“Trygve, how am I going to get through this?” She leaned her head against his chest and cried. It was easy to escape into thinking about him, or being angry at Brad, or worrying about Andy's arm. But the most important thing that was happening, the thing that all of them could barely face, was that Allyson might be dying.
“You're doing fine,” he said gently as he held her. “You're doing everything you can. The rest is in God's hands.”
She pulled away to look at him then, and he handed her a paper napkin to blow her nose with. “I wish He'd hurry up and fix it.”
Trygve smiled. “He will, give Him time.”
“He's had two weeks, and my life is falling apart.”
“Just hang in there. You're doing great.” One thing she knew for sure was that she couldn't have done it without him. Brad was God knows where doing God knows what. She knew he had come to see Allie at least once every day or two, but he couldn't take the anguish of the ICU for longer than a few minutes. He still couldn't face it. He couldn't face the sameness, the lack of change, the machines, the monitors, and the fact that they might lose her. He was leaving Page to cope with it alone. He had been a lot better about it when they had had Andy. But they had been younger then, and Andy had been so tiny and sweet. The incubator was filled with hope, and the ICU was filled with dying.
Page and Trygve sat talking for a long time, and he teased her that she was upset because of her mother's arrival the next day, and actually she didn't deny it.
“Why do you hate her so much?” he asked, he had wondered about it. It wasn't like her.
“Old news. I had a fairly rotten childhood.”
“Most people did. My father, good Norwegian that he was, thought an occasional caning was an important part of life. I still have a scar on my behind from one particularly vigorous session.”
“How awful!” She looked horrified.
“That was the way in those days. And he'd probably do it again now, if he had children. He can never understand why I'm so liberal with my kids. Actually, I think he and my mother are a lot happier now that they're back in Norway.”
“Could you ever see yourself living there?” she asked, intrigued, trying to forget her worries about Allie. He was right. There was nothing she could do but wait, hope, and pray. And see what happened.
“No, I couldn't,” he said in answer to her question about Norway. “Not after living here. The winters are endless there, and it's dark all day long. It's kind of primeval. I don't think I'd survive anymore out of California.”
“Yeah, me too.” The idea of moving to New York again made her shudder. Although she would have liked the opportunity to pursue her artwork there. But she could do it in California too. She just hadn't bothered. Brad had always made her feel that it was something she should do for friends, or in their kitchen. Not something she should ever work at. Somehow he felt that what she did wasn't important. She'd promised to do another mural for the school, but spending every spare moment at the hospital, she didn't have time now.
“You ought to do something here,” Trygve said later, looking around them. The waiting room was a dismal place, and the hallway was worse. “It's so depressing. One of your murals would give people something to think about while they wait. They make you happy just looking at them,” he said admiringly.
“Thank you. I enjoy it.” She looked around the room, thinking of what she could do there, but hoping she wouldn't be there long enough to do it.
“Am I going to meet your mother while she's here?” he asked comfortably, and Page rolled her eyes while he laughed. “She can't be that bad.”
“Actually, she's worse, but she can be pretty subtle about it when she wants to. She refuses to face anything disagreeable. Or discuss it. This is going to present quite a challenge for her.”
“At least she sounds cheerful. What about your sister?”
Page could only laugh. “She's very special. They both are. I didn't see them at all for the first few years after I came out here, and then my father died, and I felt sorry for my mother, so I invited her out. That was a mistake. She and Brad fought like cats and dogs every day, subtly of course, it's all very passive aggressive, but it gives me a stomachache to be around it. And of course she thought I had no idea how to bring up Allie.”
“At least she can't complain about that now,” he said encouragingly.
“No, but she won't approve of the doctor. David, my brother-in-law, will probably have heard that he's a quack and about to be sued for malpractice. The hospital will be all wrong. Not to mention the really important stuff, like how bad the hairdresser is at I. Magnin.”
“They can't be that bad.”
“They're worse.” But behind the humor he sensed that there was more. Page was too grown up, and too at ease with herself to dislike them as much as she did, if there weren't more to it. But it was also obvious that she didn't want to share it with him, and he didn't press her. She was entitled to her secrets.
He went back to Chloe eventually, and she to Allyson, and Page finally came to Chloe's room at five o'clock, and sat down and chatted with her. Chloe was still in a fair amount of pain, and her extensive casts and pins and contraptions looked pretty miserable, but she was handling it well, and she was happy to be alive. She was very worried about Allie. Trygve had told her pretty honestly that she still might die. She wasn't out of the woods yet. Jamie was there that afternoon too, and asked for news of Allyson as soon as he saw her mother.
“How is she?” Chloe asked the moment Page came into the room.
“The same. How about you? Driving the nurses wild, flirting with the residents, ordering pizzas all night long? The usual stuff?” Page grinned and Chloe laughed at the description.
“That and more,” Trygve teased, and Chloe laughed. She was a real teenager and it did their hearts good to see it.
“Good.” Page only wished that Allyson were doing the same things. But surely so did the Chapmans about Phillip. She could only imagine how they must feel only two weeks after the accident, and her heart ached whenever she thought of them. However awful things were with Allyson, there was still hope. But there was no hope for the Chapmans.
Jamie said that he had seen them a few days before and Mrs. Chapman was still in pretty bad shape. Mr. Chapman had told him he was suing the paper for the article that seemed to blame Phillip. Jamie mentioned too that a reporter had come to see him again, to ask him what it was like to be the only one who'd escaped unscathed. But for the most part, the press interest finally seemed to have faded.
They left Chloe at six o'clock, when the pizza Trygve had ordered for her arrived. Jamie stayed to share it with her, and Trygve drove Page back to his place.
“Do you want to stay for dinner?” he asked hopefully.
“I'd love to, but I should probably go home in case Brad shows up. He probably won't, but if he does, Andy will be upset to miss him.” Trygve didn't press, and despite Andy and Bjorn's protests, Page took Andy home, but Brad never came home until the next morning. And then, in spite of all Page's promises to herself, there was the usual explosion.
“What was all that bullshit the other night about wanting to stay here, and not being sure of what you wanted? Who are you kidding with that shit?” She was livid. She was tired of living like this, while he pursued his own life with another woman.
“I'm sorry. I should have called. I don't know what happened … I just didn't.” He did know what had happened, of course, but he couldn't tell Page. He had gone away overnight with Stephanie and there was no way he could call her from their hotel room. Stephanie hadn't left him for a single minute, and she had been furious on Sunday morning when he had insisted on driving back. But not as furious as Page had been when he walked in at noon, having never called her. She and Andy had been just about to leave for the airport. “Look, I'm sorry,” he said helplessly, feeling like a moron. He was ricocheting between two worlds and two women, and not handling either very well.