Old Magic by Marianne Curley

they embrace. “It’s okay, Dad. I know you would’ve done everything you could.”
    “Your mother, God bless her, was already on her way back by then to collect us. We got in the car and followed the river. But it was useless. We’d lost him, couldn’t see him anywhere. People from the other side heard us yelling and screaming, and came to see what all the ruckus was about. Thank goodness they had a mobile phone. They called an ambulance and helped us search.”
    “Tell me you found him,” Jarrod’s voice drops to almost a whisper, his face bloodless white.
    Ian Thornton nods to reassure his son. “About a kilometer south of where he went down, he was floating in a pool. He wasn’t breathing though. By then the police and ambulance arrived. They revived him, but it took so long, son. So long, we don’t know . . . the effects. You know what I mean?”
    “Yeah, I understand, Dad. What have the doctors said?”
    It’s Ellen who answers, her voice high and edgy. “They said they won’t know till they’ve run some tests. He was breathing when they brought him in, but unconscious. He could be in a coma, Jarrod.” And adds with a hint of hysteria, “I mustn’t lose him.”
    Jillian’s arms tighten around Ellen’s shoulders as the woman’s whole body begins to tremble. She’s losing control and I feel helpless. “He’ll be fine,” Jillian soothes. “He’s in expert hands now.”
    “You don’t understand,” Ellen mumbles, losing control again. Her head is shaking, eyes enormous jittery balls. She looks wild. “I can’t lose another son!”
    It is this agonized statement that makes everybody go dead still. Both Jarrod’s parents look straight at him, guiltily. Jarrod’s voice is deep, his eyes narrow and intense. “Mom?” It’s only one word, but the tone demands an explanation.
    His father replies, “I’m sorry, son. It’s not something we talk about anymore.”
    Jarrod goes deathly pale. “What don’t you talk about, Dad?”
    Ian sighs loudly. “The others. The babies. Nobody knows the hard time your mother had. We swore after you were born, so strong and healthy, we’d start afresh and never mention the pain of the past.”
    “You have to tell me now.”
    They look at each other like they’re trying to stare each other out. Ian is first to look away. “We were both so young when the first came early. He was ten weeks premature and only lived twenty minutes. Doctors said it was best that way and we hoped for another child real soon. A year exactly later the twins were born. But they were premature too, their tiny lungs hadn’t stood a chance. Both picked up infections and died within their first week.”
    He pauses, his eyes pleading with his son not to make him continue. But Jarrod’s need to know is stronger. “Go on,” he urges through grinding teeth.
    “We waited three years to help your mother build her strength, and we hoped this time it would be different. Alex, we called him. He was beautiful, but tragically frail, born with only half a heart. He lived three weeks, but every day was a miracle.”
    Ellen whimpers into her handkerchief. The woman is distraught. She doesn’t need to hash this out now, recalling the painful past, but Jarrod is driven. “Was that it, then?”
    “No,” his father replies in a whisper-soft voice. “You may as well know the whole truth, now that it’s come out. Your mother had some surgery to clean and strengthen her womb. We had already decided to stop after that last one, but the doctors were sure this time she had a good chance. . . . Technically, they couldn’t find anything wrong.” He paused, the past coming back to haunt him. I sense he knew some day it would. “There were two more, both boys, both stillborn.”
    Tears flood my eyes, and when I look at Jillian, I see her eyes are teary too. There is so much feeling in the room, it is literally an energy that pulses like a heart beating on its own. It startles me to realize the