The Gatekeeper's Sons

Chapter Five

"She's waking up! Sheila! She's waking up!"

"Tell Dr. Burton her patient is waking up."

Therese grabbed the plastic tubing in her mouth and yanked. It scratched her throat, and tears welled in her eyes. Hands in latex gloves guided the tubing out and away. Therese gagged, heaved a dry heave. The latex-gloved hands held out a cup.

"Take a sip of water."

Therese put her parched lips to the cup and sipped. Her neck hurt when she lifted her head, so she lay back again. She blinked and looked up, squinting against the bright lights. She cleared her throat. The crud was still there. She cleared again. Took another sip. Ow, my neck.

"Therese, can you hear me?" It was her Aunt Carol, her mother's sister from San Antonio. What had happened to the brothers? They were right here, so close to her. How could they vanish like that? Carol kissed Therese on the forehead. "Oh, sweetheart!" Therese felt a flutter of kisses sweep over her cheeks. "Oh, Therese! I'm so glad you're finally awake!"

Why would Carol be here without her parents? "Where's Mom and Dad?"

Carol took her hand and squeezed it. "First tell me how you feel. The nurse needs to know."

She looked around the room. Machines beeped beside her. An I.V. ran through a needle in her hand. A nurse stood beside her aunt.

"My neck hurts." Then she added. "I'm so cold."

Carol pulled the covers up around Therese. "Can we get her another blanket, Sheila?" Carol said to the nurse.

Sheila left the bed and opened a nearby cabinet.

"Anything else hurt?" Sheila asked.

"I don't think so." Therese cleared her throat again. "Where's Mom and Dad?"

Another woman entered the room in a white coat.

Carol said, "Oh, Doctor, I'm so glad you're here."

She nodded hello and took a small flashlight from her front pocket. "Hi there, Therese. I'm Dr. Burton."

"Where are my parents?"

Sheila unfolded a thin white cotton blanket and added it to the heap of covers already atop Therese. Although the three persons in the room, including her aunt, looked at her with the kindest eyes, she had a sudden feeling of dread dragging her down like a heavy weight into a sea of gloom.

"Your parents didn't make it, Therese," Carol said, squeezing her hand. "They died in the crash. I'm so sorry."

Therese's mouth dropped open. Despite the dread and the inkling memory she had suppressed, she was utterly surprised. "But I just saw them. They were right there with me, hugging me, kissing me. I saw them plain as day!" Then, against her will, she remembered the shooting, the car plunging into the lake, and her parents drowning in front of her. She saw her father writhing in the water and her mother's yielding face. She felt panic gripping at her chest. She was all alone. Her mother and her father were gone. A silent scream of terror rose in her throat, but she pushed it down.

She wanted to be a little girl again sitting in her father's lap, curled in her mother's arms. She wanted to be a tiny thing making sand castles with her parents at the Great Sand Dunes, canoeing and kayaking on the lake and down the river, making snow people and snow animals in front of their house. She wanted to feel the warmth of her father on a summer evening standing on their deck around their house with binoculars turned toward the mountains beyond the reservoir in front of their house. She wanted to bake brownies with her mother one more time. She didn't need to lick the bowl; she didn't need to eat a bite; she just wanted her mother there telling her what to do with the big wooden spoon and array of ingredients. She just wanted to hear her mother's voice one more time. She wanted to be a baby again, safe and swaddled, and listening to her mother's sweet lullabies: