Danielle Steel - The Promise

“Oh, my God …” There was no face left beneath the blood-soaked blue satin cap. He couldn't tell if she were dead or alive, but for one horrible instant, he hoped she was dead, because there was simply no more Nancy. There was no one there at all, not even a remnant of the once beautiful face. And then mercifully, in her blood and his tears, he passed out.

Chapter 4

He looked so painfully pale as his mother sat there watching him. Marion Hillyard sat in a corner of the room with a bleak expression on her face. She had been there before, in that room, on that day, watching that face … not really that face, or that room, but she felt as though nothing had changed. It was just like when Frederick had the massive coronary that had killed him within hours. She had sat there, just as still, just as frightened, just as alone. And he had … Frederick … she felt a sob catch in her throat again and she took a deep, sharp breath. She couldn't cry. She couldn't let herself think those thoughts. Her husband was gone. Michael wasn't Nothing was going to happen to Michael. She wouldn't let anything happen. She was holding on to him now with every ounce of strength she could give.

For a moment she turned her gaze to the nurse's face. The woman was watching Michael intently, but with no sign of alarm. He had been in a coma all that day, since the accident the night before. Marion had gotten there at five in the morning. She had called a twenty-four-hour limousine service and been driven up from New York. But she would have walked if she'd had to. Nothing would have kept her from Michael's side; she had to be there to keep him alive. He was all she had now. Michael, and the business … and the business was for him. She had done it all for him … well, not all for him, but for the most part. It was the greatest gift she could give him. The gift of power, of success. He couldn't throw that away on that little bitch … he couldn't throw it away by dying . Jesus. It was all her fault, that damned girl. She had probably talked him into this. She had …

The nurse got up quickly and pulled at Michael's eyelids, as Marion went tense and forgot what she had been thinking. She stood up silently and quickly and walked to the nurse's side. Whatever there was to see, she wanted to see it. But there was nothing. No change. The expressionless woman in white held his wrist for a moment and then mouthed the same words again. “No change.” She motioned toward the corridor then and Marion followed her outside. This time the woman's concern was not for Michael, but for his mother.

“Dr. Wickfield told me to ask you to leave by five o'clock, Mrs. Hillyard. And I'm afraid …” She looked menacingly at her watch, and then smiled apologetically. It was five fifteen. Marion had been at Michael's side for exactly twelve hours. She had sat there uninterrupted all day, with only two cups of coffee to keep her going. But she wasn't tired, she wasn't hungry, she wasn't anything. And she wasn't leaving.

“Thank you for the thought I'll just walk down the hall for a moment and come back.” She wasn't leaving him. Not ever. She had left Frederick. Only for an hour, to have dinner. They had insisted that she eat something, and it had happened then. He had died while she was gone. That wasn't going to happen this time. She knew that as long as she sat there, Michael wouldn't die. The damage was mostly internal, but even Wickfield felt he'd come out of the coma soon. Still, she wasn't taking any chances. They had thought Frederick would make it, too. There were tears in her eyes now as she stood staring blankly at the pale blue wall behind the nurse.

“Mrs. Hillyard? The woman gently touched her arm, and Marion started. “You ought to get some rest. Dr. Wickfield set aside a room for you on the third floor.”

“There's no need.” She smiled blankly at the nurse and walked away toward the far end of the hall. The sun was still bright in the window there, and she sat carefully on the ledge, to smoke her first cigarette in hours and watch the sun set over a white church in the pretty New England town. Thank God the town only looked remote, and was actually less than an hour from Boston. They had had no trouble bringing in the best doctors to consult, and as soon as he could stand it, Michael would be moved to a hospital in New York. But at least she knew that in the meantime he was in good hands. Medically, Michael had taken the worst of it. The Avery boy was pretty badly broken up, but he was awake and alive, and his father had had him taken to Boston by ambulance that afternoon. He had broken an arm, a thigh, a foot, and a collar-bone, but he'd be all right And the girl … well, it was her fault, there was no reason why she should … Marion stubbed out the cigarette with a quick crushing motion of her foot The girl would be all right too. She'd live anyway. The only thing she had lost was her face. And maybe that was just as well. For a fraction of a second Marion wanted to fight the anger, wanted to make herself sorry for the girl—just in case all that crap about Christian charity was true, just in case her feelings made some difference for Michael… just in case there was a God who would punish her by taking him. But she couldn't do it. She hated the girl with every ounce of her being.

“I thought I left orders for you to get some rest.” Marion turned toward the voice with a start, and then smiled tiredly when she saw her own Dr. Wickfield. Wicky. “Don't you ever listen to anyone, Marion?”

“Not if I can help it. How's Michael?” Her brow furrowed and she reached for another cigarette.

“I just looked in on him. He's stable. I told you, he'll come out of it. Give him time. His entire system received one hell of a shock.”

“So did mine when I got the news.” He nodded sympathetically. “You're sure there won't be permanent damage from this?” She paused for a moment and then said the dread words. “Brain damage?”

Wickfield patted her arm and sat next to her on the window ledge. Behind them the little town made a scene pretty enough for a postcard. “I told you, Marion. As best we can tell, he'll be fine. A lot depends of course on how long he stays under. But I'm not frightened yet.”

“I am.” They were two tiny words in the mouth of a very strong woman, and they surprised her doctor, as he looked at her closely. There were sides to Marion Hillyard that no one even guessed at. “What about the girl?” she went on. Now she was the Marion he knew again, eyes narrowed behind the smoke from her cigarette, face hardened, fear gone.

“Not much is going to change for her. Not for the time being anyway. She's been in stable condition all day, but there's not a damn thing we can do for her. For one thing, It's much too soon, and for another, there are only one or two men in the country who can cope with that kind of total reconstruction. There is simply nothing left of her face, not a single bone intact, not a nerve, not a muscle. The only thing not totally wiped out are her eyes.”

“The better to see herself with.” Dr. Wickfield jumped at the tone of Marion's voice.

“Michael was driving, Marion. She wasn't” But Marion only nodded in answer. There was no point in going over it with him. She knew whose fault it was. It was the girl's.

“What happens to someone like that if there's no repair work done? Will she live?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But she'll lead a tragic life. You can't take a twenty-two-year-old girl and turn her into a horror like that and expect her to adjust. No one could. Was she … was she pretty before?”

“I suppose so. I don't know. We'd never met.” Her tone was rock hard, and her eyes equally so.

“I see. In any case, she's in for some tough realities. They'll do what they can here at the hospital when she's a little more recovered, but it won't be much. Does she have money?”