by Grace Walton
“He looks bad,” one man said looking down at the still white face. “You think he’ll make it?”
“Get him to the hospital too,” Gage directed making no comment.
Without delay, Hollister was carried to the nearest truck. Once they got him settled, Gage ordered all the men back into town. In weather like this, none of them should be out.
They rolled up to the hospital like some kind of military battalion. A long string of Black Knife Ranch trucks followed one by one into the emergency room drive. The weather had worsened since they’d been on the road. Weather reports were calling for a blizzard and subsequent deadly freeze of historic proportions.
Even though the conditions were lethal, it seemed like a whole host of people milled just inside the emergency room waiting area.
Two men pushing a gurney ran out to meet them. They hustled the still unconscious Hollister onto the mobile bed. They rolled him into the warmth and light of the hospital. He was taken immediately into a triage room to be evaluated.
Out in the crowded waiting room, Gage found his wife. Carrie was standing off to one side sipping a Styrofoam cup of coffee. When she saw her husband she rushed to his side. She offered him her hot drink.
“Here, you need this more than I do,” she said as she handed it over to him.
The man shook his head. “I can’t drink that right now. I need to thaw out first.”
Seeing Carrie’s confusion he grinned. “My core body temperature is a little low at the moment. If I drink that coffee, it’ll speed up my metabolism and make me lose more heat. Give me thirty minutes or so to stabilize. After that, I’ll welcome a cup of coffee.”
She looked at his wet clothes. “I think you need to put on something dry.”
“Yeah, I do,” he said. “Maybe I can borrow some scrubs.”
“I’ll go ask,” Carrie volunteered.
Gage smiled his thanks. But as soon as she was out of sight his face turned serious. He motioned to one of his men. “Go find out where my sister is and tell the staff I want to see her,” he said.
The man nodded his understanding. He took off towards the nurses’ station. A few minutes later a very somber doctor came back with the man.
“Dr. Ferguson?” he inquired professionally.
Gage was a college professor not a medical doctor. He taught Native American Studies at the nearby university. “Just call me Gage,” he told the man in the lab coat.
“Can you come back to the consultation area with me, if you please?” The doctor indicated a little side room down the short hallway that would provide them with a little privacy.
Gage followed the doctor into the room. They both sat on the stiff chairs.
“How is my sister?” Gage cut right to the chase.
The older man took a very long time answering. And when he did, the news was not good. “She’s suffering from severe hypothermia.”
“How severe?” Gage asked pointedly.
“I won’t lie to you Dr. Ferguson. It’s the worst case I’ve ever seen. She’s experiencing some organ disfunction. Her heart is erratic. And her nervous system is compromised.”
“Will she survive?”
The man slowly shook his head. “Her body temperature is so low I don’t know why she’s still alive. And I don’t think we can get her stabilized before one or all of her organs fail completely. I’m sorry to say, I don’t think she will survive. I don’t think there’s any way she can. I think it’s just a matter of time. The nurses are afraid to do much for her because any jarring movement of her body, at this point, could send her into cardiac arrest. I’m so sorry.”
“How long? How long before…?”
Gage’s throat choked with emotion. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Especially after everything his sister had already been through. Why was God doing this, he wondered? For the first time since he’d rescued his wife from a trained killer years ago, he found himself at the point of questioning his faith.
The attending doctor frowned. “I truly can’t tell you. As I said, she should already be dead. It could come suddenly or she could linger for a few hours. I just don’t know. We’re in uncharted territory.”
Gage nodded as if he understood. In reality, his mind was screaming in pain. How could this be happening? How?
“The man you brought in is being evaluated. His condition looks to be far less severe. Though there’s a good chance he has a pretty serious concussion.”
“He’s suffering from PTSD. I don’t know if he’s on any meds for it.”
The doctor nodded gravely. “That’s good to know. We’ll proceed accordingly. I assume you want to see him, when he wakes?”
