About Last Night...

by Michele Dunaway

  And when she had arrived he hadn’t been able to leave her side. He’d introduced her as the love of his life. The painkillers and alcohol had freed what his heart always knew, and what his logical brain had kept hidden. He did love Lindy. With all his heart.

  Love. True love. It really did exist in the adult world, and he’d found it. He’d had it with him all the time. It was a choice, and a feeling. It was the most freeing thing in the world, and the most petrifying. To hand someone your heart, that was the biggest leap of faith and trust that a man could take.

  And he loved Lindy.

  That’s why he panicked when she’d been ill. That’s why he’d brought her food when his mother had descended on her and read her the riot act. Love was why he hadn’t wanted her to go to Jacobsen. Not because she was the best PA in the world, but because deep down he couldn’t live his life without her.

  And living without her was the scariest thought in the world. He loved her. He’d found her. He tried to conjure up the image of the girl on the bus, but he couldn’t. It had disappeared. The only image he could see when he thought of the word love—that image was Lindy’s.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Harry said.

  Shane stood up, his step suddenly unsteady. “I think I have,” he said. He needed to find Lindy. Grandpa Joe had been right. Time had helped. He now knew what to say, how to make it all okay. “I’ll walk you as far as the elevator.”

  But a quick look around Lindy’s floor revealed that everyone had left for the evening. So Shane headed to the parking garage, and within moments revved the Corvette’s engine as he backed out of the parking space. Although it was the start of a beautiful evening, he didn’t waste time putting the convertible top down. He had to get home. He had to get to Lindy before she did anything foolish, like leave him before he told her he’d gotten a clue.

  He pressed a button, putting on K-SHE-95, one of the nation’s oldest rock stations. Heck, it was older than him. He watched as the car in front of him exited the parking garage, and then down the road a ways the light at Jefferson changed, meaning that Shane had to wait as several cars heading westbound passed him. Then he finally was clear to turn right.

  The Rolling Stones song ended and Shane paused behind a long line of cars. Odd. The light at Compton must be malfunctioning. He turned up the volume as the traffic report began, announcing that the police were still clearing a two-car accident at Market and Compton.

  Shane groaned. Great. He had to get to Lindy and he couldn’t even get to the interstate quickly. The car in front of him moved up twenty feet, and Shane followed suit. It took him thirty minutes to travel what would normally take him a maximum of five.

  He finally approached the intersection. Lights danced from the top of three police cars, and he could see the flash of an ambulance as it pulled away. Two policemen directed traffic as one huge flatbed tow truck loaded a foreign sports car with a destroyed front end. The other flatbed was maneuvering into position to move a—

  Bile rose in Shane’s throat as a terrible panic filled him. Bronze Grand Prix GTPs were a dime a dozen. But despite the crushed driver’s side door that veered repulsively inward, this Grand Prix looked all too familiar. And this was the way Lindy drove home every day.

  Ignoring the irritated beeping of the car horn behind him, Shane pulled the wheel to the right, parked the Corvette illegally in a nondriving lane and got out. Insane fear overwhelmed him as he ran up to the Grand Prix.

  “Hey, buddy, I gotta move this car,” the tow-truck driver said.

  “Just a minute.” Shane looked inside, seeing but not seeing the items strewn about. Already a policeman was yelling at him to leave the scene.

  “Lindy,” Shane said. As if he’d been told, he knew. He turned to the tow-truck driver. “This is my wife’s car.”

  “Sorry,” the man said. He looked flustered. “I’ve got to clear the intersection.”

  A policeman approached. “This is my wife’s car,” Shane said with an erratic point as the Grand Prix was hoisted away. “Where’s my wife?”

  The policeman tried to calm Shane down, but he’d have none of it. “Where is she? What happened? Is she all right?” Shane craned his head, searching the area for a sign of Lindy. He couldn’t find her.

  The policeman somehow guided Shane out of the roadway. “What’s your wife’s name?”

  “Lindy.” Shane swallowed. “Melinda. Lindy for short. What happened here? Where’s my wife?”

