Читать книгу The Bracelet - Karen Smith Rose - Страница 8

Hours had passed since Brady’s surgery.

Laura’s palms were sweaty as she approached the Open Heart Intensive Care Unit, thinking about Dr. Gregano’s words after Brady’s heart catheterization the previous day. “Your husband has ninety-nine percent blockage in the main artery, eighty-five percent in the…”

His diagnosis had hit Laura like a belly blow. For some reason, she hadn’t been able to absorb everything. When she’d managed to concentrate on his voice again, she’d heard, “…surgery as soon as we can schedule him in the morning.”

Now, as she stood there after so many cups of coffee she’d lost count, trying to prepare herself for this first visit, all she could think about was the fact that she’d triggered this. She’d caused Brady’s heart attack. And she had to face the aftermath of it.

Both the surgeon and Dr. Gregano had warned her that some people didn’t want to visit their loved ones the first night after surgery.

Stepping inside the cubicle, she felt her breath catch as she saw Brady, and she almost backed away. The doctors had explained what she’d find, yet she hadn’t been prepared.

He looked like death. He was so white she wasn’t sure blood pumped through him. His hands, arms and face were swollen, his fingers blue. He seemed to be shivering. He was hooked up to tubes, IVs and monitors, and a machine breathed for him, making his chest heave. There were markings and dye on his body.

She felt as if she’d stepped into a science-fiction movie.

Still, even if a machine was breathing for him, this was her Brady and he was alive.

A nurse touched her arm. “He’s doing fine.”

Fine. What an inadequate word.

Dr. Gregano had told her Brady would be sedated. That was best the first twelve hours. But she wanted to see those blue eyes of her husband’s. She needed to see those eyes. She needed to know he was still her Brady.

After approaching Brady slowly, Laura sat on the edge of a chair next to the bed. This was so different from when she’d visited him after his heart attack. She wasn’t sure exactly why. Maybe because she knew that during the operation, the surgeon had cut through Brady’s chest and cracked open his sternum. Brady had been connected to a heart-lung machine and his heart had stopped. The surgery had been traumatic, and she really didn’t fathom the results of that yet. Maybe because she was afraid that the Brady who would wake up wouldn’t be the Brady she’d married and loved for more than half her life.

The lump in her throat made it hard for her to swallow. Her stomach roiled with fear and she felt nauseated. Yet she had to be here for him, just as she’d been there for him after other kinds of nightmares, just as he’d been there for her after her miscarriages and after the death of their son. That was what she and Brady did. They held on to each other through the difficult times, even when they didn’t feel like it, even when it was hard, even when they didn’t want to. When had they stopped going out for dinner on the odd evening the kids were both involved in activities and Brady was home? When had kisses become short and perfunctory rather than long and passionate? She couldn’t remember when making love had joined their souls. More tears came to her eyes and once more she blinked them away. Making love with Brady had always brought them back together when distance found its way between them.

She laid her hand on Brady’s arm and whispered, “I’m here.”

He didn’t respond and she recognized the fact that he couldn’t.

Because the sight of Brady like this was so overwhelming, because she had to stay and touch him, yet felt he wasn’t really here, she sank into memories again, desperately wanting to escape the complications of everything happening now, to be anywhere else with Brady.

All over again it was May 1969. Each day that month had brought her and Brady closer. Each day had shown her how much he cared.

After Aunt Marcia had ordered her to rent a place of her own, Laura had gone to the address on the slip of paper her aunt had thrust at her. She’d found a boardinghouse that smelled like sour cabbage. As the landlady had taken her to the second floor, a disheveled man had opened his door and leered at her. When Mrs. Treedy had told her she’d be sleeping on the third floor with another “gentleman” across the hall from her, Laura had made her escape.

On her return to her aunt’s, she’d found a note:

I’ll be back around five. I put some boxes in your room for you to start packing. See you later.

Aunt M.

Laura had replaced the note on the red Formica table but had brought the Sunday paper with her to the sofa. Sinking onto it, she’d told herself she was not going to cry. She was twenty. She was old enough to be on her own. She’d get extra hours of work somehow or add another job. And she’d find a place better than Mrs. Treedy’s.

About three o’clock, a car pulled up outside. Brady hadn’t said anything about getting together again. He’d been silent the night before as he’d driven her home. Today was the dinner at his uncle’s with his family, then he’d be headed back to school. Maybe he’d call her before he left. Maybe he wouldn’t. She had the feeling he was embarrassed about last night. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing to be embarrassed about.

She sensed rather than heard the footsteps on the porch and realized she was holding her breath when the bell rang. Running to the door, she broke into a full smile. It was Brady.

“Are you busy?” His tone was nonchalant, but his hands dug deep into his jeans pockets.

“I thought you were having dinner at your uncle’s.”

