"Carrie? Baby? Can you hear me?" Robbie leaned close as he took her hand, clutching it in his own as he waited for some kind of sign that she might have heard his voice.
Carrie didn't move. Not even her eyelids stuttered in REM sleep. There was only this horrible stillness, and all these people who had dealt with Carrie who should have been optimistic about her condition, given how undamaged her body seemed to be.
But why didn't she hear his voice and wake up? How could she have drifted so far from him in such a short time? He flinched, thinking about how he'd just been going about his day like every other, not one that would change everything. He should have known. He should have felt the disturbance in her universe so he could've have protected her.
"Carrie?" he whispered again, staring at her face and giving her another chance to respond. He kept hoping that given enough time, she'd hear him, and that that would make all the difference, yet Carrie never stirred, and when he looked at the monitors, he saw the lines traveling a normal routine. So why was he so shaken to the core?
Robbie didn't know how long he'd been sitting there beside her gurney, his head lying next to her, his hands still clutching hers. Although there must have been nurses who came in, no one disturbed him, and the fact that he could sleep in an ER was just another indication of how exhausted he was.
When Robbie opened his eyes, he inhaled softly, and sat up slowly, almost afraid of what he'd find in this quiet room where the only sound besides his heart pounding in his chest was the ticking of the huge clock on the wall measuring the time spent in this hell.
Once upright, Robbie stared at his wife's face, which was when he saw her brown eyes were open as she stared absently out into space--the world around her had ceased to exist.
Had he ceased to exist as well?
"Carrie?" He scooted to the edge of this chair, needing to get as close as possible as he waited for her to say something that would put everything into perspective.
Carrie blinked slowly, and even though he expected some hint of recognition as his wife's eyes met his, there was only a blank stare--like she'd never seen him before. In fact, the only movement at all on her end was an inching of her hand to her abdomen so she could stroke her very pregnant belly. Perhaps she, too, needed some kind of reassurance that everything would eventually be okay, no matter how scatter-shot it seemed at present.
Frowning, Robbie turned his focus to Carrie's midsection, suddenly concerned with her movements. Could they might be an indicator of something else going wrong--the something he'd been bracing himself for since he'd walked into the hospital in the first place.
"Carrie? Are you all right? Are you in pain?" His left hand followed hers as he struggled with the silence that never seemed to end.
She kept looking at him even as she touched her belly in what seemed a gesture intended just to make sure the baby was still there, and he frowned, waiting for her fingers to still before he settled his on top of hers, trying to reassure both her and himself.
Carrie's eyes had always been a luminous brown which seemed to go on forever--a brown he could, and often did, get lost in. They had been among the first features he'd noticed about her, but now, somehow, they were different, still beautiful but distant--detached, almost--and that troubled Robbie almost more than the hospital bed Carrie was lying in.
It seemed a stranger now looked back at him, not his wife of years. What the hell was going on? Had there been head trauma? he glanced at the doors, wishing the good doctor would reappear and tell him something useful.
The door stayed closed.
He turned back to his wife, figuring he might as well try to take the situation in hand and get some kind of answer himself. He'd only been waiting for what seemed like forever, and look where that had gotten him.
"Carrie?" He spoke her name in a calm, even voice. "Do you remember who I am?"
Leaning close to her like that--so close he could feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek--he desperately wanted her to laugh and toss her head slightly as she always did when she was amused. He wanted her to say, "Of course I know you. You're responsible for this." And her hand would lightly pat her tummy for emphasis.
Yet none of those things happened. Those brown eyes he knew by heart just stared vacantly at him. Right then, it dawned on Robbie what kind of hell he might actually have found himself in--a life in which his wife was physically fine but in which she had no memory of him or how much he loved her.
Robbie licked his lips and waited a few seconds more, thinking if he just gave her enough time, she'd come up with some kind of answer, something that would make all this bearable, yet time melted as they stared into each other's eyes. He squeezed her hand, and her gaze immediately drifted to his fingers. She inhaled softly and frowned at his touch. She didn't remember that, either.
