by Pat Warren
“I’m sure he knew you were there at his side,” Tish told the distressed woman, her arm slipping around her frail shoulders.
“I wish I’d have told him I loved him this morning. You know, it was our habit to say the words to each other every morning and night, but he’d gotten up early to go for a walk and I slept in. I—I feel so terrible. I didn’t get a chance to tell him I love him.”
Tish patted her hand. “You’ve been married how long? You told me forty-six years, I believe. I’m sure Henry knew you loved him deeply.”
“I suppose you’re right. But I wanted to tell him again. Why oh why didn’t I get up with him this morning?” She cried softly into the new tissue Tish gave her.
Amos Turner, the manager of the tourist lodge at Red Rock, came over, his round, ruddy face the picture of sympathy. “Doreen, they’re taking Henry to the hospital. Would you like me to go with you to help you fill out the paperwork?”
Looking shaky and confused, Doreen looked at him. “Yes, Amos, that would be so good of you.” She turned grief-stricken eyes to the ambulance now silently gliding down the driveway. Amos guided her over to his big Lincoln and helped her inside before driving off in the same direction as the ambulance.
The police had finished questioning witnesses and seemed satisfied so they, too, drove off.
Tish strolled back to where Jeff was quietly talking with Slim. When she reached his side, he slipped his arm around her.
“Are you okay?”
Tish nodded. “I need to go inside.”
“Sure.” With a nod to Slim, Jeff took her arm and walked with her to the main building. She was strangely silent, pale, her expression troubled as if she were thinking about something deeply. He knew that she’d been friendly with the Novaks though they hadn’t been close friends. Yet Henry’s death seemed to have affected her.
As the doors silently slid open, Tish took Jeff’s hand. “Will you come with me to my room, please?”
“Whatever you want.”
Once they were inside her room, which was very much like Jeff’s, she turned to him. “Doreen told me something tonight, that she hadn’t told Henry that she loved him this morning and now, suddenly, he’s gone.”
Where was she going with this? Jeff wondered. “I’m sure he knew she loved him. They’ve been married forever and—”
“Yes, of course. But her point was that even though we know someone cares for us, it’s important to tell them regularly and often.” She draped her arms over his shoulders and looked into his dark-green eyes. “I’ve been selfish, Jeff. I’ve heard you tell me that you love me and the words thrilled me, made me glad inside. But I’ve never told you because…because of all that went before, I suppose. And you’re right. All that happened in the past has nothing to do with us, not really.”
He smiled down at her, deep affection in his eyes. “I’m glad you finally see that.”
“I love you, Jeff. I love you with all my heart.” Rising on tiptoes, she reached to kiss him.
At last she’d said the words he’d been longing to hear, and she sounded as if she meant them. His arms around her tightened and he accepted her kiss as he accepted her words of love, with pleasure, with joy.
At last when the kiss finally ended, he looked into her fabulous brown eyes now filled with love, love for him. “Thank you for that. I kind of thought you felt that way, but I couldn’t be sure without the words. Do you see what I mean?”
“Yes, I do. Doreen said that, even after forty-six years of marriage, every morning and night they said those three little words to each other. I found that so heartwarming. I think she can take comfort in the fact that although Henry won’t be with her anymore, he died knowing he was loved. That wasn’t the way of things in my family.”
“Nor in mine. But I’ll bet East and Alicia say those words to one another every day. I can tell from the way they treat each other.”
“Yes, that’s it. You can’t say I love you, then treat someone poorly.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, but the time was never right. Now, it is.”
“Then say it again,” Jeff requested, holding her closer.
“I love you, Jeff Kirby,” she answered, her gaze on his lips.
“And I love you, Tish Buckner,” he said, taking her mouth in a kiss that was like a promise.
Chapter 5
Kennedy Airport, New York, 6 a.m.
Jeff carried his leather bag down the broad concourse at Kennedy Airport, his strides lengthy and impatient as he glanced out the windows at a rainy morning. He wasn’t hungry, wasn’t even sleepy.
Anxious was what he was. Anxious for some answers as to how Tish was doing, what her most recent prognosis was.
