The Perfect Life

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  An accident. A broken leg. “Busted up.”

  I grabbed my purse and raced to my car. I forgot about my bedraggled appearance—untidy hair and jeans with knees that were dirt and grass stained—until I was halfway to the hospital. By then it was too late to turn back.

  I parked in the ER lot and rushed in through the large automatic doors, my heart pumping. The clerk behind the admitting desk looked at me with a practiced gaze that said she’d seen countless people come through those doors in similar states of dishevelment, fear, and confusion.

  “I’m looking for my husband, Brad Clarkson. He . . . he was in an accident and they were bringing him here. Has he arrived? Is he all right?”

  “Why don’t you sit down while I check?” She motioned toward the chair beside her desk. “What did you say his name is?”

  “Brad Clarkson.”

  “Was it an automobile accident?”

  “No. He was at work.” I turned anxious eyes toward the doors leading into the emergency room area.

  “Was he brought in by ambulance?”

  I nodded, then shook my head. “I don’t know. The man who called didn’t say. I assumed . . .”

  “It’s okay. Just sit tight. He isn’t showing on my screen yet, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t here. I’ll go check and let you know.”

  I couldn’t obey her instructions to sit tight. The instant she disappeared into a neighboring room, I got up and began to pace, walking toward the entry doors to the ER, then back toward the admitting area. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  “Mrs. Clarkson?”

  I spun around at my name. “Yes.”

  “Your husband is here. They’ve taken him to X-ray, but he’ll be back soon. If you’d come with me, I’ll take you to the examination room. You can wait for him there.”

  I nodded and fell into step behind her as she led me through the labyrinth that made up the ER. Finally she stopped outside a room filled with all the usual hospital paraphernalia.

  “Right in here,” the clerk said.

  I nodded again and took a step forward. There was no bed in the room, but I saw some clothes on the floor. Brad’s clothes. A brown cotton shirt, faded Levis, and work boots. The shirt was splattered with blood, and there was more blood on the jeans and the gray linoleum floor.

  The clerk said something, but I couldn’t make sense of it. Her voice sounded like it came through a tunnel. I turned my head as the walls waved and shivered and lights exploded in my head, then dimmed.

  “Mrs. Clarkson!”

  The floor rose up to meet me, and after that, nothing.

  Twenty-six

  SOMETHING PUNGENT STUNG MY NOSTRILS. I JERKED MY head to the side and inhaled through my mouth.

  “Mrs. Clarkson.”

  I opened my eyes. Bright lights everywhere. White. Lots and lots of white. Where was I?

  “There we go. You gave us a scare, Mrs. Clarkson. Took ten years off poor Carol’s life. Let’s get you up off the floor, shall we?”

  “What happened?”

  The hospital. Brad. The admitting clerk. But the woman who knelt beside me wasn’t the same one who’d led me into the ER. This woman wore hospital scrubs, the top in a multicolored-flowered pattern, and had a stethoscope around her neck. She must be a nurse.

  She slipped an arm beneath my back and with her other hand grasped my elbow and eased me up to a sitting position. “Take a deep breath. How are you feeling?”

  “Okay.” The room wobbled, then steadied. “I’m fine. What happened?”

  “You fainted.”

  “Fainted? I’ve never fainted in my life.”

  She didn’t bother to argue with me. Something in her expression—probably the way she fought to keep from smiling—said she’d heard similar protests before. “Are you ready to stand?”

  “Yes.”

  She was strong. I’d give her that. A good thing, too, because, once I was up, I found I wasn’t as steady on my feet as I thought I’d be. With an arm around my back and a firm grip on my elbow, she ushered me into the exam room and eased me onto the lone chair. My gaze drifted to the clothes on the floor nearby.

  “Easy there.” She brought the smelling salts near my nose again.

  I gasped and turned my head away. “Please. No more.”

  This time she smiled. “I think you’ll be all right now.” She straightened away from me. “Is this your first time to the ER?”

