by S. E. Lund
“Why are they doing this?” Elaine asked, shaking her head. “Drake had nothing to do with the attack.”
I shrugged, although I didn’t feel at all relaxed about it. “It’s because of Drake’s past before he met me. Anything to sell a newspaper or get more viewers, I guess.”
“Couldn’t Drake sue them for defamation or something? They shouldn’t be allowed to run his name down in public like this.”
I sighed. “Until the police put the whole story she’s telling to bed, there’ll probably be speculation.”
“They should come out and say he had nothing to do with it,” Elaine said angrily. “The woman’s clearly delusional.”
“I know that and you know that, and Drake knows that. Until the police do, they’re going to keep this rumor alive.”
I watched as the news story changed to something else and felt a sinking sensation. This was going to harm Drake – maybe permanently. People always remember the lie but usually are uninterested in learning the truth. That’s what decades of politicians had realized, using it to their advantage. The media was using it to sell copy or ad time. It sickened me, and made me feel totally helpless at the same time.
Drake arrived back about fifteen minutes later. His face was unreadable. He sat down beside me and glanced between Elaine and me.
“He’s had a complication and they’ll be keeping him in recovery for a little while longer. His blood pressure – they’re having difficulty stabilizing it.”
“But he’s okay,” I said, panic rising in me. “They’ll give him some medication to fix it, right?”
“They’re doing what they can, but it’s touch and go,” Drake said and looked at Elaine. “He’s had another stroke. This time, it’s what’s called a brain stem stroke. Part of the brain that controls certain vital functions has been affected.”
“What do you mean?” she replied, her face pale.
“The part of his brain that controls blood pressure. That’s why they’re having trouble stabilizing it. They have to go back in and treat it.”
“He’s going back in for more surgery?”
Drake nodded. “They’ll use medication to break up the clot, but that could lead to more bleeding. I hate to tell you this, but it could go either way at this point. The damage to his brain… it may be too much.”
“When can we go see him?” I asked, hoping beyond hope that I could go and hold his hand. “When will he be out of surgery? Maybe if he hears us, he’ll fight.”
“He’s back in the OR. When he comes out, he’ll be back in recovery until he stabilizes. He’ll be sedated so he won’t be able to hear you,” Drake said, his eyes filled with sympathy. “They have to keep him sedated to give his brain time to recover from the trauma.”
“Is he going to die?” I asked finally, barely able to speak because my throat was so dry. “Tell me the truth.”
Drake looked at me with such an expression of pain and sadness that I knew he was trying to prepare us.
“Things are not going as well as I’d hoped and now with this new complication,” he said and squeezed my hand. “He’s not responding the way he should. The damage was to a part of his brain that controls blood pressure and other vital functions. If the blood flow doesn’t improve, he might not survive.”
“Oh, God,” I said and covered my eyes, tears spilling over once more. I fought my tears, wanting to be strong, but the realization struck that my father was probably dying.
I felt Elaine’s arm go around my shoulder, and sat there being consoled by the two of them. Drake held my hand, kissed it briefly, and Elaine squeezed my shoulder with affection. She seemed so calm. She’d seen a lot as a nurse and so was prepared.
“When will we know?” I looked in Drake’s eyes. “How long?”
He shook his head. “It’s hard to say. The next hour or two will be important. If he survives this second surgery, he’ll start out at zero again. His chances improve with each passing hour. It depends on whether they can stabilize him. If not, they’ll have to intubate him again.”
“He didn’t want to be kept alive with any heroic measures,” Elaine said, her voice shaky. “He signed an advanced directive. The doctors know.”
“What do you mean?” I said, horrified. “He wants to live. I’m sure of it.”
“Not if it means he’ll be a vegetable,” Elaine said. “If the brain stem is involved, he could be locked in.”
“Locked in?” I asked, frowning. I thought I knew what that meant. He would be aware of everything but unable to communicate with us.
“Locked in means he can’t communicate at all," Drake said. "He can’t move anything except his eyes. Sometimes, not even those.”
“Ethan was clear,” Elaine said softly. “If he had another stroke and it damaged his brain enough that he’d be even worse off, he wanted the doctors to not use any heroic measures. No tracheotomy. That kind of thing.”
“He never said anything to me,” I protested.
“He didn’t want to upset you, but he knew he was at risk of another bleed so he signed an advanced directive after his first stroke.”
I sat and let myself cry for a few moments, unable to deal with things any longer. Drake pulled me into his arms and held me, letting me cry on his shoulder.
Elaine wiped her own eyes as she prepared for the worst.
We spent the next hour like that, the three of us silent, watching the news. I hoped that the story about Drake didn’t come back on, but if it did, we missed it and I heaved a sigh of relief. I didn’t want that whole mess to come and plague us while we were in the hospital.
Finally, after about ninety minutes, Dr. Franks came to where we sat and pulled up a chair. His face was calm as he removed his cap. He didn’t look sad.
“Just thought I’d update you about how Ethan is doing.”
I met his eyes, and didn’t see anything bad in them so my hopes rose.
