The Saint's Wife

by Lauren Gallagher

  “Hey, sweetheart,” her mom said. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay.” Joanna sank onto the window seat that looked out over the pool. “How is everyone over there?”

  Her mother updated her on the family—everyone except Joanna and her sister lived in Idaho—and filled her in on the gossip, upcoming weddings and birthdays, and the fact that Cousin Melanie’s daughter would be heading off to college soon.

  “How is that even possible?” Joanna laughed. “Is that how you know when you’re getting old? When kids you babysat are going to college?”

  “Just wait until the kids you babysat start having grandkids,” her mom quipped. “Then you’ll feel old.”

  Joanna smothered a giggle. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Mmhmm.” Her mother paused. “How is Chris doing these days?”

  Immediately, Joanna’s humor vanished.

  Here we go…

  She swallowed. “He’s…hanging in there, I guess.”

  “Oh good. From what you said last time, it didn’t sound like he was long for this world.”

  Rubbing her eyes, Joanna said, “He probably doesn’t have much time. It’s hard to say right now.”

  Her mother sighed heavily. “That’s such a shame. He’s far too young for this.”

  Joanna’s heart sank deeper and deeper with every word. “Yeah. Too young.”

  “How are you doing? I can’t imagine what this is like for you.”

  No, apparently you can’t. Joanna squeezed her eyes shut against the sting of tears and pressed her lips together to keep from blurting out You couldn’t stand him, Mom! Before he got sick, you hated him!

  She took a deep breath. “I’m…doing okay. I guess. It’s just been difficult.”

  “I’m sure.” Her mother clicked her tongue. “Most people don’t realize what a toll it takes on someone when their spouse is seriously ill.”

  “Especially when the marriage isn’t so great.”

  “I know, honey. But he’s terribly sick. That can make people bitter and angry, especially when they’re in pain.”

  Joanna wiped her eyes. “Right. Yeah. I know. It’s just…just the cancer.” Because he’d never done any of this shit before his diagnosis. “He has another appointment later this week. They’re running some more tests, and then they’ll hopefully have more news about his prognosis.”

  “We’ll certainly keep our fingers crossed, sweetie.”

  “Thanks.”

  They chatted for a few more minutes, and after they’d hung up, Joanna slouched against the back of the seat. She stared out the window, forcing back the lump in her throat. Like everyone else, her mother had forgotten who Chris had been all along. She thought he was wonderful now. A lovely young man being cut down in his prime. Joanna wondered if her mom had forgotten choking back tears while she’d adjusted Joanna’s veil, or how she’d hinted more than once that Chris and Joanna should hold off on starting a family. That had been under the pretense of enjoying their youth—they’d married young, after all—but Joanna had always sensed the undertone of If you wait long enough, you’ll see what an asshole you married, and you can divorce him without kids being involved.

  And for God’s sake, how could she have forgotten about that hellish year when Joanna’s eating disorder had nearly killed her? About the endless stints in a psychiatric hospital?

  “Come stay with me,” her mom had begged before Joanna was released. “He’s only going to send you right back to that place.”

  “Not yet,” Joanna had insisted. “Not until I can take care of myself.”

  Sitting here now, in the quiet solitude of her workroom, she wished like hell she could go back and take her mother’s advice. She could’ve walked away. Lived with her folks. Slowly but surely gotten on her feet. No struggling to keep her eating disorder at bay while she remained in the toxic environment that had fueled it. No crying herself to sleep at night after finding out that while she’d quite possibly done enough damage to her body to prevent her from ever getting pregnant, her husband had recently become a father. No lovechild. No cancer. No listening to everyone pretend that Chris had never been the asshole they’d all tried to persuade her to divorce.

  But she couldn’t change the past. The immediate future was pretty well out of her hands too. After that? After Chris…

  She rubbed her hand over her face. She couldn’t even think that far ahead without feeling guilty.

  What to do now? She could call Kaylie, but…no. They’d talked a few nights ago after Chris and Joanna had fought over something stupid.

  “It’s only a few more months,” her sister had said. “Hang in there, hon.”

  “Weren’t you the one telling me to just divorce him?”

  “Well, yeah. But that was before you went back to him. Leaving him now…”

  Would be a dick move. Would be unforgivable. Would be the worst possible thing you could do right now.

  So much for her sister having her back.

  Joanna rubbed her eyes and then stood. She really needed to do something besides try—and fail—to find someone to talk to who wouldn’t remind her what a horrible person and wife she was.

  Maybe some leather work. That had been her go-to stress relief hobby for a long time, and she hadn’t done any of it since she’d come back from Tillamook. It was high time she finished a few things, and maybe the intricate detailing would—as it often did—relax her.

  Ironically, she’d started the hobby because Chris hated it. He didn’t like the myriad smells associated with it. When she’d begun working on a piece of leather about ten years ago just for spite—not her most mature moment, she admitted—she’d discovered she enjoyed it immensely.

  And as a bonus, it meant that the room in the farthest corner of the house, far from Chris’s delicate sense of smell, was hers.

  She sat down at her workbench, pulled out a bracelet she’d been working on, and in minutes, she was completely lost in working the blade through the soft leather. Time disappeared. The room around her disappeared. The knots in her shoulders unwound.

