Dakota (Ch 39)

We met the ambulance as it pulled into the lane. I climbed into the back carrying baby Jason and the journey to County began. Kahle stayed behind to work the crime scene. On our walk through the woods I had filled him in all the details I knew. He wanted to cross every T and dot every I in the investigation. This was his first case as sheriff.

Baby Jason was very tiny, and very early. I worried about the challenges he would face in the coming weeks and in the long term. I knew it was going to be a long road. The EMT assured me that his lungs were surprisingly strong. That was the biggest concern. He had been exposed to the elements for too long for a preemie.

The ride was filled with worries. I was going to have to raise this baby on my own. With each mile, my tension grew. I thought about Rebekah, she was gone forever. She would never see her son. She would never know that through it all, no matter what, I still loved her.

The ambulance pulled into the emergency bay and the EMT carried baby Jason through the sliding doors. I followed a half step behind. My body was exhausted. I had forgotten about my wrist. It didn't matter now. My focus was on my son. He was my family. That tiny little baby was all the family I had. I didn't care about anything else.

We didn't stop at the emergency room. We turned to the left and pushed our way through the double doors that led to the rest of the hospital. We took the elevator to the fourth floor. The EMT pushed stopped outside of two red doors. He pushed the yellow call button. A scratchy voice responded. He spoke in response.

"I've got the Samuels' baby."

The yellow button flashed and a buzz resounded through the hallway. He pushed the door open and we entered the secured area. It was the ICU. County Medical wasn't big enough to have a designated Neonatal ICU, but there wasn't time to drive, or even fly Jason to a better hospital. His care needed to start now. Nurses swarmed around us and whisked Jason off to a room. They cleaned him and inspected him. Nothing went unnoticed. I sat in the chair and watched as they worked. Methodical and yet with speed. Finally they put him in a small clear plastic bassinet. They lowered the top in place, sealing him off from the outside world and the contaminants that threatened him. Tiny patches covered his body, monitoring various functions. Devices set up next to his bed buzzed and beeped and dripped life into my son.

I left my place in the chair and stood at his side. I stared down at him. I never thought a ray of hope and a sliver of joy would result from this disaster, but there he was. I reached my hand down and slid it into the glove that allowed me to touch my son. I brushed my index finger over his chest. He moved slightly. I smile broke the stiffness of my face.

"Hi buddy! I'm your daddy. Yeah, you're going to get big and strong and then you're going to come home with me."

I thought I saw him smile. But I'm sure it was my imagination. I pulled my hand from the glove and stepped to the nurses station. I had a few questions. I wanted to know how long my son would be here. I wanted to know if he was OK.

The nurse took me back to his side, pulled up a chair, and sat me down.

"Mr. Samuels, Jason, that's the name you settled on, right?"

"Yes. Jason Lyle Samuels."

"Very well. They'll come up to fill out the official birth certificate in a little while. But, your son, Jason, he's going to be fine. It's going to take some time though. He's a strong little guy. His lungs are much stronger than we would expect this early. We're helping him breathe a bit, because we don't want those lungs to get fatigued and cause him other problems. I can't say there is any major concern right now. We just need to get some food in him and get some weight on him so you can take him home. I'm not a doctor, and with preemies things can change quickly, so we want to keep an eye on him for a while. But I'd say a week, two tops, and you're little guy will be home in your arms."

I didn't have words to respond. I had braced my self for bad news. I was worried. This was my son. My parental instincts were rushing at me full steam.

"Do you have any other questions I can answer?"

"No. I just wanted to know he was OK."

She smiled warmly and stood from her seat.

"This one's a fighter Mr. Samuels. Are you sure you're alright? Do you need us to bring you anything?"

"No. I've got everything I need right here."

I stood as a sign of courtesy.

"Well then, get some rest. I'll be in to check on him periodically."

She reached out her arm to shake my hand. Without a second thought, I responded in kind. She grasped my hand and firmly shook. The pain paralyzed me. I fell back into the chair. Her face was painted with confusion and concern.

"Mr. Samuels. Are you alright? What is it?"

"My wrist. Oh, God, my wrist."

