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CLAIRE PUSHED THE BUTTON for her floor. In spite of the insistent throbbing in her ankle, she smiled at her reflection in the mirrored elevator. Flushed and happy for the first time in ages, she wanted to laugh out loud. Silly, perhaps, and yes, she may never see John again, but she was alive again, and it felt good, thank you very much. The elevator doors opened, and she limped down the hall.
She heard the ringtone the moment she opened the door. Recognizing her parents’ number, she hesitated for a moment before picking it up.
“Claire, dear, are you coming for dinner?” Her mother was always unfailingly cheerful.
“I hadn’t planned on it, no.”
A startled gasp preceded her mother’s next words. “But dear, Cam has a hockey game tonight.”
Claire glanced at the calendar and groaned silently. It was there all right. Cameron’s team was playing Spokane tonight. She couldn’t quite remember when they’d slipped into the habit of having dinner together before going to the rink to watch her twin play. Of course now that Cam was in the minors, the team had their game-day routine, so it was just the three of them.
“Mom, I don’t think I can make it tonight. I’ve had a really bad day and I just...” Her voice trailed off.
Silence from her mother. “Are you sick, dear?”
She’d have to be sick indeed to miss one of her brother’s games. She counted slowly to three. “No, but I’ve twisted my ankle, and I should stay home and put it up. Sorry, but Cam won’t even know I’m not there.”
“Your father will be disappointed, but I know he’ll understand. Is there anything we can do for you?”
“No thanks, Mom. I’ll probably go to bed early.” She touched the calendar. “I’ll be there for his next game on Thursday, okay?”
“Okay, dear. Take care of yourself.” Her mother still thought of her as a child, something Claire knew would never change. “We’ll miss you.”
“Goodnight, Mom.” Claire disconnected, wandered into her bedroom and lay down on her bed. Her back ached from bending over the drafting board. She’d just rest for a few minutes.
* * *
THE PHONE RANG, JOLTING her awake. The room was dark; she must have fallen asleep.
“Claire?” Her father’s voice was unnaturally shaky. “Cam’s been taken to the hospital. We’re on our way there now.”
She swung her feet out of bed and looked at the clock. By her quick calculations, the second period of Cam’s game should be starting any time. “What happened?” she asked.
“We don’t know yet. He’s unconscious. He was boarded and his head hit one of the stanchions.” Her father took a quick breath. “They’re taking him to the General. We’ll meet you in Emergency.” He disconnected without further discussion and she sat staring at the phone in her hand. Whoever said that twins could sense each other’s injuries were wrong this time. She’d slept through the whole thing.
* * *
HER HANDS TREMBLED as she paid the taxi driver and climbed out of the car. She knew that hockey was a rough sport... some might even call it violent, but she’d never considered that same violence would touch Cam. How ridiculous was that?
The doors of Emergency whooshed open and she entered, looked around and spotted her parents. Her mother seemed to have aged ten years and her father looked like he might never smile again.
“Have you heard anything?” she asked, acknowledging her father and taking her mother’s hands in her own.
Her father stood up and started pacing. “The Doctor was here a minute ago. They’ve taken Cam for an MRI. He’s still unconscious.” His voice wavered. “He’d chased the puck into the corner and passed it off already when this big bruiser slammed him into the boards.” He closed his eyes as though to block out the image. “Cam just crumpled onto the ice.” His opened his eyes again and looked around the waiting room as though wondering what he was doing there. “He was so still.”
Claire nodded. There was nothing she could say to ease the pain. They’d all seen Cam hurt before, but nothing like this. She gave her mother’s hands a gentle squeeze. “Can I get you anything, Mom? A cup of tea?” She looked up at her father. “Dad?”
He nodded. “Yes, tea would be good.” He touched Claire’s mother on the shoulder. “Grace? Would you like a cup of tea?”
She nodded, gave her daughter a weak smile. “Thank you dear; that would be nice.”
Claire brought back three cups of tea and the vigil began. Her father paced, frustration leaking from every pore in his body. Her mother sat quietly, lost in thought. The neurologist came back shortly before eleven and informed them that Cam had been taken to a room. He was still unconscious, but the results of the MRI were excellent.
“We have him sedated,” the doctor reported. “You might as well go home and get some sleep. In cases like this we like to keep them immobilized for the first few hours. Come back tomorrow morning.”
They left reluctantly, and Claire’s parents dropped her off at her apartment before going over the bridge. “We’ll pick you up in the morning,” her father informed her. “That way we can all be there when he wakes up.” He was speaking for her mother’s benefit; Claire knew that, but she clung to his words. “Okay, Dad,” she said, raising her cheek for the familiar kiss. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
He looked startled... angry perhaps. “I don’t want to hear any more of that kind of talk. I know what you’re thinking but there’s nothing you could have done to prevent it, so don’t go blaming yourself.” He looked into her eyes. “We need to concentrate all our energies on Cam. On helping him recover.”
She nodded tearfully and watched them drive away. No matter what he said, she still felt guilty for not being there.
* * *
CAM WOKE UP THE NEXT afternoon while their parents were taking a walk in the hospital corridors. He saw Claire and smiled. Then he pointed to the water glass and she held the straw to his lips.
