Cherish (Covet #1.5) (2 page)

There’s a chair in the corner of the room. I’m not sure what the rules are in the ICU, but I perch lightly on the edge of it, hoping they’ll let me stay if I don’t get in their way. They bustle in and out, checking, poking, prodding, adjusting. I’ve turned my phone’s ringer to vibrate, and when I feel it moving against my leg I hurry to pull it out of my pocket, hoping to see Mimi’s name. But it’s not Daniel’s mom, it’s mine.

“Hi, Mom,” I whisper.

“Oh my God, Jess. Did you hear about Daniel?”

“Yes. I’m actually here at the hospital. Two officers came to my apartment because I was still listed as his emergency contact. How did you find out?”

“I saw it on TV. One of those breaking-news bulletins. How is he?

I look over at Daniel and choke back a sob. “It’s pretty bad.”

“Do you want me to come down there?”

“No. I don’t think they’ll let you in anyway. I’m trying to reach Mimi and Jerry, but they’re not answering. I’m going to stay here if they’ll let me. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay. Give Daniel my love. Call me if you need anything.”

Finally at midnight, I ask the nurse who came on duty around eleven if I have to leave. I can’t bear the thought of Daniel waking up alone.

If he wakes up at all.

“You’re welcome to stay, Mrs. Rush.” She points to a small alcove I hadn’t noticed before, which has a sofa built in to it. “The sofa converts to a bed if you’d like to lie down.”

“Thank you. I’ll just use the chair.”

“Your husband may be able to hear your voice. You should tell him you’re here. I’m sure that would be of great comfort to him.”

It would probably be very
confusing
to him.

My thoughts drift back to something that happened toward the end of our marriage. I’d crawled underneath the covers after telling Daniel that I wanted to be left alone. Taking to my bed was something I’d been doing with increased frequency during the preceding six months. It seemed that the only way I could manage my grief and anger, the only way I could get through it, was to shut myself off from everything and everyone around me. Whenever this happened, Daniel would struggle to honor my wishes. The door would creak open, and a sliver of light would spill into the room, piercing the darkness, hurting my eyes.

“I made you something to eat,” he’d say. “Come on, Jess. You need to get out of this bed.”

His pleas would be met with silence until he finally retreated.

This time, when he’d tried to rouse me after I’d been in bed for almost three days, his voice carried an edge of frustration and desperation.

“Jess,” he said imploringly. “Enough is enough. You can’t do this anymore.”

Angry tears rolled down my face as I yelled at him. “Why is it so hard for you to leave me alone? I asked you to do one thing for me, and you can’t even do that!”

He’d slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame on his way out.

When I finally emerged, I found him in the backyard raking leaves. Teeth clenched and jaw rigid, he jabbed at the earth as the sweat ran down his face. He wouldn’t even look at me, so I went back inside.

At the time I felt very justified in my anger, my sadness. Now I know I was just being selfish. That’s the thing about hindsight. You can learn from it, but it can’t help you when you need it the most.

After the nurse leaves, I approach Daniel’s bedside and reach for his hand, careful not to jostle his IVs. Tears pour down my face as I look at this man I loved for so long. A man who now needs all the help he can get.

“Hey. It’s Jessie. I called your mom and dad, and they’ll be here soon,” I say, feeling that the white lie is justified if it calms Daniel to know his parents are on their way. “You’re in the best of hands, and everything is going to be okay.”

It’s not that I expect a response, and it would be impossible for Daniel to answer me with the tube down his throat. But I’d give just about anything to hear his voice.

I try to sleep, but it’s nearly impossible in the ICU. The hours pass in a cacophony of noise as the machinery monitoring Daniel emits a series of sounds: buzzing, swooshing, and beeping. The ICP monitor gives another false alarm around three in the morning, and it startles me so badly I almost fall out of the chair. Nurses wander in, taking vital signs, observing, and speaking in low, soothing tones. When I ask how Daniel is doing, they say he’s holding his own and that Dr. Seering will give me an update in the morning.

