Beautiful Disaster

by Laura Spinella

  The always composed Michael Wells caught his stunned reaction. She watched him force a poker face of calm. He closed his eyes, shaking his head in a tight, agitated stroke. “You’re going to have to say that again.”

  Mia touched his arm. He opened his eyes wide, looking more bewildered than before, perhaps slightly less concerned for her well-being. “I’ve never talked about Flynn—about us—because . . .” She hesitated, trying to corral six years of reasoning into a sentence. “Because I didn’t want you to touch it. There were a lot of, um, issues . . . things that kept coming between us—Flynn and me. Michael, I can’t begin to tell you how much I loved him.” She paused, waiting for him to digest, or just choke on the information. An exaggerated breath blew in and out of his mouth as he scrubbed a hand over a five-o’clock shadow. His body stiffened and his fingers fell away from hers. “Parts of it are extremely complicated. I’m not sure now is the right time for the details. Like I said, in the end Flynn left, he just vanished one night.” It had taken Mia years to hear it in her head. Sharing it out loud with Michael was surreal. “I haven’t known where he was until Roxanne called, not until he turned up here.”

  Michael made several attempts to form words before something actually came out of his mouth. “What . . . what’s wrong with . . . Why is he in a coma?”

  “An accident. He was on a motorcycle when he was hit by an SUV, about a mile from Roxanne’s house, downtown. This is where I’ve been for the last month, working on Hough’s project from the inside of Flynn’s room. It, um, it all started the night I had that dinner meeting with Hough—the one you didn’t come to.” Mia forced a dry gulp, trying to read his face. She’d never seen anything quite like it. This was going to be a Michael Wells she had never experienced.

  Oddly, a crooked smile formed over his lips, his face brightening. “This is a joke, right? Did Hough put you up to this?” Mia shook her head; she felt a wave of empathy for his confusion. Michael didn’t even know Aaron Hough.

  “Oh, wait, I get it,” he said, the grin widening. “You and Roxanne cooked this up because I’ve been away so much. You wanted to teach me a good lesson. You win; I’m working out of the house starting tomorrow. Where is she?” he asked, peering over her shoulder. “This is Roxanne’s brand of humor, cruel and twisted, but ridiculously funny. I give you two credit; you had me going there for a minute. Who’s the guy, really? What, did she give some bottom-rung orderly twenty bucks to lie in bed and suck on that ventilator?” He hesitated and looked hard into his wife’s eyes, waiting for her to join in the macabre humor. Her blank response struck the nerve that harbored the truth. He jumped from his seat, frantically pacing around her. “Come on, Mia, give it up. This is a bad joke, right?”

  Mia’s thumb ran over a frayed edge of the cushion, concentrating hard on the tattered fabric. She couldn’t bear to watch him come unglued; it was so unlike him. “There’s a part of me that wants to tell you just that, to save you from any of this. But I’ve made a decision. And it’s not fair to you—”

  Firm hands reached around and plucked her from the sofa. His eyes met Mia’s in a tumultuous explosion of betrayal. “This is not happening! You can’t be serious. This is insane!” he shouted. The last time she heard that tone he’d lost twenty thousand dollars in the stock market. “What exactly are you telling me? That you want to stay with him until he recovers, put him up in our guest room? Maybe donate a kidney?” He narrowed his eyes, his hands drawn to his hips. “You and your hopeless causes,” he sneered. “Jesus, if this isn’t coming from the part of your brain that believes good vibrational energy holds the cure for cancer.”

  “I know it’s a lot, Michael. But this really isn’t about Flynn. It’s something I should have done a long time ago.” She stopped; it was coming out all wrong. “No, it’s about things I should have never done in the first place.”

  He threw his head back, a frustrated growl seeping from his gut. “Well, what does it have to do with? If you didn’t summon me here to shove an ex-lover in my face—excuse me, an ex-lover who apparently means more than the guy you’re currently married to—then what the hell am I doing here?”

  “Stop twisting my words. I’m trying to explain.” She looked toward Flynn’s room, craning her neck a bit as she caught a glimpse of a nurse going in.

  “Hey! I’m over here,” he said, grabbing an arm. “Don’t you think trashing six years of my life, our marriage, is worth your undivided attention? I mean, he is in a coma. Won’t he keep?”