  The policeman nodded and put out his hands in a comforting gesture. “She was broadsided. She’s been taken to the emergency room at St. Louis University Medical Center. There’s a police officer with your wife and the officer will have some further questions…”

  But Shane didn’t wait for more. Lindy was at the hospital. He ran back toward the Corvette. St. Louis University Medical Center, or SLU as the natives called it, was less than two miles away. Not knowing Lindy’s condition, he didn’t have a single moment to lose.

  AS THE AUTOMATIC DOORS to the emergency room burst open, all eyes turned toward Shane’s running figure. He paid little attention to the people sitting in the waiting room and instead rushed up to the nurse’s window.

  “Lindy Jacobsen,” he said. Shane caught his breath as the woman blinked at him. “Melinda Brinks. Came in from a car accident at Compton and Market. I’m her husband. Where is she? How is she?”

  “Just a moment, sir.”

  The admitting nurse ignored Shane’s craning neck as he tried to look past her and see the patient rooms, see anything. But there was nothing to see, and again panic began to claim Shane’s senses. “She is here, isn’t she?”

  The nurse typed something into the computer before glancing back up at him. “Yes. Calm down. Let me contact one of the nurses and tell her that you’re here. If you could just take a seat for me.” The nurse stood up and gestured toward the waiting area.

  “I don’t want a seat! I want my wife. She could be dying and—”

  “Sir,” The nurse took a step back. “It’ll just be a moment. Please have a seat.”

  But Shane couldn’t sit. Ignoring the interested or sympathetic stares of the onlookers, he paced. The moment the nurse promised seemed to stretch forever. Finally the nurse returned and Shane rushed up to the counter. “Well?” he demanded.

  “Mr. Brinks?”

  Shane turned as the door into the emergency room inner sanctum opened. A nurse in green scrubs stood there, and Shane turned toward her. “I’m Shane Jacobsen. Lindy Brinks is my wife.”

  The nurse didn’t smile. “Sorry. Mr. Jacobsen, if you’ll please follow me.”

  Shane followed the nurse into the E.R. “How is she?”

  “Stable,” the nurse replied. She stopped outside a room. “She’s in here. Doctor Jones will be with you in just a moment.”

  Shane stepped into the room and saw her instantly. He’d been wrong this morning. Now he knew true fear. Never before had he seen anyone so pale or so lifeless, and this was Lindy, the woman he loved.

  She lay so still, and it took Shane a long moment to finally see the shallow rise and fall of her chest. An IV tube extended from her left wrist to a plastic bag filled with some kind of fluid hanging from a silver pole. A line on a nearby monitor rose and fell, and as Shane watched the movement, he had no idea if Lindy’s heartbeat was regular or not. He twisted his hands together. Never had he felt so helpless. “Lindy, I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

  The nurse made a notation on the chart and, as she made a movement toward the door, the doctor stepped in.

  “Mr. Brinks?”

  “Jacobsen,” Shane corrected. “I’m Shane Jacobsen. Lindy and I married in July.”

  “Sorry.” The doctor turned to the nurse, and they exchanged some quick words that, because of the medical jargon, Shane didn’t understand.

  “How’s my wife?” Shane said as the nurse left.

  “Stable.” Some men in white moved into the room.

  Shane’s e
yes widened as the men began to move Lindy’s hospital bed. “What’s going on?”

  The doctor’s tone remained patient and calm. “As your wife has not yet regained consciousness, we’re sending her for a CT scan.” Lindy disappeared from view, and Shane focused on what the doctor was saying. “We’ve already run several basic tests such as X-rays, blood tests and a urine test. There was no blood in the urine, which is a good sign, and she is definitely pregnant.”

  “Of course she’s pregnant,” Shane said. “She just had her ultrasound done yesterday.”

  The doctor nodded. “Yes, but you weren’t here yet and we couldn’t just assume she was pregnant because of ultrasound pictures. The pictures could have belonged to a friend.”

  “Oh.” Shane had never felt so far out of his depth. “So will she be okay?”

  “The CT scan will give us more information as to what is occurring inside her skull. From it, we will be able to determine if she has any internal injuries such as bruising or bleeding.”

