by Holly Jacobs
I reclined the chair and turned my head toward Gray, propping it on the pillow. “I found our picture and the plastic swan on your desk. I brought them here. They’re on the nightstand,” I whispered.
“I still have my swan, too. It’s in my jewelry box. I should probably move it somewhere else because I could handle it if someone stole all my jewelry, but I’d be heartbroken if they took that.”
I pushed thoughts of the past I couldn’t change out of my mind and refused to look into the future. Right now, I was here, holding Gray’s hand.
The doctor had said the longer he survived, the better his chances.
Every tick of the clock meant he was that much further along the road to recovery.
That was enough for now.
Chapter Nine
I woke with a start and was confused by the cacophony of strange sounds. For half a second, I couldn’t remember where I was. And then I saw Gray, and everything that had happened yesterday came rushing back.
I sat up straight, which dislodged my hand from Gray’s. Numb from hours of being in an awkward position, it fell with a thud to the arm of the chair. I picked it up with my other hand and began to rub my palm.
Harmon was standing on the other side of Gray’s bed, typing something on his phone.
“Harmon?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I promised Jo that I’d check on you, but even without her nudging, I’d have stopped by. Do you need anything?”
I didn’t know this Harmon, in his white doctor’s lab coat over his powder-blue scrubs. The Harmon I knew was a man who wore jeans and old T-shirts. A man who seemed as at home with a baby on his hip as he did with his arm casually slung over JoAnn’s shoulder.
“You look like a real doctor,” I said, still half asleep. “Sorry, I mean, I know you are, but I don’t ever see you like this.”
“Well, if anyone here asks, your story is I’m a serious doctor, even at home.”
I smiled. “Sure. I can lie for you.”
Harmon laughed, then turned serious as he looked at Gray. “I checked and want to reassure you that even if it really doesn’t seem like it, he’s doing okay. I—”
Harmon’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from his lab coat pocket. “Pardon me.” He turned. “Yes.” Pause. “That’s great.” Pause. “You’re just doing this to get even with me.” Pause. He sighed. “No, I’m not with a patient. I’m with Addie.”
He turned to me. “It’s Jo. She wants me to put her on speaker.” He shrugged apologetically.
“Addie, I’ll be over later,” JoAnn’s disembodied voice said. “Sorry to interrupt, but Wills made me call Harmon. Go for it.”
Harmon sighed again and then mouthed the words I’m so sorry before he sang, “Everybody poops. Everybody pees. All the animals, Mommy, and me. So come on, Wills, and poop with me.”
I don’t think he was aware of the fact, but he had a bit of swaying going on as he sang, as if at home he actually did a dance but he was trying to contain it here.
I couldn’t help it; I laughed.
“Hey, Wills, do you want Aunt Addie to sing with me?” he asked, grinning at me.
Three more rounds of the song and Jo informed us that mission was accomplished.
I was still laughing as Harmon hung up.
“Thank you,” I said. “Believe it or not, that was just what I needed.”
“Tell you what, if I get another emergency call from home, I’ll come back up. We had a good duet going.”
“Gee, Harmon, you’re so good to me.”
“And don’t forget, your job, if you’re asked, is to confirm my total and serious doctorness. And you must never reveal my potty-singing ways.”
I smiled and made a cross-my-heart sign over my chest.
I don’t think Harmon realized that he was humming the tune as he walked back out of the room.
I looked at the machines that Gray was hooked up to. Maybe I couldn’t read them the way Harmon could, but I could see his heart rate. It beat steadily, and even I knew that had to be a good thing.
“Harmon says you’re okay, Gray,” I said.
It was still dark out, so I lay back in the chair and asked my husband, “As I was singing with Harmon I realized that you would have been like that. Despite the fact most people would find it hard to believe, you would have stopped an important meeting to sing a potty song to our baby.”
I took his hand in mine.
I must have fallen back to sleep because the next thing I was aware of was Nurse Alice writing on Gray’s chart. I realized I still held his hand in mine.
“Sorry,” she said apologetically. “I’m glad you got some sleep.”
“How is he?” I asked, cradling my numb hand, feeling the first pricks of needles as blood began flowing.
“Stable,” she assured me in a quiet voice.
“Is he out of the woods?” I gave my hand a small shake and was rewarded by a thousand pinpricks.
I ignored the feeling and concentrated on Nurse Alice. She gave me a small, reassuring smile as she said, “Not yet, but every hour that goes by is another step in the right direction.”
She fiddled with a machine while I continued shaking the life back into my hand.
Satisfied with whatever she’d read, she said, “The morning shift will be starting in an hour. Why don’t you run home, take a shower, and grab some breakfast? You’ll feel better for it. You can’t take care of him if you don’t take care of yourself. I know that sometimes we all forget that.”
“Pot calling the kettle black?” I asked.
She nodded. “You don’t know the half of it. Between work and family I rarely have any time to call my own. Well, other than a few minutes each morning.”
“What happens in the morning?”
