These Three Words

by Holly Jacobs

  “I remember looking back at the house when I left that last time.”

  I’d kissed him good-bye and walked out of the house. I remember taking one last look back at the place I had thought I’d live forever with the man I loved. I’d pictured starting a family there and building a lifetime of memories.

  “I remember looking back at the house and thinking it was time to build my memories somewhere else. I was wrong. You were and are a part of every memory. More than that, I want you to be part of my future—my future memories.”

  The anger was gone. And while I’d never get over losing my child, I could pick myself up and move on.

  “I’m so sorry, Gray. I gave up and left. I was so hurt and I felt like you left me, but you hadn’t.” I held the sonogram photo now instead of the divorce papers.

  I brushed the image of our son, set it down, and picked up the picture of me and Gray. “We were so happy.”

  We’d been full of such hopes and dreams.

  “I’m sorry I walked away. I should have stayed and fought. I could try to excuse myself by saying I was destroyed and didn’t have the wherewithal, but it would be just that, an excuse.”

  I knew that under all my anger and excuses, there was one ugly reason why I’d left. “I needed someone to blame and I blamed you. I knew you didn’t want a baby right then and it was easy to blame you for his loss. That wasn’t fair. I’m sorry, Gray.”

  I held the picture close.

  I let go of the pain of Timothy. I’d always miss the child I’d dreamed he’d be, but I could let go of the unremitting pain.

  “But I won’t let go of you—of us. I’ve proven I can live without you, but since we’ve been here, I’ve realized that my life is only a half life without you in it. I could manage, but I want more than just managing. I want you. I need you, Gray. I’m sorry, and I hope when you wake up, you’ll give us another try.”

  He looked so calm and peaceful. I no longer saw the wires and tubes. I just saw Gray, the man I loved.

  The man I’d always loved, even if I’d forgotten for a time.

  “Come back to me,” I whispered. “Please come back to me.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I woke with a start. For a moment, I was confused, but suddenly the last few days came rushing back. I opened my eyes and saw Alice bustling around in the room.

  “Sorry,” she said when she saw I was awake. “I’ll be leaving soon and wanted to do one more check before the next shift arrives.”

  “It’s no problem.” I sat up slowly. Somehow I’d held on to the picture as I slept. I set it on the stand, next to the envelope, and stretched. I was stiff from sleeping in an awkward position. There was enough light out to let me know I’d slept most of the night.

  “You were exhausted,” Alice said. “I’d say go home and grab a shower, but the doctor will be making rounds soon. You should stay for that. But I can find you some coffee if you’d like and put an order in for a breakfast.”

  I nodded. “Thank you. How does everything look?”

  She smiled. “Good. He’s stabilized nicely.”

  “So do you think they’ll wake him up today?” I asked.

  Alice never had a chance to answer. The doctor came in as I asked the question.

  She looked at Gray, looked at Gray’s chart, and then nodded to Alice.

  The doctor turned to me and said, “Your husband has responded nicely to treatment, so we’re going to wake him today.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, nervous again. Not nervous about what would happen to us, but nervous for him. What if they woke him up and that stent gave out? What if I lost him for good and never got to apologize? What if . . .

  “His blood pressure has stabilized,” she answered, as if that said everything. It didn’t. But she’d set her course and said, “Alice?”

  Alice started fiddling with Gray’s IV.

  “How does this work?” I asked, dividing my attention between the doctor and Alice.

  “We’ll simply stop the medication that’s been keeping him sedated. It’s fast acting, so he’ll wake up quickly. Once we’re sure he’s breathing on his own, we’ll take out his breathing tube. Recuperating from the surgery will take some time and there will be pain, but we can manage that. I’ll put him on morphine and he’ll have a PCA.” She must have seen my confusion and added, “A machine. He can administer the pain medication when he needs it. He’ll be groggy from it.”

  I couldn’t help but ask, “But he’s out of the woods?”

  The doctor smiled and nodded. “I’d say his prognosis is very good at this point. If he’s willing to make a few lifestyle changes, he should have a long, ordinary life.”

  I knew she was saying that he’d be able to live a fairly normal life. Some people might want to insist on extraordinary, but ordinary sounded just fine to me.

  Alice moved back and I stepped up and put my hand over Gray’s fingertips again as his eyelids fluttered.

  “Mr. Grayson, can you open your eyes?” the doctor asked.

  Slowly, he opened his eyes and blinked rapidly as if trying to clear something from them. He seemed confused.

  “I’m here, Gray,” I said.

  He looked at me and tried to talk.

  “Mr. Grayson,” the doctor said, “we’ve got a tube down your throat that’s been helping you breathe. If you give us a minute, we’ll see what we can do about removing it. Just be calm and try to breathe normally.” The doctor moved toward the head of his bed. “Alice?”

  Alice fiddled with a dial and both she and the doctor turned their attention to monitors. I simply watched Gray.

  “I’m so glad you’re back with me,” I whispered. “I have so much I need to say to you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”

  I let Alice and the doctor do their thing and kept focused on Gray. He seemed more alert. He moved his hand, disregarding the IV, and held mine tight.