“Yes, I do,” Gage replied.
“And I’ll make sure, once your sister is situated in a room that you and your family get to be with her.”
“Thank you,” Gage responded.
He had no idea how he would tell his wife and his mother that Maggie was dying. He couldn’t process it himself. Then there was Hollister. What had caused the accident? And why was Maggie in the river? She knew better than to plunge into such a dangerous situation. But then he thought about what he’d do if it was Carrie trapped and unconscious in such a dire situation. He knew he’d have done much the same as had Maggie. Love could give you wings or it could make you reckless. And he knew without a shadow of any doubt that his sister loved Hollister with the whole of her heart. She may be engaged to that pompous little excuse for a clergyman, but her heart belonged to Hollister. It always had.
He didn’t want to go back out into the waiting room. But he knew he must. And part of being a Godly man was doing the hardest of things when they were required of you.
“How is she?” Carrie asked as soon as he sat next to her.
“She’s dying, love,” he said it as softly and tenderly as he could.
“What? No!” Carrie exclaimed.
“The doctor says it’s just a matter of time before all her organs fail.”
“We need to call your mother,” the woman said.
She got out her cell phone and began dialing. Her husband plucked the thing from her fingers. He pushed a button to end the call before it rang.
“We can’t,” he said. “She would get in the car and try to make it to the hospital. It’s too dangerous.”
“But…”
“I know, I know, darling,” he soothed with his words and with his touch as he gathered her in his arms. “It’s a horrible situation. But we need to do what we can and let God do the rest.”
Carrie nodded. Her glorious hair fell across her shoulder in a molten cascade of auburn. “You’re right, I know. But I also know Cerise is never going to forgive either one of us for this.”
“Maybe she won’t,” Gage acknowledged. “But at least she’ll be alive to hate us.”
“What about Hollister?” Carrie asked.
“The doctor didn’t know. But he said it looks like his hypothermia isn’t as bad as Maggie’s. And he also thought Hollister had suffered a concussion.”
“He’s going to lose his mind when he finds out about Maggie,” Carrie predicted.
“I know.”
His wife shook her head sadly. “I don’t know what I’d do if it was you, Gage. I don’t think I could stand losing you.”
“I know,” he said. “I feel the same way about you.”
“You’ll be the one to tell him?”
“Yeah, as soon as he’s alert, I’ll tell him. He’ll need time to make his peace with this. And if he is as much in love with her as I think, he’ll need to be there when she leaves us.”
Carrie’s eyes filled with tears. “This is so hard,” her voice quivered.
“Yeah, it is. But God is going to get us through this, just like He always does.”
“I love you,” she choked out.
“I love you too.”
Gage gathered her to him. He rocked her back and forth. He was an anchor, strong and true, even though he felt like howling at
the injustice of it all.
About fifteen minutes later, Hollister woke up. The first thing he noticed was that he was in a hospital bed. Since he’d a lot of recent experience in such sterile surroundings, he knew not to try to get up. That would only cause more pain. And he had enough of that commodity at the moment. His head ached, his eyes wouldn’t quite focus, and every inch of his body complained that he’d done something really, really stupid.
He didn’t remember much of what had happened. But he knew, from past experience, that sometimes head injuries resulted in short term amnesia. It wasn’t something to be concerned about. His memories always trickled back. Though often they presented themselves in strange and disjointed bits and pieces.
For a few minutes he simple enjoyed the warmth of the hard bed and the gentle beeping of the monitors to which he was attached. He knew he’d lost control of his truck. It had spun wildly across the icy two-lane road. He’d been going much too fast for the conditions. He knew that much. At the time, he hadn’t cared.
He’d just wanted to get away from all the pain. Gunning the truck down the road had seemed a good way to accomplish such a thing. Once again he’d given Maggie a little piece of his heart. He’d told her more than he’d intended. He was glad he’d gotten way from her so quickly. He was at risk of baring his soul to the woman, if he stayed around her too much. And his soul was much too black and ugly for someone so lovely.
