The Mistaken

by Nancy S Thompson

  The nurse was so fast she practically had the drug administered before the order was given. Everyone worked silently for another ten minutes, each dedicated to their part, but no matter what they did, nothing changed. The young doc continued to work over Jill’s chest, his scrubs soaked through with his sweat and her blood. The elder one shook his head again.

  “Still asystole. How long?” he asked the same nurse as before.

  She checked the wall clock again. “One hour, five minutes, Doctor.”

  The older doc pursed his lips, deep in thought. Then he waved his hand above Jill’s body. “All right, that’s it. I’m calling it.” He looked up at the wall clock and said, “Death at sixteen-fifty-two.”

  He stepped from Jill’s side, steadying himself as he slipped in a puddle of her blood. With a snap, he removed his gloves and tore away his gown and goggles. He slammed everything into a tall, lined bin then signed a chart held out by a nurse. With a frustrated kick to the swinging doors, he left through a side entrance. He was gone without a backwards glance. I stared after him, praying he would return, but knowing full well he would not.

  It was over.

  Oh God, no! I banged on the glass. “No, don’t stop! Bring her back! She’s not dead! She’s not dead!”

  The nurse who had been helping me earlier stood in the middle of the room. She turned and spied me through the window then hurried over and proceeded to console me, but I couldn’t hear a word she said over the keening that seemed to reverberate off the glossy tiled walls. It was me, wailing.

  I clamped a hand over my mouth, and tried to focus back into the trauma room. I stared at Jillian’s lifeless body lying on the table with all the tubes and wires still attached and her blood splattered on the floor. A nurse disconnected the respirator from the tube still stuck in Jill’s throat. She shook out a long sheet and pulled it up over my wife’s head.

  “No!” I screamed and barged into the room. I pressed myself around the nurse and pushed her out of the way. “Jillian! Oh God, no!”

  I yanked the sheet away from Jill’s face and ran my hand over her forehead. Hands pulled gently at my arms from behind me, but I jerked free. I bent over and kissed the side of Jill’s mouth.

  She’s still so warm. This is a mistake. It has to be. This can’t be happening again. She cannot be dead. Please, God. Please!

  “Oh my God, Jillian, no…no!”

  The remaining staff backed away when the nurse told them I was the patient’s husband. I bent over my wife and pulled her bruised hand out from under the sheet. I held it up to my open mouth and cried. My hand trembled as I placed it over her womb.

  My wife, my child, both gone.

  I tipped my face up to the ceiling and screamed, sobbing with more anguish than I had ever felt in my entire life. “God, how could you do this to me again? How?”

  Then a new panic began to overwhelm me, tightening across my chest. Jill must have been terrified. She must have felt so alone as she lay dying. I wasn’t there for her. She died believing I was angry with her. I wanted her to know that I was here for her now, for all the good it did.

  “I’m here, love. Right here. No worries. I’m here.”

  Then it hit me, like a bag of bricks to the face. I’m too late. She was in Napa, probably doing what I had forbid Nick to do. This is my fault! Jill is dead because of me. Because I did nothing. She begged for my help, and I did nothing! Oh God, no! What have I done?

  “Oh God, Jill, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  With my hand still at her womb, I laid my forehead against hers and sobbed. All the sounds around me faded away and everything went still. I don’t know how long I stood there. It could have been thirty minutes. An hour. Maybe two. It seemed like an eternity had swallowed me up whole. But at some point, I was finally pulled from her side, and I thought that eternity was not nearly long enough.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tyler

  For the next three days, my home was constantly filled with people—friends, family, colleagues—but it didn’t matter. I felt alone. And while I appreciated their collective efforts, I would have preferred to actually be alone. With Nick at my side, I made the obligatory rounds, accepting their apologies, their sympathy, but while I looked them each in the eye and nodded, I didn’t speak, not to anyone. I didn’t eat the food they brought. I didn’t stroll in the backyard when they tried to maneuver me out of the house. I just stared and nodded, completely numb.

