal less than four hours away.

I stared at the clock blankly, not even noticing as the minutes passed.

When the tea-kettle whistled, the noise made me jump.

Emily rested her hand on my shoulder. “Easy, hon. It’s just the kettle.”

“I know.”

Emily brought two steaming mugs to the table and sat down across from me. “I guess I don’t really need to tell you that Shondra’s out for blood, and you’d better have a damn good reason for not calling in when you get to work tomorrow.”

“Fuck her!” I snapped. “I’ve been working for her for ten years now, and I’ve been conscientious and loyal in spite of all her bullshit. She ought to know me well enough by now to realize that something big must’ve gone down, for me to forget to call in.”

“Well, I know that, and you know that, but Shondra has never been the understanding type. Maybe you should practice what you’re going to say to her on me first. We’ve established that something big went down. What was it?”

I picked up my tea and sipped cautiously, My stomach rumbled as I swallowed, and suddenly I realized I was starving. Calling in at work wasn’t the only thing I had forgotten to do today.

“Well?” Emily prompted.

“Did you happen to hear any local news this morning, Em?”

“Some. What in particular?”

“A John Doe case at Mass General?”

“Yeah. I overheard one of the girls at lunch saying that the man had been identified, and the hospital wanted people to stop coming by and asking to see him. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I’m the one who identified him. John Doe turned out to be Ronan.”

“What?”

I put my hands up to my face and rubbed my eyes. It felt like someone had poured sand into them. “He never came home from Sean’s last night. I figured I’d go into work and call Sean from the office. I thought maybe Ronan had stayed the night there and either forgotten, or been too tired to call and let me know. Either way, I didn’t sleep a wink all night, and I was listening to the radio this morning, trying to caffeinate myself enough to go to work, when I heard the John Doe story. I’d been having this weird feeling from about two A.M. on, that something was wrong, but half managed to convince myself I was worrying for nothing. But when I heard that story on the news, all my bells and whistles went off with a vengeance, and I ran off to the hospital. The closer I got, the worse I felt, so it really wasn’t too much of a surprise when I went into John Doe’s room and found Ronan.”

“Good God, what happened?”

“Sean and I pieced it together, based on where he was found, but we won’t know for certain unless Ronan remembers and tells us. It seems that he and Sean finished working around two in the morning. Sean was too tired to drive Ronan home and called a taxi for him. All we can figure is that Ronan got tired of waiting for the taxi and decided to walk home. Evidently, he cut through the Public Garden.”

“That’s crazy! Does he have a death wish?”

“Not that I’m aware of. I think it was just an honest mistake. He didn’t stop to think about what a dangerous place Boston can be in the wee hours. I’m guessing he probably had his head in the clouds after finishing that studio session, and needed to burn off some excess energy, and common sense never came into play. He loves the Public Garden, and it was right there in front of him, so he went through. I don’t know if he was attacked in the Garden and thrown out on the street, or attacked on the street just after leaving, but the cops found him on the sidewalk at Boylston and Arlington. He was unconscious, so they called him John Doe and had him brought to the hospital.”

“Oh, Sarah! He’s hurt, then?”

“Yeah. He was beaten and robbed.”

“Oh, shit. He’s lost all his identification?”

“No, thank God. He doesn’t usually take his wallet when he goes to Sean’s. Last night he left here with his guitar and twenty bucks, just in case. The money was still in his pocket when I went through his things this afternoon, but the guitar was gone.”

“Does he know?”

“I don’t think so, ’cause he doesn’t remember a thing about what happened.”

“He has a head injury?”

“Yeah, a concussion.”

“Is that the worst of it?”

“No. He’s all banged up: lots of bumps and bruises, and he broke three ribs and both arms.”

“Oh, Jesus! Do you have any idea how long they’re keeping him in the hospital?”

“The doctor seems to think he’ll be in for about two weeks. After that—God, Em! I don’t know what to do. He can’t be alone all day with both arms in casts, and I can’t stay home from work to take care of him.”

