of annoying small talk. The sizzle of the salmon offered the only sound, a richly decadent dill butter veneer the only scent. All was indeed good on this day, and they had even shared a few laughs.
And then Alan spoiled the whole thing; he got up to check the salmon and had a heart attack.
Riding in the ambulance to the hospital, a glowering determined stare having left no doubt with the young driver that she’d be circumventing any rules regarding her status as a passenger, Jules found herself struggling to keep her emotions shrouded from her husband. She loved Alan, but lately their relationship had assumed a predominantly apathetic demeanor. Even on their good days, when the arguments were few and far between, they had always spared each other the embarrassment of gratuitous affection. But now, looking down at the man she loved, an ugly oxygen mask covering his wonderful face, his beautiful eyes narrow and lost, she wondered if she’d get another chance to reignite that affection. Ignoring the clumsy awkwardness of it, she reached out and rubbed his hand, at once noticing how aged it looked and felt. When had he gotten these wrinkles, and why hadn’t she noticed? She glanced upward, as if to let gravity help her keep a tear in as they pulled up to the emergency entrance at Preston Memorial Hospital.
Jules was shooed into a waiting room, her agreement to do this contingent upon a very young doctor’s promise to return for her after a few moments. She paced, ignored the stares of the others waiting with her, and finally sat. After what seemed to Jules like an hour, but in reality was about a dozen minutes, they called for her. She burst through the doors to the patient care area of the emergency ward. Alan was in the first bed, his privacy curtains were open, and he had his oxygen mask removed. He looked to be resting comfortably, eyes closed and greyish blonde hair a mess, hands gently resting on his abdomen, the iconic green gown covering him to the knees.
She stared at him a moment, and then took a deep breath. “So . . . you’ve had a heart attack.”
“Hmmm,” Alan said, opening his eyes just wide enough to see his wife standing at the foot of his bed. She looked older now than she had six months ago; perhaps the recent strain of their relationship was the cause. He noticed that she had large mauve ring earrings on, like something you might throw at a wooden stump at the fair trying to win a stuffed panda bear. Alan couldn’t remember the earrings while they were relaxing by the barbeque and wondered if she’d thrown them on while he clung to life at the mercy of some young ambulance attendant?
Jules paused for a moment, trying to assess whether Alan could talk comfortably. He was staring at her, but she couldn’t get a good read on his expression. She pressed on. “We might have to change a few things Alan,” she said, the nervousness in her voice hinting at a certain awkwardness—a testament to the barriers that had sprung up between them.
“Such as . . .” Alan said, suddenly quite alert.
“I think we might want to consider frying a few less things.”
“There must be some kind of cooking oil that will make it all good . . . no?”
“Ah no. No magic cooking oil,” she said, the light heartedness of the conversation a welcome relief. There was a tidal wave of tears that wanted to explode out of her, but she held it back. “I’m serious Alan, there are going to have to be some changes. Gerald and Charlotte need you. You can’t leave them.”
“I know Jules,” he said, fully aware that she had excluded herself from the list of those needing him. He’d had a damn heart attack—couldn’t she have thrown him a bone.
Jules continued with the homily she had pieced together in the waiting room. “Gerald is just starting to come into his own; he’s graduated from high school now and he’s really turned the corner Alan. He’s a fine young man.” She gave the tears welling up in her eyes a moment to seep back into her eye sockets and then continued, “and he needs you Alan.”
“I know Jules. I don’t want you to tell either of them about this.”
“About what?”
“The heart attack.”
“Alan, I don’t see how I can keep the fact that you had a heart attack away from your children.”
“Just for a couple of days,” Alan said, shifting himself in his bed. “Gerald’s got his graduation celebrations tonight and tomorrow. Tell him in a few days.”
“Alan . . .”
“Phone him and tell him that we’re spending the night at the Randall’s.” Alan shifted again. “My car is in the garage, he won’t look.”
“I suppose I could do that,” Jules said, more concerned with Alan’s seemingly perpetual discomfort.
“And there’s no sense telling Charlotte either.”
