These Three Words

by Holly Jacobs

  I said, “I thought earlier that maybe the word waiting comes from the word weight. I thought I’d be crushed under the weight of my waiting.”

  She nodded, her hair undulating as she did. “Yes. I can feel her aching under the weight of it on every page. Now the tables are turned and I’m the one who’s waiting . . . aching under the weight of it all.”

  “This is not a normal conversation for two strangers.” I didn’t mean to say the words out loud, but I was pretty sure this woman realized it as well. I thought about Maude, James, and Harriet. “I think that everyone here who’s waiting has a common bond. It means none of us are strangers, even if we’ve never met before. I’m Addie.”

  “I’m Siobhan. Who are you waiting for?” she asked.

  I was getting better at answering this question. “My husband.”

  The designation came out with more assurance than it had earlier in the day.

  Gray was my husband. That wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

  “He had heart surgery today,” I added. “They kicked me out of ICU and told me to go home for the night, but I couldn’t.”

  “My . . . I don’t know what to call her. Mother isn’t right. I had a mother who loved me and raised me. A mother I adored. But birth mother seems too formal. Everyone else calls her Piper or Pip, but she’s more than that to me.” She shrugged.

  “Maybe giving her a name doesn’t matter. It’s hard to watch someone you love suffering.”

  “I’ve only just met her. How can I love her? How can I love any of them?” she asked.

  I thought of that moment I found out I was pregnant. In that instant, I was in love. “Sometimes love comes quickly, sometimes more slowly. Real love comes in its own time.”

  Siobhan nodded. “She always loved me. It’s on every page. Every single one of them. She built a life around me and loved me. Every day of my life, she loved me so much. How could I not have felt it? Even not knowing her, how can someone be loved that much and not be aware of it?”

  I thought of Gray and answered, “I don’t know. You’re right, it seems as if that kind of love should be palpable. And maybe if someone loves you that much, it’s hard not to love them in return.”

  A man came into the chapel. “Siobhan?”

  “Logan, is she okay?” my new friend asked.

  “She’s fine.”

  Siobhan stood up, clutching the worn leather book to her chest. “I hope your husband’s okay.”

  I took her hand and squeezed it. “I hope she is as well.” I didn’t refer to the woman in question as Siobhan’s mother, or her birth mother. She had to make her own decision about what their relationship was.

  She noticed and smiled her thanks, then rushed out of the chapel with the man.

  Siobhan had clutched the book and I realized I was holding the envelope just as tightly. I couldn’t read it and find comfort in the pages, as she’d been doing. These pages were filled with regret that love sometimes wasn’t enough.

  Once, I’d thought it would be.

  And yet, I’d so blithely assured Siobhan that love came in its own time. And that maybe when someone loved you that much, it was palpable. Her birth mother had filled a notebook with words, describing her love.

  Gray would never have the words for something like that.

  He’d told me as much once.

  I knew exactly what day it was.

  We’d just officially bought the house. The closing was right before the end of the business day, so we couldn’t move in that day, but Gray—being Gray—was prepared.

  He’d bought an air mattress, and Peggy had packed another picnic. Keys in hand, we’d let ourselves into the house. We’d toured it again, and I’d talked about my plans for each room while Gray listened and nodded. He’d built a fire and we had our dinner in front of the fire.

  And then . . .

  Memories of the first time we’d made love in that house threatened to overwhelm me. And I realized that while I loved the house on Willow Lane, and even the house on Ferncliff, the only place I’d ever felt truly at home was in Gray’s arms.

  Afterward, on that air mattress in front of the fireplace . . .

  “I’m so utterly content right now,” I murmured as I slid a millimeter closer to him. I wanted to obliterate any separation. I wanted to hold on to him—to this moment—forever. “This is how we should spend the rest of our lives.”

  Gray grinned at my words and I didn’t need him to say anything to know that he was teasing me. In his head, he was being literal, thinking we should be naked in front of the fireplace for the rest of our lives.

  As if to confirm I was right, he quirked an eyebrow, inviting me to stay this way a bit longer.

  Someone else might miss that he was teasing, but I recognized the signs.

  I shoved him. “Be serious.”

  “I am” was all he’d said as he brushed some imaginary hair back from my cheek. And he’d pulled me back into his arms. “I’ll never be able to put things into words as easily as you, but Addie, I’m . . .”

  He paused.

  I waited.

  I knew he wouldn’t spout an epic poem to describe how he felt, but I didn’t need epic.

  “. . . happy,” he’d finally finished.

  I snuggled even closer. No epic poem had ever put it so sweetly. I tried to imprint that moment in my memory, knowing that I never wanted to forget it.

  Even though I’d tried to hold on to that moment, I’d forgotten.

  Until now. Until it could be too late.

  How had I forgotten all the moments I’d remembered so freely today? How had I let one horrible moment obscure them?

  I thought about that same man a few floors away from me.

  I wondered what else I’d forgotten.