“I was…I did…but I needed to see you.”

She opened the screen door and motioned him inside. “Aunt Marcia’s not here. I…need to talk to you, too.”

He saw the paper spread out on the sofa, the black circles around ads. “What’s going on?”

“You wanted to talk about something.”

Now he shifted uncomfortably. “Actually I don’t really want to. I’d rather forget all about last night. You must think I’m a coward.”

When she clasped his arm, she looked him in the eyes. “I don’t think that. I’d never think that. There’s nothing wrong with feelings, Brady. Last night, you felt everything that’s been piling up inside. You have every right to be scared.”

He winced at the word and protested, “I’m not scared. I know what I have to do.”

For a moment he studied her, then he took her hand and pulled her to the sofa. When they were seated, facing each other, he ran his hand down her cheek. “I don’t let anybody see what you saw last night. Don’t you get that?”

She rubbed her cheek against his large strong hand. “You can be who you are with me. You don’t have to pretend. I want to know you. Last night, I felt closer to you than I’ve ever felt to anyone.”

Wrapping his arm around her, he drew her against him on the sofa. He tilted his head against hers and they just sat there, their bodies touching, just like their hearts.

A few minutes later, he motioned to the newspaper. “So tell me what this is all about.”

It seemed so natural to pour out everything to him. “When I got in so late last night, Aunt Marcia was up. She said I have to move. She gave me this address for a rooming house and I went there this morning. Oh, Brady, it was awful!” Her voice quivered as she told him about the condition of the place, the man in the hall, the attic rooms.

“You’re dead-on you’re not staying there. I don’t want you anywhere around a creep like him.”

She pointed to the paper. “I have about ten possibilities circled here. I probably shouldn’t call on a Sunday, but I’m going to. I have to find a place as soon as possible. Aunt Marcia put boxes in my room—”

Brady pushed himself from the sofa and rose to his feet.

“What’s wrong?”

He headed for the kitchen. “I’m going to make a call.”

“Who are you calling?”

“No questions yet. Just give me a couple of minutes, okay?”

She gave him about ten minutes, and privacy, too. If whatever he was trying to do for her didn’t work out, she didn’t want her disappointment to show.

When he returned to the living room, he was grinning. “Let’s take a ride.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

At that moment, she’d follow him anywhere.

Fifteen minutes later, Brady had veered off North George Street, down an alley and into a small parking lot in back of a flower shop.

“Are we window-shopping for flowers?” she asked, not understanding at all what they were doing here. She’d heard of Blossoms, a shop with a wonderful reputation, especially for providing wedding flowers. Last year on her aunt’s birthday, she’d had a small arrangement delivered to her.

“It’s my mother’s shop,” Brady explained with a hint of pride.

“Your mother owns Blossoms?” His mom had talked about working with flowers, but Laura hadn’t realized she owned her own shop.

“Yep. But it’s not the flower shop we’re interested in today. Come on.”

He was out of the car and around to her door before she could even open it. When he took her hand, she followed him to the back door of the store, thinking they were going inside. But they weren’t. Instead they started up the stairs to the second floor. On the small porch, he produced a key and opened the door.

When they stepped inside, Laura saw trellises and plant stands. Then she noticed the sink, small refrigerator and gas range. “It’s a kitchen.”

“This apartment was here when Mom bought the shop. She rented it for a few years but then decided the renters were more trouble than they were worth. She’s been storing odds and ends here. So when I told her about your aunt kicking you out because I brought you home too late—”

“Brady, that’s not the reason. She’s just using it as an excuse.”

“I know that, but I wanted to keep things simple. Anyway, I asked Mom if she’d consider renting it to you. She said she would if—” he stopped and gave her a mischievous grin “—if I convince my brothers to help me move everything out of here.”

“But where will you put it all?”

“Mom’s going to pick out what we should take downstairs to her storage room. The rest she said she might donate to the Salvation Army. The apartment isn’t very big—just a kitchen, a bedroom with a sitting area and a bath….”

As Laura peeked into the other room, her chest felt tight. “Brady, it’s wonderful. But I’m not certain I can afford this.”

“Mom said you could pay whatever you were going to pay for the room in that boardinghouse.”

That wasn’t nearly enough. “Maybe I could help your mom in the shop when I’m not working at the store.”

“I’m sure she’d like that, especially during her busy times. It really gets crazy at Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Easter—most of the holidays.”

Jubilant over the idea of having an apartment of her own, she threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

His fingers laced in her long hair. “I think I do.”

When Brady’s lips captured hers, she melted into him, wishing they could start a life together right now…wishing the war waiting for him would simply go away.

A nurse came through the sliding glass doors into the OHICU cubicle, bringing Laura back to reality again—the reality that Brady wasn’t breathing on his own and seemed too ill to ever recover.

“Time’s up,” the woman informed her gently.