Outside the terminal, Jeff pulled up the collar of his leather jacket against the rain and walked to the taxi curb, quickly hailing a cab.
Tossing his bag inside, he climbed into the back seat and tugged the door closed. “How long to get to Metropolitan General Hospital?” he asked the heavyset, balding driver.
The man shrugged. “This time of morning, rain and all, fastest would be to take the Van Wyck Parkway to the Grand Central, then the Long Island Expressway to the Midtown Tunnel. An hour and fifteen, maybe an hour if we’re lucky.”
Jeff held out a twenty. “This is yours above the fare if you make it in under an hour.”
Wordlessly, the driver nodded, put his meter into play and whipped into the next lane.
Gloomy weather, Jeff thought, trying to relax, slightly wired from all the caffeine. Gloomy suited his mood perfectly. He’d been to New York City before and hadn’t cared for the crazy way the cabbies drove, but today, it was just what he needed. He watched the driver weave in and out of lanes as he headed for the ramp to the Van Wyck.
Traffic was heavy, even at this early hour. Commuters, he supposed. The rain dripped and tunneled down the window and kept the wipers busy on the windshield as he stared unseeingly at the passing scenery. In his mind, there was but one thought, one prayer, like a mantra: Let her recover. Please, let her recover.
Some fifty minutes later, the driver pulled to a screeching halt in the circular drive of the large Manhattan hospital. Jeff paid the meter fare and handed him the twenty before climbing out. Hurrying inside, he stopped at the information desk on the first floor.
“Tish Buckner,” he said to the cheerfully smiling volunteer.
She typed the name into her computer, then waited as the information came on screen. “She’s on the fifth floor, in surgical ICU. Only family members allowed to visit.” The middle-aged woman peered over her glasses. “Are you related?”
“Yes,” Jeff answered. “Thank you.” He rushed off toward the bank of elevators. He heard the woman call after him, but he didn’t stop. He’d find out all he needed to know upstairs.
Trying his strained patience, the elevator was slow in arriving and when it did, an attendant and a patient lying on a gurney took up all the space. He punched the button again. The next car arrived filled to near capacity, mostly with hospital personnel in green scrubs so familiar to Jeff. He shoved in, quickly turning to face the front, ignoring the annoyed glances of the other passengers who had to step back.
He was in no mood for the amenities this morning, not until he was apprised of Tish’s condition.
Getting off on the fifth floor, he looked around and spotted the nearest nurses’ station. He approached a harried nurse who was on the phone, scribbling something on a chart while another phone rang incessantly. Since no one else was around, Jeff waited impatiently. She disconnected, then took the other call. When she finally hung up, he stepped closer. “Tish Buckner. Can you tell me where she is?”
The nurse finished the notation she was writing, then looked up. She undoubtedly saw a tall man with tired, worried eyes who needed a shave and about twelve hours of sleep, but he managed to give her a smile nonetheless. She responded as most women did and smiled back. “Down that corridor, turn left and take it to the end. That
’ll be ICU.”
“Thanks.” Jeff followed her directions and came to a pair of windowless double doors. Next to them was a desk where another volunteer sat reading the paper. “Tish Buckner,” he said to her.
She set aside the paper and checked her chart. “She’s in ICU after surgery yesterday. Are you a relative?”
“Yes. May I see her please?”
“What’s your name?”
“Jeff Kirby.”
The woman checked her chart. “You’re not listed here as next of kin.”
“I’m her husband,” Jeff replied. “Listed or not, I need to see her. Who’s her doctor?”
Again, the woman looked on the chart. “Dr. Edmund O’Neill.”
“Fine. Page him, please. He’s talked with my father, East Kirby, in California and arrangements were to have been made.”
“I don’t see a notation anywhere here, Mr. Kirby.” She picked up the phone. “I’ll page Dr. O’Neill.”
Frustrated, anxious, annoyed, Jeff set down his bag and slipped off his leather jacket, placing it on the bag. It was warm in here, as it was in most hospitals. They had to follow rules, he knew only too well. However, knowing Tish was on the other side of those swinging doors and he couldn’t go to her was raising his blood pressure.