  “That’s why I had to do this now, while Flynn still is in a coma.” Her eyes jutted back. “What happens to him doesn’t change this decision.”

  “What decision?”

  “I can’t be married to you anymore, Michael.” She rushed through the sentence as if it might soften the blow. His mouth opened and Mia clamped her hand fast over it, the confession spewing forward before he had a chance to stop her. “I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen when he wakes up, if he wakes up. There’s a lot to this story you don’t know. I’m not leaving you for him. I’m leaving you because of him.”

  He roughly pushed her hand away. “What the hell is that, semantics?” Michael sat back down. His face fell into his hands as he mumbled something she couldn’t understand.

  “I’ve been ignoring the signs for the last year. I can’t, not anymore. Michael, you’re the most generous, patient man I’ve ever met, and you deserve a lot more than me. I can’t do this to you anymore. The first week Flynn was here I thought about how to tell you, what I would tell you. I reasoned that if he died, maybe I would save it until we were old and it didn’t matter so much anymore. It’s undoubtedly the most selfish thought I’ve ever had.” She eased into the seat next to him and reached over, dragging his chin up, forcing him to look, owning it. “Do you hear what I’m saying? I was willing to go on with our marriage because it was safe and warm and convenient. I was willing to keep right on hiding everything from you. Don’t you see how wrong that is? How unfair?” His pain was excruciating to witness, an amputation with a dull knife and no anesthesia.

  “How . . . how could I not know any of this? I know you, Mia. Sometimes you do impulsive things, follow a train of thought I can’t appreciate. But this . . . this makes no sense whatsoever.”

  “This is the least impulsive, most careful decision I’ve ever made. I know it doesn’t make sense to you right now.”

  “We have a good marriage. We’ve been talking about starting a family—it was a two-way conversation, wasn’t it? I’ll admit you’ve been a little distant lately, but I thought you were just wrapped up in this Hough thing.” Michael sprang to his feet. He paced a few feet and turned back toward her. “The woman I know wouldn’t do this; it isn’t in her. I’m sorry, I can’t wrap my mind around this. I feel like I got off a fucking plane from Vegas and stepped into the Twilight Zone.”

  “It’s a lot to take in. Roxanne wanted me to tell you weeks ago, but I kept . . . I kept looking for the right words,” she mumbled, feeling every bit of the shame she deserved.

  “And what is Roxanne’s take on all this? You can’t tell me she has no opinion; that’s an impossibility. From what I recall, she never was a big fan.”

  “To say the least,” Mia said, fingers rubbing her forehead. “In fact, I’m surprised she’s never filled you in. I suppose her vow of silence extended beyond conversations with me. Roxanne doesn’t dislike Flynn. She hates him; she always has.”

  “Why? Why does she hate him?”

  “God, it’s Roxanne. I’m sure a copy of her reasons, real and fictitious, will soon be available to you.” The flash of sarcasm was unappreciated, his handsome face confused and despondent. “Mostly she hates him because he hurt me, just like she said he would.”

  Michael paused, searching her face for the bottom line. “And this is what you want? To leave me—a man who has vowed to love you forever and has done a damn good job of it—for that? I didn’t get a very good look at him, but to me he still has al
l the markings of an escaped convict!”

  She sucked in a deep breath. It was enough conversation for one night. He would learn it all soon enough. “I’m not sure what the next step is. I didn’t get that far . . .”

  “Not thinking things through! How typical,” he yelled, pounding his fingers to his temple so furiously she thought he’d knock himself over. “Like the time you told my boss, the guy who signs my paycheck, that if his banks were greener the money that passed through wouldn’t be so dirty.” A surly tone rose over the tension, cutting apart vows and promises. “In practical terms, babe, what is it you want? Shall I bring you a change of clothes, have your mail forwarded? Or do we just talk through our attorneys from here on out? I’d really like to know.” Michael reached into his jacket pocket then thrust an envelope into her hands with such force it caused her to stumble back. “Seems one of your crazy, eco-centric projects is about to hit it big. After the deal goes through, I was going to surprise you—take you on a celebratory cruise. So let me know,” he said, the surliness shifting to a pitchy tremor. “Maybe I can get one of the tickets swapped out for your . . . your soul mate. Maybe the sea air will snap him out of it.” He stormed to the elevators, ramming his fist into the call button.

