"Dr. Walker is our resident brain surgeon and he can best address that."
Walker's voice was much deeper. Gravelly. He was intense and cut quickly to the chase. "When Michael's heart stopped, blood stopped flowing to his brain. From the time of the accident until the when the Jaws of Life got him out of the car, about 15 minutes passed. Dr. McKenzie thinks his heart was stopped for the entire time."
He paused to let the words sink in.
"In essence, Michael suffered a massive stroke. If you'll look at these fMRI images, you'll notice that there is no activity in most of brain. These parts should be green, red or yellow, not gray or black."
Tears started to flow down Nichole's cheeks. She would have fallen if Dr. McKenzie didn't catch her.
"Even his hypothalamus, the part that regulates involuntary functions, suffered some damage."
Dr. McKenzie held Nichole's hands. "We can repair his heart and his lungs. But we can't repair his brain."
John pulled Elizabeth and Nichole close to him. All three started to cry. The doctors stood around uncomfortably for several minutes while Nichole, John and Elizabeth held each other.
"May I speak to you outside?" John asked the doctors, leaving Nichole and Elizabeth alone with Michael.
They stood there, arm in arm, staring at the shell of someone they loved more than life itself. Neither said a word.
John came back in a few minutes later. "I called Ernie and Carole and the rest of the family. They'll be here shortly."
His eyes were still wet, but he had a steely veneer. Nichole knew he was dying inside, but for everyone else, John wanted to be seen as strong and unassailable. She envied his ability to sublimate his fear and sadness.
"Dr. McKenzie and Dr. Walker say his chances of recovery are one in a million. Michael left a living will; did you know about that, Nichole? He never wanted to be put on one of those damn machines."
"I know," Nichole said, wiping away the tears. "We talked about this once. I didn't want to, but he wouldn't let it drop."
"I've made arrangements with Dr. McKenzie to have him removed from life support as soon as the rest of the family says good-bye." John pulled his wife close as she started to sob. Nichole took several deep breaths and tried to hold back her own.
"I want to take him home," Nichole said suddenly. "I don't want him to die here. Not like this."
John and Elizabeth both looked shocked, but nodded their assent. Hospitals were sterile and crowded. They were noisy. Impersonal. Michael deserved to die in peace, in a familiar place. At home.
Nichole rushed out of the room, looking for Dr. McKenzie. She flagged him down in the hallway.
"How long will Michael live once he's taken off the respirator and heart pump?"
Dr. McKenzie thought for a second. "His heart's beating, but it's weak and so is his breathing. Five or six hours. Maybe seven."
"I don't want him to die here," Nichole said.
"I understand," Dr. McKenzie said, a sad, compassionate look in his eye. "I'll make arrangements to have him transported to your house first thing in the morning."
When she returned to her room, the family was starting to trickle in. John was delivering the news of Michael's condition to everyone as they arrived.
"We're taking him home tomorrow," Nichole said to John.
He smiled at her. "You know he loved you more than anything, don't you?"
"I know," Nichole whispered.
The rest of the night passed in a blur. The rest of the family came and tried as best they could to console themselves and each other.
There were some delays in the ambulance service, and Nichole didn't get home until almost dark the next day. She hadn't slept in over 36 hours.
Dr. McKenzie rode in the ambulance with Nichole and Michael. John, Elizabeth, Ernie and Carole were waiting at her apartment, along with all of her brothers and sisters. Emily even managed to get some emergency leave and hopped the first flight in from Orlando.
The ambulance crew wheeled Michael into their bedroom and gently lay him on the bed, even knowing they'd be back the next day. His chest was wrapped in bandages. The cuts on his face were washed. His eyes were closed. He looked like he was sleeping.
Nichole pulled the covers over him. His breathing was shallow but steady.
Michael's family stood in his bedroom silently. The machines were gone. There were no pings or beeps or air pumps. Except for the ambient sounds coming from the streets of the City That Never Sleeps, the room was silent and peaceful.
The initial grief was passed. Everyone was in shock.
Nichole went to the door. "If you would like a few minutes alone with him, now's the time."
Everyone filed out except John and Elizabeth. Nichole closed the door behind them. The sun was setting.
Over the next couple of hours, the family cycled into the bedroom, everyone saying their good-byes, leaving tears and kisses on Michael's cheeks.
The somber mood hung over everyone else until Michael's younger brother Rhett got into the photo albums. He passed them around and the memories started to flow. Tears of joy replaced the tears of sadness as the family recalled Michael's life.
John and Elizabeth reminisced about the day they brought new-born Michael home from the hospital, and the time when Emily tried to glue his hair back on after cutting it off with a pair of sewing scissors. Ernie told the story about Michael's first t-ball at bat when he ran to third instead of first.
With each story, with each memory, they let Michael go. Surrounded by their family, they cherished his memory together, sharing the joys and good times, supporting each other.
The hallmark of the family, laughter, lifted the darkness that hung over their hearts, but everyone fell silent when the last of them had gone in to see Michael. Everyone but Nichole.
Nichole stood and took a deep breath. She walked to the bedroom, aware of the eyes upon her. She closed the door behind her.