“Ethan has come out of surgery and is now back in recovery. We had to perform what’s called an embolectomy. We threaded a thin catheter into his brain to remove the clot and restore blood flow to his brain stem. He seems to have survived the procedure pretty well so far. The next couple of hours will be key. We’re going to keep him sedated, but you can go in and see him now if you want. His vital signs have stabilized enough that we’re moving him to ICU. He should be in his room within thirty minutes. You can go in one at a time and then he needs to be kept quiet for the next twenty-four hours. I’d advise you to go home, get some rest. It’s going to be a long night.”
“Thank God,” I said and covered my face, my relief so strong that I felt a bit faint.
“He’ll have a long period of recovery but if he survives the next few hours, I have hope that he’ll do well. The stroke was caused by a small clot from the earlier surgery.”
I nodded and Drake stood when the surgeon did, and the two colleagues shook hands.
“Thanks,” Drake said. “I appreciate everything you’re doing for my father.”
“No problem,” Dr. Franks said and smiled before leaving us alone in the small alcove.
“Shall we go get some tea or a bite to eat?” Drake asked.
I nodded and checked my watch. My stomach rumbled, telling me that it was time to eat something.
“I’ll stay here,” Elaine said. “Bring me back a tea and sandwich, will you? Turkey or ham. Whatever they have that looks decent.”
“We will.” We stood and walked down the hallway, taking a maze of stairs and passages to get to the cafeteria where several dozen staff and visitors sat, chatting and eating their meals.
Once we had chosen our drinks and food, we carried them on trays to a table where we sat and ate, saying little because we were both so exhausted. While we were sitting there, I noticed several of the nursing staff glancing over our way, no doubt because they knew who Drake was.
I wondered if they were merely remembering him from the time he was on staff or whether it was recent news coverage. I glanced
at one of the television screens that hung in the corner of the room and saw that the channel was turned to a news station.
Had they seen the news cast with the photo of Drake?
I felt a lump in my throat. Should I tell Drake? Or should I let him eat his meal in peace? He had enough on his plate without having to confront the nasty rumors that were going to be circulating that he’d conspired with Lisa to kill me.
How could anyone who knew Drake believe that he would do such a thing? It was impossible…
“People are looking at us,” Drake said, catching my eye over his forkful of pasta salad.
“I know,” I said with a sigh. I hated having to tell him about it, but apparently, I had no choice. “There was a news report on the case. They had a photo of you…”
He put down his fork and I heard him exhale heavily. “On television?”
I pushed food around on my plate, suddenly not hungry any more. “Yes,” I said. “On the local news.”
“What did they say?”
“Only that you were ‘embroiled’ in an attempted murder case from a hit and run earlier in the year. They said your ex-girlfriend and ‘submissive’ sex partner in a kinky relationship had driven the car and it wasn’t clear yet if you were a suspect. They showed a picture of you leaving the hospital in your scrubs and then one of Lisa in an orange jump suit. That was all I caught.”
“She isn't my ex-girlfriend so they got that wrong. I expected as much.” Drake put down his fork and looked at me intensely. “You know there’s no truth to it, right?”
“Drake,” I said, surprised that he’d even have to say it. I reached out and took his hand in mine. “Of course not. I know you despised having to continue dealing with her. You told me everything. That’s what I told the police. They should be laughing Lisa out of the interrogation room instead of keeping you on their radar. Why would you even say that? Do you think I would even suspect it for a moment?”
He shook his head and glanced around the room, as if looking to see if anyone could overhear. “The police always look at the husband first, or boyfriend or ex. They’re the most likely culprit when a woman is murdered or if there’s an attempted murder. It’s almost never a woman or disgruntled ex-girlfriend. Plus, there's those letters…”
“Those letters are fakes,” I said and squeezed his hand. “Besides, I know you. They don’t know you and they don’t know me. They don’t know our relationship. The police must follow procedure. Once they do, I know they’ll write you off as a suspect.”
He pulled my hand up to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “I love you, Kate.”
I smiled at him, the tenderness in his voice making my throat tighten. “I love you, Drake. We’ll get through this.”
“We will,” he said, “but we may have to start new lives somewhere else, if my reputation is harmed enough.”
“Don’t say that,” I said. “Anyone who knows you knows that you’re a stellar person and highly skilled neurosurgeon. A great humanitarian. Look at your foundation. Look at all the time you spent in Africa. All the money you raised and donated… How could they think you’re a murderer? Why would they treat you like one?”
He looked down at his plate and moved his food around some more. “People can turn on you in an instant. I found that out with Maureen.”
He glanced up and we locked eyes. “I’ll never turn on you nor will your true friends,” I said softly, emotion making my voice hoarse.
His eyes moved over my face. “How is it that I’m so lucky to have met and won you? How?” He kissed my knuckles once more and smiled at me.
He glanced around and I did as well, catching a few people quickly look away. They’d been watching us, and I felt glad that they saw us being affectionate with each other. That would show them what our relationship was really like.
“I hate that they’re all watching us like vultures. Let’s take our food and go back to the waiting room. I’ll take the trays out.”
