by Abby Gaines
WHITE LIGHT. SO BRIGHT, John could see it with his eyes closed.
At least he thought his eyes were closed. He could, he supposed, be dead.
Which would make this…heaven?
Had he been good enough? And was “good” what it was about?
Didn’t feel hot enough to be the other place. That was a relief.
He realized there was noise, muted but earthly. The occasional clank of metal penetrated first, then distant voices. People. Hospital. He was still in the hospital.
Now he remembered. He’d woken, who knew how long ago, without having realized he’d been asleep, or unconscious or whatever. A doctor had introduced himself as an anesthetist and said John had woken from his coma—what coma?—just in time to be sent to sleep again. Because he was about to have a transplant.
If that hadn’t been a dream, the fact he was conscious now meant he’d survived the operation.
So…he had a new kidney? Hard to tell. He twitched one hand and realized he had a monitor attached to his finger. Come to think of it, everything felt as if it had something attached.
He would see Merry again.
Didn’t she get married? Yeah, to Lucas. Good.
Maybe he’d have grandkids soon. And live to see them.
Too much to hope for? He hadn’t seriously hoped for a new kidney, but now look at him.
“Is he awake?” The voice was close. Merry?
“He came around down in post-op. He had some nausea,” someone said. A nurse. The crabby one. “But he’s drifted off again.”
John didn’t remember being awake after the surgery, nor the nausea.
“His eyelids are moving,” Merry said.
“He could wake any moment,” the nurse replied. She always sounded belligerent, as if she expected an argument. “Dr. Randall was very pleased with how the surgery went. She’ll come by soon. You can ask her yourself.”
Should he open his eyes? Could he? He wasn’t sure he had the energy, not so much for the eye opening but for the conversations that would follow.
“It’s like a miracle.” Merry sounded tearful. “I thought we’d lost him. And now…”
“Another chance at life.” The nurse’s no-nonsense tone robbed the words of any poetry.
Another chance at life. A do-over. What would John do differently, given that chance? He’d told Merry he wished he’d remarried. But that was for her sake, not his own. There wasn’t another woman who would match up to his Sally. He’d never felt with anyone else the extraordinary connection that had drawn him to Sally the moment he’d met her.
What else could this do-over life offer, if not love?
He used to paint, watercolors of the sea and the coast. He hadn’t done that in a few years. It was the sort of activity that might be good for his blood pressure. I’ll work less, paint more.
The decision afforded him some satisfaction. But only briefly.
If he was honest with himself, he’d admit he was lonely. Merry was wonderful, but she had her own life. A new life, now that she was married.
I have a new life, too, he reminded himself, and sent up a prayer of thanks for his anonymous donor.
He owed it to the donor, as well as to himself, to live this new life to the full.
A full life wasn’t lived alone.
I need someone. A woman. A companion more than a lover, but maybe he wouldn’t say no to the physical side. If he was still capable.
How to go about it? How did a sixty-one-year-old man who hadn’t been with a woman in over twenty years start dating?
John pressed his lips together against a sudden wave of nausea.
The first time would be the hardest, as with most things in life. An idea drifted into his head. I’ll ask out the first woman I see, get it over with. Yeah, why not?
John felt pressure against his shoulder, caught the scents of lemon and lavender. Merry had put her head against him. My best girl. He tried to say it, and to touch her, but his tongue felt thick, his hands like lead weights. He tried to sink back into the bed so she would feel him soften against her.
She’d said something that he didn’t catch, he realized. He heard footsteps leaving. Merry or the nurse?
“You can open your eyes now,” the nurse said.
He was so startled, he did.
Everything looked identical to the way it had before—the room, the nurse—and he wondered if he’d imagined the anesthetist, if he’d merely been asleep. He opened his mouth to ask, but his throat was as dry as a ship’s biscuit.
He licked his lips.
“I’ll pour you some water,” the nurse said.
