by Clare Revell
She looked at him, tears running down her face. “Patrick…”
“I know. But everything’s in place. If need be we just do the transplant a little earlier.”
27
Patrick sat with Elle next to Abbie’s bed in ITU, Elle’s cold hand clasped tightly in his clammy one. He felt sick. Abbie still hadn’t regained consciousness and her life signs were a lot lower than the doctors were happy with. He glanced up as the surgeon came over to them. He wore scrubs and had a stethoscope around his neck. The doctor’s serious expression sent chimes of doom resonating though Patrick and judging by the way Elle stiffened, she felt the same way.
“Doctor?”
“It’s not good. The MRI shows the fall did additional damage to her liver.” He opened the file and went into more detail.
Elle gripped Patrick’s hand tightly, leaning against him.
“Then we operate now,” Patrick said.
“Mr. Page, even if we do, she only has a twenty percent chance of making it.”
“And if you don’t?”
“She’ll die.”
Elle gasped. “No.”
Patrick looked at her, then looked back at the doctor. “Then do the surgery now.”
“You are in no fit state to do anything yourself. Your arm is…”
“Doc, I’m not going to argue with you. It’s not my arm you need, it’s my liver.”
The surgeon nodded. “I thought you’d say that. I have the theatre standing by.” He nodded to the nurse. “We’ll take Abbie up now and get her prepped.”
“What do I need to do?”
“We’ll need you about ninety minutes after we start Abbie’s surgery. The nurse will show you where you can shower and change. Then we’ll take you upstairs.”
Elle leaned over the bed and kissed Abbie’s forehead. “I love you. I’ll see you soon.”
Patrick stood numbly then leaned over and kissed Abbie too. He held Elle as they wheeled Abbie’s bed from the room.
“What if I lose both of you?” she whispered as they followed the bed into the hallway.
“It takes more than a little surgery to get rid of me,” he whispered. He tilted her face to his. “I’m not giving up just yet.”
Elle held his gaze. “Promise?”
“I promise.” He closed his eyes and kissed her, his good arm pulling her tightly against him.
She clung to him, responding to the kiss, accepting every ounce of love he poured into it.
Breaking off, he brought his hand up to cradle her face. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
If only there was a way to prove to her just how much he loved her. He glanced past her to see Pastor Jack standing next to his parents. An idea struck him so quickly, and with the force of a thunderbolt, that it could only have come straight from God. “Pastor, can I have a quick word?”
“Sure.”
He moved over to him and whispered quickly. Getting the response he was hoping for, he smiled and looked at the nurse. “The doc said ninety minutes. Is it all right if I spend an hour or so with my family?”
The nurse nodded. “You can have an hour, but no longer.”
“Thank you.” He returned to Elle. He took her hand and dropped awkwardly to one knee. “Marry me.”
Her eyes sparkled with tears. “Patrick?”
“Marry me, now” he repeated. “We wasted the past fourteen years, I don’t want to be without you a second longer.”
“Now?” She glanced around. “Right here?”
“In the hospital chapel. Pastor Jack can do it.”
“What about Abbie? Shouldn’t she be here?”
“Love, with all the risks this surgery entails, I want you to know how I feel. We’ll do it again with Abbie as chief bridesmaid once she’s better.”
“Then, yes, I’ll marry you.”
He gripped Elle’s hand tightly. He nodded to his parents and the others to follow them down the hallway to the small chapel.
He led Elle to a pew at the front and twisted to face her.
“Can we do this? Is it legal?”
Pastor Jack nodded. “You’ll need to do it again once the banns have been posted, but yes. As far as God and the church are concerned, you’ll be married.”
Patrick looked at her. “I love you.”
Elle smiled and stood with him, repeating the vows Pastor Jack said.
Patrick pulled his college ring off his finger and, wincing, gripped her hand in his injured one. “With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee honor and all my worldly goods I thee impart.” He slid the ring onto her finger.
“It’s endow.” Elle giggled.