He pushed the nurse’s button on the remote by his hand. Within seconds an older woman in white marched into his cubicle.
“I’m so glad you’re awake,” she said. “I’m Ethel, and I’ll be looking after you until 9 tonight,” her voice was businesslike but kind. She used a dry erase marker to scrawl her name and his information on a dry erase board mounted on the wall. “Can I get you anything?’ she asked quietly when she was done.
The sharp smell of the marker hit his nose. It seemed strangely out of place in this sterile environment. He knew better than to ask for anything to eat or drink. This was not his first hospital stint. So he asked for something he knew they would provide. “Could I please have some ice chips to moisten my throat?”
The woman nodded. “Of course, and while I get them for you, can a friend of yours come in and visit?”
His heart raced. It must be Maggie. He wanted to see her. His foolish heart always wanted her near, even though it was painful. And he needed to apologize for the cruel way he’d treated her the night Chase Brown had died. Once he’d gotten home, after he’d tried without success to drown his sorrows in a bottle, he’d realized just what a heartless jerk he’d been. The PTSD made it hard for him to corral his emotions. And he was angry a lot of the time. But that was no reason to lash out at Maggie. None of what he’d been through was her fault.
She deserved only tenderness and love. And, if he could ever get his head together, he’d still like to be the one who gave those to her.
“You can send her in,” he told the nurse.
The woman frowned slightly. “Your guest is a man, Mr. Hollister.”
He was disappointed. Of course he was. But what did he expect? He’d treated Maggie like dirt. Why would she be here at the hospital for him?
“Send him in,” he said.
“I’ll do that. And I’ll be right back with your ice chips.”
A few minutes later, he saw Gage standing outside his cubicle. There was a deep sorrow pouring off the man. It was unsettling. Hollister tried to lighten the moment.
“I wrecked my truck,” he said.
“Yeah, I know,” Gage said as he came in.
But he still wasn’t smiling. Hollister’s began feeling alarmed. This was not like his friend. Even the few times Hollister had almost died, Gage had made jokes at partner’s expense when he’d visited the hospital. They were tough men, hardened warriors, and they acted like it.
“Something is wrong,” Hollister said. “Tell me.”
“You’ve got a concussion and some mild hypothermia.”
“I don’t want a medical update. I know I’ll live. What’s wrong?”
Some niggling dread began to seep into his mind. Soon it grew to enormous proportions. “Is it Maggie?” Hollister demanded.
His friend looked stricken. Before he said anything, he pulled up the plastic chair stationed by Hollister’s hospital bed.
“She’s here too,” Gage finally said.
“Here? Why won’t she come see me?” he drilled. “I know I’ve acted beastly towards her, but surely she could come in and see me?” His proper public school British accent was back in full force. It was a testimony to how upset he was.
“She can’t, Hollister,” Gage said in low sad tones.
“I will apologize, I swear. I will grovel like a serf. Just get her in here and I can make this right.”
“You don’t understand,” Gage sighed. “She’s in the hospital as a patient.”
“No,” Hollister rasped as he shook his head in denial. “No, she’s not. You’re wrong. There’s no reason Maggie would be in the hospital. She’s fine.”
“Listen to me,” Gage ordered. “Just shut up and hear me out.”
Hollister clamped his lips together. He summoned up the strength to nod though the movement sent screaming waves of red agony thorough his brain.
“She followed you. And when you wrecked your truck, she tried to help you. You ended up in the river. She tried to get you out of the truck, but you were trapped. I found her knocking on the window of the truck with a rock trying to break it and get to you.”
“But she’s here now? So she’ll be fine.”
Gage didn’t move. His face remained unemotional. “She is here. She’s in the ICU. But there’s a problem.”
“A problem?” Hollister croaked out.