Though he couldn’t focus on her badge, he remembered now that her name was Cathy Martin.
She poured water into a glass, then pressed the lever to raise the head of the bed. She leaned over him, propped him in the crook of her arm and held the glass to his lips. All her movements were efficient to the point of minimalism. John mistrusted efficiency, which too often occurred at the expense of contemplation. But she coaxed the right amount of water into him with no discomfort whatsoever, and he gave credit where it was due.
“Thanks,” he said, and this time it was audible, if hoarse.
She set him back against the pillows with a gentleness completely at odds with her manner. “Feel better?” she asked. Her voice was still brusque.
He nodded. “So, it worked? The transplant?”
“As good as they get.” She noted something on his chart, probably that he’d woken up and drunk some water. “You’re lucky.”
Her oval face was serious, and made more so by the tight bun she’d scraped her brown hair into.
“I should be celebrating,” he said.
Then it clicked: the first woman I see. He should have realized when he had such a nutty idea that the nurse would be the first, but his brain must be in go-slow mode.
She sniffed. “Wait a few days and see if your body rejects the new kidney. Of course, you’ll be on antirejection medication the rest of your life, which is no picnic.”
“Bundle of joy,” he said.
“I’m a pragmatist,” she said. “And I’m menopausal.” More than he ever wanted to know about his nurse. “If you want light and fluffy, I’m not your woman.”
He knew that.
But she was the first woman he’d seen. She brought new meaning to the phrase the first time’s the hardest.
“So, Nurse Cathy Martin,” he said, bold with a new kidney, his voice gaining strength. “Assuming my body doesn’t reject the kidney, and I don’t get a superbug or fall out of bed and break my neck…”
She tapped her foot, impatient.
“You want to go out for dinner?”
* * *
“EVERYTHING LOOKS AS IT should, Mr. Wyatt,” Dr. Randall said. “Assuming nothing changes overnight, I’ll sign your discharge papers tomorrow. You should be out of here by noon.”
“Are you sure?” Merry asked. “It’s only been five days since the transplant.” She couldn’t wait until Dad got out of here, but she didn’t want to take any risks.
“The wonders of laparoscopic surgery,” the doctor said crisply. “Recovery is so much faster. Your father’s had no discomfort during the times he’s been up and about, and he’s showing no signs of rejection. We’ll give him instructions as to how to monitor for those,” she added, handing the patient notes to Nurse Martin, who was standing by. “We’ll schedule regular checkups, of course.”
“That’s wonderful,” Merry said. “Dad, we’re about to get our lives back.” She couldn’t wait. Couldn’t wait for them to be a family again.
Couldn’t wait to get unmarried.
Why did I sleep with Lucas? She’d never regretted anything so much.
“The doc says I could be back at work in a couple more weeks.” Her dad’s voice was so much stronger, just listening to him gave Merry a thrill, chased away her regrets over her wedding night. Those would come back all too soon.
“Light work,”
the doctor clarified.
“What about his blood pressure?” Merry asked her.
“That’s in some ways the most encouraging news of all,” Dr. Randall said. “Just now it was 160 over 100.”
Numbers that would scare most people, but for John, the 160 was a slight improvement.
“I’m not sure why it’s down,” the doctor continued. “Could be a temporary aftereffect of surgery and inactivity, or it could be a reduction in stress. It may even be the new drug regimen we’ve been experimenting with.” She said this last with her eyebrows raised, as if it was the most far-fetched possibility.
Merry suspected that was her idea of a joke.
“We’ll have to wait and see if the improvement holds up.” Dr. Randall turned to John. “I don’t need to tell you, Mr. Wyatt, that if we don’t control your blood pressure, there’s every chance disease will develop in your new kidney.”
And this nightmare would start all over again.
Dr. Randall issued a couple more dire warnings, then left.
“Lucas will be pleased to have you home,” John said to Merry.