“Is it? Oh, OK. In that case, all my worldly goods I thee endow.”
“I don’t have anything to…Oh, wait, yes I do.” She reached up and pulled the scrunchie from her hair. She slid it over his wrist. “I give you this scrunchie as a sign of the covenant made between us this day and a pledge of our mutual love.”
A guffaw came from in front of them. “I assume you’ll do it properly when I marry you next time.”
Patrick winked at Pastor Jack. “Of course. She’ll have a gold plated scrunchie next time.”
Laughter came from behind them.
“Sounds good to me,” Elle said.
“Now that Patrick and Elle have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of a ring and a scrunchie, I pronounce that they are husband and wife, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Those whom God has joined together let no one put asunder. Amen. You may kiss the bride. And then we’ll pray and ask the Lord to watch over all of you and for the surgeons.”
Patrick wrapped his arm around Elle and pulled her close. “I love you, Mrs. Page,” he whispered before his lips joined hers.
****
Patrick stood under the shower, the plastic razor in his hand. His hand shook and he prayed desperately he wouldn’t cut himself. The nurse had offered to do it for him, but he refused. That was one thing he’d never allow anyone to do. He just hoped his chest hair would grow back. Five minutes later, clean, completely shaven and dressed in the very fetching open-backed gown they’d given him, he wrapped the robe over the top and padded out into the hallway.
His entire family stood there. Elle looked like she’d been crying, as did Niamh and Mum. He stood there and looked at them. “All I need now is the last meal and the last rites,” he quipped.
Pastor Jack shot him a wry smile. “I can do the Baptist version of the last rites if you want.”
He shook his head. He moved over to his mother and hugged her. “Don’t cry,” he said. “This isn’t goodbye.”
One by one, he hugged his family and kissed them. By the time he got to Elle, he had tears burning his own eyes.
She looked at him, her eyes red and tears pouring down her face. “Pat…”
“Elle, please.” He wrapped his arm around her. He closed his eyes tightly, a huge lump in his throat. “I’m not scared for me, but for Abbie,” he whispered.
“Me, too, but for both of you. Maybe my guardian angel will watch over you and Abbie for a few hours.”
“Maybe.”
“I love you so much.”
“I love you back. I always have.” His lips found hers and he kissed her, not caring who was watching.
The door opened and the surgeon came out. “We’re ready for you.”
Patrick nodded and slowly let go. “See you later,” he said. He forced himself to leave Elle and follow the surgeon through the double doors.
His mouth dried as he looked at the gurney with all the equipment next to it. He took off the robe and sat down. His heart pounded and he shivered. Then a heavenly peace descended over him. He glanced up and for an instant saw a bright figure in the corner of the room with a sword and wings. It could only be the angel that Elle had described.
He winced as the nurse removed the sling and his arm dropped.
“You ready?”
“Yeah, let’s do this.” He lay down and looked up at the ceiling. Please, God, don’t let this be for nothing. Let it work and heal Abbie.
****
Tears blurred Elle’s eyes. Two theaters containing the two most important people in her life and there was nothing she could do to help either of them. Except pray.
“Elle?”
She turned towards Mr. Page. “I’m OK.”
He put a gentle hand on her arm. “No, you’re not. Let’s get you back to our place. It’ll be a long while before we hear anything.”
“I should wait here.”
“It’ll be at least seven hours before Patrick comes out and at least ten for Abbie. They’ve got my number and yours. They’ll ring as soon as there is any news.”
“I don’t want to impose…” She broke off. She had nowhere else to go. As far as she knew, she couldn’t go home and she didn’t have a key to Patrick’s place. “I’ll find a chair or something here and just wait.”
“Sure you can impose. You’re family now.” A smile just like Patrick’s creased his father’s eyes and lips. “Your wedding might have been unorthodox, but it makes you our daughter. So let’s go home and wait for news.”
“OK, Mr. Page.”