I nodded and collected up the plastic containers with our sandwiches and Drake’s pasta salad. I had a cardboard carrier for our tea and coffee and Drake carried the trays to the dishwashing station and left them on the line.
“Let’s go,” he said when he came back to me, his arm around my shoulder. He leaned down and kissed me. Just then, I caught someone with their cell phone held up, taking a picture – or video – of us. When I turned and stared at the woman, she hastily put the cell away.
“What was she doing?” Drake said, his voice affronted. “Was she taking a video?”
“Or photos,” I said. He started to go towards her but I grabbed his arm. “Don’t,” I said softly. “Don’t make it worse. It’s good they got a picture of us kissing.”
Drake glared at the woman but then he must have thought better of it and turned back, pulling me against him one last time.
When we arrived back at the waiting area, Elaine smiled and took the tea and sandwich.
“You look upset,” she said to Drake, who sat on the other side of me, his arm over the back of my chair.
“Some people recognized Drake in the cafeteria,” I said and made a face, raising my eyebrows, hoping to signal to Elaine we shouldn’t talk too much about it. “They took a video or picture of us kissing.”
“I can’t believe it,” she said, her mouth open. “People have no respect for privacy anymore. Not with all these cell phones and Snap Chats and the like. It’s none of their business.”
“The news has made it their business, I guess,” Drake said and pointed up at the screen on the wall.
I glanced at it and saw that the very same news report was being repeated. It was short and only featured a scandalous headline, and a picture side by side of Drake and Lisa. I was glad we couldn’t hear what she said.
“Goddammit,” Drake said, his voice choked. “I’m going to call Detective McDonald and ask that he clear my name publicly so all this speculation will stop.”
Elaine held out her hand. “Don’t Drake,” she said, shaking her head quickly. “That would make things worse. Believe me. The police will either charge you or they’ll clear you as a suspect soon. Until then, anything you do will only delay things. Keep a low profile.”
Drake’s fists clenched and I could see a muscle twitch in his jaw. I rarely saw him angry about anything, so it was hard to watch him feel so much negative emotion. Usually, he was so positive about everything.
I felt frustrated myself. I knew there was no way Drake had been involved. Why couldn’t the police figure it out?
Lisa must be spinning a pretty convincing story for them to keep Drake on the suspect list – if he was even on it. It was those damn letters. Still, someone at the police department must have spoken to the news reporter about the case for them to know the details. I felt like calling up Detective McDonald myself and speaking with him, to find out what they thought.
“Lara will take care of this,” Drake said, his voice low. He turned to me. “She knows the procedures. She’ll talk to the Assistant DA and find out what the hell’s going on.”
I nodded. “Thank God for Lara.”
For the next hour and a half, we sat in the alcove and watched the news. The report came back on again and luckily, Drake had a magazine in hand and didn’t see the feed, but it was pretty much a repeat of the previous news story. I decided to go to the desk and ask if we could change the channel.
The nurse looked up at me, smiling sweetly. “Sure,” she said. “Let me get the remote. We don’t want the volume up so we don’t bother any patients or other family members. There’s a more comfortable lounge down the hall if you want. You can close the doors and turn up the volume.”
I shook my head. “We want to stay close to where my father will be, so we’ll be fine here. I want to change the channel.”
I took the remote and changed the channel, flipping through the selections until I came to the National Geographic Channel, which had a show on birds in the Amazon. It would be a peaceful alternative
to the local news and its endless repeat.
Finally, the nurse came over to us to tell us my father had been brought to his ICU room from post-surgical recovery and we could go in and see him as soon as he was settled.
“He’s breathing on his own and his blood pressure has stabilized,” she said, glancing between Drake and me, and then to Elaine. “He’ll probably be sleepy and may go in and out, so don’t expect too much at first, but he should wake up over the next hour or two. You can go in one at a time, and please, no longer than five minutes each at first.” She smiled at us.
Drake nodded. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll go easy on him.”
When she left, the three of us looked at each other.
“You should go first,” I said to Elaine.
She shook her head. “No, dear,” she said softly. “You go first. He’s your father.”
“Thank you,” I said and took in a deep breath, steeling myself for what I’d see when I went into his room. I turned to Drake, who was looking at me intensely.
“He might be pretty pale and he’ll have a bandage on his head from the surgery,” Drake said. “He may not be able to speak at first, so don’t be upset if he’s quiet or doesn’t seem to be able to talk. It’ll take a few hours for him to get over the anesthetic.”
“Okay,” I said doubtfully, my gut tight at the thought he’d been so close to death. “I’ll go in. Can I give him anything to drink or ice chips?”
“He may have problems swallowing at first because of the airway during surgery. If you have any questions, ask the nurse. If you’re concerned about anything, use the call button, but they’ll be watching him very closely for the first few hours.”
I took in a deep breath and walked down the hall to the room where my father was being kept. It was narrow, with a large window, and had banks of telemetry surrounding him. There was a quiet beep-beep-beep from one machine and he was receiving oxygen through a thin plastic tube with a cannula that threaded around his nose. At least he didn’t need a mask.