Chasing Wishes

by Simonenko, Nadia

  "Yes," I tell him, nodding and squeezing his hands tightly.

  "It was the truth. The whole point of starting my consulting firm was to steal the research I needed for my project. Every major company I worked with was chosen because they had something I needed to finish my own work. I've been stealing the parts to my project from other companies," he says. "I know it's not ethical, but I've been desperate to finish it for years, Irene."

  "What is this project?"

  He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before answering.

  "I lost my vision during college through a degenerative disease called retinitis pigmentosa. Most people don’t go completely blind from it, nor do they lose their vision as quickly as I did, but I guess I’m an unlucky statistic," he says with a bitter smile. "Marcus and I used our own research plus stolen technology to develop the first artificial retinal implant."

  He smiles excitedly before adding, " If it works, it’ll restore my eyesight and I can keep my promise. I'll be able to truly see you again."

  "And what if it doesn’t work?"

  "If it doesn’t work, I’m blind forever."

  Terrence releases my hands, and as he stands before me, he suddenly looks as nervous as if he’s performing on stage.

  "Before I met you... well, you as Irene, I mean," he stammers, "I dated a woman named Colleen DiMatteo. She couldn't handle me being blind and left me rather than deal with it."

  "I'm sorry," I whisper, remembering how upset Marcus was when he told me the same story.

  "Irene... would you still stay with me if I could never see again?"

  I can see the tension knotting up in his neck and shoulders as he awaits my answer. I don't need any time to think this one through, though. Now that I'm past the initial shock, all my thoughts and feelings are falling into place again. I fell for him because of how much he reminded me of Isaac, but I love him now asovethough. Terrence. I loved him before I ever even dreamed that he might be able to restore his sight, and I couldn't care less what he had to do to finish his project. I grew up fighting for every little scrap, and I understand the feeling of desperation that comes

  with believing that you'll never get what you want or find what you're looking for. For Terrence, the desperation came from something no amount of money could ever fix—losing his vision. He's devoted his life to escaping blindness just as I wanted to escape my old life in New Haven.

  "You don't need to decide now," he tells me gently. "Take some time to think and—"

  My answer is to take a short step forward, place my fingertips on his shoulders, and then press my lips to his.

  A feeling of indescribable joy explodes through my body as he pulls me in close and gleefully returns my kiss

  "I love you no matter what happens, Terrence," I whisper into his ear, and he smiles so brightly that it practically lights up the night.

  The rain starts coming down harder now, and I quickly hook my arm around his and guide him back into the bedroom. Terrence pulls me in close and kisses me passionately the moment I shut the door, and we’re across the room and onto the bed in seconds. As the torrential rain pours down outside, there’s nowhere I’d rather be tonight than in bed with him... lying in his embrace and making love to him until dawn.

  wi

  wi

  wi

  Chapter XXIX

  Irene

  I have no idea how Terrence got booked for his surgery so quickly, especially given it's an experimental one, but after only a few days on the phone, he had a slot scheduled at the Palmer Institute in Miami. It must've cost him a fortune.

  Terrence's bedroom at the hospital seems awfully large for one person, but I suppose it's yet another perk of having massive disposable income. It's going to take me a long time to adjust to that sort of thing, and I honestly hope that I never get used to it. Where I once was worried that I'd grow up to be like Mom, now I'm worried that I'll become Terrence's mother instead. I just can't give myself the benefit of the doubt, can I?

  The florescent lights overhead hum at a particularly irritating frequency, and suddenly I'm reminded of the long glass corridor of Terrence's laboratory. Ugly but colorful pastel paintings decorate the walls of the room and a clock with a slate-gray face ticks quietly overhead, reminding me that I'll have to leave soon. The doctors are coming back soon, and they've already told me that they don't want me around when they take him in for surgery.

  Two nurses and a man I assume is the anesthesiologist come into the room, and Terrence's hand starts trembling in mine. I squeeze his hand tightly and try my best to comfort him.

  "Okay, Mrs. Radcliffe... it's time for you to leave now," the doctor tells me, and my face turns bright red. Mrs. Radcliffe... God, I love the idea. Irene and Terrence—Irene and Isaac... a dream come true, even if we're not there yet.

  "You're going to be okay, Terrence," I tell him, squeezing his hand once more. "It's going to work."

  I stand to leave but then lean in to give him one last, long kiss before I go. As I lay my hand against his chest, I can feel his pulse racing. He's trying to put on a strong face for me, but he's scared to death inside.

  "It'll all be fine," I whisper, and then I turn away. As I r put on a each the door, Terrence calls out to me.

  "Irene?"

  "Yes?" I look back at him over my shoulder.

  "I love you," he blurts out. "I needed to tell you, just... just in case."

