| |
Halifax, June 12
11:13 p.m.
Audra looked at her watch and flinched. Time felt like an enemy, a silent menace lurking over her shoulder. Twelve hours had passed, and there was still no change in Daphne’s condition.
Dr. Salinsky’s words replayed in Audra’s mind, never more grim and scary in their imminence.
“After twelve hours in a coma, a good prognosis becomes less likely...”
Audra squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head as a fresh slice of anguish cut through her heart.
She sat in a bedside chair, holding Daphne’s hand. Staff had given her permission to stay overnight. She didn’t want her daughter to be alone. Daniel had left for home.
Audra touched Daphne’s hand to her cheek and gazed into her face. So many questions she wanted to ask her.
Why, honey, why?
What happened?
What was so terrible that made you do this to yourself?
Why didn’t you come to me?
Didn’t you trust me enough?
Saddled with guilt, Audra lowered her head. She wondered if Daphne had left a note. She couldn’t remember seeing one. In her panic, had she just overlooked it?
Daphne would leave one, right? She’d provide some reason why so as not to burden her parents with that question for the rest of their lives.
Wouldn’t she?
The mother in Audra kept turning that question over and over in her mind, trying to convince herself. But deep down, the cop inside her knew only about a third of people ever wrote a note or letter. Family members—shattered, crippled with grief—were left behind to make sense of it all, often blaming themselves for not being able to help.
Like Audra did.
Gently, she laid Daphne’s hand on the sheets and stood up, wavering. She grabbed hold of the chair arm for a moment in fear of falling. The ravages of the day had taken their toll on her body, torturing every joint, consuming her energy like a glutton, leaving her weak and shaky. She had had nothing to eat since breakfast. Just too miserable, too damn sick at heart to even try.
She walked to the window and looked out. The night sky over the city was clear. She didn’t see the moon, but the stars shimmered brightly in that distant patch of black. Down through the dark trees below, cars drove down Robie Street. Many were taxis. Saturday night in Halifax. People would be making their way to the bars and nightclubs.
Audra glimpsed her reflection in the window. Her hair was wild, her eyes aged and hollowed out. Behind her, voices drifted in through the doorway. Nurses were huddled around their central station, speaking to each other in low tones.
Audra couldn’t let them see her exhausted, for they’d surely tell her to leave. Sometime tomorrow, she’d go home and try to grab a few hours of sleep.
She went back to the chair again and sat down, picked up Daphne’s hand. For a long time, Audra stayed there like that, just watching the rise and fall of Daphne’s chest, praying she would soon open her eyes.