“Uh-huh.” She’d slept on a cot in this room every night since Dr. Randall’s call.
She didn’t know where Lucas was sleeping. He’d assured her that he was looking after Boo, so he might even be staying at her place. She didn’t want to know. She was just glad she hadn’t been forced to have a meaningful conversation with him. Sleeping together had been a big mistake in a dozen different ways. Talking about it would only prolong the agony.
So instead, she greeted Lucas politely whenever he came to visit Dad, exchanged the pleasantries she would with anyone, then used his visits as a chance to grab some food. Too bad she couldn’t go into the cafeteria without thinking of her wedding cake. Which made her think about the fiasco of her wedding night all over again.
The sooner they got divorced, the better.
“I have to tell Lucas you’re coming home.” She pulled out her phone and began typing a text message.
Their divorce was the one subject they’d discussed, though entirely by text. Because as wonderful as her dad’s recovery was, it did complicate their marriage. If he’d died, they’d have filed for divorce by now. But they’d married to please John, and John was still around. The divorce would still happen, but would entail a few more explanations.
DAD HOME 12PM TOMORROW, she wrote, then sent it.
They’d agreed to tell their parents they were divorcing before her father’s discharge from the hospital, since that was when they would go their separate ways. Merry would stay with her dad a few days, then move back into her loft, while Lucas either stayed with his parents or, hopefully, left town.
“Dwight and Stephanie have invited me to move in with them for a while,” her father said.
“But I want to look after you,” she protested. “I don’t need to go back to work until you do, so I have the time.”
“You’re a newlywed,” John pointed out. “That loft of yours is too small for two people, no matter how in love they are.” Merry flinched. “You and Lucas can have my place while you work out where you plan to live long-term.”
“Dad, there’s no need—”
“I don’t have to tell you, Merry-Berry, Dwight’s place is a lot more comfortable than mine,” he said.
Warmer, too, Merry knew. Her dad’s house had heating, but the wind whistled through the aged boards in winter. In his postoperative state, Dad might be vulnerable to pneumonia, or worse.
Her phone beeped. New message from Lucas Calder. She opened it. OK SO U WILL TELL HIM RE DIVORCE NOW?
YES. She sent the reply.
“Frankly, Merry-Berry, Stephanie’s a better cook than you,” her dad added, only half-joking. “You and Lucas take all the time you need. Think of it as a kind of wedding present.”
This was her cue.
“Dad, you know Lucas and I only got married because you were worried about my future.”
“That’s why you got married now,” her father agreed. “You would have got around to it eventually. You two are soul mates.” He gave a happy sigh. “Merry-Berry, you and Lucas tying the knot has been a load off my mind like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Because you thought you were dying,” she agreed. “But now you’re well. The doctor says you might have as long as twenty years.”
“Unless I have a heart attack tomorrow.”
“Don’t say that!” Merry’s phone slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor, landing at Nurse Martin’s sensibly shod feet.
The woman bent to pick it up. She glanced down at it as she handed it to Merry, her expression neutral.
“Thanks,” Merry muttered. Her smartphone displayed her text conversation with Lucas in speech bubbles, which meant Lucas’s mention of divorce sat center screen.
She thumbed back to the main screen and tucked the phone in her pocket. “There’s nothing wrong with your heart, is there?”
“Not yet,” her dad said.
Nurse Martin made a huffing sound that eased Merry’s anxiety.
“But anything could happen, anytime,” he said. “Merry, I hadn’t realized how afraid I’ve been, for some years now, of leaving you alone. Now that fear has gone.”
“That’ll be why your blood pressure is down,” Nurse Martin said with a cool look at Merry. She’d probably read that mention of divorce. Who asked the nosy old bat, anyway?
She couldn’t be right about Dad’s blood pressure, could she?
“I’m quite capable of looking after myself,” Merry told her father.
“Physically, sure,” he agreed. “But, Merry, you’re like me. You’re not cut out to be alone. The best thing for my health is seeing you settled and happy with Lucas.”
