Chasing Stars (41 page)

“Why do I sense you really, really want me to stay?” I ask. “I don’t even know you that well.”

“But I know you. And love you, Portia, with everlasting love.”

“Why?”

“Up here, we love every single creature that breathes. But we are particularly fond of the unloved ones.”

“It is weird, but there is a sense of a perfect fit. I want to stay. But I also want to be with Will.”

“Your mate sensed long ago that your time was running out. He drew you to him. He found a way to make your paths cross. The will of Will, is unbelievable.” He sighs and then smiles. “The whole universe, obeying supernatural laws, conspired in his favor, bringing you to him,” he says.

“Though you found an anchor to keep you on earth, you can return to dust and your soul to us, the choice is yours,” he adds.

My love for Will cries out from deep inside my soul. But my spirit is peaceful, full, and perfectly complete. I look at God and smile. (Side note: Talking to God is nerve-racking.) He flashes his incredibly white teeth at me. He stands and reaches his hand to me. I accept it. Without me saying a word, he tells me.

“I knew it. Your choice couldn’t make me happier.”

A sharp pain with destructive power cut through my chest, destroying my will to live in a world where the absence of Portia reigns.

“I got a pulse,” an emotionless voice announces. But I swear that, to me, it sounded like a choir of angels declaring life over Portia. Suddenly, I too beat to life and hope returns to my mind, body, and soul.

“Prepare transport to hospital.”

I snap my head on the direction of the man announcing it.

“But is she breathing?” I ask.

“Barely,” he says, already securing her unmoving body on a gurney.

As if on automatic pilot, I crawl inside the ambulance. There is no way in hell I will leave Portia’s side. The small space keeps me close to her flaccid, motionless body. A quiet sob rises in my throat and I begin to weep. As the ambulance speeds away, my hands ache to touch her, but I’m afraid to disrupt the paramedics’ work. I clench my fists, and drop them to my thighs. Quickly, but not fast enough for me, the paramedics push the gurney out of the vehicle.

My heart falters when they disappear behind the doors, and a nurse pushes me back. “Sir, that’s restricted area. You need to fill out the paperwork for admitting her and wait.” My eyes are cloudy and my mind hazy. I need to gather all my wits to register the directions the nurse provides me.

In the ER administrative area, I stand behind a window watching impatiently as a woman behind the desk slowly types the information I provide into the computer.

“Is it Portia McGee, the Hollywood actress?” She inquires unemotionally, through her nasal voice. It seems that Portia’s profession is a disease to be listed and the process to admit her is delaying the woman’s coffee break.

“Yes, is there a problem?” I ask defensively.

“Please wait, I’ll have to call my supervisor.” I tap my foot on the pale linoleum floor. I dry my sweaty hands on my jeans, and inhale a ragged breath of air. I hear her whispering on the phone, something about a protocol. She hangs up the phone, and directs her attention back to me.

“Mr. Miller, when we have celebrities at the hospital, we need to ensure their privacy is not breached. So, if you wait here, you will need to meet with the head of security.”

I shake my head, exasperated with the news. Do I really need to go through this damn process? But immediately, I see two men striding my way.

“Mr. Miller, I am Earl Burton, the director of the hospital, and this is Wayne Jackson, the head of our security team. Please follow us.”

They guide me to a very private and comfortable waiting room. The head of security, whose name I’ve I already forgotten, goes through an endless list of the precautionary actions they will implement. They reassure me that Portia’s privacy will be of utmost priority to their security team. And nothing regarding her medical status will be released to the press through any member of the medical team.

“In cases of someone as famous as your wife, it is common for fans or member of the press to try to gain access to the medical record,” the director informs me.

I simply nod, anxious to end the awkward conversation. My stomach roils. It sickens me that while Portia is fighting for her life on a cold operating table, we are talking of ways to keep her safe from prying scavengers trying to snap pictures or learn details of her condition. Truly disgusting.

After they leave, I try to organize my jumbled thoughts. I decide to call Dan because I desperately need him and his unwavering faith. Also, I call Stefan, so he can notify Portia’s family, and Niki and Tarry. Through a cloud of tears, I wander across the room. I am unafraid if people think I am mad. I huddle behind a small sofa by a large glass window. I feel like a wild animal in need of refuge.