Jules was more interested in ending the line of conversation. “No. Very well. I’ll call later.”
“Are you alright Jules?”
The question surprised her. “As good as can be expected.”
“You seemed a bit emotional in the ambulance.”
Another surprise. “I had hoped you hadn’t seen that.”
“I did.”
She leaned over and hugged him gently. A tear ran down her cheek and she discreetly wiped it with her hand, not wanting him to see. She thought about kissing him, but hesitated and then abandoned the idea all together.
“Been a while since you’ve been that close to me Jules.”
She took another deep breath and their eyes found each other. It dawned on Jules that she couldn’t remember the last time they had looked into each other’s eyes; Alan’s seemed tired, pained. “It’s just . . . I don’t know Alan. It just seems that lately you’ve been a bit distant and now all this happens and . . . well, I wasn’t sure for a while there that I was going to get a chance to try and fix whatever I’d broken.”
“What are you talking about Jules? What do you mean by broken?”
“We shouldn’t be having this conversation right now; you need to relax.”
“Jules, I’m fine. What did you mean?”
“Nothing, you’ve just seem a bit pissed at me lately.”
“I’m not pissed at you.” Alan paused for a moment and contemplated his next words. “It’s just that the kids are growing up and I’m just . . . I don’t know Jules, it’s just that I’m out of sorts these days.” He wasn’t looking at her now, but staring down at his knees which were peeking out from under the edge of his green gown. “I don’t know what to say Jules. I feel old.” He shook his head. “I just feel old Jules.”
“I thought we might grow old together,” Jules said. She had been carrying the line in her head for a while—she’d heard it on television or read it somewhere.
As he was apt to do in these situations, Alan misplaced his conviction and meekly tried to change the subject. They had nibbled around the edges of this conversation many times and lying there, pale and weak with tubes sticking out of his arm, he had no appetite for the core of it. “Why don’t you go and get a bite to eat and then come back. You must be starving,” he said, his insincerity well hidden.
At that moment, the young doctor appeared at Alan’s bedside. “Hello folks,” he said, forcing a polite smile to flash across his face. “It appears that it was a mild heart attack after all.”
Alan and Jules shared a somber glance but said nothing.
“In a couple of days we’ll talk about the future, but for now, you’re going to be with us for at least a day, maybe longer,” the doctor continued.
“Ok,” Alan said, caring little about the doctor’s words, but happy to have he and Jules’ conversation interrupted.
The doctor turned to Jules. “We’ve given him something that will help him relax, but I can’t stress enough how important it is that he doesn’t do anything that will get his heart rate up. He needs to relax. We’ll get him in a room upstairs as soon as one becomes available. We need to be careful, more careful in the very short-term. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Jules nodded.
“Good, I’ll be back in a little while,” the doctor said and left.
Jules left f
or the cafeteria, promising to phone Gerald and to return within the half hour.
The emotional complexity of Jules’ evening swelled upon her return; a young gentleman was wheeled into the emergency area on a stretcher. He was unconscious, and giving off a strong odor—an incomparable combination of vomit and alcohol.
“That’s my son!” she screamed in horror, drawing the attention of everyone in the waiting room. “What’s happened to him?”
“This young man has consumed an excessive amount of alcohol, ma’am,” the driver from earlier in the evening said quietly. “He’s out like a light and needs to have his stomach pumped.”
“What? Will he be alright?” Jules said, looking down at her only son. His face was pale, his strong facial features softened by the lack of tension in his body. His jowls seemed puffy making him more resembled Alan.
“He’ll probably be fine, but we need to get the booze out of him. We’ll let you know ma’am.”
They started to wheel Gerald through the doors to the patient care unit. Jules was the only one who realized the obvious. “Stop!”
“What?” a bookish looking nurse who was helping wheel the stretcher asked.
“My husband is in there, and he’s had a heart attack,” Jules said, exasperated. “If he sees his son on a stretcher right now, it could be deadly. Do you know what I mean?”
Everyone stopped and contemplated what she had said. The silent interlude stretched past five seconds.
Jules continued, speaking more slowly
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