"Don't you have anything to say?" he whispered, trying to hold onto the last tendrils of hope as it slipped through his fingers.
She licked her lips, and with the hand not gripped in Robbie's, she skimmed the surface of her belly, and in that instant, at least that movement seemed familiar. "The baby is healthy," she whispered. That should have been reassuring, but the voice was all wrong. Yes, it was Carrie's, but it was stilted and weird, as though she were deaf and couldn't hear the way the words sounded when they came out.
"Carrie?" Robbie leaned closer and whispered the word like a prayer--the only prayer he had. He knew he shouldn't do it, but he couldn't help himself as he leaned over and kissed her forehead, grateful for her body warmth, just one more sign that she was alive.
At his touch, Carrie stiffened and drew back slightly, taking the warmth from him. She tilted her head so their eyes met. Their lips were inches apart, but there was no intimacy between them.
"The baby is safe." She spoke louder and enunciated the words more carefully.
"God, Carrie, it's not just the baby." Tears pooled in his eyes, threatening to overcome him completely. His voice wavered and broke beneath the weight of fears he couldn't shake as he wrapped his arms around her, needing to hold her so he had something physical to tell him his world would right itself.
"The baby is fine," she whispered again, this time the voice closer to normal, normal enough so he could have fooled himself into believing it.
They stayed locked in that embrace until the telltale sound of the door clicking open parted them, yet even though he'd scooted back, he hovered close enough so that he could reach out and take her hand. It was the only kind of reassurance he had.
"Mr. and Mrs. Williams."
Robbie started to speak as Libet greeted them, but the doctor was focused on the chart instead of their faces. What the hell was wrong with this guy, Robbie wondered.
"Any news?" Robbie demanded.
"All the test results are normal as far as we can tell," Libet finally said, closing the chart.
"Tired."
Both the doctor and Robbie turned as Carrie spoke. Already, her eyes were closed. She lowered her head back to the pillow.
"You should let her sleep. She's been through quite a lot," Libet said, edging toward the door to make his exit.
Robbie wanted to stay near her, but he knew she needed her rest, and he sure as hell needed answers. Unnerved, Robbie nodded and bent low to kiss Carrie's temple.
"I'll be here, waiting for you to wake so I can take you home."
Carrie didn't move. It was almost like she'd already drifted off, and Robbie figured Libet was right in that she had had an extremely difficult day. In addition to the exhaustion from being pregnant, she'd probably had more than she could handle and needed to recuperate. Hell, Robbie felt he'd aged five years just sitting here, waiting for somebody to explain it all to him.
He took one last look at his wife before standing and following Libet out, intending to corner the doctor in the hallway. Normal test results sure as hell didn't answer his questions.
He closed the door behind them and strode to the doctor. "Okay, so you got some n
ormal results. What else can you tell me?" He folded his arms across his chest to keep from throttling Libet.
"Not much."
"What kind of injuries does she have? Can you tell me that much at least?"
Libet removed his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and put them back on. "She doesn't have any injuries we can find except for where she bumped her head."
Although Robbie had expected a good prognosis since he'd seen his wife, this one shook him to the core with its impossibility. Carrie had been involved in a bad accident. She couldn't have just walked away without any physical damage. It just didn't happen.
"Did you do a CAT scan because I don't think her memory is working, if you want the truth. She looked at me like I was a stranger--and her speech is off."
"Yes, we did a CAT scan. It all appeared normal, Mr. Williams." The doctor's voice was tired and edgy. His gaze was elsewhere, hinting that Libet is very uncomfortable with this case.
"What about an ultrasound? Have you done that?" Going through tests like a checklist was really getting old to Robbie, but he didn't know any other way to deal with the questions Libet wasn't exactly forthcoming with answers.
