The Wind We Once Held

My son lay in the hospital bed with tubes running into his body and a drainage bag secured at his waist.

When I carried him into Crosswell Medical Center the night before, part of his intestine had been exposed, and there was barely an uninjured patch of skin left on him.

"He fell. Does that really justify keeping him in intensive care?

"Even if he's my son, we can't waste a critical-care bed that someone else may need more.

"The doctors said he's stable, so stop pursuing this. Julian didn't mean to hurt him. They were only playing."

Vivian had repeated those words ever since arriving at the hospital. She still carried the sharp, intimate scent of what she had been doing before she came.

"Did you even ask the doctor what happened to him?"

Hatred made my whole body tremble. I had to clench my teeth to force out the complete sentence.

Vivian pressed two slender fingers to her brow in irritation.

"What's there to ask? He fell. You have always raised him to be too delicate. He even frightened his uncle this time--"

Smack!

My palm shook from the force of the blow.

I stared at Vivian. How dare she blame our son for what had been done to him?

"Feel better now?"

Vivian ran her tongue along the cheek I had reddened, then seized my hand and massaged the palm that burned from the impact.

"Now that you have vented, issue a statement saying Eli injured himself while fooling around and Julian had nothing to do with it. That foolish boy keeps talking about becoming an actor. He can't have a scandal like this attached to him."

I couldn't stop shaking. How could she speak about our child's suffering so casually?

I clenched both fists and grabbed at Vivian's collar in despair.

"Look at your son in that bed. He's eight years old. The doctors say he may need a catheter system for the rest of his life. How is he supposed to live with that? How will people even look at him?"

Vivian peeled my fingers away one by one and smoothed the wrinkles from her silk blouse, regarding me as though I were an employee causing a scene.

"He's Vivian Cross's son. Whether he needs a drainage bag or loses all four limbs, no one in Grayhaven, Franklin, would dare look down on him.

"And you're Mr. Cross. Control yourself. What would people think if they saw you like this, screaming about killing someone and displaying no dignity at all?"