  Right up until the emergency intercom above her work table chirped, startling her out of her skin. Joanna clenched her teeth and glared up at it. The red LED for the kitchen was blinking, indicating he was in there and needed help.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake.” She snatched her phone off the desk and rushed out of the room. In the back of her mind, she knew this was just another test. He’d be standing there in the kitchen with a stopwatch, and he’d let her have it for taking forty seconds when it should’ve taken thirty. There’d been a few “drills” like that in the past, to the point she’d reminded him of the boy who cried wolf.

  But…better to stand there and listen to one of his lectures than pick the wrong time to call his bluff.

  She hurried toward the kitchen, blood pressure rising by the second. She was seriously done with his bullshit today. One hundred percent done.

  She flew into the kitchen. “What do—oh my God.”

  He slumped against the kitchen island, eyelids heavy as blood poured from the left side of his head. Joanna dropped to her knees beside him, and instantly felt the heat coming off his body. “Jesus, Chris. You’re burning—”

  “Help,” he whispered feebly.

  “I’m here. I’m calling an ambulance. Hang on.”

  “I’ll do it.” Hilary’s voice startled her.

  Joanna looked up as Chris’s PA stepped into the kitchen, phone in hand. “Okay. Okay. Good.” She grabbed a clean dishrag out of the drawer and pressed it against Chris’s temple to staunch the bleeding as best she could. Distantly, she could hear Hilary summoning the ambulance, repeating the address in a shaky voice. Of course, none of the staff was working right now—Hilary and Joanna were on their own.

  “Chris?” Joanna touched his face with
her free hand. “Can you hear me?”

  He opened his eyes and groaned softly.

  “I’m going to move you just a bit,” she said. “You need to lie flat.”

  He gave a slight nod, though it was possible he was just floating in and out of consciousness. Whatever the case, she put an arm around his shoulders, supported the back of his head with one hand and eased him down onto the tile.

  “Hilary, honey?”

  “Hold on,” Hilary said into the phone. To Joanna, she said, “Yeah?”

  “Give me something to put under his feet.”

  Hilary continued talking to the 911 dispatcher, but she brought over a box of detergent from the adjacent laundry room. Good enough. With Hilary’s help, Joanna propped Chris’s feet up on the box.

  “He was conscious a minute ago,” Hilary said to the dispatcher. “He seems pretty out of it now.” Her voice was laced with panic. “We need someone here fast.”

  Joanna debated taking the phone since she was more clearheaded, but as long as the dispatcher sent an ambulance out, then Hilary’s mission was accomplished. Joanna suspected the poor girl would have an even harder time with dealing with the head wound than the dispatcher, so freaking out on the phone was the lesser of two evils.

  Joanna glanced up. There was a small smear of blood on the corner of the island, and a few smears and droplets on the floor beside Chris. He must’ve fallen. Probably passed out, judging by the fever. Or maybe had a seizure. Either way, he probably had an infection, and God in heaven, there was nothing he needed less than an infection.

  Activity in the driveway sent a rush of relief through her.

  “Go let them in,” she ordered.

  Hilary hurried out of the room, dress shoes tapping on the tiles. In the foyer, the front door opened, changing the pressure in the house and bringing a prayer of thanks to Joanna’s lips as Hilary said, “He’s in here.”

  In seconds, the enormous kitchen felt too small—with a six-foot-two man lying prone on the floor with three medics and his wife kneeling by his side, the expansive room suddenly seemed cramped. Suffocating.

  “Does he have any existing medical issues?” one medic asked while the others checked Chris’s vitals and examined the wound.

  “He’s being treated for advanced renal cancer,” Joanna said.

  “What kind of treatment? Chemo? Radiation?”

  “Both, plus immunotherapy.”

  The medic nodded. “And what happened here?”

  “I’m not exactly sure.”

  He leaned a little closer to Chris. “Mr. McQuaid? Can you hear me?”

  Chris groaned weakly and opened his eyes. They slid closed, though, and his head lolled to the side.

  “Did he faint? Have a seizure?”

  “I don’t know. He called me down here, and he was leaning against the counter with his head bleeding.” She looked up. “Hilary? Did you see anything?”

  The PA shook her head, hugging herself tight and looking like she was about to throw up. “I was…I was upstairs. I heard a crash, and…” She gulped. “I’m sorry, I—”

  “It’s okay,” Joanna said gently. “Just breathe, hon.” She shifted her attention back to Chris. “This has happened before. Once was a reaction to a medication. The other was a seizure.”

  “He’s definitely got a fever,” one of the medics said. “Let’s get him started on fluids and get him out of here.”

  Joanna got out of the way, stepping back to let the paramedics work.

  And almost immediately, she started shaking.

  Now that the situation was under control—or at least in someone else’s hands—the panic set in. The blood on the counter, the saturated towel, the floor, Chris’s face and clothes, her own hands and shirt—holy shit. She reminded herself over and over that head wounds bled profusely anyway, and Chris’s treatments had probably left him anemic enough that even little cuts bled like he’d hit an artery. It didn’t mean the wound was serious.