  I shook my head.

  “Kids? That’s often what brings people to the ER.”

  I nodded. “Two daughters. But they’re grown now.”

  “Really? You look too young to have grown children.”

  She was being kind. I knew I must look a fright.

  “Thanks,” I said. Another glance at the clothes on the floor. “Can you tell me what’s happened to my husband? All I know is he got injured at work.”

  The nurse filled a Dixie cup with water from the sink and handed it to me. “Let me see if the doctor is able to talk to you. You just sit there and don’t move. You still look a bit pale.”

  I felt pale—and more than a little embarrassed. I’d seen blood before. Like the nurse said, I had kids.When Hayley was eleven, she rode her bike into a parked car. Her head bled like a stuck pig, and it took over ten stitches to close the gap in her scalp. At the age of seven, Emma climbed onto the kitchen counter to get something off the top shelf of the cupboard. She slipped and fell, cutting the underside of her chin and blackening her eye. I’d forgotten how many stitches she needed.

  This wasn’t Brad’s only trip to the ER either.He’d worked in construction his entire adult life. He’d experienced his share of mishaps and shed his share of blood because of them.

  I hadn’t fainted over any of those previous calamities, whether major or minor. I’d often been the person in charge of stopping the bleeding and taking the injured party to the nearest clinic or hospital. I knew how to answer all the questions from the admitting clerk while still tending to a crying child. I was not some sort of swooning airhead.

  Or at least, I didn’t used to be.

  I leaned over and picked up the shirt, wrapping my fingers in the fabric as I lifted it to my face and breathed in.

  Let him be okay, God. No matter what I’ve—

  I heard laughter in the hallway. A moment later, a gurney was wheeled into view, Brad lying on the bed. His face was swollen, so much so that for a second I thought it wasn’t him after all. But then he saw me and raised his left hand in acknowledgment before they turned the gurney around and rolled it headfirst into the examination room.

  I clutched his shirt to my chest.

  “I’m okay, Kat,” he said when he could see me again.

  He didn’t look okay. He looked dreadful.

  “I broke my nose. That’s why my face looks so bad. It’s not serious.”Two nurses were busy hooking him up to various monitors. Brad turned his head on the pillow toward the young woman in pink scrubs. “Olivia, tell my wife I’m okay.”

  She smiled at him, then at me. “He’ll be okay, as long as he follows orders. Can you make him do that?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “The doctor should be in soon. He’s going to put a cast on that right leg. It’s broken in two places.” She looked at Brad. “You were lucky. They’re clean breaks. They ought to mend without any complications.”

  I rose from the chair and stepped to the side of the bed.“How did you do this?”

  “I was working on the second floor of the house. I tripped over my toolbox and fell through the stairwell. It was my own fault. I wasn’t paying enough attention.”

  “What else is hurt?”

  “Besides my ego?” His chuckle ended in a grimace.

  I saw no humor in the situation. “Yes, besides your ego. Is anything else broken?”

  “No, nothing else. I’ve got a couple of cracked ribs, a sprained shoulder, and some scrapes. That’s all.”

  That’s all?

  He made it
sound as if his injuries were nothing more than a minor inconvenience, but we both knew it was more than that. Much more. Fear inched its way back into my heart. What were we supposed to do now? He’d barely found a job and now this.

  My knees weakened. I took a quick step backward and sat on the hard plastic chair.

  Surely God had forsaken us.

  Many hours later, I made up the sofa bed in the family room. This would be Brad’s bedroom until he could manage the stairs again.

  Because he couldn’t use crutches—not with cracked ribs and a bad shoulder—he was forced to use a wheelchair to get around. He was none too happy about it. But he learned his lesson when he tried to hop his way to the downstairs bathroom. He only made it a couple of jumps before pain forced him back into the chair.

  “Follow the doctor’s orders,” I said. “Remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” There was a sharp edge in his voice.