  Just in case the surgery doesn't work, my fears whisper to me. Just in case he dies and leaves you alone...

  The fearful thoughts are powerless against his words, though, and warm, wonderful feelings surge through me. I love him so much.

  "I love you too, Terrence," I answer, wishing more than ever that now, when he needs it most, he could see how much he's just made me smile. "I'll see you soon."

  "So will I," he whispers, and I hurry from the room as tears cloud my eyes.

  ****

  I haven't seen Terrence in three days.

  I knew something was wrong the moment the doctor came out to the waiting room. The look on his face said it all.

  The two words that came next said everything else: major complications.

  "The retinal implantation system didn't work as designed, and we had to make several additional incisions and completely redo the suture patterns," the doctor told me. "We're going to need to perform a second surgery to finish everything off, and it’s going to be a long recovery for Mr. Radcliffe even without the potential infection concerns arising from the extra incisions. Go back to your hotel, try to relax, and I promise we'll keep you updated."

  "Is he going to be okay?"

  "I believe so, but we won't know for certain until we complete the second surgery. We'll know about his vision once he's healed," he answered, and he showed me to the door.

  I remember nodding numbly, the doctor laying his hand on my shoulder as he walked me out, and then the next thing I remember, I'm in my hotel room crying on the bed.

  Three days turns into four, four in to five, and soon we've hit the one week mark as I wait for word from the hospital.

  When the phone finally rings, the news from the hospital almost kills me. Terrence has a severe eye infection, and they still can't let me see him.

  "Please, can't I at least come look at him through the glass?" I beg the doctor. "I won't stay long! I just need to see him again."

  "I'm sorry," says the doctor. "He's really not in any shape to receive visitors and... well, for your own sake it's best you don't see him right now either. We'll call you as soon as he's ready."

  "For my sake? My God how bad is it?" I exclaim as my hands start to shake.

  "It just looks worse than it is, Ms. Hartley. All the same, we can't have you in yet. We'll call you soon," the doctor answers calmly. As he hangs up, I can't help but suspect that 'soon' is going to be a long time from now.

  One week turns into ten days, ten into twelve, and soon I hit two weeks of being alone in this hotel. I call the hosp
ital every day, but they never have any updates for me. Each day without seeing Terrence brings new fears to life inside me. What if the infection was worse than they told me? What if it spreads to his brain? What if he dies?

  I need to keep myself distractedelfevery or I'm going to drive myself insane with worry.

  Terrence picked out an exquisite, four-star hotel for me. I've never been anywhere even close to this fancy, and it's disconcerting to have everyone treat me so... respectfully. I find myself constantly scrutinizing the front desk's tone to see if he's being sarcastic or if I'm missing veiled mockery. I seriously can't get used to this whole 'being respected' thing. It's just so weird.

  Whether I'm paranoid or not, there's absolutely no denying the luxury of this hotel. My bedroom is so large that I could accommodate a small family in the bed and still have plenty of space for a dance recital and shuffleboard. The kitchenette has deep cherry wood cabinets and better appliances than my old apartment had, the bathroom has a massaging showerhead and a tub I could swim laps in, and the balcony looks out directly over Biscayne Bay.

  The hotel brochure claims we have a private beach, but I have no desire to go anywhere near the water right now. I just want to see Terrence again.

  What if the surgery failed in a way so that his eyes can never heal? What if he's going to be in pain for the rest of his life?

  I turn on the enormous flat-screen television to distract myself. Eight hundred channels and the only thing even remotely interesting is 'Antiques Road Show.'

  Four other remote controls sit beside the television's controller. One operates the air conditioning, another opens and closes the curtains like some sort of Broadway show, and there's even one that turns on the coffee maker. Why the hell would I ever use any of these? Do I really need to save the five steps to the coffee maker?

  Just as I'm about to go completely off my rocker and scold the remote controls for being so useless, my phone rings and scares me three feet into the air.

  "Hello?"

  "Good afternoon. This is Debra from the Palmer Institute," says an older woman's voice across the line. "May I speak to Miss Irene Hartley?"

  "You've got her."

  "Hi Irene," she coos sweetly. "I just wanted to let you know that the doctors have given approval for you to visit Terrence now, if you'd like."

  Never in all the history of the English language has the word 'like' been more inadequate.

  "Oh... um... yes! Thank you so much! I'll be right there," I stammer into the phone as I race around the room like a whirlwind gathering my things.

  I throw on my shoes, grab my purse, brush my teeth in case I get a chance to kiss him... well, might be getting a little ahead of myself there. I'm in such a hurry to see Terrence that I run straight out into the hall while still in my pajamas and have to turn around. I'm downstairs five minutes later in a pair of blue jeans and a green fall sweater far too warm for Miami's climate, wringing my hands as I wait anxiously for the taxi.