  Finally, I retreated to my room where I sat with the door shut and the blinds pulled closed. Sitting there in front of me was Jill’s purse, its contents scattered across the bed, including a prescription bottle for Wellbutrin. It was dated nearly two months ago, yet it was full. I counted. Not one pill was missing. Not one. I stared off into the darkness, wondering how in God’s name I could have missed that.

  I heard my in-laws in the hall outside my bedroom door, their voices raised, calling out my name, concerned for my well-being. But I didn’t care anymore. My only goal was to make it through the next few hours, until the funeral was over and everyone went home to live their own lives and leave me the hell alone.

  “Tyler, honey, Jack and I are leaving for the church now,” Jillian’s mother, Lily, spoke through the closed bedroom door. “Are you sure you won’t come with us?”

  Her voice was rough, constricted, as if she were choking back her tears. I imagine she stood outside the door for a few moments, waiting for me to respond, knowing that, after three days of brooding silence, I probably would not. I heard her and Jack talking to my brother. Nick assured them he would get me there soon then closed the front door behind them. He knocked on my bedroom door before he entered. He walked over, stood in front of me, and knelt down when I wouldn’t look up. Nick’s eyes were trained on my face, but I stared blindly past him as I sat motionless in my chair.

  “Tyler, it’s time to go. The funeral Mass is scheduled to start in less than an hour. It’s important for you to be there. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t go.” He paused, waiting for a reply he knew he wouldn’t receive. “I know how it feels. I didn’t get to go to Mum and Pop’s funeral, or Kim’s either. It’s hard to move on when you don’t get the chance to say goodbye.” He placed his hand on top of mine. “You need closure, Ty.”

  He stood back up, yanked my suit jacket off the hanger, and held it up for me to pull on. He shook it and looked at me expectantly. I regarded him sullenly but complied. Hours earlier, Nick had managed to push me into the shower, but I hadn’t shaved for days, nor had I slept, and the combination made me look like a strung-out zombie, not that I cared. I’m sure I was a fine sight, but no one said anything about it. It’s not like it was an affair where pictures would be taken. Who really cared what the poor widower looked like, right? As long as he was there to grieve properly for his dead wife.

  Nick pushed me out of the house and into the black Town Car idling at the curb. The driver took us to the same Catholic church where Jillian and I were married a few short months ago. I sat where Nick put me, next to Jillian’s parents and sister in the front pew. I listened to all the beautiful stories everyone shared about Jillian, how much they all loved her, how much they would miss her. They cried through their speeches, and wiped their tears away with tissues and shirt sleeves. I listened to the Mass, my ears pricking when the priest spoke about God’s will, and that through His forgiveness, we would all be saved.

  I snickered in contempt. Saved? Ha! What a load of shit!

  The priest looked over at Nick and nodded. He turned to me and indicated it was my turn to speak. I stared numbly at him for a long moment then stood up and walked slowly to the podium. I scanned the crowd and saw how they all looked at me. Their pity was palpable, filling the church with a silent dirge that clawed at my ears. Many cried as I stood there looking so mournful. I hadn’t cried since leaving the hospital. I simply existed, grieving inwardly, angry with myself. I looked at the congregation and tried to speak, but the words stuck in my
throat as the tears I’d been holding back for the last three days spilled unheeded.

  I stared down at the photo of Jill I’d been carrying around. It was taken on our wedding day. Tremendous joy radiated from her. I could almost feel the warmth of it emanating from the paper itself. It made me smile to look at it and remember her that day. I gazed at the photo and, with a shaky breath, gathered myself to speak.

  “I want to thank you all for coming.” I paused while I scanned the crowd. “It would have meant a great deal to Jill.” I stopped again, momentarily unable to continue. I chewed on my lip and tried to recover. “I’m sorry…I...” I shook my head, took another deep breath, and started again. “Most of you know how much Jillian meant to me, that she was my whole life. I know how much she meant to you, as well. So…so I want to say to each of you who loved her that I’m…I’m sorry.” I paused a third time, my chin quivering with the effort it took to remain standing up there. “And um…while I know Father Kenny spoke to you all about forgiveness, you should know that...that this…was…my fault...”

