specialists are working with her.â
âHow long will it take before we know?â Brad asked, his voice cracking.
Seth shrugged. âCertainly hours, perhaps days. Sorry to have to be the one to tell you, Brad. If she survives the night, she might not be right. She might be . . .â He looked away.
âA vegetable?â Brad filled in. His head dropped into his hands and he moaned. âNooo! She would hate that, absolutely hate that.â
âLetâs not think the worst,â Seth said. He squeezed Bradâs shoulder. âMy suggestion is that you go back to the restaurant and take care of business there. I think Isabel would want you to do that. Donât you? I promise that Iâll call you if thereâs any change.â
âHeâs right,â I told Brad. âThereâs nothing you can do for yourmother here except worry. But Iâm sure that Marcie needs your help right now.â
Brad glanced at his watch and heaved a sigh. âMaybe youâre right,â he said. âSheâll want to know whatâs going on. Iâll check on things at the restaurant and weâll come back as soon as we close. Do you think weâd be able to see Mom then?â
âThereâs a much better chance once theyâve got her settled in and had an opportunity to monitor her response to the medication.â
âOkay.â
Seth and I watched the young man cross the lobby and disappear through the doors.
âI ache for him,â I said. âThe ugly scene with Leboeuf and now this. If trouble
does
come in threes, Seth, I dread to think whatâs next for Brad Fowler.â
Chapter Eight
I waited while Seth looked in on his patient, consulted with his colleagues, and gave the hospital staff directions. Mort had kindly retrieved Sethâs car and had a deputy park it at the hospital. Eventually we drove to my house, where I put up a kettle of water for tea for myself and my exhausted friend.
âQuite a night,â Seth said as he pulled a teacup from my kitchen cabinet.
âSo much has happened,â I said, âthat Iâm having trouble wrapping my brain around it, from the opening of the Fin and Claw, the episode with Leboeuf and his party, and now the situation with Isabel. Will she make it, Seth?â
âWeâll know soon enough,â he said as he plopped a tea bag into boiling water. âDr. Kloss is an expert on treating stroke patients, had plenty of experience at Mass General before settling here.â
âI wonder how things ended up at the restaurant,â I mused, sipping my tea. âI hope that Bradâs sous chef and Marcie were able to handle all the orders in the kitchen. More customers were arriving as I left with Mort and Maureen, so things must have gotten especially hard without Brad. The whole evening has been so upsetting.â
âIâm sure they got through it okay, Jessica. Drink your tea. Itâll calm you down.â
Sethâs assurances about the teaâs soothing qualities didnât make them real. After he left I stayed up far past my usual bedtime, the nightâs events tumbling in my mind like a cement mixer on steroids. What was supposed to be a joyous evening had turned into something far removed from that. Was it John Lennon who said, âLife is what happens while youâre making other plans?â I knew that heâd used it as a line in a song he wrote for his son, Sean, but it had appeared earlier than that in a number of places. Its genesis didnât matter. There was solid truth behind it, and this evening proved how accurate it really was.
I slept fitfully until the phone rang at seven the following morning. It was Seth.
âSorry to start the day with bad news, Jessica,â he said, âbut we lost Isabel Fowler. She never recovered consciousness.â
âOh, Seth. Iâm so sorry.â
âMight be a blessing,â he said.