  He’d been good natured throughout his time in the ER, joking with the nurses and doctor, making fun of how he got his injuries. But now that he was at home, cracks were beginning to show in his humor.

  “Maybe I’d better help you into the bathroom.”

  “I can manage, Kat. You go on to bed. You look dog tired.”

  He might as well have told me I looked old. Well, why not? I felt old. I felt tired and old and unattractive and anxious and depressed and helpless and hopeless. And a lot more things besides.

  “Good night then.” I turned on my heel and headed for the stairs.

  “Kat?”

  I stopped and looked over my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bark at you.”

  I gave him a nod, then continued on my way. Once upstairs, I sank onto the twin bed in Emma’s room, hid my face in my hands, and had a good cry.

  Brad

  HE LAY ON THE SOFA BED, HURTING FROM HEAD TO TOE, unable to sleep even after taking one of the painkillers prescribed for him at the hospital. Moonlight fell through the half-open miniblinds. If he had the strength, he would get up and close them, but he was too tired to bother.

  “What now, God?” he whispered.

  He’d thought things were about as bad as they could get, and then they got worse. How does a guy go lower than rock bottom? Impossible—but somehow he’d managed it.

  He massaged his right shoulder with his left hand, releasing small grunts as his fingers kneaded the taut muscle.

  Katherine was scared, and he couldn’t blame her. Look how he’d let her down. His reputation was in ruins. He was unemployed for the second time in less than two months. And because of his injuries, it would be weeks before he could start looking for work again. He’d only had two days on the job. What kind of benefits would he get from workers’ compensation? Couldn’t be much. But at least the medical expenses would be covered.

  What did I do to deserve this?

  As if in answer to his silent question, he thought of Nicole. He remembered the many times she’d come into his office to discuss financial matters at In Step and how easily their conversations had strayed to other things. She’d seemed to take a real interest in everything at the foundation, and he’d appreciated that about her. He’d liked bouncing ideas off of her. She’d been easy to talk to.

  Perhaps too easy.

  He’d been adamant in declaring himself innocent. But was he?

  Twenty-seven

  I AWOKE WELL BEFORE DAWN, REMNANTS OF A DREAM lingering at the edge of consciousness. An anxious dream. Even in sleep I couldn’t escape my worries.

  I had to find work. I had to bring in some income before we drained our savings completely. Brad wouldn’t be able to work. Not for weeks. It was up to me.

  The house was dark and silent as I made my way down the stairs and into the den. The computer awakened with a touch of the mouse. I sank onto the desk chair and opened the word-processing program to a new document. Trouble was I didn’t know what to put on that blank page. I didn’t know the first thing about creating a résumé.

  You’re hopeless.

  I didn’t have to be hopeless.

  Who’d want to hire you?

  I wasn’t stupid. I was a fast typist. I understood computers and the Internet. I knew how to do simple bookkeeping. I was good at planning and organizing things. I knew how to delegate too. I used to help Brad all the time with In Step.

  Why did I stop?

  That was a dumb question. I hadn’t had much choice, not once the foundation grew too large to stay in our home. I had two young daughters to care for and this house and—

  I shook my head. I needed to concentrate on writing a résumé. The past was the past and couldn’t be undone. Right now I needed to find a job. Any job. I opened the Web browser and googled “résumé writing.” In one second, a long list of links appeared. I clicked on the first one and began to read.

  I was still at the computer, wearing my silk pajamas and robe, when the doorbell rang. I expected to see darkness beyond the den’s window when I looked up, but the day had arrived while I worked on my résumé. The results weren’t great but had improved some.

  I glanced at the clock, then got up and walked to the window, moving aside the blinds enough to see a car in the driveway. Emma’s car. Tension spread across my shoulders and along my spine. She’d been upset with me when I called her last night, angry that I hadn’t let her know sooner about her dad’s accident. I’d told her to come by today, but I hadn’t meant before eight o’clock in the morning.