I doze in fits and starts and wake completely when Dylan walks into the room at six. Dylan and I have never seen eye to eye, but right now he’s the only link I have to Daniel’s family, so I’ll take what I can get. For once, his signature smirk has been wiped clean and replaced with a blank, shell-shocked look, and I feel sorry for him. No matter how tempestuous his relationship with Daniel is, it can’t be easy for him to see his brother in this condition.

I reach out to him, and he pulls me in for a hug.

“Hey,” I say. “I would have called you, but I don’t have a current number.” The truth is I deleted him from my contacts after the divorce because I was certain I’d never need to call him again.

“It’s the same number I’ve always had,” he says, just to let me know he can see right through my bullshit. “A friend called me this morning. She saw it on the news.”

“Where are your parents? I’ve left several messages. The machine doesn’t pick up at home. No one is answering their cell.”

“They’re on an RV tour of the United States.”

“They’re on a
what
?”

“Dad bought an RV. He and Mom are driving cross-country in it. They’re planning on being gone for at least six months. My guess is that the phone is off or they’re somewhere with crappy reception. I’ve left them a message. They’ll call when they get it.”

Jerry had always talked enthusiastically about doing something like that, but I’d thought he was kidding. God love Mimi for going along with it.

Dylan approaches Daniel’s bedside. He takes in the tubes and wires, looks down at Daniel, and takes a deep breath. “Will he be okay?”

“I’m sure he will.”

“And the doctors? What do they say?”

“Not much. One of the nurses told me the doctor would give an update in the morning. Right now they’re monitoring the pressure in his brain. That’s their biggest concern.”

Dylan exhales, never taking his eyes from Daniel’s face.

“The nurse said he may be able to hear our voices,” I say. “You should tell him you’re here.”

Realizing he may want some privacy, I excuse myself and go in search of a bathroom. When I return, Dylan’s sitting in the chair. “Why are you here?” he asks. “Of all the people I expected to see, you didn’t even make the short list.”

I don’t dispute this because it’s the truth. “I’m still his emergency contact.”

“Ah, he’s still clinging to you, I see.”

“It was more than likely an oversight.”

“Maybe,” he concedes.

“Is there anyone else we should call? A girlfriend, maybe?” I ask, wincing inwardly because I’m not sure I want to know if there’s a woman in Daniel’s life.

“Well, there’s Claire,” he says and then gets up and walks away, leaving me in the dark.

Claire?

I stifle my proprietary feelings because I don’t have the right to have them. Does Claire know? Why isn’t she here?

I follow Dylan out of the room. “Well, should we call her?”

He takes his sweet time answering and gives me a look, the one that says he has some secret knowledge he’s not planning to share.

“We don’t need to call her,” he says. “Trust me on this.”

Trusting Dylan would be like trusting a shark not to bite, but any further conversation is halted when Dr. Seering walks into the room and approaches Daniel’s bedside. When he finishes examining Daniel, he turns to us.

I introduce Dylan, who says, “How is he?”

The fear I hear in Dylan’s voice is genuine and mirrors my own emotional state. What if we’re about to receive news we aren’t prepared to hear?

“The pressure in Daniel’s brain is holding steady, but it’s still a big concern. Right now we’re in the roller-coaster stage. Pressure that is being maintained can rise suddenly, without warning, so we’ll continue to monitor it very closely. On a positive note, the bullet has injured only one hemisphere and one lobe, which is the best-case scenario for this type of injury. A bullet that crosses through both hemispheres is not only more lethal, it will do a lot more damage.”

My hope rises. “Less damage means he’ll be okay.”

“Less damage means fewer functions lost.”

His words strike fear into me. I hadn’t given much thought to the long-term effects of a bullet ripping through Daniel’s brain. “What are the functions that might be affected?” I ask, although I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.