  Chapter Eight

  After Siobhan left, no one else came into the chapel. After a day spent with people, all of them suffering under the weight of their waiting, the quiet solitude was a balm.

  There was no hum of machines. No nurses popping in and bustling about. No doctors looking serious.

  I couldn’t hear call bells or PA announcements.

  I’d spent the day delving into the past, remembering what Gray and I once had. Though I could remember those moments clearly again now, I wasn’t sure we could ever get back to that easier, happier point in our relationship. There was no going back.

  And it was hard to look to the future with his life still hanging by a thread.

  For a long time, I sat in silence, simply trying to live in the here and now.

  Here and now, Gray was alive and recuperating a few floors away.

  Here and now, the divorce papers were still in my hand, unsigned.

  So here and now, I was still his wife.

  But keeping myself in the here and now was difficult. Try as I might, the past kept tumbling into my thoughts, intermingling with fears of the future.

  I’d spent the last eight months unable to look backward and hating to look forward.

  Live in the now. I’d heard that advice or variations of it for years, but how can you live in the present without the certainty of the past and the possibility of the future?

  It felt as if I’d spent the past months at Ferncliff in limbo.

  In the quiet chapel, I worked to sit silently in the present.

  I was here.

  Gray was still here.

  I started to shove the envelope back in my purse, but it seemed like too much effort so I let it fall to my lap.

  For just a moment, I let the past and present take care of themselves, and I stilled. I settled into that one moment and found my respite. Slowly, even the muted sounds of the hospital faded. There was just that moment. One breath after another.

  No past pulling at me. No present intruding.

  I was
here. Gray was just a few floors up.

  I was his wife.

  He was my husband.

  I’m not sure how long I sat in the quiet chapel, pushing all thoughts and worries aside. Having them creep back in, then pushing them away again.

  It became a rhythm like my breathing.

  In and out.

  Out and in.

  I lost track of time. I’d almost forgotten about the world that bustled along beyond this room’s walls.

  But the respite couldn’t last.

  “You’ve been here a long time,” a male voice said quietly from behind me.

  He hadn’t been quiet enough not to make me jump.

  He looked apologetic. “I don’t want to interrupt your prayers, but I wondered if I could sit with you?”

  He was a young man in well-worn jeans and an Erie Otters T-shirt.

  “I’m not praying,” I admitted. “I’ve always thought it seemed disingenuous to ignore God until the moment that you needed him, then show up, hat in hand, on his doorstep, begging for favors.”

  “I’m Mark, the chaplain here,” he said. “Though I guess tonight, I’m more of a visitor.”

  He didn’t look old enough to be a chaplain, but I didn’t say that. I simply asked, “What time is it?”

  “After ten.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. “Ten thirty-one, to be precise.”

  “You were right. I’ve been here a long time.” I’d been at the hospital for less than a day. It seemed like more.

  So much more.

  “You’re at the hospital for a relative?” he asked.

  “My husband,” I said. The envelope that would have changed that sat heavily on my lap, but I didn’t let it change my answer. “I’m here for my husband.”

  “Sometimes sharing your worries eases your burdens,” he said as an invitation to speak. “We can say a lot in our silences, but with people there always comes a time for the silence to end. There comes a time when the words need to be said. If it’s that time for you, I’m here.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at his words. I’d never minded Gray’s quiet nature. Ash was right; Gray didn’t say much, but when he did say something, everyone paid attention.

  I’d always felt I could hear the words he didn’t say. And he always said I talked enough for both of us. Remembering that made me smile.

  But remembering the time I needed him to say something, and the words he’d said . . .

  I shook my head.

  Maybe. It’s. For. The. Best.

  The words seemed heavier than ever.

  Those words had haunted me ever since.

  I pushed that memory aside and held out my hand. “Hi, Mark. I’m Addie.”

  “And you’re here with your husband?”

  I nodded and gave the envelope a twist. Then I shook my head. “Yes, my husband now, but when he collapsed I was going to put a formal end to our marriage,” I finally said.

  He didn’t need to ask his questions; they were all right there in that one slightly raised eyebrow.

  I slid the envelope to Mark. “I went to see him today to give him these.”

  He cocked his head, asking permission to look inside the envelope. I nodded. He saw what the papers were and put the flap back in place, then handed me back the envelope.

  “And yet, you’re still here?” he said.

  “They’re strict on visiting hours in ICU. I understand their policy, but I can’t leave. I don’t know where to go,” I admitted and immediately felt embarrassed by the confession.

  “Do you live together?”

  “I left him . . .” Normally I’d say a year ago, because knowing the real answer seemed pathetic. But I didn’t think Mark would judge me. “Eight months ago.”

  I remembered what Ash had said about Gray and did the math, then corrected myself. “Eight months and thirteen days ago.”

  “Because you fell out of love with him?”

  Someone asking me such personal, pointed questions would normally make my hackles rise, but Mark wasn’t pushy. It didn’t feel as if he was asking to be nosy, but rather because he really wanted to hear my answer.