  He’d be fine.

  As fine as a terminally ill man with a head wound could be, assuming that whatever had knocked him off his feet—an infection? dizziness? loss of balance?—wasn’t a sign of something grim. This could be bad. It could be really bad. Oh God. What was happening?

  Behind her, someone released a ragged breath.

  Joanna turned around. Hilary didn’t seem to notice her—she was focused on the paramedics and Chris. And probably the blood, because there was a lot of it. Her face was almost as pale as Chris’s, one trembling hand over her mouth, and she still looked like she was about to get ill.

  “Hilary?”

  No response.

  Joanna stepped in front of her, blocking her view of Chris and the medics, which seemed to startle Hilary out of her state of shock. Joanna touched Hilary’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Are you going to be okay to drive home?”

  Hilary swallowed. “I can, uh, have my roommate come get me.”

  “Good idea. Listen to me—this has happened before. It’s, well, it’s kind of par for the course.”

  “Will he be okay?”

  “He’s in good hands.” She squeezed Hilary’s shoulders. “Go home and relax. I’ll make sure you’re still paid for the whole day.”

  The girl glanced at Chris and the medics, and Joanna was sure she lost even more color. “But…”

  “Go. I’ll keep you updated. I promise.”

  Hilary’s thin shoulders sagged a bit beneath Joanna’s hands, but she finally nodded. “Okay. I’ll call my roommate.”

  “Good. I’m going to go with Chris.”

  Hilary nodded again, and stepped away as she pulled her cell phone from her pocket.

  Joanna wanted to make sure she was okay, but the medics were already rolling Chris toward the ambulance, and she wasn’t about to make them wait, so she followed them. Outside, she stepped into the ambulance and sat beside Chris, careful to stay out of the medics’ way. She slipped her hand into his, and he closed his fingers around hers. His grip was weak, his fingers somehow hot and cool at the same time, but she didn’t think she could’ve pulled free if she tried. And she wasn’t about to let go anyhow.

  With her free hand, she shakily typed out a message to David: Chris is on his way to the ER. Fever.

  Just spelling out the words made her skin crawl. A fever was no small thing with a cancer patient. It could be anything from a minor illness to a massive infection, and no matter what, it would be exacerbated by his compromised immune system. He’d been fine a couple of hours ago, and now this. In another hour, he could be—

  Well. That wasn’t something to think about right now.

  Her phone buzzed.

  Which hospital?

  Methodist.

  Almost instantly, the reply came through, On my way.

  And for the first time, Joanna whispered a prayer of thanks that David would be there.

  Chapter Nine

  David sprinted from the parking lot into the emergency room. He immediately zeroed in on Joanna—she was pacing beside the vending machines along the far wall, clutching a Styrofoam cup.

  “Hey,” he said.

  She turned around, and wow, she was pale and shaking.

  He resisted the urge to take her arm, just to steady her. “How is he?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.” She gestured with the Styrofoam cup at the double doors leading back into the ER. “No one’s said anything since he went back.”

  “What happened?”

  “He…” Joanna swallowed, her eyes losing focus. “He collapsed. In the kitchen. I think he hit his…” She tapped her temple. When she met his gaze, the fresh panic in her expression gave him chills. “He had a horrendous fever.”

  David’s heart flipped. “An infection?”

  “Probably.”

>   “Shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  Chris was in no condition to even hear the word “infection”. With his immune system suppressed and his body weaker than he would ever admit, this was…not good. Not good at all.

  Joanna sipped her coffee, and her hand was shaking so badly, David was surprised she could maneuver the cup.

  He touched her arm. “Are you okay?”

  She glanced at him, forehead creased as if in disbelief. Then she nodded. “Yeah. Just a bit, you know, freaked out.”

  “As anyone would be. Why don’t you sit for a few minutes? Take a load off.”

  She shook her head. “Tried that. I can’t sit still. I’m…I’m good.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Okay.” He gestured past her. “I’ll go rattle some cages and see if I can get an update.”

  “Good luck.” Joanna glanced at the nurses’ station. “I’ve been a thorn in their side since I got here, and they haven’t told me anything.”

  Funny—Chris had given David a power-of-attorney because he didn’t think Joanna would be clearheaded or assertive enough to handle situations like this. David had to give her credit, though. She kept her cool when she needed to, crumbled a little when she was alone and the pressure was off, and then collected herself instantly when someone needed her to make a decision. She also didn’t take crap from anyone. Whether their marriage was solid or not, Chris couldn’t have asked for a better advocate when he was in bad shape.

  David pursed his lips. If she’d tried to get answers already, then he wasn’t going to have any better luck.

  “I guess we’ll wait longer.”

  “Same shit, different day,” she muttered. “Hurry up and fucking wait.”

  David grunted in agreement. He glanced around the mostly deserted waiting area. “Where’s Hilary?”

  “Home.” Joanna played with the edge of her coffee cup. “She was pretty shaken up, and I figured there was no need to keep her here.”

  “Good idea.” He paused. “She didn’t drive, did she?”

  “No, no. Her roommate came and picked her up. She texted me a little while ago to let me know she’d made it home.”