Covet

by Tracey Garvis Graves

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “I went upstairs to check on you. You were lying on your side, not moving. You’d thrown up on the floor and Tucker was barking, like he knew something was wrong. I tried to rouse you but you were so out of it I called 911.”

  “How long have I been here?” I ask.

  “Two days,” Chris says. He’s still standing over my bed, looking down at me. Finally he sits, scooting his chair close to me.

  “What’s the last thing you remember, honey?” my mom asks.

  The question frustrates me because no matter how hard I try, I can’t answer it. “I don’t know, Mom.” I look around the room. “Where are the kids?”

  “They’re with your dad,” my mom says. “He took them to the cafeteria.”

  This five-minute conversation has exhausted me. “I’m so tired,” I say.

  “Just get some rest,” Chris says. “Don’t worry about anything else.”

  My eyes are heavy and I fight the sleep, but the voices sound farther and farther away and I drift off.

  I don’t know what time it is when I wake up again, but the inky black darkness I see outside the small window on the other side of the room tells me that it’s nighttime.

  Chris is asleep, slumped in a chair that’s pushed as close to my bed as the railing will allow. He stirs when I say his name and then leans over me, brushing the hair back from my face. “I’m here,” he says.

  I reach for his hand and squeeze, my grip so weak he probably can’t feel it. But he must because he squeezes back and doesn’t let go of my hand.

  “I’m so wiped out,” I say.

  “The doctor said you will be, for a while.”

  “What day is it?” Maybe he told me already, but I can’t remember.

  “Saturday.” He glances at his watch. “Well, technically it’s now Sunday.”

  I have no memory of anything that happened after Chris got home on Thursday. It doesn’t help that no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to hold back the tears. They spill from my eyes and run down my cheeks. I’m so tired of being out of control emotionally. Physically now, too.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “My sugars were high. I should have known what was happening. I just thought it was taking me longer to shake the flu. I should have called my mom or said something to you when you came home. I should have been more aware. It’s my responsibility to manage my disease.”

  “You walk a tightrope, Claire. You told me that a long time ago. You just need someone there to catch you when you fall.”

  A nurse comes in to take my vital signs. “Your condition is definitely improving. Are you feeling a little better?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “Just tired.”

  “Everything looks good. The doctor will probably talk to you about being discharged when he does his rounds in the morning.”

  “Okay.”

  After she leaves Chris tucks the covers around me. “Are you warm enough? Do you need anything?”

  I try to answer him, but I fall back asleep before the words can come out.

  • • •

  In the morning, the doctor says I can go home tomorrow. He wants to keep me one more day, to make sure that my blood sugar remains stable. “We’ll transition you back to your pump today,” he says. “You can try some solid food and we’ll see how you do.”

  Later that day, they let my parents bring the kids in for a short visit. “Go get something to eat,” I tell Chris. He’s been by my side since I was admitted, and he definitely needs a break.

  I’m grateful that the IVs have been removed and that there is nothing particularly frightening for Josh and Jordan to see. They rush toward my bed and I embrace them. I can’t hold back the tears when I think about how scared they must have been when the ambulance took me away.

  “Why are you crying, Mommy?” Jordan asks.

  “Because I’ve missed you guys. I can’t wait to come home.”

  “When are you getting out of here?”

  I wipe my eyes and smile at her. “Daddy’s going to bring me home tomorrow.”

  “Yay,” she says. She tucks her gray kitty in next to me, then glances at it longingly, as if she might change her mind. Deciding I can keep it, she takes a few steps back so Josh can move in closer.

  “Hey, buddy.”

  “Hi, Mom.” He leans down and gives me a kiss. “There was a policeman at the house. When the ambulance came. It wasn’t Officer Rush, though. I don’t know who it was. He stayed until Elisa came to get us.”

  Daniel. Oh, God. He must be absolutely frantic. I calm myself with the knowledge that he would do whatever it took to figure out what happened to me. I know he would.

  “Good. I’m glad he was there to help. Everyone did exactly what they were supposed to do to make sure I got the care I needed. Be good for Grandma and Grandpa, okay? I’ll be home before you know it.”

  “We will,” they say.

  “I brought you some things from home,” my mom says. She sets down a large tote bag near the bed. “There are clean clothes and your toiletries. I put your slippers and a few other things in there, too.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  My parents leave with the kids and Chris comes back from the cafeteria. “You just missed everyone,” I say.

  “I saw them in the hallway.”

  “Did you eat?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I had a sandwich. It was actually pretty good.”

  “You were probably just really hungry.”

  The nurse comes in and I ask her if I can take a shower, now that I’m not attached to the various drips.

  “Sure, honey,” she says. “That will feel good.”

  Chris helps me out of bed and catches me around the waist when my knees buckle. I lean on him and take deep breaths until I’m steady. In the bathroom, I brush my teeth while Chris shuts the door and turns on the shower, waiting for the water to run warm. When I’m done brushing he strips off my hospital gown as if I’m a child. I shiver but the steam that has filled the room warms my bare skin. The walk to the bathroom and the exhausting prospect of standing long enough to wash my hair and body overwhelms me before I’ve even begun, and when I step into the shower I stand motionless under the spray, my limbs as useless as spaghetti. There’s a built-in bench, so I sit down. Just for a minute.