“Then you’ll have to hire someone to stay with him during the day. There must be some organization you could call for a list of available home health aides. Maybe start with the V.N.A.?”

“I’ll look online during lunch tomorrow, and make some phone calls.”

“You could also ask at the hospital, or suggest that to Ronan. Even though he’s not a U.S. citizen, they’ll probably send a social worker to talk to him, and ask about his home arrangements. Chances are good that you’ll be at work when that happens, so Ronan will have to advocate for himself.”

“Once he’s a little less muddled, I don’t think that’ll be a problem. He’s pretty articulate when he wants to be.”

“I know, but it may take him awhile to get back up to speed, depending on how bad the concussion is. Was he unconscious for very long?”

“Yes and no. The nurse came by and woke him up every couple of hours throughout the day, but he wasn’t really lucid until around five-thirty.”

“Was he able to talk to you?”

“Well—he acknowledged me, non-verbally, and he answered no to a couple of questions. I think he’d be sharper if he wasn’t so doped up on painkillers.”

“Oh, they’ll stop giving him those soon enough, and when they do, you’ll wish they hadn’t. Poor Ronan. The arms alone—”

“Yeah, I know.” I swallowed a little more tea. “Em, I don’t know what’s worse right now—fatigue or hunger.”

“Didn’t you eat anything today?”

“I forgot to. I only left him for half an hour, while he was still in that deep sleep state. I was going to take a quick walk and get some fresh air, but I met Sean in the lobby. We ended up talking, and then he came up to Ronan’s room with me for awhile. I wasn’t really hungry, anyway, and even though I am now, I don’t think I could eat much.”

“How about yogurt? Do you have any?”

“I think so. Ronan just went shopping a few days ago, and I’m pretty sure he stocked up. He loves the blueberry kind.”

Emily found a container in the fridge and brought it over, along with a spoon.

I took one look at it, tried to swallow the lump in my throat and failed, and started to cry.

Emily put her hands on my shoulders and squeezed gently. “Sarah, hon, you’ve got to loosen up.”

“I can’t!” I sobbed. “Oh, Em, if you could have seen him!”

“I’ll see him soon enough, I’m sure. Once I’ve told Jon, we’ll both come over to visit as soon as you say Ronan is up to it.”

“I’ll let you know,” I promised.

“Come on, now, eat the yogurt. You’ll feel better once you’ve got something in your stomach.”

“All right. I’ll try.” I plucked a tissue from the box on the table and blew my nose. That done, I peeled the red foil lid from the yogurt container and picked up my spoon. The yogurt tasted surprisingly good, and after eating it, I did feel a bit better: still exhausted, but definitely better. I picked up my tea and drank a bit more. “Em, I know it’s just you and me here tonight, but we really shouldn’t get into the habit of saying Ronan all the time. Next thing you know, one of us will slip and call him that instead of Liam, and he’ll have a fit.”

“He hardly seems like the sort of man to have fits, Sarah.”

“Well, he’s very anxious about maintaining his anonymity. If you’d jumped through all the hoops he did to get a new identity, you’d be anxious, too—and upset if you felt someone dear to you had betrayed your trust.”

“You didn’t tell me on purpose.”

“I know, but still—”

“I’ll be careful, I promise. You and Liam don’t need any more stress right now.”

“Thank you.”

“Sarah, I think it would be a good idea for you to go to bed and get some rest. I’d be happy to stay with you tonight, if you want company.”

“Would you, Em? But what about Jon?”

“We don’t see each other every night, y’know. It’s all right. I’ll talk to him tomorrow and tell him what happened. Then I’ll call you and we’ll figure out when would be the best time for us to come by the hospital for a visit. Maybe after work—”

“Work! Shit, Em, I don’t want to go in tomorrow. I want to spend the day with Ronan. You don’t think Shondra would fire me, do you?”