  I heard her voice in the hallway. Either she’d used her key to let herself in or Brad had opened the door for her. I hoped it was the former. If the latter, Emma would have one more reason to be angry with me.

  I drew a deep breath as I walked toward the door. By the time I was out of the den, Emma was in the kitchen with Brad.

  “Mom didn’t even call me until they were ready to release you,” she said after kissing him on the cheek. As she straightened, she noticed me, and her eyes narrowed.

  “Morning, Emma.” I tried to sound more cheerful than I felt. “I didn’t expect you to come over this early. I haven’t made coffee yet.”

  She looked at her dad again. “I take it you haven’t had breakfast either.”

  “No, but I—”

  “I’ll fix you something right now. How do waffles sound? Or I could scramble some eggs.” She opened a nearby cupboard. “Or there’s plenty breakfast cereal if that’s what you want.”

  “I’d better stick with lighter fare. I’ll be immobile for a while. How about a bowl of Grape-Nuts and a glass of OJ?”

  Emma didn’t have to ask where anything was. She’d spent most of her growing up years in this house, and I hadn’t moved anything since she left home.

  After the coffee was brewing, I excused myself and went upstairs to get dressed. I wasn’t alone more than five minutes before there was a knock on the bedroom door.

  “Come in.”

  Emma opened the door. Her gaze traveled around her old room. “You’re still staying in here?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought maybe you’d’ve had second thoughts by now.” She stepped in and closed the door behind her.

  My heart sank. I wasn’t up to another altercation. “Did you need something?”

  She drew a breath and released it before answering. “I wondered what I can do to help take care of Dad over the next few weeks.”

  That wasn’t the answer I expected.

  “Unless the baby decides to come early, there’s no reason why I couldn’t come over for a while every day. Or do your grocery shopping or whatever other errands you might need.”

  I weighed her offer a few moments, wondering if I should accept. We hadn’t been on the best of terms. Would this make things worse? Maybe, but I didn’t see many other choices.

  “Actually, I could use your help.” I began brushing my hair. “I have to find a job to tide us over until your father is back on his feet. There’s no telling what sort of work I’ll find t
o do or what hours I might have to work.”

  “Wow. I never imagined this would happen.” Emma sat on the foot of the bed. “Are your finances that bad? I always thought you two were pretty set after Dad sold his company.”

  “Most of that went into In Step. But we have a little set aside.”

  “Dad must feel awful. I mean, you haven’t worked outside the home since you two got married. That’s got to wound his pride.”

  I didn’t know if Brad would feel awful about it or not since we hadn’t discussed it yet. But I knew what I felt—scared. I’d been afraid for weeks. Afraid about money. Afraid about the future. Afraid about the state of my marriage. Afraid that others—including my youngest daughter—would see how afraid I was.

  “Jason said he’ll take care of the yard work for Dad, so the two of you don’t need to worry about that.”

  Unwelcome tears sprang to my eyes. My words came out gruff and not much above a whisper. “Tell him ‘thank-you’ for me.” I was grateful, but I didn’t sound like it.

  “Mom?”

  I set the hairbrush on the dresser as I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. I didn’t want to cry again. I was tired of feeling out of control. I was tired of feeling angry one minute and depressed the next.

  Emma rose from the bed, and her voice softened. “I’m sorry for the way I talked to you on Saturday and again last night. I was wrong to say the things I did. Please forgive me.”

  My throat tightened again with a fresh surge of emotions, emotions that made me ashamed of myself, emotions that made me feel weak and pitiable. So unlike the person I used to be.

  “I’ll try to keep my opinions to myself from now on.” She offered a wry smile. “It won’t be easy, but I’ll try.” She reached for the door. “I’ll go see if Dad needs anything else.”

  Silence swirled around me as the door closed behind Emma.

  Alone. So alone.

  I turned to look at my reflection in the mirror and wondered if I looked as different on the outside as I felt on the inside. Would I ever get to be the old me again?