“We’re doing all we can. The injuries to her face will heal quickly. ”
Michael thanked the doctor and went back to stand by Jolene’s bed. He was there for hours, staring down at her, waiting for her to waken. He felt sick with the need to apologize to her, to recast his reaction. To be a better man. He’d grown so much in her absence, and then, at the first chance to show her those changes, he had failed. Utterly.
Finally, exhausted, he left her room and headed out of the hospital. But as he approached the elevators, he thought of Carl and Tami. He asked a nurse where the ICU was and then took the elevator up one floor to Tami’s room.
Through the window, he saw Carl standing at his wife’s bedside, his head bent forward, tears running down his cheeks. Michael was about to leave, but Carl looked up and saw him. Wiping his eyes, straightening, Carl walked away from the bed, came to the door, opened it.
“How is she?” Michael asked.
“Traumatic brain injury. ” Carl shrugged. “It means she may wake up and she may not. She may be perfectly fine and she may not. They took out a piece of her skull because her brain is swelling. How’s Jo?”
Michael was surprised at the tears that stung his eyes. He didn’t bother wiping them away. “She may lose her leg, and her right hand is useless for now. ”
They stared at each other. It should have been comforting, but it wasn’t. Michael couldn’t stand here with this man he hardly knew, trading fear back and forth. “Well. I’m heading to the Landstuhl House,” he said. It was a place built by some American philanthropist to house the families of wounded soldiers.
“I’m going to sleep here tonight. I had them bring me a bed. ”
Michael should have thought of that. He mumbled something about seeing Carl tomorrow and headed out of the hospital. Less than thirty minutes later, he was settled into a small, well-appointed room with a bathroom en suite and a double bed in the Landstuhl House.
As he sat on his uncomfortable bed, staring at nothing and remembering everything, he tried to figure out a way to undo the mistake he’d made today. How would he convince Jolene that he’d changed when he’d acted exactly as she must have expected him to?
At the time they’d agreed upon, he called home. Betsy answered. In the middle of his hello, she said, “How’s Mom?”
What should he say? The truth would probably give her nightmares, but she needed to be prepared for the worst, didn’t she? He might have handled it better if he’d been prepared. He leaned back against the cheap, wobbly headboard. “She says she’s feeling a little better and she can’t wait to talk to you. ”
“But what’s wrong with her?”
He paused. Now was the time to say something, the right thing, to calm his daughter’s fears and allow her to hope. He turned through the choices—lies or the truth—and came up with half-truths. “Her right hand and ankle are … hurt. They’re working to fix them up now. ”
“She’s left-handed, so that’s good,” Betsy said.
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely.
“Dad? What aren’t you telling me?”
He cleared his throat. “Nothing, Betsy. We don’t know everything yet, that’s all. They’re still running some tests. I’m sure that soon—”
“You think I’m a baby. Lulu!” she yelled, “Dad’s on the phone. He wants to tell you that Mom got shot down but she’s fine. ”
“Betsy—”
“Daddy?” Lulu squeaked. “Mommy’s all better? Did they give her ice cream?” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He talked to Lulu for a few minutes, although, honestly, he had no idea what either one of them said, and then his mother was on the phone.
“How is she, Michael?”
“I let her down, Ma,” he said softly, more to himself than to her. He knew instantly that it was a mistake, not the sort of thing he should have said to his mother, but he needed advice right now, and what good was advice based on bad information?
“She’ll let you know what she needs, Michael. Just listen to her. ”
They talked for a few more moments. After he hung up, he closed his eyes, thinking that he would never be able to sleep, but, before he knew it, sunlight was streaming into the room, and he was blinking awake.
The bedside clock said seven fifteen.
He got out of bed, feeling old and tired. By the time he’d showered and shaved and dressed for the day, he felt a little better.
Until he stood at Jolene’s bedside, and it all came rushing back—the fear, the guilt, the anger. He was afraid she would lose her right leg and use of her hand, and in losing them become someone else. He couldn’t imagine how it would feel to be so wounded, to lose so much. How could she get back to who she had been?
He felt guilty that he worried about her limbs when her life hung in the balance, and he was pissed off that she’d put herself in harm’s way and been wounded and now neither one of them would be the same.