"Yes, Mr. Williams, we did an ultrasound. The baby seems as it did before the wreck. We checked with Dr. Caruthers, her OBGYN, and everything appears as it should."
"So why is she still here then?" Robbie demanded, shaking his head. Hell, if all they were going to do was stick their thumbs up their butts, his wife would be better off at home.
"Because when she was brought into the ER, she was wearing a dress soaked with about four pints of blood," Libet retorted. "Yet, somehow we haven't found any injuries that would account for much blood loss at all. Just as soon as we can rule out any possibly injuries that might be causing that speech issue, we will gladly release her. Until then, she stays put, for her own sake."
Libet strode away without waiting for any other questions, and all Robbie could do was watch him leave, aware he was in the same place as when he'd arrived and that didn't set well with him.
He raked his fingers through his hair, wondering what to do next. Nothing came to mind. About all he could do was hang around and wait for test result after test result before Carrie was cleared for release. Once he'd driven her home and got her settled, he'd stop by the salvage yard and see Carrie's car. Granted, it would probably look far worse than it was. Wrecks sometimes did.
Of course, as Robbie shoved his hands in his pockets and ambled back to Carrie's room, doubt surfaced in his mind, making him ask what would happen if Libet weren't exaggerating. What if the wreck had been every bit as bad as it could have been--bad enough to have claimed Carrie's life? How would anyone explain that?
They wouldn't. Her survival would be a miracle, one for which he was so grateful and would spend the rest of his days trying to earn, knowing he would never be able.
Robbie took a deep breath and eased open the door, half expecting his wife might have stirred again. Yes, he knew she was tired, but she also wasn't acting right, and that troubled him beyond measure. He knew there was something going on, but understanding it was rather like trying to put a puzzle together without all the pieces.
Carrie was lying in the bed, roughly in the same position as she'd been in when he'd left. She was on her left side, her usual sleeping position since about four months ago, when her belly had started to get a little cumbersome. Her long hair spilled like silk across the pillow. One hand rested by her thigh, and the other lay on her stomach. Her lips parted, and he could see the soft rise and fall her chest as she breathed.
Trying not to make any more noise than necessary, he eased himself back into the most uncomfortable chair he'd ever sat in and wondered whether hospitals chose their furnishings based on hideousness and lack of comfort. This chair had both strikes against it, yet it was the only place for him to sit in the whole damned room. Of course, he could ease himself up into the bed next to his wife, but he didn't anticipate the nurses and doctors would appreciate that, so, the uncomfortable chair it was then. Lucky him.
Still, looking at her face, one unmarred by bruises or blood, he knew Carrie would be going home soon, so his stay, too, would be limited. He wouldn't be stuck with this horrible chair for that long, and that, too, would be a miracle.
Chapter Four
It seemed to take forever for Dr. Libet to get all the results back, leaving Robbie to wonder what tests were being done in the first place and why it was taking so long to get answers.
Although Robbie and Carrie saw more than a few nurses, Libet was constantly MIA--always back at his office, on rounds, or somewhere else he couldn't be reached. Robbie was pretty sure even if the nurses could call him, he wouldn't magically appear. No, even though Robbie wasn't paranoid, he suspected the doctor conveniently avoided him.
Most of the time, Carrie seemed to be sleeping, but that didn't trouble Robbie much because as the pregnancy had progressed, Carrie had needed more and more rest. She'd often taken lengthy naps, and Robbie had sometimes lain beside her, holding her in his arms until she'd drifted away. Those had been the moments Robbie cherished, yet they were nothing like now.
If Carrie's body had seemed wholly unaffected by the wreck, her mind had been completely altered by it, or so it seemed. It wasn't just the broken, strange speech that reminded Robbie of a stroke patient. No, it was the void that seemed to have consumed all there was of the bond that had tied him to his wife. She might as well have been a stranger for all they now touched or spoke. That troubled Robbie beyond measure.
