Before the resident left, Father Tim had thanked him and asked when they could see her and he said that as soon as she was out of the recovery room in a few more hours, she would be taken to ICU upstairs. He and Sister Eugene went to the cafeteria for something to eat then, and she told Father Tim that he should go home and get some rest, but he didn't want to leave yet.
“I was thinking that maybe we should call her office. No one knows what's happened to her, except us. They must be wondering why she didn't come in,” which was exactly the case. Charles Mackenzie had had one of the secretaries call her half a dozen times at home, but there was no answer. She could have overstayed on a weekend romance, but he kept insisting that it wasn't like her. He had no idea who else to call, but for all he knew, she could have slipped and hit her head in the bathtub. He had even thought of trying to locate her superintendent but decided to let it wait till after lunch. As soon as he got back, there was a call from Father Timothy Finnegan, and the secretary who answered said it was about Grace.
“I'll take it,” he said, and picked up the phone with a sudden queasy feeling. “Hello?”
“Mr. Mackenzie?”
“Yes, Father, what can I do for you?”
“Not a great deal, I'm afraid. It's about Grace.” Charles felt his blood run cold. Without hearing more, he knew something terrible had happened to her.
“Is she all right?”
There was an endless silence.
“I'm afraid not. She had a terrible accident last night. She was mugged and badly beaten after leaving St. Andrew's, the crisis center where she does volunteer work. It was late, and … we don't know all the details yet, but we're afraid it may have been the crazed husband of one of our clients. He killed his wife and children on Saturday. We're not sure if it was he that attacked Grace. But whoever did it, beat Grace within a hair of killing her.”
“Where is she?” Charles's hand shook as he grabbed his pen and a notepad.
“She's at Bellevue. She's just come out of surgery.”
“How bad is it?” It was so unfair, she was so young, and so alive, and so pretty.
“Pretty bad. She lost her spleen, though the doctor says she can live without it. Her kidneys are damaged, she has a broken pelvis and half a dozen broken ribs. Her face was pretty badly cut up, and he sliced her throat but only superficially. The worst of it is that she has a head injury. That's the main concern now. They said we'll just have to wait and see. I'm sorry to call with such bad news. I just thought you'd want to know,” and then, he didn't know why he told him, but he felt he had to, “She thinks a lot of you, Mr. Mackenzie. She thinks you're a great person.”
“I think the world of her too. Is there anything we can do for her at this point?”
“Pray.”
“I will, Father, I will. And thank you. Let me know if there's any change, will you?”
“Of course.”
The moment he hung up, Charles Mackenzie called the head of Bellevue, and a neurosurgeon he knew well, and asked him to have a look at Grace immediately. The head of the hospital had promised to put her in a private room, and see that she had private nurses. But first she was going to intensive care, where they were experts at dealing with trauma.
Charles couldn't believe what they'd told him when he called the hospital. He remembered telling her how dangerous the neighborhood was, and that she should be taking cabs. And now look what had happened. He felt shaken for the rest of the afternoon, and he called at five and asked if there was any improvement. She was in intensive care by then, but they didn't have any news. She was listed as critical. And at six o'clock, he was still at the office when his neurosurgeon friend called him back.
“You wouldn't believe what that guy did to her, Charles. It's inhuman.”
“Will she be all right?” Charles asked him sadly. He hated to see something like that happen to her, or anyone. And he was surprised to realize how fond of her he had grown. She was so young, she could have been his daughter, he realized, feeling startled.
“She could be all right,” the doctor answered. “It's hard to say yet. The other injuries should heal pretty well. The head is another story. She could be fine, or she couldn't. It all depends if she comes out of it in the next few days. She didn't need brain surgery, which is fortunate, but there's going to be some swelling for a while. We just have to be patient. Is she a friend of yours?”
“My secretary.”
“Damn shame. She's just a kid, from what I saw on the chart. And there's no family, is there?”
“I don't really know. She doesn't talk about it. She never told me.” It made him wonder now what her situation was. She never talked about her personal life and family. He knew almost nothing about her.
“I spoke to a nun who was sitting with her. The priest who came in earlier had apparently gone home to rest. But the Sister says she has no one in the world. That's pretty rough for a young kid. The Sister says she's a nice-looking girl, though it's a little hard to tell at the moment. The plastic resident sewed her up so she should look okay. It's just the head we have to worry about now.” Charles felt sick when he hung up. It was too much to bear. And how could she not have any family? How could she be alone at twenty-two? That didn't make sense to him. All she had was a nun and priest with her. It was hard to believe she had no one else, but maybe she didn't.
He sat at his desk for another hour, trying to work, and got nowhere, and finally he couldn't stand it any longer.
At seven o'clock he took a cab down to Bellevue, and went to the ICU. Sister Eugene had left by then too, though they were calling regularly from St. Andrew's for news, and Father Tim had said he'd be back later that night when things settled down at the shelter. But there were only nurses with her now, and for the moment nothing had changed since that morning.
Charles went and sat with her for a while, unable to believe what she looked like. She would have been completely unrecognizable, except for her long, graceful fingers. He held her hand in his own and gently stroked it.
“Hi Grace, I came down to see you.” He spoke quietly, so he wouldn't disturb anyone, but he wanted to say something to her, on the off chance that she could hear him, although it certainly seemed unlikely in the state she was in. “You're going to be fine, you know … and don't forget that dinner at ‘21.’ I'll take you there myself if you hurry up and get well … and you know, it would be nice if you would open your eyes for us … it's not too exciting like this … open your eyes … that's right, Grace … open your eyes …” He went on talking soothingly to her, and just as he was thinking about leaving her, he saw her eyelids flutter and signaled to the nurses at the desk. His heart was pounding at what he'd seen. Her survival was vital to him. He wanted her to live. He barely knew her, but he didn't want to lose her. “I think she moved her eyelids,” he explained.
“It's probably just a reflex,” the nurse said with a sympathetic smile. But then she did it again, and the nurse stood and watched her.
“Move your eyes again, Grace,” he said quietly. “Come on, I know you can do it. Yes, you can.” And she did. And then she opened them briefly, moaned, and closed them. He wanted to shout with excitement. “What does that mean?” he asked the nurse.
“That she's regaining consciousness.” She smiled at him. “I'll call the doctor.”
“That was great, Grace,” he praised her, stroking her fingers again, willing her to live, just to prove she could do it, just so one more mugger wouldn't win a life he didn't deserve to take. “Come on, Grace … you can't just lie there, sleeping … we've got work to do … what about that letter you promised me you'd do …” He was saying anything he could think of and then he almost cried when he saw her frown, the eyes opened again and she stared at him blankly.