“Yeah, Maggie was out in that freezing river too long. She has severe hypothermia.”
Hollister breathed a sigh of relief. Hypothermia? It could be treated. He knew that because he’d had it more than once.
“So she’ll be here a day or two?”
‘No, Hollister you don’t understand. Maggie is dying.”
“No!” the man shouted and fought with his bedclothes to get up. He was much weaker than he thought so he only succeeded in almost passing out.
“I’ll get them to restrain you, if I have to,” warned his business partner. “I know this is a shock. It’s gutting me too. But I thought it was better for you to know now, before… before…”
“Don’t say it,” Hollister warned Ferguson. “Don’t you say it.”
“Fine, believe me; I don’t want to be the one to give you this news. I’m having a hard enough time holding my stuff together as it is. But Hollister, you need to know she’s fading. The doctor says it won’t be long. I know how you feel about Maggie.”
The man in the bed snarled, “You don’t know jack about how I feel. If you did, you couldn’t sit there so calmly and tell me the unthinkable.”
“She’s my sister,” Ferguson shot back at him. “Do you think this is easy for me? I love her too. The only reason I’m in here is to give you a chance to say goodbye to her. I think it will make it easier on Maggie, even if she’s unconscious, for you to be there. Somehow, I think it will make it easier.”
He wiped a weary hand across his face. “I don’t know, maybe I’m crazy. But if our positions were reversed. If it was Carrie dying right now, I’d want to be with her, no matter how much it gutted me.”
Hollister’s mind was black. He didn’t know what to say. He only knew if she died, then he would follow her as soon as he could. Somehow he found the strength to nod.
“Find me some clothes. I’ll go to her,” he said in a dead voice.
When he was rolled into her space in the ICU the stillness of it hit him like a sledgehammer. Everything was still. And it was quiet except for the soft sporadic beeping of the machines monitoring her. He quickly waved the orderly who’d pushed his wheelchair away. The man reluctantly closed the heavy white curtains to giv
e them some privacy and left.
And then it was just Hollister, Maggie, and the cold sterility of the place. He watched her for long hard minutes. She looked like she was sleeping. But he knew better.
Maggie wasn’t sleeping. She was deep into some kind of life-stealing coma. Her breathing was regular, if shallow. Her chest moved up and down under the weight of the thin hospital blanket. Her face was pale but perfect. Her raven’s wing hair had been brushed and arranged over one shoulder to fall like a silky scarf down to her waist. She looked like a piece of art, maybe an Italian Madonna. Or a painting by an old master, all gilded light and soft creamy hues. The only thing that betrayed the illusion was the ashy color of her lips. Instead of their normal deep, plush rose color, they were faintly blue. And her magnificent eyes were shut.
Sitting there in his borrowed hospital scrubs, Hollister knew she was dying. For the first time, since Gage had told him, he actually believed she was dying. It would be impossible to dispute that fact seeing her lying there in the hospital bed so still and pale.
Taking a deep breath, steeling himself against the pain, he gripped the arms of the wheelchair. He shoved forward until he was standing. Yes, he was standing, though he was shaky and lurched from side to side as he tried to regain some sort of balance. The emergency room doctor had come by and told him to take it slow.
There was every chance he might suffer some long-term consequences from his wreck, the concussion, and the hypothermia. At the time, he’d just shrugged. Once Gage told him about Maggie, nothing really seemed to matter anymore. If there was a God, like Maggie thought, maybe this was His way of being kind. Maybe it was an opportunity to leave the pain and heartache of this existence behind. Maybe whatever came next was better. It had to be, he thought ruefully.
At least in the Great Whatever that came after death there would be no awareness of what a man had lost, of who he’d lost. Right? The universe could not be so cruel as to make the next step worse, could it? Hollister knew he would find out soon. For when Maggie breathed her last, he would be holding her close. And whether it be by the aid of his current precarious health issues, or most likely, by his own hand, he would soon be following her.