  Nick jumped up from his seat and was at my side in an instant, cooing softly as he tried to pull me away.

  “No...don’t,” I insisted, twisting my elbow from his grasp. I turned back to the congregation. Many had their hands drawn up to their mouths while others dabbed at their eyes. I scanned them all, looking each in the eye as I continued.

  “I did this. Me. Not Jillian. I deserve all the blame for taking her from each of you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. Or God’s, for that matter. So, please…don’t pity me. I don’t deserve that either.”

  I looked back down at Jill’s picture and smiled weakly once more before I turned to Nick. I pressed her photo into his hand, stepped down off the altar, and walked out of the service without speaking another word. With the Town Car idling slowly behind me, I wandered aimlessly through the neighborhood streets.

  I did attend the grave-side service a couple hours later so that I could honor all that was good about Jill. I wanted to look into her family’s eyes and apologize directly. They didn’t seem to want to hear it, but I insisted all the same. When the service was over, I asked them all to leave, so I could be alone with Jill. Everyone drove back to my in-laws’ house where they held a wake, which I would not be attending.

  I stood looking down into the dark hole that contained Jillian’s casket, knowing that she lay cold and stiff inside, our child still nestled deep within her. Due to her extensive injuries, her casket had remained closed during the visitation and Mass. I never saw her again after I was pulled from her side at the hospital. That was the very last memory I had of her. The last image I had of her face. I would never forget what she looked like, all bruised and broken, her flesh pale white and her blood spilled all around.

  I would carry that image with me forever. I deserved it. I was responsible. It was a burden I would keep close to my heart, always...right next to the place that ached for retribution against the only other person besides myself who held some accountability for Jillian lying cold and alone in that dark hole. I recalled the Bible verse where God said, “Vengeance is mine,” and I sneered with derision.

  “Well, fuck that,” I said aloud. “It’s mine. And I’ll be damned if I don’t find some way to have it.”

  I turned to walk away but thought of the last time Jill and I had spoken, and what I regrettably hadn’t said to her. I pulled a single white rose—Jill’s favorite and the sign of eternal love—from one of the arrangements nearby. I added a purple hyacinth to beg forgiveness and a pink carnation to let her know I would never forget her. And lastly, a red rose. I threw them all down onto her casket.

  “Goodbye, Jillian,” I whispered. “I love you.”

  Then I walked away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tyler

  I locked myself in the house for five weeks after Jillian’s funeral. I kept the blinds and drapes pulled tight and shut the world out as best I could. Client calls went unanswered, construction jobs left unfinished. Friends came by from time to time, knocked on the door, and left when I didn’t answer. They often left food, hoping I would at least eat. It rotted where it lay.

  Lily stopped by every day for the first two weeks. She talked to me through the door and reminded me of what Jillian would want. I thanked her for her concern, but told her I didn’t want to see anyone yet. When she continued to drop by, I stopped responding to her pleas, praying she would just stay away. It worked eventually.

  Nick was next. He called every day, but after three weeks, I finally stopped answering. Frustrated, he pounded on my front door. It shook and rattled under his fist as he called out my name.

  “Ty, if you don’t open this door, I’m just going to let myself in.”

  He waited silently for a full minute.

  “Tyler, I know where you keep the hidden key. Jill told me. I’m going to use it.”

  He waited again.

  “Tyler!”

  He fumbled around on the front porch then worked the lock and pushed his way in.

  “Ty?”

  He couldn’t see me sitting in the dark, or all the junk that lay scattered about the floor. The house was a complete disaster, a victim of my rage. I had no other way to discharge it except to throw whatever I got my hands on across the room. The dining chairs were first. Two lay in shambles, half their legs now useless posts protruding from the walls, and the seats shredded, padding and all. The pages of two dozen books, mostly my own design texts, littered the room like New Year’s Eve confetti at Times Square, as did a month’s worth of newspapers, all my building plans, and Jill’s old photography magazines. Art work, old pictures, wall sconces, all of it a mangled mess strewn across the living and dining room floor.