“The bullet entered the right side of his brain, which will cause muscle weakness on the left side of his body. He’ll have some trouble with spatial perception, and his balance will be affected. There will be memory loss, with his short-term memory being affected the most. He’ll be able to recall certain things that happened a long time ago, but not others. He may not be able to remember some of the events that occurred prior to the injury. His memory loss may be subtle or it may be profound. It’s too early to tell. Gunshot wounds to the brain are a lot like snowflakes. Every one of them is different and unique. But we have some major obstacles to get past before we can assess his memory. He needs to wake up and be able to breathe on his own first. He’s got a long road ahead of him.” Dylan and I must be wearing matching terrified expressions because the doctor adds, “Returning to a near-normal life after suffering an injury of this nature is very possible. I’ve had patients who were able to return to their lives with minimal problems after several months of rehabilitation and recovery. Daniel is young, healthy, and strong. Those are factors that all bode well for his recovery.”

“So what will happen next?” I ask.

“We wait for him to wake up. In the meantime, keep talking to him. Let him know you’re here and that you’re supporting him. Let him know that you love him.”

CHAPTER THREE

JESSIE

Dylan receives a call from Mimi at eight thirty. He leaves Daniel’s room, and I can hear him trying to calm his mother down as he walks away. I can only imagine how helpless Mimi and Jerry must feel.

A nurse comes in and replaces one of the empty bags hanging from the IV pole. “There’s coffee down the hall, Mrs. Rush. It’s the second door on the left after you leave the ICU area.”

When they call me Mrs. Rush, I’ve stopped looking around to see who they’re speaking to and roll with it. It seems petty to stop and correct the doctors and nurses, especially as they’d probably boot me right out of here if they knew the truth.

“Thank you. I’ll get some in a little while.”

I don’t want to leave Daniel’s room until Dylan comes back. Returning to his bedside, I hold his hand and speak softly, telling him that he’s getting better.

Telling him that everything will be okay.

When Dylan returns, he says that his parents are just outside Albuquerque and it will take them approximately twelve hours to reach the hospital. “They’ll be calling hourly for updates. If anything…‌goes wrong, I’m to call them immediately.”

“Nothing will go wrong.”

“You don’t know that, Jess.”

“It’s what I choose to believe.” I gather up my purse. “I need to make a few calls. Do you want me to bring you back some coffee?”

He sits down in the chair, looking as morose as I’ve ever seen him. He glances at Daniel and exhales. “No. I don’t want anything.”

Out in the hallway there is a cluster of uniformed police officers.

Officer Spinner strides up to me. “How are you doing?” he asks, his expression gentle yet concerned. “Is there anything you need? Anything I can get you?”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you. Have you been here all night?”

“Yes. Daniel is more than a coworker to me. He’s also a friend. I’ll be leaving soon, but there will be someone coming to take my place, and I’ll return in a few hours. Our role is to provide ongoing support to the families. There will always be someone here.”

His statement confuses me. “Families?”

“There was a reserve officer riding with Daniel. He was also shot and is in the ICU.”

Shocked, I briefly cover my mouth with my hand and then lower it. “I didn’t know that. How is he?”

“He’s holding his own,” he says. “Just like Daniel.”

I buy a bottle of water from the vending machine and find a quiet corner with two chairs and a table between them.

My mom answers on the third ring. “How is he?”

Holding his own
, I almost say. “There hasn’t been much change. Dylan is here now, and the doctor spoke to us this morning. Their biggest concern is keeping the pressure in his brain under control. Mimi and Jerry should be here late tonight.”

“Were you supposed to work today?” my mom asks.

“I’m between assignments.” After the divorce, I registered with a temporary agency. Some of the positions are short-term—less than a week—but others are longer, lasting a month or more. I only accept the ones that interest me, and I’m grateful I can afford to be choosy.

“Is there anything you need?”

“I could use a change of clothes and a toothbrush. Could you run by my place and bring them to me?”

“Of course. How long do you plan on staying?”

“I’ll stay until Mimi and Jerry get here. Maybe a little longer if they don’t mind.”

“They’re not going to mind, Jess. You know that. I’ll call you when I’m downstairs.”

When I walk back into the ICU area, I take a moment to look into the other rooms as I pass by. In one of them a young man is lying on the bed surrounded by at least ten people, five per side. Their heads are bowed as they pray in silence. I get an awful feeling in my gut.

Once I’m back in Daniel’s room, I ask Dylan if there’s been any change.

“No. Literally nothing has changed,” he says, sounding frustrated. Dylan never did possess any patience.