  I didn’t need to think about it. I shook my head. “No. Not that.”

  “Because he fell out of love with you?” he asked.

  Again, I shook my head. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

  “I’m at a loss then.” And that’s exactly how he looked . . . as if he couldn’t fathom why I’d leave a relationship with someone I still loved.

  “Maybe that’s just it. We were both lost and neither of us knew what to say in order to find our way back to the way we used to be.”

  “Sometimes words can’t really convey our true meaning. Sometimes the words we don’t say are the ones that matter the most,” Mark reiterated. “I think it’s kind of like that with praying. It’s not disingenuous to say here I am. Just those three words.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “It’s not the words that matter, it’s the intention behind them. The feelings, even. Three words—here I am. Those and three other words are the ones that matter the most, I think.”

  “What are the other three?” I found myself asking.

  “I love you.”

  I studied this kid and said, “You’re an odd minister.”

  Mark laughed at that. “I’m a hockey fan, a farmer, and . . . yes, an odd minister. That’s a big compliment. Thank you.”

  I laughed as well. It was rusty and small, but it was there. “You’re welcome.”

  “You’re planning to spend the night in here?”

  I nodded. “I could go back to our house, or to the house I’ve been living in, but I can’t be that far away from him. I spent almost a year—”

  “Eight months and thirteen days,” he filled in.

  I nodded. “I thought I could spend the rest of my life that far away from him, but I was wrong. So I’ll just wait here until visiting hours in the morning.”

  “You know, I don’t have a lot of clout anywhere, but I think I have enough here that I can help you out. Hang on.”

  He left me again.

  I’d never thought about it before, but now that I did, I thought he was right.

  I simply had to trust and say, “Here I am.”

  And maybe, “Thank you.”

  That was it. Whatever happened, I could give thanks. Thanks for all the love I had for Gray, because no matter what had happened, that love was still there. Maybe I’d thought it was gone. But it wasn’t. I’d only misplaced it . . . pushed it aside and let my pain and my anger obscure it.

  Here I am and I love you. According to Mark, those words mattered most.

  I looked at the envelope in my hand. The papers in it were full of words, but maybe none of them really came to much in the end.

  “Come with me,” Mark said. He led me back to the fourth floor and to Gray’s room. “This is Alice” was his introduction of a tiny, brown-haired nurse.

  “I would have been here to meet you before you left, but we had a bit of a crisis at home,” she said.

  “Everything okay?” Mark asked, looking concerned.

  “Fine.” She looked at me. “The kids do keep life interesting.”

  Mark didn’t look completely convinced, but he said, “Alice is the night nurse. And she’s got this horrible vision problem, which probably explains why she can’t see you when you sit very still in your husband’s room.”

  She smiled again. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but I can’t see you at all. Probably because I left a pillow and blanket on the chair, and you’re going to cover up, close your eyes, and get some sleep. So, I won’t notice you until right before shift change, when I’ll finally see you and wake you. Then you can go grab some breakfast before the offic
ial visiting hours start.”

  I looked at the two of them. “Thank you,” I said.

  Maude, James, Harriet, Siobhan, and now Mark and Alice. My day had been touched by so many people, and since I couldn’t thank the rest of them, I settled for repeating “Thank you” to Mark and Alice.

  She nodded. “I took a look at your husband’s chart. He does better when you’re here.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “According to the numbers, after visiting hours, his blood pressure was elevated, along with his heart rate. I’m sure the daytime nurses have explained that this isn’t really a coma. The doctors are giving him drugs that keep him sedated until we get his blood pressure under control. But he can hear you. He can sense you. And when you’re nearby, he’s calmer. That’s good for his recovery.”

  Gray knew I was here.

  There was a comfort in that knowledge.

  Alice was right, the other nurses had said as much, but I thought it was just something they said to patients’ families.

  “All those things you’ve wanted to say to him . . . now is your chance,” Mark said. “So get some sleep and think about what you want to tell your husband.”

  I looked at this young man who possessed a very old soul. “Thank you. I’m not sure why you were at the chapel so late, but I’m glad you were.”

  “My father . . .” he started then stopped.

  “He’s a patient?”

  Mark nodded. “I thought that maybe being sick would soften him, but it didn’t.”

  “According to a new friend, there are two sets of words that really matter. Here I am and I love you.”

  “I hate it when my sage advice comes back to bite me,” he said now with vehemence. He turned to leave. “Would it be okay if I stopped in to check on you and your husband?”

  “I would really welcome that.”

  Mark left, and I could hear him having a whispered conversation with Alice outside Gray’s room.

  I put the envelope and my purse down, slid the chair right next to Gray’s bed, and reached out and took his hand.

  “I still don’t know what to say to you, but here I am,” I told him as I stroked his palm with my forefinger. “I’m not going anywhere, so you just sleep. I’ll stay here with you.”