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"I won't." She looked around. "Well, I guess I'll get up and have breakfast. I am hungry this morning."

"Will you go to the hospital with me today, Mommy?"

"I will," she said. "I have just a few things to do first. Why don't you go ahead and I'll join you later?"

"When?" I demanded.

"After lunch. Okay?"

"Maybe I should wait for you and we should go together," I said, not believing her.

"Now, Pearl, what did I just ask from you? I asked for a little trust between us, right? I'll be fine. Besides," she said, "by the time I arrive, Pierre will have begun a real recuperation. You'll see," she said. She rose and went into the bathroom. I lingered awhile, wondering if I shouldn't just call Daddy and tell him to rush right home.

But then I realized that Mommy was right. Daddy was fragile, too. If he was beginning to put himself together, I should let him do that unhampered. It had fallen to me to be the pillar of strength in our house, whether I wanted it or not. It was getting late anyway, and I didn't want Pierre to see so much of the day go by without any of us there.

When I arrived, however, I learned that Daddy had already visited with him. He had brought him his favorite comic books and some of his favorite pralines, but everything remained on the table where he had left it. Pierre was propped up comfortably in his bed, his hands folded in his lap, his eyes fixed on the wall, the lids blinking reflexively. His lips quivered slightly when I kissed his cheek and sat beside him, taking his left hand into mine.

"Mommy's coming to see you today, Pierre. Won't you try to speak just for her. She desperately needs to hear your voice."

His blinking continued in the same rhythm, and his eyes didn't shift. I looked down at his hand in mine. His fingers were curled inward and his palm was cool.

"We're all blaming ourselves, but it was no one's fault, Pierre, no one's," I murmured. Slowly his fingers began to straighten. I looked up and saw his eyes and then his face turn toward me. His lips began to stretch with his effort to open his mouth and then I saw his tongue lifting against his teeth. His eyes widened with the tremendous struggle to animate his face and produce an intelligible sound. I waited, holding my breath.

And then his lips moved up and down, followed by a clicking sound. I rose and stroked his forehead and his hair.

"Easy, Pierre. Easy. What do you want to say? I'm right here."

I kissed his cheek again. His lips moved faster, and a sound started in his throat. It formed itself into his first word since Jean's tragedy: "I . . ."

"Yes, Pierre," I said, my tears building. "Yes, honey."

"I . . . tha . . . tho . . . thought."

I brought my ear closer

to his lips.

"Thought it was a branch," he said and closed his eyes.

"Oh, Pierre." I hugged him. "We know. We know, honey. No one blames you. No one," I said rocking back and forth with him in my arms. When I released him and sat back, however, he was staring at the wall again, his lips frozen, his eyelids blinking in that same rhythm.

"How are we doing?" I heard someone say. I turned to greet Dr. LeFevre.

"He spoke to me!" I said. "In a whisper, but he said a sentence."

"That's wonderful. His recovery has really begun. I am going to recommend that you and your family take him home. He'll need some nursing care, but he's off the I.V. and taking in food and water. The rest is just a matter of time and tender loving care. Afterward we'll see what sort of therapy is required."

"Oh, Pierre, do you hear that? You're going home. Isn't that wonderful?"

He didn't react, didn't change his expression, didn't move his lips.

Dr. Lefevre checked his blood pressure, then spoke to him. "Your family wants you home, Pierre. They need you to get well and be yourself again. But they can't do everything for you. You've got to want to help yourself. You've got to do what we talked about, okay?" she said, patting his hand. He didn't seem to hear her or see her. She smiled and winked at me. "It's going to take time," she said. "Time and patience."

"I'll call my father and tell him what you want us to do."

"Fine. I can recommend some nurses. Have him call my office in an hour or so," she added. Then she paused and led me away from the bed. "How is your mother doing? I've seen your father here, but not her."

"Up until now she hasn't been doing well. She blames herself too," I said.