  After the most agonizing fifteen-minute taxi ride ever, I check in with hospital security and hurry to Terrence's recovery suite. His doctor shows me to the window before letting me into the room, and I gasp at the sight of Terrence's face almost completely covered with bandages.

  "It didn't work, did it?" I whisper as a dizzying sickness rises in my stomach.

  "Give him time," the doctor responds quietly.

  "How much time?" I press. "How long does he need to recover? Is he going to be okay?"

  The doctor smiles comfortingly at me.

  "Irene, this is one of the most complicated eye surgeries we've ever performed," he answers. "All I can promise you that, now that we've modified Terrence's design, everything is implanted exactly the way it's supposed to."

  "And what about the infection?" I ask, staring in the window at Terrence. His chest rises and falls slowly as he lies in bed with an IV in his arm, and I can't tell if he's awake or asleep.

  "The human eye is mostly an immune-privileged zone, Miss Hartley," says the doctor. "This means that it isn't likely to reject Terrence's implant, but it also doesn't respond well to bacteria either. It's very difficult to clear an internal eye infection when you've just performed a surgery like the one Terrence went through."

  "But the infection's gone now, right?" I ask, and I let out a sigh of relief as the doctor nods.

  "The only thing left to do now is to wait and see how the implant works once Terrence is healed. We're expecting another two weeks of recovery."

  The doctor motions me toward the door and then leans in close before continuing.

  "What you need to do more than anything else right now is to be there for him," he whispers. "Stay with him while he heals and everything is going to work out. I promise."

  He smiles and holds the door open for me.

  "He's been asking for you for days now," whispers the doctor as I nervously walk into the silent room. "Take good care of him."

  I pull up a chair beside Terrence's bed, wincing as it scrapes along the linoleum floor, and then I gently reach out, take his hand and entwine my fingers around his. Bandages cover his face from the nose up, and I can't help but shudder as my imagination concocts all sorts of gruesome ideas of what's hiding beneath the gauze.

  "Irene?" he whispers, his voice strained and sore. They've given him a painkiller drip, but it's only taking the edge off the pain for him.

  "Shh..." I hush him, holding a finger to my lips. "I'm going to tell you a story."

  Terrence squeezes my hand tightly as if hanging onto me for dear life. It breaks my heart to see him in this much pain, and I wipe my eyes as my tears cloud my vision.

  "Once upon a time, there was a princess who lived in a great city," I nervously start. "Nobody believed she was a princess, though, and everyone treated her badly—even the queen—until one day, she met a handsome young prince living in a castle deep in the woods to the north."

  Horrible things always happen to good people in fairy tales. Witches blind kind princes and cast them into the desert to wander, stepdaughters live in abject poverty, ridiculed and treated badly by all... fairy tales are painful, even nasty stories right up until the ending when everything works out after all.

  The story of Isaac and Nina is a long fairy tale and Terrence has missed a full nine years of it. Two more weeks of recovery should be just long enough to get to the Happily Ever After.

  wi

  wi

  Two Years Later...

  Terrence

  The midnight October sky is clear and full of stars as I sit out on balcony. The moon hangs low against the southern horizon, lighting up the Mystic River in sparkling silver as theovethber s breeze ripples the waters. God, it's beautiful tonight. I missed seeing the stars.

  The French doors open behind me, signaling that my wife has finally returned from New York. She was in the city today for a contract signing with her agent. She's going to be narrating a children's book series—something about a ballerina pig. It's a very popular series, apparently.

  She's had three small voice gigs since we got married, but this is her first big one. I'm excited that she's finally getting her first major voice-acting role, and I don't think I've ever been happier—well, short of our wedding day, of course—than when I watched her dance around the house in delight at the contract offer, smiling so brightly that she almost glowed in the dark.

  "Sorry I'm so late," says Irene, closing the door behind her and then sitting beside me on the cold marble bench by the railing. "The train was delayed for three hours in New Haven."

  "You could've called, you know. I'd have sent the chauffeur to pick you up."

  "I've been waiting on slow buses and delayed trains my whole life," she says, smiling softly. "Old habits die hard."

  No kidding, I think. We've been married for a full year now and she still acts as if she's barely above the poverty line. I understand it, knowing how she grew up and all, but I still can't help but laugh when I catch her diluting the orange juice to
make it last longer. Truth be told, it wouldn't hurt me to follow her example occasionally. I shouldn't spend as much as I do on pointless crap whether we're sitting on thirty-five million or not.

  One year... wow.

  It's hard to believe it's our one-year anniversary already. If this was a romance novel, we'd be living happily ever after with two kids and a dog by now, but... well, we've at least got the dog, right?

  Columbus scratches at the door, whining for us to let him out onto the balcony. Sorry buddy... not tonight. I have secret anniversary plans, and you're not invited.