  I’m not sure how long we sat like that. To see him, to have him alert and aware of me was all that mattered.

  Finally the doctor was satisfied with whatever she was seeing. She said, “We’re going to remove your breathing tube, Mr. Grayson. I need you to blow out, as if you’re blowing up a balloon.”

  He gripped my hand as she removed the tape that had held the tube in place, then she took it in hand and said, “Now, Mr. Grayson.”

  Within seconds the tube was out.

  Gray coughed hard and then winced.

  The doctor saw his expression and said, “You’re probably going to have a sore throat for a time. That’s perfectly normal.”

  Gray nodded.

  “Do you know where you are, Mr. Grayson?” the doctor asked.

  He looked around and then nodded. “The hospital.” His voice was raspy.

  “Yes,” she said, nodding and smiling as if he’d passed a test. “You had an aortic dissection type A. Basically a tear in your aorta. You had open-heart surgery and you’ve been sedated. Alice is going to start some medication that will help with the pain.”

  Gray nodded as the doctor continued to explain his condition, but his eyes were on me. He gripped my hand harder, as if afraid I’d disappear.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I assured him softly.

  The doctor seemed to be winding down. “. . . and you’ll have a few restrictions, Mr. Grayson. I don’t think you’ll be running any marathons, but you should go on to make a complete recovery and have a normal life.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  The doctor left the room and Alice started a new small bag of medication on the pole, next to Gray’s IV fluid. She ran the line for it through another machine and handed him a button. “If the pain gets to be too much, you can push this button and the machine will give you more medication.”

  “He can’t overdose?” I asked. The doctor had said
morphine and I knew that was a strong drug.

  Alice shook her head. “No, the machine is designed to prevent that.”

  She helped Gray move the head of the bed to a slightly elevated position. She checked and rechecked his vitals.

  She got him ice chips and promised something more substantial soon.

  I liked Alice, but neither of us paid much attention to her.

  Maybe she’d watched long enough, or maybe she sensed that Gray wanted to say something and wouldn’t in front of her. Either way, she finally said, “I think you’re fine, Mr. Grayson. I’ll be just out at my station.”

  “Thank you,” he said again.

  She left and still Gray didn’t say anything to me.

  “Can I get you something?” I finally asked.

  “You can come closer.” He spoke softly, as if anything more than a whisper hurt.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, right next to his head. I brushed my fingertips against his cheek and he leaned into them.

  “How long has it been?” he asked.

  “A couple of days. Your mom’s here. I sent her home for some rest overnight. She’ll be here soon, but I should let her know you’re awake. And Ash and JoAnn. I’ll text her first, then—”

  “In a minute,” he said. I nodded, understanding. I wasn’t ready to share him with anyone else yet. Not even Peggy.

  “Your mom moved heaven and earth to get back to Erie,” I told him.

  “Her cruise,” he said, remembering.

  “Yes. They told her it would be faster to stay on the boat, but she chartered a small plane to take her from the island to Florida, then she caught a commercial plane home. She spent money from the account you set up for her. She feels bad about that, but she was thankful to have it.”

  He shook his head and winced again. I wasn’t sure if his neck was as stiff as mine, or if his chest hurt. Either way, I said, “You can push the button, Gray.”

  “No. Not yet. I want to talk to you,” he said. In addition to the gravel in his voice, I heard worry.

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here, I promise. I’ll let everyone know you’re awake and try to get some sleep myself.” I threw that last bit in because I suspected thinking I needed some rest might be enough to prompt Gray to take the medicine.

  “You’ll be here when I wake up?” he asked.

  “I promise.”

  He nodded and pushed the button. I could see him visibly relax as the medication did its job and slowly his eyes closed. His grip on my hand loosened, but he didn’t let go.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and texted Peggy, then Ash and JoAnn.

  I must have dozed off as well because I awoke with a start to find Peggy standing by the bed.

  “He looks so much better,” she said.

  I looked at him and nodded. “He’s just sleeping now. He’s on heavy-duty pain medication, but he’s okay. You can come in and wait for him to wake up.”

  She shook her head. “He needs you now. He’s always needed you, Addie. Just keep me updated.” She hugged me.

  I hugged her back. Not just some social hug, but I unashamedly clung to her. I realized I was crying again.

  “Shh,” she said. “He’s okay.”

  “We almost lost him,” I said between my tears. “What if—”

  “No,” she interrupted. “We’re not going to play that game. The fact of the matter is, he’s here. My son is a stubborn man and he’s strong. He’ll do what needs to be done.”

  I nodded and wiped my eyes. “You’re right.”

  “Keep me posted,” she said. She kissed his forehead and left.

  I alternated between standing and staring out the window, and sitting and staring at Gray.

  The nurse brought me food, but I moved it around more than ate it.

  Gray finally stirred again and I pushed the tray aside, practically untouched. “Addie?” he called.

  “I’m here. I didn’t leave,” I said.

  He winced again and I knew he was in pain.

