Chapter Fourteen
Trying to be practical about it, they found a motel just a block from the hospital, but even though they were completely worn out, the elder Tuckers couldn’t sleep.
Eric, however, walked into the room, lay down on the bed and immediately fell into a deep sleep.
His parents lay there staring at the ceiling, then closed their eyes and tried to sleep, but finally, Mrs. Tucker got up and said, “Stay with Eric. I’ve got to be with Timmy.”
Soon, the door closed behind her with a soft click and Mr. Tucker gave up all pretense at sleep. Turning on the TV really low, he found a movie he had loved when he was young and sat in the strange room with the smell of pine cleaner and vanilla air freshener, and watched. Soon he was engrossed in the story and mere moments later he was asleep, sitting up, the remote still in his hand.
When he awoke, it was to find his wife sitting on the edge of the bed beside him, gently stroking his face. The room was dark except for the glow of the TV. Eric snored on the next bed.
“How is he?” he whispered.
“About the same, I think.” She whispered back. “I thought you guys would be hungry, so I ordered a pizza.”
And so she had. On the table in the corner sat a hot gooey delight, and suddenly he was ravenous.
“I haven’t had one of these since we drove the last of dad’s herd up to Wisconsin.” He bit into a piece with appreciation. “Should we wake him?” he jerked his head once in Eric’s direction.
“Let’s let him sleep. He’s worn out.” They ate in companionable silence.
Much is to be said for pizza, with all the cheese, the crust, the sauce, the pepperoni, the sausage, mushrooms and peppers. For the variety of toppings alone it is a wonder. For tonight, however, pizza had the added benefit of easing the knot of fear in their stomachs, and with each bite they forgot their worries for another moment.
Each day they spent with Timmy, and each night they took turns sitting by his side, talking to him, singing to him or merely stroking his face, but each evening, they took a break together and shared a pizza and a bit of warmth and comfort.
For three days Timmy lay in what the doctors called a near-coma, hovering between life and death. Three days they wept, they prayed, they paced, they sat and they worried, watching each IV bag change, staring at the monitors hoping for a change, listening to each breath with a combination of worry and hope.
It was the duck that saved him.
Eric, however, walked into the room, lay down on the bed and immediately fell into a deep sleep.
His parents lay there staring at the ceiling, then closed their eyes and tried to sleep, but finally, Mrs. Tucker got up and said, “Stay with Eric. I’ve got to be with Timmy.”
Soon, the door closed behind her with a soft click and Mr. Tucker gave up all pretense at sleep. Turning on the TV really low, he found a movie he had loved when he was young and sat in the strange room with the smell of pine cleaner and vanilla air freshener, and watched. Soon he was engrossed in the story and mere moments later he was asleep, sitting up, the remote still in his hand.
When he awoke, it was to find his wife sitting on the edge of the bed beside him, gently stroking his face. The room was dark except for the glow of the TV. Eric snored on the next bed.
“How is he?” he whispered.
“About the same, I think.” She whispered back. “I thought you guys would be hungry, so I ordered a pizza.”
And so she had. On the table in the corner sat a hot gooey delight, and suddenly he was ravenous.
“I haven’t had one of these since we drove the last of dad’s herd up to Wisconsin.” He bit into a piece with appreciation. “Should we wake him?” he jerked his head once in Eric’s direction.
“Let’s let him sleep. He’s worn out.” They ate in companionable silence.
Much is to be said for pizza, with all the cheese, the crust, the sauce, the pepperoni, the sausage, mushrooms and peppers. For the variety of toppings alone it is a wonder. For tonight, however, pizza had the added benefit of easing the knot of fear in their stomachs, and with each bite they forgot their worries for another moment.
Each day they spent with Timmy, and each night they took turns sitting by his side, talking to him, singing to him or merely stroking his face, but each evening, they took a break together and shared a pizza and a bit of warmth and comfort.
For three days Timmy lay in what the doctors called a near-coma, hovering between life and death. Three days they wept, they prayed, they paced, they sat and they worried, watching each IV bag change, staring at the monitors hoping for a change, listening to each breath with a combination of worry and hope.
It was the duck that saved him.
posted by Kim in Training | 9:15 AM
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