“Just a couple of sips,” she said, when he tried to take more. “I asked the nurse and she was quite adamant about that.” She grinned at him. “I think she has a crush on you by the way.”
He turned his head and winced in pain. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus,” he said hoarsely.
“Do you remember what happened?” She held her breath, praying that he hadn’t lost his memory.
“Oh, yeah. It was a late hit.” He tried moving again. “Are Mom and Dad okay?”
“They’re right outside. I’ll go get them.”
She found them opposite the nurses’ station, speaking with the doctor.
“...that will be my recommendation,” he was saying, then looked up at her approach. “Hello, Miss Collins. I was telling your parents that Cameron has suffered a concussion and that I’ll be wanting to keep a close eye on him for the next couple of months.”
She saw the disappointment in her father’s eyes.
“But he’ll be all right, won’t he?” she asked.
“I believe so. Eventually. But even minor concussions are serious injuries. Not only in their own right, but because of the cumulative effects in the event of another concussion. We call it second-impact syndrome.” He looked at her father. “I’ve already consulted with the team doctor, and we both agree. Cameron won’t be playing hockey for the rest of the season.”
Claire’s father started to walk away and the doctor called after him. “Look at it this way, Mr. Collins. Your son is one of the lucky ones.”
“Oh my goodness, I forgot. I came out to tell you he’s awake.”
They all walked briskly down the hall. The doctor gave Cam a cursory examination, and then straightened up. “You’re a lucky young man, Cameron. You’ve had a minor concussion, but as far as we can tell, there’s no long-term damage.”
Cam looked from the doctor to his father. “When can I go back?”
Donald Collins cleared his throat. “Well, son, it looks like you might have to sit out the rest of the season.”
Some of the sparkle went out of Cam’s eyes but he soon recovered. “I kind of expected that, to tell you the truth. They’re being so much more careful these days.”
Claire watched her twin absorb the news. She knew him well enough to know that he was devastated, but trying to hide it for his father’s sake. It was difficult to take solace from the fact that he’d probably come back next year - especially since he’d been leading his team in points. A setback like this could cost him his dream of playing in the NHL. Was it any wonder she’d turned away from hockey? At least in tennis they didn’t try to injure one another.
* * *
“ZOEY?” CLAIRE CALLED her friend the next morning.
“Claire! I heard about Cam, but didn’t want to bother you until later. How is he?”
“He’ll recover, but it looks like he’ll be out for the rest of the year.”
“It’s just not right. Don’t get me started.”
“I hear you. Listen, Zo. Are you still looking for someone to write a few blogs?”
“Why? Did you find someone?”
“I was thinking about me.”
“But you told me you don’t have anything to say.”
“I didn’t the last time we talked, but I do now.”
“I’m not following you.”
“I’d like to write about violence in hockey, and how it’s getting out of hand.” She paused. “It would be controversial, if nothing else. I mean, everyone I know has an opinion on the subject.”
“That’s for sure. A blog like that would have our readership split right down the middle.” Claire could hear the enthusiasm building in her friend’s voice. “I think it’s a great idea. Are you okay with making it anonymous?”
“For sure. As a matter of fact, I’d like anonymity written into any agreement we make. For example, if I write about Cam’s situation, I’d like to blog about it as if I don’t even know him. It would be much more effective that way.” She had a sudden idea. “I could use the thread of Cam’s story to tie in with any future blogs. It wouldn’t always be about him of course, but I could report on his progress now and then. It could make the issues seem more personal to the reader. You know, a sort of hook to make them come back and follow the story.”
Zoey laughed. “You sound like a blogger already. Are you sure you haven’t done anything like this before?”
“Quite sure. I have no idea how I’ll find the time, but I’d like to do it.”
“Hey, look on the bright side. There’ll be some extra money for that trip you’d like to take.”
“Call me crazy, but I hadn’t even thought about the money aspect.”
“You’re crazy all right. Listen, I’ll talk to my editor and get back to you.”
* * *
THE WEEK THAT FOLLOWED passed in a blur. Between visiting Cam, work, and meeting with the newspaper about the blog, Claire could scarcely remember what day it was. She’d hammered out a loose agreement with the newspaper, aiming for one blog per week.
She sat down at her computer and stared at the screen. She’d heard of writers not being able to come up with anything, but her problem was the opposite. She’d read a lot about hockey violence over the past few days and those facts combined with Cam’s story made it difficult to know where to start.
It was important that she get it right because the newspaper had surprised her, informing her that if there was as much interest in the blog as they anticipated, they might look for someone to write from the opposing side.
“That’s all I need,” she muttered to herself. “Some macho idiot whose idea of a good time is going to a fight to see if a hockey game will break out.” But she acknowledged that a well crafted opposing view would bring more attention to the issue.
Her opening salvo was critical. She may not be an experienced writer, but she knew that she had to grab the reader’s attention with her first sentence. With a groan of frustration she got up and walked to the window. The sun had burned off the morning mist and the ocean glittered with reflected sunshine. Maybe what she needed was a walk to clear her head. Just a short walk along the seawall and then she’d come back inspired and make a fresh start.
She might even see John. Not that the thought of those broad shoulders or those dark blue influenced her choice of destination. Not much, anyway.
