The Amendment (The Contract 2)

I stepped closer. “Brad, how are you feeling?”

“Fine, Mrs. VanRyan. I’m fine.” His reply was clipped, his voice belying the sharpness of his response. He was holding back tears. My heart went out to the young man who stood before me, lost and broken.

I stepped closer and laid a hand on his arm. “It’s Katy. And I think you’re fibbing to me.”

“Wh-what?”

“You’re not fine, and you’re holding yourself accountable for something you couldn’t control. Brad, the accident wasn’t your fault.”

He stared at my hand on his arm. “I was driving.”

“Your car,” I said. “You were driving your car and obeying the laws of the road. You weren’t the one who got drunk, blew through a red light and hurt Richard.”

He lifted his tormented eyes to mine. “You-you don’t blame me?”

“No, and you need to stop blaming yourself. The man responsible for this is whom I hold accountable. Graham told me he died from his injuries, and now his family has to suffer with the result of his choices. We all do—you included. But you are not to blame, and I need you to stop beating yourself up.”

His shoulders slumped, his head falling to his chest. Sobs ripped from his throat, and I gently wrapped my arms around him. He wept, his good arm gripping my waist. I let him cry, pure rage flooding my system—not trying to tamp down my feelings this time. I was furious at a stranger who made the foolish decision to drink away his disappointment at losing his job. Who downed a bottle of liquor in his car, then decided to head home in a drunken haze, and turned the lives of innocent people upside down. I was angry for his family, for the pain Brad felt, for the tears my daughter shed, and for myself.

Because his selfish act hadn’t ended yet. I had no idea what the future held for Richard. If he would wake up. If he would walk again.

If he would come back to me.

I cursed the man who caused this as I held the young man so desperate to take the blame. Brad’s tears soaked my shoulder, and he shook violently as he sobbed.

And I wept with him.10KatyMy anger didn’t abate. It grew.

For six days, it simmered and twisted in my gut. Six days as I waited by my husband’s bed for him to wake up. To open his hazel eyes and look at me. Smile. Frown. Groan. Anything.

The medical staff told me to be patient. To remain positive.

Both emotions were slowly draining from me.

For six days, he remained trapped in a world beyond me. Where I couldn’t reach him. His chest fell and rose with his breathing. The full oxygen mask had been replaced by cannulas, his breathing tube gone. Thick stubble grew on his face, hiding some of the cuts. His bruises were changing, fading from black and blue to yellow and purple. His expression was peaceful, his body unmoving and unresponsive.

When we were alone, I wept, begging and pleading with him to wake up. When other people were around, I remained calm, locking down my emotions, putting on a strong, brave, positive face, saying he would wake soon. Be with us.

Still, he slept.

Inside, I despaired.

And burned.“Mommy, I want Daddy!” Gracie demanded, her voice loud and whiny as I attempted to dress her.

“Daddy is sleeping,” I retorted automatically. “Stay still, Gracie. Mommy can’t get your pants on if you keep squirming.”

“Wake him up!” she shrieked, thrashing her legs. “I wants him!”

I pulled her upright. “I can’t!” I shrieked back. “Mommy can’t! Stop asking me to do things I can’t do!”

Her eyes widened, tears flooding them.

Instantly chagrined, I pulled her into my arms. “Mommy is sorry, Gracie. I didn’t mean to yell.”

She sobbed, her tears almost constant, it seemed, while I was around. She did better when she was with Laura or Mrs. Thomas. Maddox made her giggle. Graham made her smile. But it was as if she picked up on my despondency and anger and acted out when I came to see her.

Laura stepped into the room, smiling sadly in understanding.

“I can get her dressed.”

“I’ll do it,” I snapped. “I’m perfectly capable of dressing my own daughter.”

Laura’s expression faltered, but her tone remained calm. “Of course.” She slipped from the room before I could apologize.

I carried Gracie to the rocking chair and stroked her hair. “I’m sorry, baby.”

She sniffled.

Guilt ate away at me. I tried hard to be strong, but it seemed I was failing completely. I was snapping at everyone. Resenting their constant interference. Telling me when to leave, when to eat, how to feel. Part of me knew they were all trying to help, except my patience was reaching its limits.

I didn’t want to leave the hospital to sleep. I wasn’t hungry, and I hated being forced to eat. I didn’t care that there were people willing to forgo their own sleep and life to sit beside Richard so he wasn’t alone. I wanted to be there when he woke up. I needed to be there.