Shattered Bonds (continued)

Maybe . . . she thought drowsily.

Wendy blinked, and then squinted at the sudden bright light in her eyes. Turning her head away from it, she became vaguely aware that she had fallen asleep at her desk. Her back felt uncomfortably rigid and she was cold. The temperature had dropped outside while she had dozed. Glancing at the clock, she saw that she had slept about two hours.

She arose stiffly, feeling joints and muscles throughout her body complain. Heading toward one of the examination cubicles, she made a detour at the bathroom stall to empty her bladder. It had awakened shortly after she had and was making its demands known.

Deciding that she was too tired to struggle with the crates again, she pulled two blankets from the storage cabinet instead. Wrapping herself in them, she laid across one of the examination tables. Turning her head away from the source of light coming from her tiny office space, she was asleep again within moments.

#

Trenton sat at his grandson’s bedside, trying to decide how to feel. He was unfair to blame the girl, Shalene, he knew. She had only defended herself against a foolish, drunken attack. Anyone else might have caused the same harm as well. It was, according to the doctors, as much his tumble down the stairs as the blow to his head that had done the damage. Seeing the boy laying helpless like that now, it was difficult for Trenton to aim his anger there, however warranted that might be.

Sean’s breathing was regular, if shallow. His expression appeared to be at peace, rather than slack, which gave Trenton hope. With the medical equipment that continued to function, Greg had reported that there seemed to be some brain activity, which was a good sign. However long this coma might last, however, was anyone’s guess.

“Brain injuries are like that,” Greg had said. “Even if we still had the best equipment, I doubt that we would know any more than with what we have.” Greg’s lips had formed a grim line. “He’ll wake up when he’s ready. That’s all we can do.”

More than two weeks had passed and Sean had shown no further signs of being ready. Both Greg and Wendy had confirmed that the swelling of his brain had gone down, enough so that neither of them believed that it required around-the-clock monitoring. At least one of them, though, stopped by at least three times a day to verify Sean’s vital signs and, Trenton suspected, to check on him as well.