  Mia couldn’t stand it, succumbing to his pain. “Michael, wait!” She raced to the opening doors and hit the button for them to close, grabbing at his arm. For six years he’d been the buffer between layers of hurt that wouldn’t heal. Now he was the enemy. Or she was. “Don’t leave like this. Please.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. You can’t have it both ways, Mia. Drop a bombshell like this and you want comfort? If I do that, you’re coming home with me and I’ll make damn sure you never come back here.” As Michael spoke he raked his fingers through the tangles framing his wife’s dubious expression. “This is what he does to you, and I’m supposed to do what? Just excuse myself from your life and let this happen? Look at you, you’re a complete wreck. I don’t know why you insist on wearing your hair so long. It’s always in your face.” The senseless observations fell off, his voice pinched. Michael moved out of reflex, jerking her hard into his arms. “Don’t do this to us, Mia. God, you must know how much I love you. Just come home with me, for now, for tonight. You can’t make me believe that you don’t love me.”

  Mia took a small step back as her hands clutched his shoulders. Hurting him like this was unforgivable. Burning in hell was child’s play. There had to be something worse awaiting her. “Michael, I never said that I didn’t love you . . .”

  Squeaky sneakers, loud on the linoleum floor, interrupted as they came up fast behind the two of them. “Mia! There you are. We couldn’t find you!”

  Her thrashing heart stopped cold. Reflex again, her body braced against Michael’s. Mia half-turned in his arms to see Nurse Margaret approach, rushing down the corridor as if the world were on fire.

  Oh, God, here it comes! He’s dead.

  “He’s awake, Mia! Flynn’s awake!”

  Chapter 25

  Jesus, it’s bright in here. What the hell? I can’t breathe. What is that thing? Am I alive? Okay, I must be alive; people are talking. In hell they’ d be screaming.

  “Mr. McDermott, can you hear me? I’m Dr. Logan. Can you understand what I’m saying? You’re on a respirator. Just blink if you understand what I’m saying.” One solitary, firm blink was the response. “Good, excellent. You’ve been in a coma, Mr. McDermott. I’m glad to see you’ve decided to join us again. You were in an accident. I’m going to examine you. Just try to stay relaxed and then we’ll see about getting that vent disconnected, all right?”

  Flynn blinked again. He was paralyzed with fear, or maybe he couldn’t move at all. What happened? I was on the bike. I had to be . . . I was going somewhere. I was so angry, furious about something. Mia’s voice . . . I didn’t want to wake up. I kept hearing her voice. It was like she was right next to me. God, let me go back to sleep. At least she was there.

  “Mr. McDermott, stay with us. Try to stay awake.” The voice was coaxing and loud. “You’re doing fine. Can you give my hand a squeeze?” In an agitated reflex, he gripped the doctor’s hand. “Excellent, that’s pretty impressive strength for someone who’s been out of commission for a while. How about your legs, can you bend them for me?” Flynn complied again. “That’s great. Nice and slow, good range of motion. You had a substantial fracture to your pelvis. We’ll get a new film as soon as possible, see if we can get you up and moving.”

  Moving? I need to get the hell out of here . . . Mia doesn’t know . . . something . . . His right arm swung over to his left side. He groped around; the arm was taped to an IV board and strapped to the bed. Forcing his lethargic body to move, Flynn anxiously clawed at it. He had been chained up long enough. He couldn’t stand it, wouldn’t allow it.

  “Whoa! Mr. McDermott, don’t do that!” the doctor yelled. The fuzzy image of a nurse, as wide as she was tall loomed over him, pulling hard at his arm. Even in his weakened condition she was no match. He swung and she ducked just in time. The doctor’s voice was harsher. “Mr. McDermott, we’re trying to help you. If you don’t settle down that arm will be in a restraint too. Do we understand each other?” He blinked again, but furiously this time, feeling the veins in his neck tight and extended. Helpless to do otherwise, he tried to relax. From the corner of his eye he could see drawings. Pages of paper surrounded him like an embrace—so different from everything else. His gaze focused up onto the stained ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights. He thought it smelled like antiseptic. When he was asleep he had been breathing in something powdery soft . . . Now it was gone.