  Shane paced. “And what if—”

  The doctor politely cut Shane off. “Let’s not speculate until we know what we’re dealing with. Trust me, she’s receiving the best possible medical care. Our E.R. isn’t very busy right now, and as a full level-one trauma center, we have every service available. But we do need some further information. Ah, here’s Sheila. She has some questions for you.” The doctor stepped toward the door. “I will be back as soon as your wife returns from her CT scan.”

  The next forty-five minutes seemed to be some of the longest of Shane’s life. Not only did he get Lindy fully admitted to the E.R. and her health insurance information straightened out, but also Shane had attempted to answer dozens of medical questions that he really didn’t have an answer for. While he did know the name of Lindy’s obstetrician, he didn’t know any of her family medical history.

  In addition, a police officer had stopped by and gotten more information regarding Lindy’s automobile insurance and her contact information. While the officer didn’t fill Shane in on any accident details, Shane was now in possession of Lindy’s purse and the fact that the car had been taken to the towing company’s lot.

  Finally the hospital staff wheeled Lindy back into the room. Immediately Shane saw that she remained unconscious. Not knowing what to do was the most helpless feeling in the world. He had to do something. Shane reached over and gently clasped Lindy’s hand in his. Isn’t that what those medical shows always advised? Talking to the loved one? Letting the patient know you were there?

  “Hey, Lindy,” Shane said. “I’m here.”

  He fell silent. What else was he supposed to say? He drew a breath, paused, and for once let his heart talk.

  “Lindy, I know you probably can’t hear me, but I have to tell you that I’ve been a fool. But you probably know that. You’ve put up with me long enough to know how dense I am. But right now I just want you to believe me when I tell you that I realized I do love you. God, Lindy, I truly love you. I’m so sorry that you overheard what I said to my grandfather. I was an idiot and I am truly sorry. Forgive me, honey. I love you.”

  But Lindy remained silent. A nurse came in and again checked on Lindy. The nurse gave Shane a comforting smile. “Her CT scans are back. Dr. Jones will be right in to talk to you.”

  Was that the doctor’s name? It had been stitched in blue on his white coat, but concerned about Lindy, Shane hadn’t paid enough attention to remember it.

  Ten minutes later, Dr. Jones reappeared. “Mr. Jacobsen.” Shane turned and let the doctor pass.

  The doctor walked over to Lindy, looked her over, and checked her chart again. Then he turned to Shane. “Unfortunately, the CT scan didn’t come back negative.” The doctor paused for a split second as he made a notation, and Shane stopped himself from interrupting. “A negative CT scan would have meant that Melinda…”

  Shane couldn’t help himself. “Lindy,” he corrected.

  “Lindy,” the doctor repeated. “A negative scan would have meant that she had a simple concussion and should then be regaining consciousness within minutes to a few hours after the impact. However, her CT scan showed some bruising, which means she has a moderate to severe concussion. The type of injury she has is called a contre-coup injury.”

  The medical word meant nothing to Shane. “A what?”

  “A contre-coup injury,” the doctor repeated. “This means that the bruising is actually on the opposite side from the impact, so the bruising is on the right side of her head.”

  Shane ran an agitated hand through his hair. “I don’t understand. The police said the other driver hit her on her driver-side door. In essence, he T-boned her.”

  The doctor nodded as if this all made perfect sense to him. “Yes. That means the car is pushed to Lindy’s right, forcing her head to the left. Since the brain floats in a fluid, after it hits the left side of the skull, it gets sloshed back to the right and hits that side of the skull, too.”

  He glanced at Shane, as if making sure he was following. “That causes bruising on both sides, which means a more severe injury. The good news, though, is that the CT scan does not show any evidence of subdural hematoma.”

  Shane was confused. “What?”

  “Subdural hematoma. This refers to bleeding inside the head. This would have required a neurosurgeon to come in and drill a burr-hole to release the pressure before it causes brain damage. So, while your wife is in serious condition, to use layman’s terms, it could have been much worse.”