Lost in my fear and agony, I don’t respond when Dan and Maritza sit next to me. Dan whispers for a long time, what I think are prayers. After some time, he squeezes my shoulder and gets up. From the floor, I watch the vast sky. Thin clouds swell with darkening silver-gray moisture and roll closer, indicating the coming of a storm. At some point, Mr. McGee enters the room. From a distance, I hear him speak with Dan. He approaches me, but I deliberately ignore him.

“Hi, I am Doctor Jacob Suzan; I am here for a brief update on Portia’s status.”

My head snaps to face the doctor. My heart constricts. I sprint up. “I am her husband,” I breathlessly inform the doctor.

“Excuse me, there has to be a mistake. I am her father, and Portia is single,” Mr. McGee utters.

“You would know me, if you paid the slightest attention to Portia. But as you told your own daughter, Portia is not enough of a family member to participate in a goddamn Thanksgiving dinner.” My nostrils flare when I look at his broken expression. I think I hate the man. I identify the weakness of character by the way he pitifully glances at his wife. He appears full of regret. Hypocrite. She needed you then, not now.

“They got married last week. In fact, I married them.” Dan turns to the doctor and informs. “I am Reverend Dan Miller, and this is my son Will Miller.”

I make a mental prayer, thankful that Dan is wearing his collar, which most people tend to respect.

“Well…” Dr. Suzan glances at Mr. McGee, searching for approval. Mr. McGee nods in agreement.

“An initial medical evaluation and a full body MRI indicate that Portia has a fractured clavicle, a fracture to her left tibia, five broken ribs, a strain in her wrist, a laceration of her kidney, a punctured liver, and a collapsed lung. Since she can’t breathe, she has been placed on a respirator.”

“What does all this mean? Is she going to be OK?” Mr. McGee asks.

“She has severe internal bleeding that needs to be contained, which right now is our priority. Once we stop the bleeding, she will undergo a series of surgeries to repair the damaged organs.”

“Is she going to be OK?” I croak.

“We are doing the best we can to keep her alive. I came to give you an update on her current status. But, if you will excuse me, I have to go back to the operating room. A nurse will give you updates as the surgery progresses.”

As if seeing through fuzzy lenses, I see the doctor disappear behind the door. I can’t get myself to talk or even look at Portia’s family. Dan places his hand on my shoulder.

“She will come through,” he says.

Inhaling deeply, I gag, not because of smell of bleach and disinfectant that abrades my nostrils. The grim smell of death pervades the hospital. I scramble back to the corner, and drop to the floor.

I close my eyes, and block out every voice on the room. I think of my wedding night with Portia, tangled together under the open sky back in our meadow. I go to Aurora. I mentally cry out, in the hopes that Portia will hear my mental plea and find her way back to me. I don’t know how many hours I spend curled up, but at some point, the room buzzes with familiar voices. I identified Mel, Lucas, Tarry, Niki, and Stefan.

From time to time, someone nudges me to offer food or a drink. Unable to restrain myself, I growl in response. Finally, I hear a doctor enter the room and announce the end of the series of the surgeries.

I leap up. My eyes search his face for a clue of Portia’s status. Impassively, I wait for the doctor’s report. In those few seconds, I feel as if I’ve aged ten thousand years.

“We were able to stop the internal bleeding; Portia has gone into surgery to repair her injured lung and liver. Her kidney suffered minor lacerations but will heal without surgery.”

“Will she be all right? Can I see her?” I interrupt the doctor.

“No, at this point she cannot receive visitors. Portia has stabilized, but she is still in critical condition. She will remain in the ICU and, though at this point anything can happen, we are optimistic…”

I release a long breath of air I didn’t even realize I was holding. Portia will survive. Doctor Suzan continues to give his report, but I am unable to focus. A rush of relief runs through me. My body shakes and my knees buckle. Before I collapse, Tarry and Lucas hold me. They carry me to the couch.

“She will be OK, man,” I hear a sob in Tarry’s voice.

Dan comes to me, and I feel his arms surrounding me. I give in and cry on his shoulder, surrendering to the excruciating pain. A wave of relief rushes through the room. I close my eyes and thank God for allowing my wife to find her way back to me.