The lamp on the nightstand was on. Nichole sat on the edge of the bed. She took Michael's hand in her own.
"I love you," she whispered, choking back tears.
Nichole lay on the bed next to her husband, looking at him for a long time, watching his chest rise and fall with each shallow breath. She reached over and turned out the light. The starlight shone through the window.
She curled up against Michael, and lay her head on his chest. She pulled his arm around her and pretended he was holding her tight.
Closing her eyes, Nichole tried to wish away the previous 48 hours. She expected Michael to tap her on the shoulder and tell her it was all a bad dream. She prayed for a miracle.
Nothing happened.
The tears came, slowly at first, then in heartbreaking sobs.
Nichole was frustrated, scared, angry and sad. She wept for Michael. She wept for herself. She wept for unborn children and memories that would never be. She wept for an uncertain future.
Nichole was angry with Michael for leaving her. She was angry at the drivers of the cars involved in the accident. She was angry with God for taking the love of her life from her.
More than anything, Nichole felt an empty space in her heart. A void of despair and hopelessness. Michael's strength was gone. His encouraging words, his moral certainty and his omnipresent love disappeared.
She cuddled close to him, trying desperately to hold on, as if by the sheer force of her will, she could stave of his death.
Nichole vowed to love him forever, and cried herself to sleep in his arms.
A soft glow filled the room as the first rays of daylight shone through the window, warming her. Michael's arm was still draped around her shoulder.
With a start, Nichole jerked her head up and looked around. She blinked back the haze and looked up at Michael.
He was gone.
* * *
The company picnic was a week after her night out with Terra and her friends. Ernie and John came out of retirement to run the company once again. Nichole showed up to the picnic smiling and carrying
on friendly conversation. It was in the same corner of the Sheep Meadow where she and Michael had reconnected, three short years before.
People felt awkward talking to her; everyone there knew Michael, and everyone's heart broke along with hers when he died. John and Ernie had built a solid company not only into a business but also into a family.
She felt the unspoken support through the hugs and the laughter.
Nichole was quiet; she had been withdrawn for most of the last year. But Ernie noticed something different about her that day. Her smile was back, not fully, but it was a start.
Right before the flag football game started, Nichole reached into her purse and drew out Michael's ashes.
With tears in her eyes, she handed the silver urn to John and Elizabeth.
"It's probably illegal, but I'd like to bury this underneath the oak tree," she said.
"I won't tell if you won't." John smiled at her. "Thank you."
Nathan and Rhett found a shovel and dug a shallow hole. John placed the urn in the hole and began filing it with dirt.
"I love you," Nichole whispered, knowing Michael was looking down upon her—upon them—and smiling.
THE END
* * *
I Want To Be In Love
* * *
"I'll see you around, Kevin," I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I reached out and squeezed his hand as if to say, "I'm sorry," then turned and walked away.
Trying to keep my gait firm and deliberate, I walked through the airport as if I had blinders on. I didn't want anyone—especially Kevin—to see me like this. I didn't have any checked baggage and went straight to the parking garage. Once I stowed my carry-on suitcase in the trunk of my car, I got in, started the engine, then leaned my forehead against the steering wheel and began to cry.
I don't know what brought this fit on.
No, that's not quite right. I do know.
It was Kevin Westcott. Or rather, it was the last three days I had spent with an old friend from high school. Everything had been perfect. He was cute and kind. There was romance and passion. All of the cares of my life melted away. There was just him: with his goofy smile, puppy dog eyes and the promise of safety and security and love.
When we were in high school together, none of the girls—myself included—ever looked at him seriously as boyfriend material. I guess we were all too into the "bad boys" of the school. Kevin was never a bad boy. He was squeaky clean, and not because he was uptight or anything.
He didn't drink or do drugs or get tattoos or skip class. If you ever asked him why he never did anything that was bad, he would tell you simply, "Because that's not right."
Right and wrong. He knew the difference and he never thought to do anything other than what was right. I didn't recognise it in him when we were younger and after graduation he never really crossed my mind again, to tell the truth. Every now and then, his name would come up when reminiscing with a mutual friend, and that was usually followed with, "What ever happened to him?"
I'll tell you what happened: In short, Kevin Westcott became a keeper.
He was one of the nerdy kids in high school. We all knew he would make something of himself; he was too smart not to. While he wasn't terribly motivated, he never seemed like he ever truly applied himself. Yet, he still got a 31 on his ACT and made A's with very little effort. He could have given me and Ajay Patel a run for valedictorian if he had wanted to. I, on the other hand, studied a lot. Probably more than I needed to, but things seemed to come far more naturally to him than me.
Of all the kids I graduated with, Kevin was the most enigmatic. I don't think he kissed a girl until our senior year. He couldn't talk to any of us socially. And he was above dumbing himself down just to try and fit in. He was tall and skinny. Average-looking. Unathletic and clumsy. He moved awkwardly as if he wasn't quite used to the way his body was built. He was certainly smart and a boon to anyone who ever needed a partner for a group project. But none of us thought of him as anything other than a schoolmate.