  With his arms at his sides, Shane made tight fists and then stretched his fingers in an attempt to reduce stress. None of this medical jargon made much sense, and the biggest question Shane had hadn’t been answered. “So what goes on from here? When is she going to wake up? What are you going to be doing for her?”

  “Right now she’s stable, breathing on her own, and we’re monitoring her closely. This kind of an injury can put her out for a couple hours or even overnight. She’s being admitted to the ICU where we can give her the best care possible. When she wakes up, we’ll take it from there.”

  Disbelief filled Shane. “So we wait? That’s it? That’s all?”

  The doctor nodded. “I know that’s not the answer you wanted to hear, but yes, that’s all. The human body is a pretty remarkable thing. Her being unconscious is actually part of how her body is healing itself from the trauma of the accident. Mr. Jacobsen, I know this is the hardest part for family members to deal with. But right now, we wait. In just a few minutes we’ll move her to the ICU.”

  Shane nodded, and, as his knees suddenly weakened, he lowered himself back into the black plastic chair next to Lindy’s bed.

  Right now they had to wait.

  He reached for her hand again and lowered his forehead so that it rested on his forearm. For the first time since he was seven, Shane wept.

  Chapter Eleven

  His neck hurt. As Shane woke up, he raised his head, moving it first to the left and then to the right to try and work out the kink. Although the stretching helped, it didn’t erase his discomfort.

  He glanced at Lindy. He’d remained in the ICU with her all night, when he could, dozing on and off in the hard chair next to her bed. Every time he’d checked on her, her eyes remained closed and her breathing steady. The IV dripped and the machine monitoring Lindy’s blood pressure, pulse and respiratory rate did its thing. Shane checked his watch. Lindy was still unconscious and it was now 9:00 a.m.

  Shane exhaled slowly. The worry that he’d managed to push off during brief intervals of light sleep had returned with a vengeance. These last few hours had been the longest hours of his life.

  A nurse entered the room, this time a different person from the previous evening. The shifts must have changed while Shane had been asleep.

  “Good morning,” the nurse said as she lifted Lindy’s eyelids to check her pupils. Last night, when the nurse had done this, Shane had asked what was going on. He’d gotten the answer that Lindy was receiving what would b
e frequent neuro checks.

  “We’re looking to see if her pupils are equal in size and how they react to light,” the nurse had said. “Unequal or sluggish pupils could indicate a problem.”

  Now Shane remained silent as the nurse finished the neuro checks and then examined the machines. She turned to him before she left the room.

  “There’s coffee in the waiting room,” she offered.

  “Thanks,” Shane said. His body ached for some caffeine and some food, but he ignored the annoying grumble of his stomach. He couldn’t leave Lindy. No matter what, and no matter how his stomach affected him, she was more important. She couldn’t wake up alone.

  “Shane.”

  Shane turned upon hearing the sound of his father’s voice. Blake Jacobsen filled the doorway to Lindy’s ICU room, and Shane was glad to see him. “Dad. Hey. Thanks for coming. How’d you know?”

  Blake Jacobsen entered the small hospital room, his treasured Bible in his right hand. “Your grandfather notified everyone after you called him early this morning. He said that he volunteered to let everyone know what’s happened. So how’s she doing? Any change?”

  Shane looked back at Lindy, mentally willing her to wake up. He held her hand. Her eyes remained closed. “She’s stable and they keep checking on her but so far there’s no change.”

  “I’m sorry,” Blake said. He sat down in the room’s other chair.

  “So am I,” Shane said. He played with Lindy’s fingertips but she didn’t respond. How much he wanted her to react, to do something, anything! Shane took a deep breath. “I’m worried, Dad. She needs to come around. I said some terrible things that I didn’t mean for her to overhear. I haven’t been able to apologize, to retract them. I want her to know I didn’t mean them.”

  Blake nodded, the nod of a man used to hearing people’s personal confessions. “It always seems to work that way. Why is it that we never tell people how we feel about them? For some reason, showing our natural human emotions is considered a weakness. We’re afraid it gives people power over us, something to use against us, something to hurt us with. So too often we wait until it’s too late.”