by Dan Walsh
But she said no.
He had failed. Frozen clams, shipped in from HoJo Central HQ, thawed and fried in a vat of day-old grease, was his punishment.
But he knew why Andrea had said no. The reason was as obvious as the full moon staring back at him. She was a grown-up. He was not. She wasn’t looking for short-term adventures, moments of happiness with no strings attached. That had been a basic requirement for all the girls he’d dated. And there had always been a strong and steady supply. Especially since he’d started making serious dough.
Andrea was almost broke, by the sounds of it. Thinking of taking a third part-time job just to buy her daughter a few Christmas presents. She wasn’t stupid; she knew Rick was loaded. She had a lot to gain by saying yes.
But still she said no.
He stood up. The moon was high overhead now. He brushed the sand off his pants and walked down the dune. He should just let it go. He wasn’t planning on sticking around. As soon as Art got past this surgery thing and was well enough for his mom to come back to the store, Rick would be out of here, back to Charlotte where he belonged. Why did he even care?
But he did care.
As he walked along the edge of the dunes, felt the breeze blowing at his back, he realized he cared a lot. He was keenly aware of a strong desire beginning to form inside him. He wanted to become the kind of man someone like Andrea would say yes to.
30
Yesterday had been terrifying for Leanne.
It was the day they had moved Art from the little hospital in Seabreeze to Shands, the huge teaching hospital in Gainesville, almost three hours away. Every time the ambulance turned a corner, at every traffic light, at the slightest noise or smallest bump, she’d tense up and stare at Art. Afraid if his eyes opened, the shock of the situation might instantly cause another bleed in his brain and kill him.
An RN and a paramedic had ridden in the back of the ambulance with her, monitoring his vital signs the entire way. They had remained steady. She wondered how many alarm bells might have gone off if they’d hooked her up to the same machines.
Shortly after they’d arrived at Shands and admitted Art to their ICU, Dr. Valencia had surprised her with a visit. She instantly liked him. He was tall, maybe ten years younger than her, with thick dark hair that turned gray along the edges. He seemed to sense her anxiety, asked how the ride over had been. When she’d told him of her fears, he told her he was sorry no one had informed her, but that Art had been heavily sedated before making the trip. They didn’t want him to awaken, either.
Leanne had asked if Art would remain sedated until his surgery, and the doctor said probably not. They just wanted to keep him that way until Dr. Valencia could confirm that Art had stabilized from the trip. He’d asked her if she wanted something to help her sleep.
It was now a little past seven in the morning. Sitting there next to Art, less than thirty minutes before they would bring him to the operating room, she was glad she’d accepted Dr. Valencia’s offer. She never would have slept last night, with all the thoughts and fears colliding in her head. The greatest was also the most obvious . . . and the most dreaded. Would Art survive the surgery? Would her last conversation with him on earth be the chat about nothing last Friday morning as he’d headed out the door? Had her last kiss been that peck on the cheek?
“Can I get you something, Mrs. Bell? Some water, coffee?”
Leanne looked up at the pleasant face of the nurse who’d been looking in on Art for the last twenty minutes. About an hour ago, they had taken Art from the ICU and wheeled him into this holding room on a different floor, to prep him. “Do you have any orange juice?”
“I think I can manage that. Anything else?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“If you change your mind, just let me know. Did they say how long your husband would be in surgery?”
“Dr. Valencia said he couldn’t be sure until things got underway, but it would be at least three or four hours.”
“Dr. Valencia’s the best. I’ve seen him work miracles.”
“Thanks.” Leanne managed a smile. The nurse turned and walked away. Leanne sighed then looked back at Art.
His eyelids fluttered. She must have imagined it. She sat up, staring at them for several moments.
Nothing. She sat back.
A few moments later, he squeezed her hand. It startled her, felt almost like an electric shock. She looked back at his eyes. Nothing.
They fluttered again. “Art,” she whispered, leaning forward. “Art . . . can you hear me?”
His eyes blinked, then opened just a little.
Her face became hot; she felt a rush of emotions. It took all her strength not to yell out loud. Calm down, she told herself. She took a deep breath. “I’m here, Art. It’s Leanne. I’m right here. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”
He did.
Tears fell down her face. He understood. She should go tell someone, maybe get the nurse. He blinked a few more times then opened his eyes wider and turned his head, looking to one side then the other.
“You’re okay, hon,” she said. “You’re in the hospital. But I’m right here. Squeeze my hand again if you understand me.” Keep squeezing back, she thought. Don’t ever stop.
“Leanne,” he said feebly.
She reached out her other hand and gently stroked his cheek. “Right here, Art.” She tried to remember the instructions Dr. Halper had told her at the beginning. Try to keep him calm. Don’t talk about anything that will make him think too deeply. He probably won’t remember what happened.
“Where are we?” His voice sounded a little stronger. His eyes seemed to be focusing on hers.
“We’re at Shands Hospital in Gainesville.”
“Gainesville?”