  “Claire?” Chris pulls back the curtain to check on me. “Are you okay?”

  I’m pathetically incapable of attending to this most basic task. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to stand back up. “Yes. I’m just resting for a minute.”

  I watch as Chris takes off his clothes and steps into the shower. He squirts the shampoo into his hand and when he massages my scalp I almost fall asleep. The hospital-issue washcloth is rough but the soap and water on my skin feel wonderful. He washes and rinses me and then washes himself while I remain on the bench, my head tilted to the side and resting on the shower wall.

  “Stay here,” he says. When he’s dressed again he pulls back the curtain and shuts off the water. He pats my hair and skin gently with a towel and wraps my pink bathrobe around me. “I have your slippers. Step into them.”

  Chris tucks me back into bed and pulls the covers up. I’ve done my best to take care of everything at home while he’s been on the road all these months, but I can’t even shower without assistance and I’m going to need his help. For the last month, he’s been flying out on Sunday evenings. I don’t want him to go.

  “You’re not leaving tonight, are you?”

  “No.” I hear so many things in his voice: surprise, pain, sorrow. “I already told them I’d be out all week.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes.” He clenches the sheets in his fists. “You asked me once, ‘what is the worst thing that could happen?’ And it isn’t being unemployed. Or
having to sell the house. Or the cars. Or any of those things. I thought it was, but it’s not. The worst thing that could happen to me is if something happened to you. Nothing matters but you and the kids.”

  “Do you still love me?” I ask suddenly.

  “Of course I do.” He looks confused and hurt, as if my words have cut him to the bone. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

  “Because you haven’t said it in a long time. And sometimes I still need to hear it to know that it’s true.”

  “I love you, Claire. I always will.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He brings my hand to his lips, kisses the back of it, and holds it close to his cheek. He lowers the railing on the bed, and I pull him closer.

  I stroke his damp hair, knowing that Chris is the one who needs reassuring now.

  53

  chris

  Claire has fallen asleep again and she doesn’t wake up when the doctor walks into the room fifteen minutes later. He shakes my hand and keeps his voice low.

  “Your wife is doing great,” he says, flipping through her chart. “Blood glucose looks good, there’s been no recurrence of ketosis, and she’s done fine with the switch back to her pump. She can go home tomorrow.”

  “Great,” I say. “That’s wonderful to hear.”

  “I’ll be back in the morning to go over some discharge instructions,” he says before he leaves the room.

  “Okay.”

  This report is a vast improvement compared to what they told me shortly after Claire and I arrived at the emergency room. She was barely conscious and they said if I hadn’t found her when I did, the outcome could have been tragic.

  She asked me if I was going to leave. I could see it on her face, the fear that I might actually get on a plane tonight like I have for the last month. Despite the fact that we were having this conversation while she was lying in a hospital bed.

  What the hell kind of husband would leave his wife alone after something like this?

  She thought you might, Chris.

  And if that didn’t drive home just how badly I need to make some changes, then I don’t know what would. The image of her lying on the bathroom floor and thinking about what might have happened if I hadn’t been home sends me over the edge.

  I walk into the bathroom, shut the door, lean my head back against it, and cry.

  54

  daniel

  Claire didn’t respond to any of my texts, and all my calls went straight to voice mail. Fearing the worst, I made myself wait twenty-four hours and then I started calling the hospitals. I got lucky on the first try when the woman who answered the phone at Shawnee Mission Medical Center confirmed that there was a person admitted the day before by the name of Claire Canton. They couldn’t tell me anything other than she was a patient, but I still felt relieved. The obvious reason for her dropping off the radar like that was her diabetes, but if she’s under medical care, then at least I’m no longer thinking the worst.

  That was two days ago. Now I’m waiting for her to call me. I know she will as soon as she’s able. Part of me wanted to go down there, find out her room number, and see for myself that she was okay. But I couldn’t do that to her because as far as I know, her husband still doesn’t know about me.

  And I sure as hell don’t think he’d understand why I was there.

  55

  claire

  I wake up the next morning when a nurse comes in to take my vital signs. Chris is still asleep, slumped over in the chair. My mom walks in a few minutes later and my spirits lift instantly.

  “Hi,” I say. I keep my voice low so I don’t wake Chris. “What time is it?” For some inexplicable reason, my room does not have a clock. I’ve lost all sense of time, especially since I can’t remember parts of my stay here, and I sleep in frequent, random intervals.

  “A little after eight,” she says, bending down to give me a kiss. “Your dad will be here with the kids in about an hour. He’s taking them to breakfast at McDonald’s. Did the doctor say what time he’d be discharging you today?”

  “Chris talked to him last night, while I was taking one of my many naps. I should be able to go home around noon.”