“I go down to the coffee shop in the lobby and get one small black coffee, then take a few minutes to just drink it.” She looked at me with a conspiratorial grin. “And sometimes if I’m being really wild, I get a medium rather than the small.”
Despite everything I couldn’t help but laugh. I laughed easier now than I had in months. “You are wild.”
“Thank you for noticing.” She looked pleased with her wild status. “Go home, shower, and get breakfast. And some coffee.”
“I’ll make it a medium and think of you,” I promised her.
I stood up and started to fold the blanket I’d used while I thought about taking care of Gray when he was released from the hospital. “There’s very little chance Gray will let me take care of him, you know. He likes to be the one doing the caring, not vice versa.”
“That will have to change,” she assured me. “He’s going to need care. When he’s able, he’ll need some rehab, and when he goes home he’ll have to think about restructuring his life. And it doesn’t sound like that will be easy for him.”
“Restructure how?” I put the pillow and blanket on the windowsill.
“Controlling his blood pressure will be imperative. Medication will be part of it, but it will require a lifestyle change as well.”
I picked up my purse and the now-well-mutilated envelope. “He’ll have limitations?”
“He won’t be running any marathons, but he should be able to have a normal life. But he’ll have to find time to relax.” Alice smiled again. She was one of those people who seemed to send off calming, it’s-all-going-to-be-okay vibes. I wondered if she’d always had that sort of aura, or if working as a nurse had made her that way.
It didn’t matter how she came by it, I leaned on her calm confidence. Gray would be okay and have a normal life.
And needed to relax. “If Gray were writing the dictionary, relax would be a four-letter word.”
Nurse Alice tucked the sheet more securely around my husband. “He’s going to have to learn. How about yoga? In the summer, th
ere’s a group that meets on Presque Isle at sunset. I’ve always thought it would be fun. Maybe if you went, you could entice him. A long vacation on a beach with nothing to do each day but watch the sun rise and then set.”
I didn’t comment on the irony of that comment. A beach vacation had been the straw moment for me.
We’d lost our way in December and had limped along for weeks. I’d resolved to try one last time.
I’d called Missy and made sure the week was clear for Gray . . . well, as clear as any week was for him. Then I talked to Ash, who readily agreed to fill in for Gray. With the two of them on board, I put the tickets on hold and waited. Hoping beyond hope that if we could just get away, we could find our way back to us . . .
I heard Gray’s car pull into the garage. I’d been waiting for him.
I was nervous. Gray wasn’t someone who enjoyed surprises, but I was hoping that just as he’d once surprised me with the house, he’d like my plans for us. After two aborted attempts at a honeymoon and more than a dozen discussions about possibly getting away, I’d put a hold on the perfect honeymoon. The perfect getaway where we could rediscover who we were as a couple.
Gray walked into the kitchen and eyed me warily. “You look better.”
I nodded. “I feel better.” I wasn’t sure if that was the truth, but maybe if I said it often enough, I’d eventually believe it.
“I have a surprise for you.” I slid our itinerary across the counter.
Gray picked it up and examined it. “St. Lucia?”
I nodded. “It’s an all-inclusive resort. I went to an actual travel agent. She’s got it all ready. It’s not a long flight, but it’s far enough away to make it feel like a real honeymoon. Everything’s included. There’s a list of excursions we can take if you like, but I’d be happy with nothing more than being with you. We can take long walks on the beach, hang out at the pool. I just have to call her . . .”
My sentence faded as I saw his expression.
He set the paper down. “Addie, you should have talked to me about this. I can’t get away right now—”
“You can. Missy was careful about your schedule. And Ash said he’d fill in—”
He hadn’t touched me since we’d lost the baby and when he finally reached for me, it wasn’t a warm embrace. Instead, he held my shoulders and looked me in the eye. “I can’t.”
Those two words were inaccurate. He should have said, I won’t.
But accurate or not, they were the straw that broke the camel’s back.
I knew even as I made the decision that I’d never confess to anyone that this was my reason for leaving. It sounded frivolous and foolish.
Here he was, touching me for the first time in months only to push me away . . . again.
I needed him so much after we lost our son, and he’d turned away. I kept waiting for him to turn back, but he hadn’t.
“Addie, I’m sorry,” he said, “but I can’t.”
“All right,” I said softly. I thought about packing, but in the end, I kissed his cheek, picked up my purse, and walked out to the garage.
“Good-bye, Gray.” That’s all I said.
He didn’t follow me.
I got in the car and backed out of the drive. I called Jo and asked if I could stay at her Ferncliff house.
She said yes, just as I knew she would.
I walked away from the man I loved because I was afraid that if I stayed, I’d eventually hate him.
I had never minded how much Gray loved his work. Oh, I hadn’t enjoyed the times we’d planned a getaway and he’d canceled, but I understood.
Maybe I should have told him more clearly that this wasn’t some whim. It wasn’t even really an attempt to finally go on the honeymoon we’d never had.
It was a lifeline that I was throwing to us as a couple. A lifeline I threw and clung to.
A lifeline he simply ignored.
