Mia still looked beautiful, but her cheeks were pale as chalk, her lips were colorless.
Jude held Mia’s hand and Miles held Jude’s. The three of them stayed connected, no one saying much of anything, just crying, until a nurse finally came in.
“Dr. Farraday? Mrs. Farraday? I’m sorry to bother you, but we need to take your daughter.”
Jude tightened her hold on Mia’s cold hand. “I’m not ready.”
Miles turned to her and tucked her hair behind one ear. “We have to be with Zach now.”
“She’ll be gone when we’re done.”
“She’s gone now, Jude.”
Jude started to feel pain and pushed it away, letting numbness return. She couldn’t allow herself to feel anything. She leaned down and kissed Mia’s cheek, noticing how cold it, too, was, and whispering, “I love you, Poppet.” Then she drew back and watched Miles do the same thing. She didn’t know what he said; all she could hear was her own blood, rushing into and out of her heart. At first she was dizzy, but as she walked down the busy hallway and stepped into the elevator and rode down to the sixth floor, she lost even that slim sensation.
*
“Mrs. Farraday?”
“Jude?”
From somewhere in the fog, she heard Miles say her name. The impatient tone told her that he’d said it more than once.
“This is Dr. Lyman,” Miles said.
They were in another hallway, outside Zach’s room. Jude didn’t even remember getting here.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Dr. Lyman said.
She nodded and said nothing.
Dr. Lyman led them into her son’s room. Zach sat slumped in bed, his arms crossed.
“Who’s there?” he said.
“It’s us, Zach,” Jude said, trying to sound strong for her son.
Dr. Lyman cleared his throat and moved to Zach’s bedside. “How are you feeling?”
Zach shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “My face hurts like hell.”
“It’s a burn,” Dr. Lyman said.
“I’m burned?” Zach said quietly. “On my face? How?”
“It’s rare,” Dr. Lyman said. “Most people don’t even know it’s possible, but car airbags have something like jet fuel in them, a propellant. Normally they deploy just fine, but sometimes, and this is what happened to you, Zachary, it can go wrong and cause chemical burns. That’s what happened to your eyes, too.”
“What do I look like?”
“The burns aren’t bad,” the doctor said. “There’s a small patch along your jaw that we’re going to watch carefully, but there should be little or no real scarring. We don’t anticipate needing any skin grafts. May I remove the bandages now?”
Zach nodded.
Dr. Lyman went over to the sink and washed his hands and then carefully unwound Zach’s bandages. Zach’s hair had been shaved on one side and left long on the other, and it gave him a lopsided, off-balance look.
As the bandages came off, Jude saw the whole blistered, oozing burn, the way it swept down along his hairline, across his cheek and jaw.
Slowly, Dr. Lyman removed the bandages on Zach’s eyes, and the metal, honeycombed cups over each eye. He tilted Zach’s head and put some drops in his eyes. “Okay,” he finally said, “open your eyes.”
Zach’s lashes were crusty and spiked looking. He wet his lips and bit down on his lower lip.
“You can do it, Zach,” Miles said, leaning toward him.
Zach’s eyelashes fluttered like a baby bird’s first lifting of wings, and then slowly, slowly, he opened his eyes.
“What can you see?” Dr. Lyman asked.
Zach took his time, turned his head. “It’s blurry, but I can see. Mom. Dad. New guy with white hair.”
Miles sagged forward. “Thank God.”
Dr. Lyman said, “The blurriness is temporary. Your vision should clear up in no time. You’re a lucky young man.”
“Yeah. Lucky.”
*
Jude could hear Zach crying, and it brought her fresh pain, both because it was happening and because she couldn’t think of how to make him feel better. There was nothing she could do to help him or herself or Mia.
“It’s okay, Zach,” Miles said when the doctor left them.
“It’s my fault, Dad,” Zach said. “How am I supposed to live with that?”
“Mia wouldn’t blame you,” Miles said, and though his words were reasonable, his voice betrayed the depth of his pain. Jude could tell how hard her husband was trying to grieve for one child while comforting the other. She could tell because her struggle was the same.