children I suppose. My love for Josh and Steven mirrors Sarah’s love for Coleman, and soon I will bestow that same kind of love on a child that may or may not have been born. Coleman says he isn’t sure he can love an adopted daughter that way. I’m betting he can, and that he will experience that sooner than he thinks. Sarah? Will she love her granddaughter as she loves her grandsons? I wonder.
As we approached the front door, Josh came bounding out of the house. “Mom, Grandma!” he yelled, nearly tripping as he reached us. “You should see Steven! Blood everywhere. His whole head is blood, blood, blood!”
I froze. “Josh, what are you talking about?”
“Steven’s head. He fell down on his bike and he couldn’t see after that because he had blood in his eyes and everywhere.”
My heart raced as I felt my knees and legs weaken. I grabbed Josh by his shoulder. “Where is he?”
“Daddy and granddaddy took him off. In the car.”
“Where were they going?” I demanded.
“Someplace to get the blood out of his eyes. You should have seen him, mom. I got some on my hands.”
I looked down. The sight of the red smears sickened me. “Oh, God. Get in the car, Josh. Sarah, where would they have gone.”
“Well, I’m just not sure,” said Sarah.
“Well, get sure!” I screamed. “Let’s go find them.” I got behind the wheel as Josh and Sarah entered the passenger side. I backed wildly down the driveway, narrowly avoiding a car parked on the street, threw the shift into forward, simultaneously hitting the gas and spinning my tires on the cobblestones. With a death grip on the wheel, I maneuvered through the neighborhood. Sarah held Josh as he explained, yet again, how much blood covered Steven. “Josh, please!” I pleaded.
Sarah, refocused, gave directions to the emergency room as her eyes widened and the speedometer climbed. We jammed on brakes at a traffic light that stayed red for minutes, causing me to first pound the wheel in frustration, then gun the car through the light, still red. I almost collided with a bread truck, avoiding disaster only by a sudden swerve onto a sidewalk. At the hospital, I pulled into the ER lot, parked so as to fill two spaces, and threw open my door. “Wait here,” I called as I slammed the door. Seconds later, I entered the building.
My father-in-law sat in the reception area, his eyes focused on the magazine in his lap.
“What happened?” I demanded.
“Oh, just a little accident,” he said calmly. “Steven fell off his bike.”
“But the blood!”
“He cut his forehead, but a few stitches should do it, according to the doctor. Coleman’s with him.” He nodded toward the double doors.
I found them in a harshly lit cubicle cordoned off by a green curtain. On the table lay Steven, his eyes open and riveted on the white-coated man hovering over him. On the other side of the gurney stood Coleman, who looked up from the intricate work being done on Steven’s forehead.
“Hi, dear,” he said cheerfully. “Looks like we’re going to get a late start on the trip home.”
Steven started to turn his head toward me but was restrained by the doctor, whose fingers bracketed the child’s forehead as his thumb and forefingers did the work. I knelt beside, holding his hand and whispering words of comfort as the doctor cautioned him against sudden movements.
“You wouldn’t want me to make a mistake and sew your nose shut, would you?” Steven’s eyes widened momentarily until the laughter of the adults, even mine, reassured him.
Ten minutes and four stitches later, the doctor announced he was through, but wanted Steven kept still for a time. I thought it best to driveSarah and Josh, still waiting in the car, home while Coleman waited for Steven to be released. On my way to the parking lot, I offered a ride to my father-in-law, but he declined.
8
Coleman
While I didn’t look forward to our time in Charleston, knowing the tempest that would ensue when
As we approached the front door, Josh came bounding out of the house. “Mom, Grandma!” he yelled, nearly tripping as he reached us. “You should see Steven! Blood everywhere. His whole head is blood, blood, blood!”
I froze. “Josh, what are you talking about?”
“Steven’s head. He fell down on his bike and he couldn’t see after that because he had blood in his eyes and everywhere.”
My heart raced as I felt my knees and legs weaken. I grabbed Josh by his shoulder. “Where is he?”
“Daddy and granddaddy took him off. In the car.”
“Where were they going?” I demanded.
“Someplace to get the blood out of his eyes. You should have seen him, mom. I got some on my hands.”
I looked down. The sight of the red smears sickened me. “Oh, God. Get in the car, Josh. Sarah, where would they have gone.”
“Well, I’m just not sure,” said Sarah.
“Well, get sure!” I screamed. “Let’s go find them.” I got behind the wheel as Josh and Sarah entered the passenger side. I backed wildly down the driveway, narrowly avoiding a car parked on the street, threw the shift into forward, simultaneously hitting the gas and spinning my tires on the cobblestones. With a death grip on the wheel, I maneuvered through the neighborhood. Sarah held Josh as he explained, yet again, how much blood covered Steven. “Josh, please!” I pleaded.
Sarah, refocused, gave directions to the emergency room as her eyes widened and the speedometer climbed. We jammed on brakes at a traffic light that stayed red for minutes, causing me to first pound the wheel in frustration, then gun the car through the light, still red. I almost collided with a bread truck, avoiding disaster only by a sudden swerve onto a sidewalk. At the hospital, I pulled into the ER lot, parked so as to fill two spaces, and threw open my door. “Wait here,” I called as I slammed the door. Seconds later, I entered the building.
My father-in-law sat in the reception area, his eyes focused on the magazine in his lap.
“What happened?” I demanded.
“Oh, just a little accident,” he said calmly. “Steven fell off his bike.”
“But the blood!”
“He cut his forehead, but a few stitches should do it, according to the doctor. Coleman’s with him.” He nodded toward the double doors.
I found them in a harshly lit cubicle cordoned off by a green curtain. On the table lay Steven, his eyes open and riveted on the white-coated man hovering over him. On the other side of the gurney stood Coleman, who looked up from the intricate work being done on Steven’s forehead.
“Hi, dear,” he said cheerfully. “Looks like we’re going to get a late start on the trip home.”
Steven started to turn his head toward me but was restrained by the doctor, whose fingers bracketed the child’s forehead as his thumb and forefingers did the work. I knelt beside, holding his hand and whispering words of comfort as the doctor cautioned him against sudden movements.
“You wouldn’t want me to make a mistake and sew your nose shut, would you?” Steven’s eyes widened momentarily until the laughter of the adults, even mine, reassured him.
Ten minutes and four stitches later, the doctor announced he was through, but wanted Steven kept still for a time. I thought it best to driveSarah and Josh, still waiting in the car, home while Coleman waited for Steven to be released. On my way to the parking lot, I offered a ride to my father-in-law, but he declined.
8
Coleman
While I didn’t look forward to our time in Charleston, knowing the tempest that would ensue when
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