After I’d left Gray, I’d Googled the phrase the straw that broke the camel’s back. I couldn’t find any definitive answer as to where the phrase originated. A few sites pointed to a saying about the last feather that broke the horse’s back, or about the last drop of coffee that overflowed the cup.
In the end, I decided it didn’t matter. They all dealt with that one last, frequently tiny, thing that made something difficult become something impossible.
Leaving because he wouldn’t go on vacation with me sounded ridiculous, but it was my straw moment.
I realized that Nurse Alice was still in the room as I stared at my husband, remembering that one last time.
“You’ll be heading home for that breakfast and shower, right?” she asked.
“Yes,” I promised. “I’ll just say good-bye.”
She started to leave the room, then turned around. “Addie, I work again tonight if you want to stay.”
“Thank you.” I felt my eyes well up by this unexpected small kindness. “I mean it, thank you.”
“I can see how much you love him. Being surrounded by that kind of love can only help him.”
She left me alone with my husband, her words ringing in my ears.
I remembered yesterday morning—was it only yesterday?—sitting on the deck with my cup of coffee, watching the sunrise, and thinking that I must have loved Gray once.
When I left him in February, it wasn’t because I didn’t love him, but because I was afraid if I stayed I’d someday forget that I’d loved him.
Over the eight months and thirt—
It was Friday now. Eight months and fourteen days.
Over the eight months and fourteen days between when I left and now, I had indeed forgotten that I loved him.
Standing here, I realized that loved him wasn’t accurate.
Love him.
There was no past tense about it.
Maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe I’d been in love with Gray once and lost track of it, but the love itself was still there. I knew that because the thought of losing him was almost a physical pain.
I leaned down and whispered Mark’s three other words in his ear. “I love you. Maybe our marriage wasn’t working and maybe I wasn’t in love with you anymore, but I still love you, Gray. Loving you is a part of me.”
I stood up straight, picked up my purse and the envelope. “You have to get better.”
I gave Alice a small wave and made my way to the lobby of the hospital.
I felt disoriented as I stood looking at the revolving door. That’s when I realized that I’d ridden to the hospital in the ambulance with Gray.
I would have to call someone for a ride.
Then I realized my car was still at Steel, Inc. That couldn’t be more than a half mile from here. I could walk that, go home, shower, and still be back at the hospital in an hour.
I walked through the oversize revolving doors and stepped out into the still-dark morning. The air was brisk, but rather than feeling cold, it felt bracing.
I breathed in a large gulp of it. I hadn’t realized how oppressive the pervasive hospital smell was until I breathed in its absence.
I thought about calling JoAnn and Ash as I walked, but I didn’t feel up to talking. I sent out a simple text to both of them. He’s stable. Still sedated. I’ll text when I know more.
As I walked, I checked my e-mail, but still nothing from Peggy.
She’d call today, and if she didn’t, I’d figure out how to contact her through the cruise line.
I walked down State Street toward Steel, Inc.
A steady wind blew from the north. When the weather got colder, those Canadian winds would blow across the open lake, picking up moisture as it went. When it reached the shore, all that moisture fell to the ground in the form of snow. The process had a name.
Lake effect.
Weather people all along the Great Lakes’ shores used
the term frequently during the winter. Residents knew the term as well.
Down on Ferncliff, those Canadian winds buffeted the odd collection of fishing shacks. JoAnn’s had been renovated sometime in the eighties, years before she bought it. It still retained the look of its fishing-shack roots on the outside, but the inside was from an era of big hair, Pac-Man, and Rubik’s Cubes.
Some of the shacks could no longer be called that. They were vacation homes.
The one next to JoAnn’s had never been renovated at all. It was the shackiest of them all.
I walked under an overpass, then back into the downtown area. The comedy club and restaurants. No chains here. These were locally owned.
Farther down the street were some shops and banks. The Erie Playhouse was half a block west. For a smaller city, Erie had a vibrant local theater group with wonderful productions. Then the Warner Theater sat in all its glory right on State Street. I loved the great old theater. I had season tickets for the touring Broadway shows that played here.
Walking by the theater and thinking about the shows made me think about what Ash had said. Gray had been listening to Broadway tunes.
I couldn’t visualize that. I couldn’t imagine him humming or even singing along. Gray wasn’t the kind of man who listened to music. He turned on NPR in the car.
Why this sudden fascination with Broadway tunes?
State Street dipped as it came closer to the bay. I could see Steel, Inc. as I stood on the rise. Beyond it, I could see the bay. Beyond that, the peninsula. And though I couldn’t see it from here, beyond the peninsula was Lake Erie. Beyond that, London, Ontario.
I could see very far from this vantage point and I could count on what lay beyond what I could see.
Why couldn’t I do that for me and Gray?
With him, I couldn’t see beyond today. And I couldn’t know beyond that.
Once, I believed that I knew exactly how our life would unfold. We’d marry and be deliriously happy . . . ever after.
Ever after wasn’t nearly as long as I’d thought it would be.