“It’s Dad. You’re Patrick’s wife, so it’s Dad. Or Sean, if you’d find that easier for the time being.”
Elle smiled. For the first time in a long time she felt accepted for who she was, faults and all, by someone other than God. “Dad sounds good.”
****
Elle jerked awake as the phone rang. It was dark. Her heart pounded as she sat bolt upright. Where was she? How long had she been asleep? Then everything came crashing back down as Liam answered the phone.
“Page residence.” He paused. “Which Mrs. Page? There are two. Sure. I’ll get her for you.” He held the phone out. “It’s for you, Elle. It’s the hospital.”
Her hand trembled as she took the handset. Nausea rose in her throat. “H-hello.”
“Hello, Mrs. Page. This is Sister Melrose from ITU. Just to let you know that Patrick is back with us.”
Elle collapsed back into the sofa. “How…how is he?”
“He’s critical. He’ll be sedated for several hours yet. He’s on a ventilator and several IV’s. If you want to come in and see him, that’s fine.”
“What about Abbie?”
“There’s no news yet. Probably won’t be for another four or five hours.”
“OK. Thanks.” Elle hung up. She let the phone drop into her lap, her whole body shaking.
Liam’s hand covered hers. “Elle? What did they say?”
Glancing up, she saw everyone gathered around her. “Patrick’s back in ITU. He’s critical.” The dam of emotion within her broke and she dissolved into floods of tears.
Over the next few hours, Liam, and Patrick’s parents, or Mum and Dad as she was tentatively calling them, took it in turns to sit with her by Patrick’s bed. His sister, Niamh, had left instructions to call as soon as he woke. She wanted to be there, but she was finding balancing her heavy work load and pregnancy hard and everyone agreed she’d be better off sitting at home, rather than in a hospital waiting room.
Elle held her husband’s hand, talked to him, while the machines beeped and hissed and kept him alive.
It was almost midnight before they brought Abbie in and put her bed next to Patrick’s. Elle watched, biting her nails, as the staff fussed around her daughter. “How is she?”
“It’s too early to tell,” the surgeon said. “We’ll keep her sedated for at least twenty-four hours. Maybe more, depending how she responds. But she’ll be in here for at least three days. Perhaps longer.”
“All right, thank you.”
Liam touched her arm. “Why don’t we go home and get some sleep.”
“I can’t leave them.”
“Sure you can, honey,” Stacey, Patrick’s nurse said. “I’m here, all night. And so is Patty. She’ll be taking care of Abbie. If we need you, we’ll call. Or if you want to call us at any time, you can do that.”
Elle nodded slowly. She stood and leaned over Patrick’s bed. She kissed him gently. “Sleep well, my love. See you tomorrow.”
Then she leant over Abbie’s bed. “You too, squirt. We have a lot to talk about when you wake.” She glanced down at the ring on her finger. “And most of it good.”
****
Over breakfast, Elle looked up as Shay and the tall American came into the kitchen. “Morning.”
Shay smiled. “Hey. Mind if we have a word?”
Her stomach twisted and she pushed the plate of food away. She knew what was coming and part of her wanted to run. She nodded slowly. “Have a seat.”
Dad got up. “I’ll be in the other room. Yell if you need anything.”
“Don’t go.” Elle shook her head, her heart in her mouth as the two officers sat down. She didn’t want to be alone. She couldn’t take any more bad news. And if she was going to be arrested for her part in this mess, she wanted someone there.
Dad sat down again. “OK.”
“What’s happened?” Elle whispered. “Did he get away?”
Shay shook her head. “No. He’s locked up. He isn’t going anywhere this time. No plea bargain, no parole, no nothing.”
“That’s good,” she whispered. Although no doubt he’d have told them how many packages she delivered, what was in them, and how involved she was.
Luke looked at her. “I’m DI Luke Nemec, originally from LA but now from Scotland. Agent Page, Agent Williams, and I were working this case together. I’ve dealt with both RJ and PJ Foster in the past.”