  Then there were all the things Jill and I had bought for the baby. When I first spied the large pile neatly arranged in the den, I sorted through it, one item at a time. Until I unearthed Jillian’s jogging stroller. That was the proverbial straw. I triggered the mechanisms and allowed it to collapse, as designed. But then I picked it up like a club and began hammering it against the floor until it was nothing but a tangled jumble of metal spokes, plastic shards, and frayed canvas. The rest followed: the still boxed crib, the freshly painted rocker, the partially assembled changing table. Even the tiny infant clothes.

  The house looked like Banda Aceh, Indonesia in the aftermath of the 2004 Boxing Day tsunami. The screams that accompanied these episodes probably sounded similar, too. I was left panting and sweating, but mostly sobbing as I surveyed the home Jillian and I had shared for the last four years. But still, I could not come to terms enough to clean it all up. Nick stumbled over the mess as he walked into the dark foyer.

  “What the fuck?” he said as he fell to the floor. “Bloody hell, Ty. What is all this shit?”

  He reached for the switch and turned on the light.

  “Turn it off, Nick, and get the hell out,” I warned quietly.

  He kicked the debris to the side and found a path in my direction. He crouched down in front of me as I sat in the living room chair, resting his hands on my knees.

  “Whoa, Ty, you look like shit. And your house…” he said as he scanned the room. “God, it’s a wreck. We need to get you, and this place, cleaned up.” He examined me closely, tensing his eyes and his head shaking in disappointment. “Ty, come on—”

  “Get out, Nick.”

  He stood up and looked around for a moment then started picking up the mess that lay around us. “This is disgusting, Tyler. Jillian would be as mad as a cut snake if she saw the house like—”

  I pounded my fist on the armrest. “Don’t talk to me about Jill!”

  Nick stood in front of me with his mouth open. “Ty, come on. Jillian wouldn’t want this. You have to know that. She would have wanted you to—”

  I sprang up off the chair and lunged at him, knocking him down as he tripped backward over the detritus. “I said don’t fucking talk to me about Jillian! You didn’t know her.
You don’t know what she would want for me. You don’t know a goddamn thing, so just leave me the fuck alone.” With my hands on his collar, I knelt over him, straddling his chest, pinning him to the floor.

  Nick held his hands up in submission and gaped at me like I was crazy. I suppose I was—crazy with grief, with loneliness, and most of all, with intense, overwhelming guilt that burned through every cell of my being hotter than the Devil’s anvil.

  “Just go, Nick, please. Leave me be.” I raked my hands over my face and pushed off, rolling onto the floor beside him. “Please, Nick, I...I can’t. I can’t stand to...to talk about her, to...to even hear her name. Godammit, it’s bad enough I can’t stop thinking about her.”

  Nick pulled himself up and sat cross-legged beside me. “Ty, you loved her. She was your wife. Why in God’s name would you want to stop thinking about her?”

  I covered my eyes with the heel of my hands and rocked my head from side to side. I beat them against my forehead, trying to erase the last image I had of Jill. All the tears in the world couldn’t wash that vision away, though I tried futilely to do so. It burned through me on a slow, steady path, desiccating every happy memory I ever had of Jillian.

  “Because…I don’t... I can’t…remember her...like that!”

  “Like what, Ty? I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

  “At the…hospital. She was so...so...broken and... Oh God, what…have…I done, Nick? What…have I done?” I hyperventilated as I rolled on the wood floor.

  Until now, my grief had been contained, held back in anger. But now it rolled over me like a tidal wave, pushing me back and forth, unwilling to allow me to get my feet beneath me. I couldn’t speak. I folded up onto my knees and laid my head in my hands on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. I scared the hell out of Nick, no longer the stoic rock he’d always known. He stared at me silently then laid his hand on my back.