“You had a little accident. Well, not an accident. A sudden illness.”
“A stroke?”
She shook her head no. “It was an aneurysm. You know what that is?”
He nodded.
“The doctor says it’s very important that you remain absolutely calm, so your brain doesn’t bleed again.” He seemed to understand. “It happened six days ago, the day after Thanksgiving. Do you remember?”
“No. Six days ago. Have I been lying here that long?” His voice was quiet but clear and steady.
“You’ve been in bed that long, but mostly in our little hospital back home. The doctor there wanted you to come here for the operation. He said the surgeon here is the best he’s ever seen.”
She saw his throat swallowing, felt him squeeze her hand harder. “When?” he asked.
“This morning, in a little while.” She hated saying such things to him. She didn’t want him to worry. She wished somehow she could just make it all stop. He was back now. She didn’t want it to end.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be sorry, Art.”
“For putting you through this. Must have been so hard for you.”
“I just missed you so much. That’s been the hardest part.”
He smiled.
“Why are you smiling?”
“You look so beautiful.”
She looked away. “I don’t, my hair—”
“Looks great to me.”
He always said that, even on her worst hair days. He looked past her, above her head. She turned to see what he was looking at. A little Christmas tree sat on a shelf on the wall behind her, maybe eighteen inches tall.
“Like the one on the counter at the store,” he said.
She nodded, happy he remembered. “Well, you’ll have to get better real quick, so we can celebrate Christmas together.” She was about to tell him how Rick had come down to help at the store but stopped. It might stir his mind the wrong way. He never talked about it much, but she knew their lack of relationship had always made him sad.
“I’d like that.” He squeezed her hand again then reached out for her with his other hand. The IV tube held him back. “Got me on a short leash,” he said.
“Listen, hon,” Art said. “There’s something I need to say.”
She looked in his eyes. She knew what it was. Don’t say it.
“I know how serious these things can be. I’m sure the doctor has told you.”
She took a deep breath.
“Don’t know what God has for us here, my love. Could be nothing or could be the last time we’ll be able to talk for a long—”
She put her fingers gently over his lips. “Don’t say it, Art. Please.”
With his free hand, he gently pulled her hand away. She looked down. “I have to, Leanne. Just in case. Look at me.”
She lifted her head.
“I hope I come back from this in one piece. But in case God has other plans, I just want you to know . . .” Tears welled up in his eyes. “You have made me so happy . . . for so many years. Marrying you has made me a rich man.”
“Art, please stop.”
“You’re the finest woman I’ve ever known. You’ve been a gift from God to me.”
Leanne couldn’t help it. She burst into tears and rested her head on his chest. “I love you” was all she could say. He patted her head gently.
“Is everything okay?”
Leanne looked up. It was the nurse holding her orange juice.
“Mr. Bell, you’re awake.”
Art smiled at her, blinking back his own tears. “It would seem so. Do you know for how much longer . . . till the surgery?”
The nurse looked at her watch. “You have a few more minutes. Here, I’ll set this down and leave you two alone.”
Leanne reached over and took a sip. It tasted so good. “Wish I could give you some,” she said.
He held up his IV hand. “Just pour a little in here.”
She smiled.
“Finish up your juice and lay your head back down here,” he said, patting his chest. “I want to hold you as long as I can. For at least a few minutes more.”
31
“I know he looks terrible, Mrs. Bell, but really, it went very well in there.”
Leanne could barely look at Art; his head was completely wrapped in bandages, tubes sticking out everywhere. More machines than she’d ever seen. “He’s okay?”
“For now,” Dr. Valencia said. “He’s still in critical condition. Dr. Halper said he briefed you on the situation.”
“He did,” Leanne said. Dr. Halper stood beside her.
“But here, at this point, things are good. His vitals stayed strong throughout the surgery. We had no surprises. We found the aneurysm right about where we expected. Everything went according to plan.”
“Thanks again, Doctor, for letting me observe,” Dr. Halper said.
“You’re welcome.”
“Do you know when he’ll wake up?” she asked. “When the anesthesia will wear off?”
“He’s not going to wake up for quite a while,” Dr. Valencia said. “Maybe a day or two. But that’s my doing. There’s going to be a lot of swelling from the surgery, and we want his brain to be completely still until we’re sure the initial danger is past.”
“Is he in a coma?” she asked.
“An induced coma, but when we’re sure he’s stable, we’ll slowly bring him back. Someone told me he woke up just before the surgery.”
“He did,” Leanne said. “Is that a good sign?”
“Can be,” the doctor said. “My hope is that he’ll wake up very soon after we take him off all sedation. But you know it’s still going to be a challenging situation for several more weeks.”
“Do you have any idea when I can bring him home, to our hospital in Seabreeze?”
“Can’t say for sure right now, but I’m hoping in three or four days.”
Three or four days. She wasn’t thinking she’d have to be here that long.
“I have to leave now, Mrs. Bell. But I’ve asked Dr. Halper to brief you a little further, let you know what to expect in the days ahead.”