He began to pace the small waiting area as he heard the page for Dr. O’Neill over the PA. The familiar hospital scents drifted to him, medicinal along with cleansing solutions and that indefinable almost tangible smell of fear, especially in the ICU area. Distant bells pinged, phones rang, pages were repeated in well-modulated tones and nurses in rubber-soled shoes rushed by. It was his world, the one he’d chosen, yet he desperately hated being on the other side as the relative of a gravely ill patient instead of part of the medical team.
A television bracketed to a shelf on the wall had CNN on, the volume low. There were three plastic chairs and an upholstered green couch in the waiting room. A woman softly crying in the far corner was the only other occupant. Jeff walked back and forth, feeling like a caged lion.
By his watch, it was a full twenty minutes before a man wearing a long white hospital coat over a white shirt and dress pants came hurrying toward him. In his late forties, Jeff estimated, he had thinning black hair and wore glasses over dark-brown intelligent eyes. He held out his hand as he approached.
“You’re Dr. Kirby?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Jeff answered, shaking his strong, firm hand. “Third-year resident. How is she?”
Edmund O’Neill shoved his glasses more firmly into place on his nose. “A lot better than when they brought her in yesterday. She’s suffered a severe concussion and broken clavicle, for starters. We had to remove her spleen and minute bomb fragments. She had a collapsed lung but it’s functioning fairly well now and we doubt there’s permanent damage there. The trauma to the head is our main concern, the one that’s put her into the coma.” He studied Jeff’s reaction for a moment. “I’m being very frank with you only because you’re a doctor, and because East told me you could handle the truth.”
“I appreciate your candor, Doctor. What’s her prognosis?”
“Guardedly optimistic. She’s quite healthy and was in excellent physical condition before the accident, so that’s in her favor. I operated and stabilized the floating clavicle by putting in two permanent screws. She’s holding her own, but we really can’t tell yet at this stage. Time will let us know more. If she comes out of the coma in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, it will mean the swelling in the brain has gone down and she’ll have an excellent chance of a total recovery. If not, well, we’ll have to reevaluate.”
Jeff swallowed hard. He’d thought he’d been prepared but, although the news wasn’t hopeless, it wasn’t as good as he’d hoped, either. “Can I go in to her?”
“Yes, and I’m sorry I didn’t get around to putting your name on the approved visitor list. As usual, it’s a little crazy around here. I had no idea she was married until East Kirby called me personally and told me about you. Normally, we don’t allow visitors to stay with ICU patients around the clock, as I’m sure you know. Because of your credentials, I’m making an exception. He’s a very persuasive man, your father.”
“Yes, he is. And thank you.” Jeff couldn’t help wondering just what his father had told O’Neill to get unlimited visitation for him.
Walking over with Jeff to the volunteer, Dr. O’Neill gave her his new instructions. “Dr. Kirby has my approval to stay with his wife as long as he wants.” He turned back to Jeff. “I suggest you get some rest after you see her. She’s not awake and probably won’t be for hours yet.” He gave him a tired smile. “You look like you could use some sleep.”
“Thanks, but what I need is to be with Tish.” He glanced at his bag and jacket. “Can I leave this here for now?” he asked, well aware that visitors weren’t permitted to take things into ICU as a safeguard against patient infection. “I came here straight from the airport.”
“Absolutely,” the doctor said.
“Thanks, I’ll pick them up later.” He shook hands with O’Neill again, feeling grateful for East’s call and for the close-knit community of medical personnel. Pulling in a deep breath, he stepped through the double doors.
A shoulder-high circular desk in the center dominated the large room. Along the perimeter were the private ICU cubicles, each with sliding glass doors closing them off from the main area where several nurses went about their duties. The nurse behind the desk whose name tag read Thelma looked up from a monitor as Jeff walked over.
“Tish Buckner,” he said. “I’m her husband.”
“Yes, Dr. Kirby,” she answered with a smile. “I just got the word from Dr. O’Neill.” Rising, she led him toward the third cubicle. “I’m assigned to your wife,” she added.