  I can’t remember. I was going . . . somewhere. Why the hell can’t I remember? It wasn’t to see Mia. I can’t find Mia. It was to see . . . Roxanne? Jesus Christ, maybe this is hell. His gaze dropped back, darting between the unfamiliar faces of the doctor and nurse. They rapidly passed medical jargon to each other, talking about oxygen and reading monitors that beeped in his ear like a homing signal. I am alive. I have to find her. She doesn’t know. Doesn’t know what?

  “All right, Mr. McDermott, if you think you can control yourself, we’ll work on getting you off this vent. Now when I say, I want you to cough hard.”

  Like Christmas in August or the dead showing up bearing armfuls of beautifully wrapped gifts, Mia could not have anticipated a more bizarre scene. As she waited outside Flynn’s room, Michael stood at her side, both of them suffocating in silence. When Nurse Margaret announced that Flynn was awake, Mia thought that would be it. Michael would get on the elevator and leave, hating her, just as he should. Hindsight suggested she hadn’t thought that part through too well either. Michael never gave up easily on anything. She watched him reach hard for the self-control he used in high-stakes business deals and when firing his stockbroker.

  “What are you waiting for?” he’d asked. “Obviously your prayer has been answered. But if you don’t mind, I’ll go with you. Just in case there’s some confusion about which one of us you’re married to.”

  In six years they had talked about almost everything that mattered. One conversation later and it counted for nothing. They might as well have discussed the weather for the last half dozen years, leaving her to feel as if she was standing in the hall with a total stranger. She guessed he felt exactly the same.

  A curtain was drawn and the door closed. Dribs and drabs of information seeped out as the staff occasionally passed by. Her stomach jumped when she heard the respiratory therapist say he was responsive, that he understood where he was. After an hour that seemed like the last twelve years plus thirty-four days, Dr. Logan emerged.

  “It’s good news, Mia.”

  She couldn’t help herself, even with Michael standing there. A trembling hand covered a thankful smile as tears rushed out and she hugged Dr. Logan.

  Understanding her intense vigil, the kindly doctor patted her shoulder and gave Michael a curious glance. “I’m sorry. I don’t know that I can discuss his
condition in front of . . .”

  Michael stepped right up, offering a hand. “I’m Michael Wells, Mia’s husband. You can say anything in front of me. Seems we’re all related.” Mia nodded, quietly hoping she wouldn’t have to explain any further.

  “I see. Well, he’s tough. He’s awake and he’s off the vent. He’s responded well to a short series of cognitive reasoning questions. He’s got a harder head than most people. I don’t know what made him fight like he did,” the doctor observed, “but whatever it was, apparently it kept him alive. We’ll have to run some more tests. Of course there is the cardiac arrest he suffered, but I’m fairly comfortable projecting a complete recovery.”

  “Thank you. Thank you, Dr. Logan. Um, does he know that I’m out here?”

  “No, after the time you’ve put in, I thought you’d like to tell him yourself. I suspect it’s going to be better medicine than anything we’ve dripped into him so far.” Aiming for a compliment, he was unaware of the tension. “Your wife is quite exceptional, Mr. Wells, the way she worked those fabulous designs and kept track of his every breath.”

  An uneasy sigh hissed from Michael. “Yeah, my wife’s a real multitasker—responsible to a fault.”

  “I’ll be back to check on him in an hour or so. Go on in. But, Mia, one word of caution,” he said, looking between her and Michael. “He was easily agitated when we examined him. Let’s keep him quiet until we get him on his feet, give him a chance to gain his bearings. Keep it short. Ten minutes max.” He smiled at both of them and headed off down the corridor.

  Mia exhaled the breath she’d been holding since she first saw Flynn. The future couldn’t be more uncertain, but all she felt was relief. He was going to be all right. For a solitary instant she’d forgotten that Michael was there, but his stern look was a poignant reminder. It came right back into focus as she wiped away the tears. “I, um, don’t think it’s a good idea if . . .”