Elle frowned. “PJ said I was his sister. The letter Mum left me said the same thing.”
Luke slid a file over the table to her. It contained official documents, and newspaper cuttings. “You’re his half-sister.”
She shuddered. “I’d rather not be.”
“I can understand that.” Luke nodded. “My wife, Sara, used to be married to Jamie or RJ—PJ’s twin. Jamie faked his own death. Then he and PJ kidnapped her, trying to bring her into their drug business.”
Elle shivered. “Like me…”
“Just like you.” Luke smiled. “Sara was pregnant with Jamie’s twins during all this.”
She slowly looked up. “The niece and nephew…”
“Jennifer and Joshua. It’s entirely up to you, but Sara and I are both in agreement here. If you want to stay in touch, see them, you can.”
“Oh…” Tears filled her eyes.
“We don’t need an answer yet. Just think about it.”
She nodded and then studied her hands. “What about the drug trafficking? Aren’t you going to arrest me? I honestly didn’t know what the packages were. I mean, I had my suspicions, but he didn’t give me any choice.”
Even to her, that sounded like a feeble excuse.
“We’ve had instructions to arrest you, yes. Right now, we’re going to treat it as helping with our inquiries. We’ll interview you and you co-operate and it’ll make things easier in the long run. You skip town, however, and you’ll be hauled in faster than you can count to three and remanded in custody.”
Her head shot up to look at him.
“But given the situation, we’ll hold off on arresting you until Abbie is out of intensive care. But no longer.”
She swallowed hard. Knowing it was coming didn’t make it any easier. She felt sick, her hands shaking. There would never be an end to this.
28
Patrick ran around the track, endless circles with no end in sight. Wind and rain fought against him as he tried to reach the finish line. The old adage just when I can make ends meet, someone moves the ends ran through his mind as the finish line seemed ever further and further away. His feet pounded the track, squelching in the puddles, rain seeping into his clothes.
A scream echoed and he tripped over a root. He lay there, unable to get up. Water began to rise aro
und him. He struggled to stay afloat. It hurt to breathe and he sank, drowning.
Voices echoed far above him. Hands reached out, but try as he might they were just out of range.
“He’s fighting the vent. Let’s take him off it.”
“It’s OK, Patrick. Just relax.”
He sank below the water, then suddenly he was above it, gasping for breath. Bright lights on the ceiling blinded him, machines surrounded him, beeping and hissing, and pain such as he’d never imagined stapled him, through his stomach, to the bed.
He tried to sit up. Alarms blared, pain sliced, and hands pushed him back down.
“Don’t try to move just yet.”
“Abbie…” he gasped.
“Abbie’s doing fine. You just need to lie still for me.” A mask settled over his face. “We’ll give you something for the pain.”
“Elle…” His voice sounded like it was coming from a long way off. His throat hurt.
“I’ll give her a call, just as soon as you’ve settled.”
Cold ran up his arm, making him gasp and shiver uncontrollably.
The darkness rose and rushed full pelt to meet him, wrapping him in its shadowy embrace. He fell headlong into it.
The next time he fought to open his eyes, bright sunlight filled the room.
“Hey, you’re awake.” The voice sounded tired, but washed over him like a breath of fresh air.
“Elle…” He reached for her hand, gasping in pain.
Her hand took his. “Don’t move. How are you doing?”
“Sore.” He didn’t want to worry her. “How’s Abbie?”
“Still critical. They’re not going to wake her for a while yet.”
“What day is it?”
She smiled. “Sunday morning. I’m about ready to leave for church. I have something for you.” She slid the scrunchie from her wrist onto his. “Your wedding scrunchie. They wouldn’t let you wear it until you came around and said something sensible.”
He struggled to focus on her face. There were two or three of her. Which one was really her? “I’m sorry…really tired again.”
“It’s OK, love. Sleep. I’ll be here again later.” Her lips pressed against his head, smoothing his way back into the darkness.