  “Take some more pain medicine, Gray. Your mom was here. She’ll be back. And I talked to Ash and JoAnn. Jo says as soon as you’re able, she’ll visit. And if you protest, I’m supposed to remind you that as a friend you should say yes so she can leave the kids with Harmon and have a few minutes to herself.”

  I smiled. “I’m supposed to assure you that her visit is more about her than you.”

  Despite his discomfort, he smiled. “Her kids . . .”

  I knew what he was thinking and asking. “It’s all good. Snuggling with Joey helped me. There’s no snuggling Wills anymore. He’s too big for that.”

  “We need to talk,” Gray managed.

  “Later. Get some more rest. I’m not going anywhere. We have a lot to talk about, but all you need to know right now is I’m sorry and I love you.”

  “Love you, too,” he said.

  He grimaced, so I knew the pain was getting worse. “Push the button, Gray.”

  He finally did, and I watched as his expression eased and he fell back to sleep.

  That became our rhythm for the rest of the day. He’d wake up, we’d talk about inconsequential things, the pain would increase, and he’d go back to sleep. Slowly we added layers onto the routine.

  Ice chips.

  Then sips of water.

  By that evening, he had some broth.

  I didn’t pick up the poor envelope. I left it on the stand, next to the picture, the sonogram, and swan.

  As he slept, I alternated between looking at the items on the nightstand, and looking at him.

  Every time his chest rose, then fell, I felt it was a victory.

  Every time he stirred, or coughed, we were closer to recovery.

  Every moment that went by, I treasured.

  Each time he woke up he was a little more alert and stayed awake a little longer before he pressed the button for more pain medication.

  When he was ready, I had so much I wanted to tell him.

  There was so much he needed to know.

  And all of it could be said succinctly in just three words.

  I love you.

  And maybe the three words that Mark said mattered, too. Here I am. I leaned close to Gray, who was sleeping again, and I whispered both. “Here I am. I love you.”

  I thought I saw him smile.

  The next morning I woke with a start. I sat up and caught my hand in the bed’s railing. I swore softly as I shook it. I’m not sure why I thought shaking it would help . . . it didn’t. So I simply rubbed it with my other hand.

  Then I realized that Gray was looking at me. “Have you been here the whole time?”

  I studied him. He wasn’t sitting straight up, but he was definitely more vertical than horizontal. His brown eyes looked sharp and clear. He still looked drawn, but he looked more like himself.

  He stared at me expectantly and I realized he’d asked a question. “Yes, I’ve been here. Except for a couple of trips home for showers and changes of clothes.”

  He didn’t say anything; he simply reached for the hand I’d banged. He held it with one hand, and stroked the area above my wrist with the other, as if he sensed just where it hurt.

  Gradually his movements slowed, then stopped altogether. I realized he’d fallen back to sleep.

  He looked peaceful.

  Gray had always been many things. Peaceful wasn’t one of them.

  He was driven. Ambitious. Loyal. And loving.

  He squeezed my hand, as if to be sure it was still present. He opened his eyes again.

  “I’m here,” I said softly. “Gray, I want you to know that I’m sorry, I—”

  He interrupted my apology. “I love you. When I collapsed, all I could think about was that I hadn’t said those words enough. I love you, Addie. I should
have told you a lot of things, but I should have said those words the most. I should have told you every day.”

  I thought about the divorce papers. How had I thought I could go through with it? “I love you, too. I always have.”

  He turned toward me and winced.

  “Gray, this all can wait until later.” I didn’t want to stress him. “I’m here, I love you, and I’m sorry for everything. The rest is all beside the point.”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s not. The rest of it matters. I heard you. Well, bits of things. Maybe some of it was a dream. But I think some of it was real. I heard Mom tell you . . .” His voice broke and he paused a moment.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “You don’t need to now.”

  After months of wanting nothing more than for him to open up and share with me, it was just enough that he was here. He was awake.

  I’d blamed him, but I knew in my heart that I’d made him my whipping boy. “I’m sorry,” I said again. “We don’t need to say any more than that.”

  He shook his head. “I heard Mom tell you about after the baby. Addie, I should have told you. I wanted him more than you’ll ever know. I should have said that. I should have cried with you. I didn’t realize . . .” He sighed. “I wanted to be strong for you.”

  “I know that now, Gray. For a long time, I blamed everything on you. I think I needed someone to blame, and you’ve always been so close to me. It made you an easy target. But sitting here, I realized that we were both lost and hurting. And rather than reaching for each other, we both pulled away.”

  I felt the need to be honest, to say the words. I’d realized something without even realizing I was realizing it. “When I tried to book that one last trip for us, I think I knew you’d say no. It gave me an excuse. I said you pulled away and wouldn’t talk to me. I stoked my anger at you. Don’t you see? All this wasn’t you pulling away or saying the wrong thing. It wasn’t the honeymoon we didn’t take. It was me. I did this. I was broken and you couldn’t put me back together. I blamed you for that. And being angry with you was so much easier than being angry with myself. This was my fault. And I’m sorry for that.”