That slight hesitation told Anne more was yet to come. “What are you not telling me, Hank?”
“What he’ll be like afterward is my only concern.”
Bile rose into Anne’s throat, bringing with it the acrid taste of fear. “Paralysis?” The word came out in a croak.
Hank streaked a hand over his nape and studied the blue-and-gray patchwork tiles beneath his feet. “He’s exhibiting some on his right side.”
“His hand?” She asked the question for Jack as much as she asked for herself. Surgery was Jack’s passion. Jack’s life. How well she knew that. Their marriage had paid the price for his obsession, and so had their child. But he didn’t deserve this. No one deserved this. Even the man who had shattered her heart.
Hank sighed. “The hand’s pretty dead right now. The numbness is extensive, especially in his leg. We’ll know for sure how bad it might be in the next couple of days, after he’s leveled off. If the paralysis doesn’t resolve on its own, there’s no reason to think he can’t recover with extensive rehab. At least, enough to be productive.”
“Productive?” Anne released a humorless laugh. “Doing what, Hank? If he can’t operate, he’ll waste away.”
“No, he won’t. He’ll get better. For Katie. For you.”
Anne shook her head. Jack wouldn’t get better for her. Maybe for their daughter, but not for her. “He has to do this for himself.”
“True. And we have to keep him fighting. We can’t lose him over this.”
All the well-honed detachment from her former husband couldn’t save her from the sudden nausea. Jack was sick. Katie’s father. Her one-time husband of seventeen years. Years of abounding happiness and devastating heartache.
She didn’t want to feel anything, but she did, and she hated that. “Where is he?”
Hank gestured over his shoulder toward the cubicle. “In eight.”
Despite all the latent anger, she had to know he was okay, at least for now. “Can I see him?”
“Sure. He’s had some mild arrhythmia, but his pressure’s stabilized. Nan’s hydrating him with maintenance fluids to prevent cerebral swelling. He’s on pain meds, so he’s pretty comfortable, but he’s still out of it.” Hank sent her a comforting smile. “Guess you probably know most of the routine, huh?”
Yes, as a medical professional with years of training, she understood the treatment and the procedures. Right now, though, all that knowledge was useless. She wasn’t the R.N. She was the wife—or ex-wife, as was the case. She couldn’t exercise solid judgment at a time like this. Not when thinking with her heart, not her head.
“Don’t leave anything out, Hank. Assume I know nothing.”
“Okay. I’ll remember that.” He patted her arm. “Right this way.”
Anne followed Hank on leaden feet down the hall. Rationally, she knew Jack would simply look like Jack, only asleep. But still she was afraid.
Once they reached the window, Hank stepped to one side and motioned for her to join him. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Anne moved slowly to the glass and studied the scene. Jack lay on the white-sheeted hospital bed, his six-foot-two frame nearly covering the length of it. With one wayward lock of dark hair falling over his forehead, his mouth slack, he seemed so vulnerable, so unlike the esteemed surgeon who was openly worshiped and silently feared. In that moment she caught a glimpse of the young man she had married—a brilliant doctor, a good friend, an expert lover. Before the drive to be the best had overtaken the tenderness. Before he’d decided that his life’s work was more important than his daughter and wife.
Right now Anne wished he would get up and protest, but he remained motionless. The metal bars on the bed had been raised to prevent him from falling. Jack would hate being confined. But it was for his own good, although he would never see it that way.
Anne touched her fingertips to the clear glass, as if she could somehow connect with him. As if she could bring him back to the way he’d been all those years ago, when they were everything to each other. She grieved not only for the Jack whose future was so tenuous, but also for the Jack she had lost to stubborn ambition. The man who had been so easy to love, yet so difficult to understand.
She shook off the memories, though she couldn’t shake off the regret, or the groundswell of feelings that she’d tried so hard to disregard over the past two years. She had to keep the painful emotions buried, never to resurrect them again, for the sake of her sanity and her soul.
“He’s going to need you, Anne. More than he’s ever needed anything in his life.”
No. She didn’t want to hear this. “Don’t do this to me, Hank.”
Clasping her shoulders, Hank turned her around to face him. “He’s got no one. Just you and Katie. If he’s going to survive, he has to have support. He has to have both of you.”
Like someone about to tumble over a cliff, she grasped for anything to save her from this fate. “He has a brother.”
“Bert’s out o the country, Anne. Jack needs friends and family right here to help him recover, and that includes you and Katie.”
Anne admitted Hank was right, but her survival instincts were much stronger than logic. This summer she’d planned to cut her hours at the hospital and begin work on her master’s degree, bringing her one step closer to realizing her dream—a dream she’d put on hold for the sake of Jack’s career. Once she had the degree she could sell the house, with its memories, and start over. She could give Katie a mother who was whole, alive and sure of herself. Jack’s need might take all that away. She would suffocate in Jack’s need.
Anne tried to stay strong, although she was crumbling inside like week-old pastry. She swiped furiously at the tears that slipped past her attempts to stop them. “Katie’s only seven. She wouldn’t understand seeing her daddy this way. It would scare her to death.”
Hank pinned her with a glare. “Are you intending to keep Katie from him? Are you going to just say, ‘To hell with you, Jack. Make it on your own’?” He shrugged. “Of course, you could hire someone to take care of him while he’s recovering. Is that what you want, Anne? Strangers tending to him? Do you hate him that much?”
No, she had loved him too much.
Her tears fell in earnest now. She didn’t know what to do, what to feel. She only knew she couldn’t breathe in this stifling atmosphere. She needed air. She needed to get back to work. She needed to think.
Anne walked away and headed past windows revealing the deluge outside that was no match for the storm of emotions within her. She reached the elevator where she would travel to the labor and delivery floor to resume her shift, a place to forget the prospect of death while welcoming new life. And if that didn’t work, she would go home and prepare for her daughter to return from school.
Hank let her go without protest, but she could sense his accusing glare while she waited for the next car to arrive. The doors sighed opened and several people streamed out, family members of loved ones clinging to life. She didn’t want to count herself among them, so she brushed past the group, seeking an escape, only to run into another man from her past, hospital administrator Maxwell Crabtree, as always looking polished in his tailor-made blue suit, his thinning sandy hair held in place by a light coat of gel.
Before Anne could hand out a polite greeting and be done with it, Max took her by the arm and led her away from the elevator. He stopped outside the ICU waiting room, his expression grim. “I’ve heard about Jack, Anne. Tough break for him.”
His tone was less than compassionate—something that didn’t