Laura had so many questions. How soon would it be before Brady could breath on his own? What did she need to know to make his recuperation successful? Would he look better tomorrow? Would he really be ready to go home in a few days?

Yet she understood the nurse couldn’t answer those questions. She realized that for now she’d have to take one hour at a time. For certain, she wasn’t going to let Kat or Sean visit their dad. Kat would fall apart, and Sean, even though he’d pretend to handle this scene, really couldn’t.

There were so many tubes and lines and electrodes attached to Brady she couldn’t give him a real hug. She didn’t even realize she was crying until she leaned over him to kiss his cheek and a tear landed on his jaw. The terror of seeing him like this built inside her until it was clawing at her chest to break out.

After she squeezed his arm, she said close to his ear, “I love you, Brady.” Then reluctantly she let go of him and left the cubicle.

Tears from fatigue, from worry about Brady, blurred her vision. Exiting his room, she ran into a nurse, murmured, “Excuse me,” and headed for the shelter of the hall. She had to be alone. She needed to cry out the weakness inside her so it was gone and she could deal with the rest of this.

“Mrs. Malone, are you all right?”

Having spoken with Dr. Gregano a few times now, she recognized his voice. She swiped her tears away with her palms. “I’m just—” she finally raised her gaze to his “—tired.”

“Stay here a moment,” he ordered, his brow drawn.

Where was she going to go?

To her dismay, the tears kept coming, and she scrubbed at them like a small child who didn’t want to be caught crying.

Suddenly Dr. Gregano was back, carrying a box of tissues. He offered them to her. “Here, blow your nose. Then you have to listen to me.”

She felt like an idiot, blowing her nose in front of him, but she did, and wiped her tears and stuffed the tissues in her pocket. “I’m sorry, I—”

He was already shaking his head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about. The first visit is tough. I saw my father like that. I thought I was prepared. I knew how he’d look. I knew what the machines would be doing. But to visit a loved one like that is devastating. I’m here to tell you, though, the next visit will be better and the one after that better still. Your husband’s color will improve. He’ll begin breathing with the respirator. He’ll be more alert and realize where he is. In a few hours, we’ll get rid of that tube down his throat and he’ll really start the road to recovery.”

“I’m so scared,” she admitted. “This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. We have some family issues and—”

“Every family does. But as far as being at the worst time—” he shook his head “—this shake-up can let everyone reevaluate what’s happening in their lives.”

This doctor might be years younger than she was, but he had experience she didn’t have and there was a maturity about him. Maybe it came from dealing with life and death every day.

“How old are you?” she asked boldly.

At first he was taken aback, and then he smiled. “Forty-seven. How about you?”

“Fifty-eight,” she admitted with a sigh. “But feeling a lot older right now.”

“At times I feel a hundred and four,” he confided. “But fortunately, once I get out of this hospital, work out at the gym and eat a breakfast that counteracts everything I’ve done, I feel middle-aged again, ready to come back in here and start the war all over.”

“You fight for your patients,” she said, “even when they give up.”

“Sure do.”

Almost reflexively, she glanced at his left hand. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

Observant of where she’d targeted her gaze, he said, “I’m not married. No woman would put up with my schedule.”

“Maybe you just haven’t met the right one.” A man like him, dedicated to his profession, determined to give his patients most of his energy, deserved to have somebody waiting for him at the end of a long day. But she didn’t say that. It seemed too…personal somehow.

“Feeling a little better?” he asked.

“Yes, and thank you for your concern. You’re busy and I know Brady’s your patient, not me. I’ll be fine. After the next visit I’ll try to get some sleep.”

“Away from the hospital?”

“Well, I was just going to stretch out in the waiting room again.”

“Go home, Mrs. Malone. Sleep in your own bed. Try to get a good night’s rest. You’ll do more for your husband that way than if he spots those dark circles under your eyes and realizes you’re dragging because you haven’t slept.”

“I just…I just don’t want to leave him. It’s crazy, but I feel that as long as I’m here watching over him, as long as I’m talking to him and touching him, he’ll get stronger faster.”

Dr. Gregano gave her a wry smile. “Mr. Malone is a lucky man. I imagine that whether you’re here or whether you’re at home, he’ll feel you pulling for him.”

The cardiologist’s pager went off. Excusing himself, he checked the number. “I have to get this,” he said with a grim expression. “Remember what I said and take my advice. Go home.” Then he was rushing toward the elevator.

Laura looked back at the cubicle she’d exited. Dr. Gregano had said Brady would be better in another hour. She couldn’t leave yet…she just couldn’t. She’d call Pat to pick up the kids, but she was going to stay. No matter what Dr. Gregano said, she wanted Brady to feel her presence. She wanted him to feel her touch.

After thirty-three years of marriage, she didn’t know what else to do.