“How’s she doing this morning?” he asked, knowing this nurse was the one monitoring all of Tish’s vital signs, administering the medications the doctor ordered, and would be aware of the slightest changes in her condition. The machines hooked up to the patient relayed any small change to the central nurses’ station.
“Holding her own, Doctor,” she answered in that maddening way some medical personnel had of saying something while revealing nothing.
Jeff grit his teeth as they stopped in front of cubicle 3. “I’d like to see her chart, if I may.”
She thought that over for the briefest of moments. “Certainly, as long as her doctor authorizes it.” She gave him a polite smile. “If you need anything, please press her call button and I’ll check with Dr. O’Neill.”
She had to follow protocol or she’d be in trouble, Jeff knew, but felt annoyance at the delay nonetheless.
Steeling himself, he slid open the glass door. Despite all the patients he’d seen hooked up to machines during his years in training, gazing at the woman he loved with tubes running in and out of her was a shock. She had an IV line in one arm, the bag of solution dangling overhead, and a hep-lock in the other in case they needed to take a blood sample. A catheter tube ran from under the crisp white sheet to a pouch on the far side of the bed and a blood pressure monitor was wrapped on one arm, automatically recording a reading at regulated intervals. The clear tubing of an oxygen canula ran under her nose. The machines blinked and winked and bleeped occasionally, the various colors chasing each other on electronic graphs, oddly frightening even to the experienced.
It’s so different when you’re emotionally involved with the patient, Jeff thought.
He stepped close to the bed and saw that Tish was very pale in sharp contrast to her usual healthy tan, and she looked so small, so helpless. The figure 8 bandages crisscrossed her sternum, keeping the area immobile so the fractured clavicle could heal. There were bruises and scrapes on her arms and hands and even a few on her lovely face. Her dark hair was tucked close around her head and her long dark lashes rested on her cheeks.
Choking back his emotions, Jeff pulled the lone chair over closer to the bed with trembling han
ds. Still, he stood, taking one of her small hands in his, gently caressing the bruised flesh. “I’m here, honey. Tish, you’re not alone. You’ve got to fight. We—we’ve got a lot of living to do yet. Don’t give up. I’m here.”
Slowly, he lowered himself to the chair. Exhausted, physically and emotionally, he bent his head to lay it on the side of her bed. He hadn’t been a praying man, though he’d become one during his ordeal of being buried alive. This was just as desperate a plea, if not more so.
Please, God, let her live, he silently prayed. Please.
Jeff awoke with a start, shocked to find he’d fallen asleep in that cramped position. His eyes flew to Tish but he saw that she hadn’t moved a muscle. He got up and stretched to get the kinks out as Thelma came in to take her patient’s temperature and pulse.
Glancing at him as he rolled his head around, Thelma apparently felt a measure of sympathy. “If you’d like to get something to eat, you can, you know. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.” When he looked at her, she gave him a small smile.
The attractive thirty-something nurse was a natural blond, wore only a touch of pale-pink lipstick and her blue eyes were kind.
He scrubbed a hand over his unshaven face. “I must look like something the cat dragged in, up all night on the red-eye,” he explained.
After marking down Tish’s temperature, Thelma looked up. Her eyes seemed appreciative rather than critical of the way he looked, but she probably thought he could use a shower. “Since you’re a colleague, Dr. O’Neill told me to tell you that if you wanted to clean up in the doctor’s lounge, it’s located on the third floor. He also said you could see your wife’s chart.” She handed it to him.
“Thanks.” After she left, Jeff sat down and perused Tish’s chart, but he didn’t learn anything he didn’t already know.
Leaning close to her bed, he stroked the backs of his fingers along Tish’s cheek. “You’re going to make it, babe. I just know you are. You have to. I can’t live without you.”
He sat like that for a few hours, touching her gently, stroking her tenderly, talking softly to her. Finally, knowing he’d feel a lot better if he took a shower and put some food in his stomach, and realizing he had to take care of himself for Tish’s sake, he left the ICU and told Thelma he’d be back in about an hour.