This time there was no mistaking Nurse Martin’s pointed look.
* * *
AS MERRY LEFT THE HOSPITAL, she texted Lucas to ask his whereabouts.
The reply came a minute later: WITH HEATHER GUNN
Heather had been his girlfriend in his senior year in high school. These days, she was an optometrist, working with her dad at Gunn Optical, the only optometry practice in downtown New London.
Five minutes later, Merry pulled up outside the store.
She found Lucas in an examination room with Heather, whom she knew slightly. Although there was a station of sophisticated-looking test equipment, the two were sitting at a table, with several books between them. Heather hadn’t changed; she was still blonde and busty. And her white coat made her look as brainy as her job suggested she was. She wasn’t, Merry noticed as they said hello, wearing a ring.
“What are you doing here?” Lucas asked. Which was the most personal comment he’d directed to her since they’d had sex.
Ugh, she was trying not to think about that; doing so made it impossible to look him in the eye.
“We need to talk.” Merry fixed her gaze on his left shoulder. “It’s urgent.” Her eyes flicked down, and she realized the books on the table in front of him were those Magic Eye 3D puzzle books. “But not if you’re busy…”
Heather gave her an amused look as she stood. “I think we’re done here. I’ll see you next week, Lucas.”
It wasn’t until she left, closing the door behind her, that it occurred to Merry that she should have rehearsed what she wanted to say on the way here. She also realized this was the first time she’d been alone with him since their wedding night.
She hoped desperately that he didn’t want to talk about it.
Lucas picked up a Magic Eye book, flicked to an image of multicolored, jumbled stars and handed it to Merry. “Tell me what you see.”
She held the page to her nose, focused on looking “through” the image, then began moving the page away. When it was about eight inches from her face, she stopped. Waited. “There it is. A planet with rings around it—like Saturn.”
“What? Let me see that.” He grabbed the book, flipped to the back, presumably to the answers. “You’re right.
How did you do that?”
She shrugged. “I love those things. Why are you playing games with your old girlfriend?”
Lucas raised his eyebrows. “Heather says Magic Eye pictures might help improve my depth perception. I’ll practice with these books, plus do some online tests, and she’ll test me a couple of times a week until I resit my physical.”
“You think that’ll work?” It sounded too easy.
“It has to,” he said, as if his eyesight would obey his command or else be court-martialed. “I was a borderline pass on the depth perception test Heather gave me just now.”
“How is her test different from the navy’s?” Merry asked.
“The navy test is harder,” he admitted. “But I’ll spend a chunk of each day on this for the next month, by which time I hope Dad will have made some calls on my behalf.” Lucas grimaced. “He’s probably as big a stumbling block as anything. Did you speak to him about supporting my resit?”
“I forgot,” she admitted, “what with everything going on.”
He nodded. “Understandable. So, how did your dad take the news of our divorce?”
“Ah.” She picked up another of the Magic Eye books. It fell open at an image that looked like thousands of red and pink roses.
“I tried that one,” Lucas said, disgusted. “Couldn’t see a thing.”
She held the page to her face and moved it away slowly.
“So what did your dad say?” Lucas leaned back so his chair tilted up on two legs.
Merry held the book still and focused. “His blood pressure is down. Still way too high, but the doctor hopes the new medication and a lack of stress might bring it down further.”
“That’s great. The divorce?”
“It’s a heart,” Merry said. “This picture.” She turned the book in his direction. Of course, there was no way he could see the image just like that. “These things are genius.”
“Merry,” Lucas said suspiciously. “You did tell your dad, right?”
“Here’s the thing.” She put down the book, pulled out a chair and sagged into it. “I wondered if we could wait awhile.”
“No way.” His chair crashed back onto all four legs. “We got married because it was your dad’s dying wish, remember? He’s no longer dying—the doctor said he could live another twenty years.”