“Thank you so much for taking Art’s case,” Leanne said, holding back tears.
Dr. Valencia gave her a gentle hug then left her with Dr. Halper. “Let’s go back to the waiting room, where we can sit,” Dr. Halper said as they walked down the hall. “That was an amazing sight to see, watching him work, I mean. I’m glad we did this.”
That made her feel good. It was the most upbeat she’d seen him so far. The waiting room was large, three times the size of the one at Seabreeze. They sat in the chairs near the door, away from most of the people and the television.
“Dr. Valencia thought it would be wise to give you a little more information than I gave you back home. They’ve done a lot more of these surgeries here and know a little more about the different things that can happen from this point.”
Leanne found herself tensing up, not responding so much to his words but his eyes and the tone of his voice.
“I’m not telling you these things because they will happen, only because they can. And he feels—we feel—it’s better for you to know up front.”
She didn’t feel good anymore.
“In most surgeries when things have gone this well, we have all kinds of hope and can say things we doctors love to say to families. But when you’re working with the brain, there’s still so much we don’t know and a lot more potential for surprises.”
“Like what?” She just wanted him to say whatever he was building to.
“Like . . . the bleeding. How will it affect other areas of his brain? Some people who recover well from the surgery still have other complications. Some people experience personality changes, some short-term memory loss. Some people complain of not being able to do things they did all the time before. He may need therapy, if certain areas of the muscular or nervous system have been affected.”
“Dr. Halper, things like this would be like music to my ears right now. I just don’t want him to die.”
He smiled. “I understand, Leanne. I can’t say just yet that won’t happen, but he’s in the ‘20 percent club’ right now.”
“Is that good?”
“Eighty percent of the patients who’ve had what Art’s had have already died by this point. So I’m starting to get hopeful. Which is why I’m trying to prep you for what the 20 percent who survive often face.”
That sounded hopeful. “I’m willing to face anything if I get to do it with Art beside me.”
He stood up. “I’m going to stick around today, check in on him throughout the day. Then maybe head back to Seabreeze tonight.”
She got up and gave him a big hug. “Thank you so much, Dr. Halper. You’ve taken such great care of us.”
After he left, she went back to look at Art. The poor thing. He looked so helpless lying there. “Lord,” she prayed, “just bring him back to me. Thank you for bringing him through the worst of it. I’m willing to go through whatever you have in mind. Just please bring Art back.”
“He made it, Mom? That’s great.” Rick was actually relieved. He looked across the counter at Andrea. Her face lit up, reacting to the news. They had been just about to close when his mom called, reversing the charges.
“He looks terrible,” Mom said.
“Is he awake?”
“No, but he woke up for the first time just before the surgery. I actually got to talk with him a few minutes.”
Rick held his palm over the phone and told Andrea.
“He woke up, really?” Andrea said. “Is he awake now?”
Rick shook his head. “So what are they saying?” he asked his mom.
“That’s part of the reason I’m calling, Rick. They’re saying he’s still in critical condition. He probably won’t even wake up for a day or two. And then they’re going to keep him here at least another day or two after that.”
Rick knew why she’d said this, why it bothered her. “Don’t worry about it, Mom.”
“But your work . . . I won’t be home till Monday, maybe Tuesday. Then they’ll just be moving him to
our hospital, and I don’t know what to expect after that.”
Rick had already thought this through. You don’t have brain surgery then get out of bed in a day or two. “Let me worry about that, Mom. I’ve got vacation time saved up. Just take care of Art and yourself. You got a place to sleep while you’re there?”
“I’m just going to stay in Art’s room, I think.”
“That’s gotta be murder on your back, all this time.”
“It’s nothing like my bed at home, but I wouldn’t sleep at all there. At least I manage a few hours when I’m near him.”
Rick didn’t know what to say. He’d never given it much thought before, but he had to admit, their love for each other was impressive. “Anything I can do?”
“You’ve already done more than you know. You’ve taken such a load off my mind. Thanks so much for coming, Rick.”
Rick said good-bye and hung up the phone, filled Andrea in on what his mother had said, and tried not to think about the phone call he knew he’d have to make tomorrow . . . asking his boss for another week off.
Leanne couldn’t put her finger on it, but Rick seemed different somehow. Good different. She turned the corner out of the ICU waiting room and walked down the long hall that led to Art’s room. They’d moved him there about an hour ago.
As she looked up, a great commotion was taking place at the end of the hall. Doctors and nurses rushed toward the same room, and someone wheeled a cart right behind them.
Oh no. It looked like Art’s room.
She began to jog down the hall.
It was Art’s room.
32
Rick had spent the entire day at the store, actually worrying.
Totally unlike him.
The smaller part of his struggle was that he’d tried to call his boss that morning but learned he wouldn’t be available until 3:00 p.m. Rick had wanted to get this thing over with. Instead, he spent the unguarded moments of the day rehearsing different ways to say his bit, each one altered by different reactions his boss might have.
