placed his son on a stretcher and lifted him into an ambulance. They covered him in
blankets and placed an oxygen mask over his face. They handed Carl his coat and told
him they were taking the boy to St. Vincent’s and that Carl could follow them to the
emergency room.
But when they began to close the doors of the ambulance, Carl grabbed a
paramedic by the arm and said, “He’s my son. I’m going with you and I’m riding in the
back next to him.”
“You can’t do that,” the man said. “You have to meet us there. It’s against the
rules.”
Carl held his arm tighter and said, “I’m riding in the back with my son, and I’m
going with you.” He clenched his jaw and looked directly in the man’s eyes. The man could see Carl wasn’t going to back down, so he frowned and said, “I’ll
make an exception because it’s Christmas. Get inside and don’t repeat this to anyone. We
could get into huge trouble for this.”
On the way to the hospital, the boy remained unconscious. Carl watched the boy’s
face as the paramedics continued to take his vital signs. Carl had one hand over his own
heart, and he held the boy’s hand with the other. Carl hadn’t prayed for anything in a long
time; he’d never been religious about anything other than making regular bank deposits.
But while the ambulance sped toward the hospital, he kept looking up at the ceiling and
silently begging, “Please, let him live. I’ll make things different from now on. Just please
let him live.”
At the hospital, they wheeled the boy into the emergency room and told Carl to
wait outside for a few minutes. The emergency waiting room was more crowded than
Carl had imagined it would be on Christmas morning. He sat down next to an older man
with a long gray beard and folded his hands on his lap.
It didn’t take long for a young doctor to walk up to Carl’s side. Carl stood up and
looked the doctor in the eye. He clenched his fists and waited for the doctor to speak.
“He has pneumonia,” the doctor said. “He’s a very sick young man. The lung X
rays were almost entirely white. We put him on a ventilator and we’re medicating him
intravenously. We’re bringing him up to the Intensive Care Unit now. You can go up to
the ICU waiting room and we’ll let you know when he’s all set up. You can see him
then.”
Carl wiped a few tears from his eyes and said, “Is he going to make it, doctor?” The doctor took a deep breath and said, “He’s young. He has a good chance of
pulling through this. And you got to him in time. If you hadn’t called us when you did, he
probably wouldn’t have made it through the day.”
Before he went up to the ICU waiting room, Carl filled out a few forms at the
desk. When the woman asked if the boy was indigent, Carl raised an eyebrow and handed
the woman his own health insurance card. “He’s my son. I’ll call my insurance company
to make sure he’s covered. The insurance agent is a good client of mine. He’ll take care
of everything. And don’t ever refer to
my
son as indigent again. He has a father.” Carl
didn’t want to think about money or insurance. If he couldn’t get his health plan to cover
his son, he’d pay them himself.
After that, he went up to the ICU waiting room and sat there for the next three
hours. The waiting room was empty and there was only one magazine. It was the longest
three hours of his life. When the young doctor finally came to get him, Carl stood up and
ran to the entrance. “How is he, doctor?”
“You can go inside and see him now,” the doctor said. “He’s stable and the next
twenty-four hours are critical. We had to be aggressive. We put him on a ventilator
temporarily. It’s the best thing to do until his lungs start to heal. So he’s unconscious and
he’s not feeling any pain.”
“But will he make it?” Carl asked.
“Like I said before, he’s young and he’s strong. His chances are good. But I can’t
promise anything. He’s a very sick young man right now.”
The doctor led Carl to a small room at the end of the unit. “I’ll keep checking in
on him,” the doctor said. “If you need anything, call his nurse.” “Thank you, doctor,” Carl said, “and Merry Christmas.”
Carl crossed into the room very slowly and stared at his son. The boy was
propped up high on a long, thin hospital bed. His eyes were closed in an induced coma.
The small room was filled with the sounds of beeps and whistles. There were large
machines behind the bed, with tubes and wires crisscrossing from the machines to the
boy’s body. One thick, blue tube connected to the biggest machine hung from the side of
the boy’s mouth. His skin didn’t look gray anymore. It was still pale, but there were hints
of color returning to his cheeks.
Carl went to the bed and held the boy’s hand. He squeezed it and said, “You’re
going to make it, Carl. But you have to keep fighting.” Then he rested his head on the
edge of the bed and closed his eyes.
All the ghosts of Christmas were gone now. And Carl’s only focus was on his son
and the reality of getting him well again. He wanted another chance. He wanted to
change. For Carl, it was all about living life to the fullest and making up for all the things
he’d missed. He had hope and he wasn’t going to let it go this time. But if he had still
been able to see ghosts, he would have seen the transparent image of Donna Fratelli
hovering behind the hospital bed. She was wearing a red Christmas sweater that had
small green Christmas trees on the shoulders. When she leaned forward and wrapped her
arms around the sick boy on the ventilator, she smiled and cradled him in her arms.
Chapter Fourteen
Carl spent the rest of that Christmas Day sitting at his son’s bedside. The nurse
assigned to follow the boy’s progress brought Carl a small box lunch sometime around
three that afternoon. The box contained a small can of orange juice, a turkey sandwich on
whole wheat bread, and an apple. He thanked her, but refused the food. She insisted that
he eat something, whether he felt like it or not. She told him that the hospital prepared
these boxes of food for family members and friends of sick patients so they wouldn’t get
sick, too. Then she remained in the room with him, with her arms folded across her chest,
until he’d finished the entire turkey sandwich.