  Chris wakes up when he hears us talking, stretching his legs out in front of him. He rises from the chair and approaches the bed. Resting one hand on the rail, he bends down and gives me a quick peck on the mouth. I like the kissing. It reminds me of before: before Chris lost his job, before I lost Chris. He used to kiss me all the time.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks.

  “Good. I’m ready to get out of here.”

  “I’m going to run home and take a quick shower. I’ll be back to get you.”

  “Okay.”

  Chris returns an hour later, in time to listen as the doctor goes over my discharge instructions. When he tells me I’m free to go we start to gather my things.

  “I brought your phone,” Chris says, handing it to me. “The battery was dead, so I plugged it in while I was in the shower. Looks like you’ve got enough of a charge to check your messages. I’m sure you have some.”

  My stomach drops and my heart starts pounding as I pocket the phone, wondering whether Chris looked at the text history or the call log. He wouldn’t normally, but maybe he did this time because of the circumstances. He doesn’t seem angry or upset, though; he’s acting quite calm. Because he was gone so often I never really worried about Chris seeing a message from Daniel, and therefore, I never really had to face just how duplicitous it was. I realize I wouldn’t feel the way I’m feeling right now, wouldn’t feel the guilt and shame, if Chris knew about my friendship with Daniel. If I’d told Chris about him instead of hiding everything. “Thanks,” I say.

  He smiles at me and we ride the elevator down to the lobby.

  “Stay here,” he says, pointing to a bench near the door. “I’m going to bring the car around.”

  “Okay.” I watch him walk away and then I pull my phone out of my pocket. After I punch in the code I listen. The first five voice mails are from Daniel. His voice sounds progressively more panicked as I listen to, and delete, each one. The last one says he’s called the hospitals and knows I’m alive. “I’m really scared, Claire.”

  There are also seven missed calls and six texts from him. I tap out a quick reply. I’m okay. I’m so sorry you were worried.

  He responds immediately. Are you home?

  Not yet. I’m about to leave the hospital. I’ll call when I can.

  I’ll be waiting. Take care of yourself.

  I won’t be able to see Daniel anymore, and I’ve known this since he told me he wished I was his. You can’t go back to simply being friends after a declaration like that. And if my precarious mortality was the wake-up call Chris needed, the things he told me in response were mine. It will take both of us working together to repair this relationship.

  Maybe I should come clean about my friendship with Daniel. Get it out in the open. Accept whatever ramifications come my way. But I know Chris will not understand my friendship with Daniel. Neither would I if he told me there was a woman he kept in nearly constant contact with. A woman he laughed with. A woman whose words brightened his day. A woman he told his secrets to. A woman who knew of his heartache. Would he believe me if I tell him that Daniel was just a friend?

  I may have never physically cheated on Chris with Daniel, but I wanted to and that’s almost as bad. What’s worse is that I gave Daniel the things I should be giving only to my husband, whether he was giving them back to me at the time or not: my emotions, my attention, my adoration, my desire. I have to be one hundred percent present in this marriage, and I can’t be if I’m sharing my time with Daniel. If I’m sharing anything with him at all.

  Chris pulls up in front of the hospital and walks in to get me. He picks up my tote bag and puts his arm around my shoulders. Smiling down at
me, he says, “Ready?”

  I smile back. “Ready.”

  56

  claire

  Chris spends the next week by my side. He works but he does it while he’s sitting next to me on the couch, my feet in his lap. He closes the laptop while we watch a movie. He talks to me, hugs me, kisses me. He sleeps with me in his arms.

  Daniel hasn’t texted. He must know that the reason I’m not calling is because I’m not alone. The space he gives me, the demands he doesn’t make, make me feel even worse for what I’m going to do.

  I wish everything could remain status quo, but it can’t.

  It isn’t fair to Daniel.

  It isn’t fair to Chris.

  And I should have never let it go on so long.

  Finally, when Chris has gone back out on the road and the house is empty, I pick up my phone and call him. “Hi,” I say when he answers.

  “Hi.” Even over the phone, I know he is smiling. I can hear it in his voice. “How are you?”

  “I’m much better,” I say.

  “I’m so glad.”

  “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “What days are you off this week?”

  “Thursday and Friday.”

  “Can I come on Thursday?”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay.”

  “I feel like you’re coming to tell me good-bye,” he says.

  It’s hard for me to get the word out. “Yes.”

  “Then let’s make this last day count. Can you do that?”

  The tears start falling. “Of course. I can do that.”

  On Thursday I slide behind the wheel of my car and back out of the garage. The sun is shining brightly but the air still feels brisk. When I first met Daniel it was summertime. We haven’t come full circle yet, but warmer weather is on the horizon.

  Every other time I’ve driven to Daniel’s it seemed as if it took forever, but today’s drive is over in no time at all, and soon I’m pulling into his driveway. My heart feels as heavy as my footsteps when I park the car and walk up the steps. He waits in the open doorway, watching as I approach. He’s smiling, but it’s a subdued smile.