When we met again almost eighteen years after graduation, he had filled out nicely. He put on a little bit of weight; it was just enough to add some meat to his bones, but not too much. His face was still boyishly handsome and he maintained sandy blonde hair with very little grey. He had a new confidence about him and that was very appealing.
Maybe it was just me being shortsighted, but Kevin was one of those boys you wanted to marry, but never wanted to date. He promised security and stability, and at 18, I foolishly wanted a guy who got my motor running. I never thought of him as exciting because we ran in different crowds. Mine was the cheerleaders and pretty people; his was the Dungeons & Dragons and computer club nerds.
Our last three days together had been magical. Maybe it was because we were both trapped in a snowbound airport with no other familiar company. Maybe it was because we were both in a single place in our lives. Or maybe my eyes were just opened.
Those three days with Kevin flipped a switch within me. He stirred passions I hadn't felt in a long time. Certainly not with my ex-husband.
I could tell he was in love with me. I think he had been since high school. It would have been very easy to fall for him. He was a little plain, but still handsome. He was employed; well kind-of employed, but he was financially stable. He treated me like a princess. He is still one of the ten smartest people I know. He's funny and self-deprecating. And when we made love, he made me scream with pleasure and spent all night cuddling.
That's why I had to walk away from him.
Kevin was too good of a guy for me just to use and throw away. Because that's what I would have done to him. I probably could have gotten him to marry me, buy me a big house in the suburbs and sucked him dry if I had wanted.
But I couldn't do that to him. Not that way.
In the last year, I've gotten a divorce, been laid off my job, lost my house, and moved my kids across three states to live with my parents. I was a wreck in all possible ways: mentally, emotionally, financially and even physically.
I was in no condition to start a relationship, and I knew it. I prayed that Kevin knew it too. He looked heartbroken when we shared our last kiss. That's why I had to leave him standing there in an airport full of people. It was for the best.
At least that's what I told myself.
So there I sat in my car, bawling like a baby. I had turned my back on what could have been the best thing to ever happen to me.
When the tears stopped, I wiped my eyes, tried my best to put on a smile and drove home.
Home. It seemed so familiar, yet so different.
It was the house where I spent the bulk of my years growing up. We moved in when I was six and my parents started teaching at the university. It's a big house with four bedrooms and more than enough space for anyone who wanted to live under its roof. My brother was long gone; his job with an aerospace company seemed to be weathering the plunging economy well. In some ways, the war in Iraq was a boon to his work designing and building laser guidance systems for missiles.
Now it was my folks, me and my two children, Toby and Emily. When I came crawling back to them, practically begging for a place to live, they threw open their doors without comment or complaint, although I felt that on some level they were disappointed.
After all, for the previous decade, I was the successful one. My career in commercial lending was lucrative and glamourous. My husband and I drove BMWs and had a big house of our own. We did all the things we were supposed to: travelled with the kids, had a nanny to watch them and lived the high life. Then it all came crashing down.
We were in a house that was more than we could afford. The divorce nearly wiped me out. I don't think my ex-husband ever cheated on me, although he very quickly found comfort in the arms of a red-headed secretary with big tits who was ten years his junior. I managed to avoid paying palimony by getting laid off.
The housing market imploded and all of our savings were exhausted when we were forced to
sell the house at a loss; neither of us wanted to buy the other out, so we sold it and both of us started over. I took my kids home to my parents; he comes to town for one weekend a month and they spend summers with him.
I've been looking for a job, but I haven't had much luck. A couple of companies have made offers, but none have panned out. Either they were offering me a pittance of what I was making before or they wanted me to re-locate or travel. I know I shouldn't be picky, but I never thought things would be as bad as they are.
My most recent trip was turning out to be the final straw. A company on the west coast offered me a job, but the cost of living out there is still way too high for what they were offering. So on a cold January day, I was headed home before getting side-tracked by a freak blizzard that shut down nearly every airport on the east coast from Atlanta to Bangor.
And that's when Kevin Westcott turned my life upside down.
I tried to push thoughts of him from my mind as I drove home. Pulling into the driveway, I saw the lights inside were still on. I parked my car in the spare spot next to the garage and went inside.
Just as I opened the door, my son Toby rushed into my arms. I picked him up and spun him around, both of us giggling. Emily, my daughter, was always a little more reserved, but she still gave me a warm hug.
These two children are the reason why I do everything. I held them tight even as my parents came out to greet me.
We speak English around them, although Mother and Father both think they should be taught Japanese, too. Everyone asked about the trip and what I had done over the extra two days I was away. I deflected questions from the children and my father, but my mother instantly knew something was up. I only hope my own matronly intuition is half as keen when it comes to dealing with my children. She would never say anything to me, especially not in front of my father, but I knew she would ask me in private.
The rest of the evening passed quickly. I tucked the kids into bed, said good-night to my folks then went to bed myself.
As I lay there, all I could think about was Kevin's strong arms. How they held me close. How he would twitch in his sleep, but never release me from his comforting grasp. How his heartbeat sounded so close to mine. How his breath felt so warm against my skin.
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