She waved her hand for another nurse.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"Pull my chart. My wrist was shattered a few months ago. They repaired it with pins and screws. I fell on it today. I felt things shift."

"We need to get you downstairs right away. You need an X-ray. And probably another surgery to fix it."

The two nurses crowded over me, trying to help me to my feet.

"I know. I know."

I spoke quietly, then much louder. I motioned with my arms for space. They took a step back.

"Just give me a moment. I need a minute."

"Yessir."

"Of course."

They took another step back as I stood up again. I stepped to my son's side and watched his chest rise and fall. I watched as he slept and breathed in the air of this world.

"Welcome to Dakota, buddy. I'll be back. Don't you go anywhere."

I winked. I knew he couldn't see me.

"I love you."

I turned back to the nurses, who both appeared as if they were about to cry.

"Let's go.

I ushered them both out.

The nurse who had answered my questions stayed behind while the other took me downstairs to be treated. They didn't make me wait at the emergency room. I went straight to X-ray.

After the X-ray tech took the images, I sat in the orange plastic chair outside the room and waited for the doctor. The tech told me it was the same doctor that had performed my initial surgery, but I was unconscious when they brought me in, so to me it didn't make a difference.

When the doctor finally came she didn't say much. She just shook my hand, my left hand, and escorted me to the operating room. Her team was already assembled. She had me lay on the table, they administered anesthesia, and went to work.

/ / /

I don't know how long the surgery lasted, or how long I was out, but when I awoke, a familiar face was at my side. Karen smiled at me, but immediately began on the defensive.

"I know you don't want me here. I know. But I saw your name on the board at the nurse's station and I couldn't just not come in and see you. I'm sorry."

I spoke slowly and carefully weighed my words.

"It's alright. It's just been a very long day."

"So how'd you mess up the wrist again?"

I was still groggy. My mouth was cottony. My eyes were heavy.

"Like I said, it's been a very long day. There's an unbelievable story to tell. But now is not the time."

"I'm sorry. Maybe I should go."

"No."

I cut her off. I didn't want to be alone. Not now.

"Can you just sit with me?"

She slid her chair forward. She still smiled. She reached her hand up and wrapped it around mine.

"Sure. I'll sit with you as long as you'd like."

I didn't respond. I turned my head to face her. I looked into her eyes. Blink. She knew that the past was forgiven. She squeezed my hand. I smiled in reply and let my eyes drift closed once more.

/ / /

That spring had a certain calmness to it. After the bodies were buried in the ground, I said my final goodbyes to Janie and Rebekah. Kahle was officially sworn in as the new Sheriff for Wessington and the surrounding county. Karen made regular visits to check on me, but her stops weren't all work related. Jason came home from the hospital after nine days in the ICU. Doctors said they never saw a preemie make such a rapid recovery. I settled in to the life of being a father.

I left Chicago behind me. I let go of those days when I thought I couldn't survive outside the city. The country air rejuvenated me. I felt more alive than before. My focus turned from editing to writing. I had spent my life reading others people's work. For the first time, I allowed myself to explore my own creativity, professionally. Days passed, they turned into weeks and months.

I sat in the office, huddled beneath the stairs, as I tapped away at the keys on the keyboard. Jason slept soundly in the nursery which had been his uncle's room. It had been almost a year since I returned to Dakota. Life was different now. I scrolled back to the top of the page. I clicked 'Save'. And waited as the pages slowly fed their way through the printer. I glanced over at the baby monitor before pulling the sheets from the tray. I fingered them gently, careful not to smudge the fresh ink. I turned them over and lay them face down on the larger stack that set to the left of the computer. I took a deep breath and lifted the thick stack. I flipped it over and stared at it. It intimidated me. I rubbed my fingers over the title. The corners of my eyes were moist. I half smiled before folding the screen down on the laptop. I rubbed my fingers across the title once more. Coming Home: A True Story of Love and Loss.

I stood, and walked to the door. I switched off the light and pulled the door shut behind me. I leaned against it for a moment. My mind wandered. I was brought back by the sound of Jason crying in the nursery upstairs. And I knew I was home.