He stood for a long time, watching her, as though waiting for her to open her eyes, and then finally, his head bowed, with damp eyes, he left the room. She was as beautiful as he had remembered her, and appeared untouched by age. Even her hair was still the same. They had taken the bandage off her head, and Chloe had brushed her mother's hair before she left.
The former Minister of the Interior of France sat in his car for a long time, and then he buried his face in his hands and cried like a child, thinking of everything that had happened, all he had promised and never given her. His heart ached for what should have been, and hadn't. It was the only time in his life he had failed to keep his word. He had regretted it bitterly for all the years since, and yet even now, he knew there had been no other choice. She had known it too, which was why she had left. He didn't blame her for leaving him, and never had. He had too many other responsibilities at the time. He only wished he could speak to her about it now, as she lay in her deep sleep. She had taken his heart with her when she left, and owned it still. The thought of her dying now was almost more than he could bear. And all he knew, as he drove away, was that whatever happened, he had to see her again. In spite of the fifteen years since he'd last seen her, and everything that had happened to both of them since, he was still addicted to her. One look at her face had intoxicated him again.
Chapter 6
Five days after the arrival of Carole's family in Paris, Jason asked for a meeting with all of her doctors to clarify her situation for them. She was still in a coma, and other than the fact that she was no longer on a respirator and was breathing for herself now, nothing had changed. She was no closer to consciousness than she had been in nearly three weeks. The possibility that she would never wake up again was terrifying all of them.
The doctors were kind, but blunt. If she didn't regain consciousness soon, she would be brain-damaged forever. Even now it was an ever greater possibility. Her chances for recovery were getting slimmer by the hour. Their concerns for her put words to Jason's worst fears. Nothing could be done medically to alter her situation. It was in the hands of God. People had woken up from comas after even longer, but with time her chances of recovering normal brain function were diminishing. The entire group was in tears when the doctors left the waiting room where they'd met. Chloe was sobbing, and Anthony was holding her, with tears running down his cheeks. Jason sat in tearful silence, and Stevie wiped her eyes and took a breath.
“Okay, guys. She's never been a quitter. We can't be either. You know how she is. Carole does things on her own schedule. She'll get there. We can't lose faith now. What about going somewhere today? You need a break from all this.” The others looked at her like she was insane.
“Like where? Shopping?” Chloe looked outraged, and the two men were dismayed. They had done nothing but go back and forth between the hospital and the hotel for days, and their misery was acute in either place. So was Stevie's, but she tried to rally the group.
“Anything. The movies. The Louvre. Lunch somewhere. Versailles. Notre Dame. I vote for something fun. We're in Paris. Let's figure out what she'd want us to do. She wouldn't want you all sitting here like this, day after day.” Her suggestion was met with a total lack of enthusiasm at first.
“We can't just leave her here and forget about her,” Jason said, looking stern.
“I'll stay with her. You guys do something else for a couple of hours. And yes, Chloe, maybe shopping. What would your mom do?”
“Get her nails done and buy shoes,” Chloe said with an irreverent look and then giggled. “And wax her legs.”
“Perfect,” Stevie agreed. “I want you to buy at least three pairs of shoes today. Your mom never buys fewer than that. More is okay. I'll make a manicure appointment for you at the hotel. Manicure, pedicure, leg wax, the works. And a massage. A massage would do you gentlemen some good too. What about booking a squash court at the health club at the Ritz?” She knew they both loved to play.
“Isn't that weird?” Anthony asked, looking guilty, although he had to admit he'd been craving exercise all week. He felt like an animal in a cage just sitting there.
“No, it's not. And you can both take a swim after you play. Why don't you all have lunch at the pool, and go from there? The boys play squash, Chloe gets her nails done, then massages for everyone. I can book the massages in your rooms, if you prefer.” Jason shot her a grateful smile. In spite of himself, he liked the idea. “What about you?”
“This is what I do,” she said easily. “I sit around and wait a lot, and organize things.” She had done the same for Carole when Sean was sick, and she would be at his bedside for days, especially after chemo. “A few hours off won't hurt anyone. It'll do you a lot of good. I'll stay with her.” They all felt guilty every time they left her alone at the hospital. What if she woke up while they were gone? Unfortunately, it didn't look like an imminent possibility. Stevie called the hotel, and booked the appointments for them, and literally ordered Chloe to stop at the Faubourg Saint Honoré on her way to lunch. There were plenty of shoes there, and even stores for the men. And as if they were children, she shooed them out of the hospital twenty minutes later and sent them on their way. They were grateful to her when they went. And she went back to sit quietly in Carole's room. The nurse on duty nodded to her. They had no language in common, but were familiar to each other by now. The woman caring for Carole that day was about Stevie's age. She wished she could have talked to her, but approached the still form on the bed instead.
“Okay, kiddo. No shit. You've got to get your ass in gear now. The doctors are getting pissed. It's time to wake up. You need a manicure, your hair is a mess. The furniture in this place looks like shit. You need to go back to the Ritz. Besides, you have a book to write.” Thanksgiving was only days away. “You have to wake up,” Stevie said with desperation in her voice. “This isn't fair to the kids. Or to anyone. You're not a quitter, Carole. You've had plenty of sleep. Wake up!” It was the kind of thing she'd said to her in the dark days right after Sean had died, but Carole had bounced back quickly then, because she knew Sean wanted her to, but this time Stevie didn't evoke his name. Only the kids'. “I'm getting sick of this,” she added as an afterthought. “I'm sure you are too. I mean, how boring is this? This Sleeping Beauty routine is really getting old.”
There was no sound or movement from the bed, and Stevie wondered how much truth there was to people hearing loved ones talk to them when they were in comas. If there was any, she was banking on it. She sat and talked to her employer all afternoon, in a normal voice, about ordinary things, as though Carole could hear her. The nurse went about her business, but looked sorry for her. By then the nursing staff had lost hope, and the doctors were right behind them. Too much time had gone by now since the bombing. The possibility of her recovering was dwindling by the hour. Stevie was well aware of it, but refused to be daunted by it.