“I would hope not, but you really should call her first thing in the morning and tell her what’s going on. Be truthful. Tell her you want a few days off, without pay if necessary, so you can stay with Liam while he’s in crisis.”

“Em, he’s hurt, but I wouldn’t say he’s in crisis.”

“Well, he will be if you don’t spend some time figuring out what you’re going to do about his care once he’s home. Why not work on that for a couple of hours each day while you’re off? Then you can go to see him around noon, and spend the rest of the day with him, without all that business hanging over your head.”

“I think he’s going to blow a gasket when I tell him he’s got to have a caretaker.”

“So? Let him rant if he must, but eventually he’ll realize he doesn’t have a choice. Or does he?”

I shook my head. “Em, he won’t be able to use his arms at all for at least eight weeks, and that’s only if he recovers without any complications. The doctor is awfully concerned about his left arm.”

“And what about the right arm?”

“It wasn’t broken as badly as the left one. You can’t imagine how much I want to kill the assholes who did this to him!”

“Sarah, what a waste of energy! You’ll probably never even find out who they were. Better to focus on Liam now, and on getting him well again.”

“That’s what Sean said, too.”

“And he’s right.” Emily picked up my empty yogurt container and the spoon and carried them to the sink. “Now, my dear, what you’re going to do is take a nice, hot bath, and then you’re going straight to bed. No arguments.”

“Yes, mother,” I said, and smiled.

I followed Emily into the bathroom and perched on the closed toilet while she got the tub ready for me. The hot steam from the running water felt good after a day of breathing dry hospital air. Maybe I would ask her to throw in a fistful of lavender bath salts, so I could get rid of all the institutional smells that seemed permanently lodged inside my head.

Before I could ask, a different scent filled the air: sandalwood. Emily had taken Ronan’s bottle of shower gel and added some to the water to make a bubble bath. In that moment, the ache of not having him there was unbearable, and I started to cry all over again.

Emily turned off the taps and came over to me, gathering me into her arms. “Go ahead, sweetie. Let it all out now, so you won’t do it in front of him.”

I wasn’t the least bit inhibited about crying in front of Ronan, but I knew that wasn’t what Emily meant. She was telling me that I needed to spare him the burden of my grief, at least for the time being. Keeping it from him was an essential part of being strong for him. I already knew that, but it was good to have it confirmed by someone whose head was a little clearer than mine.

Eventually, I was able to calm down again, and the scent of Ronan’s bath gel soothed me until I didn’t feel quite so desolate anymore. Sandalwood was such a calming fragrance. Maybe Ronan could benefit from it, too, if I brought over some scented oil. The aroma lasted quite awhile when a drop was applied to the edge of each nostril. Maybe it would comfort him as it now comforted me.

“Come on, Sarah,” Emily urged. “The bath’s ready and waiting.”

She moved away to give me room to undress.

“Thanks, Em. I really appreciate this. I’m so tired.”

"Of course you are!”

I put one foot over the side of the tub, then the other, and sank gratefully into the bubbles.

“How’s that feel?” Emily asked.

“Wonderful!” I sighed, as I stretched out and leaned back.

“Enjoy, then. I’ll go and get the bed ready.”

It was like having a junior high sleepover, though I doubted we’d be staying up into the wee hours trading secrets and ghost stories.

Later, though, when I’d finished my bath and put on a clean nightgown, and we were lying under the blankets together, we did talk a bit. Or rather, Emily talked and I listened as best I could.

“I never thought I could fall in love with anyone,” she was saying, as I fought to stay awake. “Sex was fun every now and then, for as long as I could stand the guy. But Jon’s like no one I ever met before. Not only have I been able to stand him longer than any other guy I’ve ever known, but—Sarah?”

“Mmm?”

“I almost think—well, if he ever asked me—I believe I might say yes, and marry him…”

I was too exhausted to show my surprise or make a reply. It was the last thing I heard her say as I fell headlong into the arms of Morpheus.

***

C.P. Warner
© 25 August 2007

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