At seven that night, the doctor returned to the boy’s room. He had dark circles
beneath his eyes and he yawned a few times. He’d spent the past twelve hours at the
hospital and was on his way home to spend Christmas with his own family. But he
wanted to check in on Carl’s son before he left for the day. He listened to his heartbeat
and his lungs. He checked the machines and read the charts. Carl sat in his chair and
watched without saying a word.
When the doctor was finished with the examination, he lifted his eyebrows and
said, “I see huge improvement. His lungs sound better already and his pulse/oxygen level
is almost normal. But I’m going to keep him just like this for the rest of the night. And
tomorrow morning we’ll take him for more chest X-rays. If his lungs have improved,
we’ll start to bring him out of the induced coma very slowly and take him off the vent. The faster we get him off and his lungs work on their own, the less we’ll have to wean
him.”
Carl stood up and reached for the doctor’s hand. “Thank you so much for
everything you’ve done for him.”
The doctor smiled. “This guy is a fighter and he has his youth on his side,” he said.
“And I think he’s going to be okay. But now I think you should go home and get some
rest. He’s going to remain unconscious until at least late tomorrow morning. And you
look like you could use a break. There’s nothing more you can do here today.”
“But you really think he’s going to be okay?” Carl asked. “You’re not just saying
that to get me to go home?” He wanted to go to the homeless shelter that night. But he
wasn’t going to leave unless the doctor assured him his son was stable.
“Based on the improvements he’s made since this morning,” the doctor said, “I
think he’s going to be back to normal by the end of this week.” He turned toward the
door and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m getting out of here.”
Carl shook the doctor’s hand again and said, “Merry Christmas.”
When the doctor was gone, Carl stepped up to the side of the bed and placed his
palm on his son’s forehead. He grabbed the boy’s hand and said, “Merry Christmas, Carl.
I’m going somewhere right now. But I’ll be back in the morning. I promise.” Then he
kissed him on the cheek and left the room.
When he passed the nurse on his way out, he wished her a Merry Christmas and
told her he’d call to see how the boy was doing. She smiled and assured him he could call
any time he wanted. It wasn’t a long walk from the hospital to the homeless shelter. But the sidewalks
were slushy and the white snow was turning brown. All the snow had been plowed and
the city was moving fast again. Carl could have taken a taxi, but he felt like getting some
fresh air. He also wanted to think about what he was going to say to Victor. He hadn’t
seen him in more than fifteen years and he wasn’t sure how Victor would react. And he
couldn’t tell Victor, or anyone else, about his visits from the ghosts.
By the time he reached the entrance to the shelter, it was almost eight o’clock. He
crossed through the doorway with his hands in his pockets and his head bowed. Most of
the Christmas Day meals had been served and there were only a few tables with people
still eating. He heard soft murmurs and forks clinking against plates. Though he knew
he’d never physically been there before, the entire room was exactly as he’d remembered
it from his visit with the ghost.
While he stood in the vestibule staring at the tables, someone inside the building
called his name. “Mr. Smite. What are
you
doing here?”
Carl saw Able Anderson on the other side of the room. He was wearing a white
apron and a red-and-white striped sweater. He’d been cleaning off a table when he’d
noticed Carl standing there. He was holding a stack of dirty dishes and his mouth was
half open. Carl removed his hands from his pockets and started walking toward Able.
When they were face to face, Carl handed him a one-hundred-dollar bill he’d pulled out
of his pocket and said, “Merry Christmas, Able. This is just a small Christmas bonus. I’d
give you more, but it’s the only cash I have right now.”
Able’s eyes bugged and his jaw dropped. He put down the plates and reached out
with both hands for the hundred-dollar bill. He turned the bill around, stared at the back, and said, “Are you sure about this, Mr. Smite? I thought you hated Christmas and giving
gifts.”
Carl put his arms around Able and said, “Merry Christmas, buddy. You’re a good
employee and you deserve even more. And from now on, please ignore everything I’ve
ever said up until right now. I’ve been an asshole. Things are going to be different from
now on.”
“But Mr. Smite…”
Carl cut him off. “It’s only money, Able. Remember that. Money isn’t the most
important thing in life and it can’t buy you happiness.”
Able smiled and put the money in his pocket. “Thank you, Mr. Smite,” he said.
“And thank you so much for the donation to the shelter. When Joan came running in with
a check for twenty thousand dollars in her hand this morning, we didn’t believe it at first.
My boss is still wondering about it. We were low on funds, and he had to use his own
personal credit card this morning to order enough food. And he’s not a wealthy man by
any means.”
“I just thought it was the right thing to do,” Carl said. “And by the way, I’m not
putting any more animal skins in the front window.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have a gift for you anymore, Mr. Smite,” Able said. “I gave it
to one of the homeless this morning.”
Carl put his arm around Able’s shoulders and patted his back. “I’m glad you did
that, Able. You can consider that your gift to me. And you can do the same thing next
year, too. Buy me a gift, then give it to someone who needs it more than I do.”
Able blinked as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing. “Seriously?” Carl was about to say something, but Joan interrupted him. She was standing in
the kitchen doorway. “You’re here,” she shouted. Then she turned back to the kitchen.
“He’s here, Victor. It’s the man who donated the money to the shelter this morning! Mr.
Smite. He’s out here talking with Able.”