Robbie leaned across the sill and looked out the window, watching the traffic tool past below--all those people who didn't know quite how lucky they were as their lives went on in the same boring way they always had. What he wouldn't give to rewind his life a week, but that was never going to happen.
The door swished open, prompting Robbie to turn, and when he did, he came face-to-face with Libet, who held a chart in hand. Although Robbie was dying to give him a piece of his mind, both of them looked at Carrie, who slept peacefully unaware.
"Well?" Robbie demanded, walking back to the chair where he'd passed the night. "What did your tests tell you?"
Libet frowned, opened his mouth, and closed it again. Whatever he'd been about to say had simply fled.
Seeing that Libet had so much to say and so much information to give, Robbie threw his head back and gave a hard laugh.
"Damn it, can you tell me something--anything?" He glared at Libet.
Libet finally shook his head. "Well, we can't find any injuries at all," he finally admitted. "She's got some bumps and bruises, but that's it--nothing substantial that would explain anything."
Robbies tared blankly at Libet. Oh, he had expected something. Granted, he had no clue what, but this--this wasn't it.
"Surely you're mistaken. She has to have suffered some kind of head trauma or something that would affect her speech and memory." Yet even as he stared at Libet's face, still hoping for answers, he knew he wasn't going to get any.
Libet shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Williams. There's no physical evidence of head trauma of any sort."
Unsettled, Robbie stood and paced while Carrie still slept peacefully.
"There has to be some kind of mistake. I don't even think she knows who I am." He started out whispering, but his voice rose slightly, and Carrie moaned softly while shifting to her other side, her hand gliding over her stomach to make sure everything was okay.
Both of them looked at her, watching until she'd settled, then they turned their focus back to the conversation.
"It's not from injuries. Perhaps it's a matter of psychological shock. A wreck that violent could cause that. Perhaps she should see a therapist."
"A violent wreck? What are you talking about? She barely has a scratch on her." Robbie settled his hands on his hips.
Libet arched an eyebrow. "You still haven't seen the car, have you?"
Robbie shook his head. "What does that have to do with
it?"
"The EMTs showed me a picture. She should have died on the scene, Mr. Williams."
Robbie felt himself exhale, almost as though someone had punched him. He wanted to argue that it couldn't possibly be as bad as all that, but he hadn't seen the picture, and part of him wasn't sure he wanted to, not if the doctor was right. While he didn't like the fact that he hadn't gotten answers sooner, he did feel Libet had no reason to lie.
The doctor frowned and looked down at his watch. "I've got other patients I need to visit, and I see no reason to keep Ms. Williams here any longer, as I can't find any physical reason for the symptoms you're describing. A nurse will be in shortly with the discharge paperwork."
For a moment, Libet stopped there, his gaze vacillating between Carrie and Robbie, but in the end, the silence grew too much for the doctor, and he headed for the door.
Robbie watched the door ease closed, took a deep breath, and ambled over to the chair where he slowly sank down, bracing his forearms on his thighs and trying to adjust to the idea that no matter what he had expected from life, this was going to be it, and whatever had caused the rift between he and his wife, he might not be able to fix it. She should be clinging to him, but she wasn't.
Maybe it was always going to be like this.
He leaned close, watching her sleep as she kept one hand on her stomach. Although Robbie felt the tears pooling in his eyes, he did nothing to stop them. Instead, they filled his eyes and then poured over, running down his face. He didn't know, really, what he was crying for. She was alive. The baby was alive. The future was unwritten, but something deep inside him ached to the point of breaking.
When he felt he couldn't hold it inside anymore, he closed his eyes, trying to keep his emotions from spinning out of his control.
As he opened his eyes, his gaze locked with her seemingly endless eyes. She took a tentative breath and swallowed, never looking away from him, but even so, there was a distance there, something he'd never felt between them before, and it frightened him. He'd always thought of himself as unshakeable. Now he knew better.
Surrogate Page 3