Code Triage (31 page)

She started to sit and saw that he’d moved her yarn and needles from the couch to the end table. He caught her gaze.

“I didn’t know you learned to knit,” he said, pointing at the pile of soft wool. “What is that?”

“Something to relax with, that’s all. I’m knitting caps for an African ministry, Knit One, Save One.”

“Caps?”

“For newborns. At-risk babies. To keep their heads warm.”

The look that came into his eyes shouldn’t have. Babies.
Don’t do that, Nick.

She lifted her cup from the table and settled onto the far end of the couch, watching the flames, listening to the crackle, and wondering if inviting Nick in was a huge mistake.
Why did I ask him here?
She glanced toward him. “I didn’t know there was any firewood.”

“It’s from that pile stacked out back by the fence. The fallen tree Toby and I cut down out on his property last September.” A look of sadness crossed his face. “Anyway, it had to dry and season. Oak takes a while, and now . . . it’s ready.”

“Oh.” She glanced away and took a sip of her coffee. “Does administrative leave mean you don’t go into work at all?” She noticed for the first time that the McNealys’ Tony Bennett CD was playing in the background.

“I can work at a desk, but—” he smiled—“you know me.”

She smiled back. “I do. If you’re not out with the people, you’re not doing your job. I guess I’d feel the same way. If I couldn’t be treating patients . . .”

“You’d be at the stables. I know you, too. I forgot to ask—how is Frisco?”

“I called a few minutes ago. Patrice said he drank some water, but not as much as we’d like.” Leigh sighed. “I won’t bore you.”

“I’m not bored. I know how concerned you are.”

Leigh wondered, with a bittersweet twinge, if he really meant it. Or if this newfound truce—his acceptance of her interests, her new empathy for his career—was simply a sign that they’d finally surrendered, given up. And that their parting would be far gentler than their years together. There was something unfair about it. “If Frisco doesn’t drink and if his digestive system doesn’t show signs of recovery, he could end up in surgery. I could lose him. I know how that sounds after everything that’s happened with Cappy and—” she glanced down—“Sam, Kurt Denton, and the others. An animal doesn’t compare, but I love him.” A rush of tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m tired.”

“Hey, don’t apologize. There’s no need.” He set his coffee down next to hers. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m okay,” she said, feeling her chin tremble as Nick reached for the down-filled throw draped over the back of the couch.

“Hush,” he said, sliding closer. “I’ve seen homeless people huddled under newspapers shivering less than you are. Don’t argue with the officer.”

She smiled feebly and closed her eyes, feeling the feather-soft weight of the blanket and Nick’s warmth as he tucked it around her. His scent—soap, oak bark, coffee, and a faint trace of leather—filled her senses. She struggled against another shiver and a frisson of regret as he slid back to his spot on the couch.

“Now, let me have that foot,” he said as she opened her eyes.

“What?”

“Your aching foot,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Let’s have it. You know I’m good.”

Her face warmed. “I . . .”

“It’s only a foot. And this is your last chance. I won’t offer again.”

Last chance.

“That’s more like it,” he said, settling her stocking foot across his thighs. “Where does it hurt?”

She wrinkled her nose. “That’s my line; I’m still paying student loans for the privilege of asking it.”

He smiled, gently taking her foot in his hands. “I’m the doctor now. Where’s the pain?”

My heart—my whole life.

“The arch and instep,” she said as his warm fingers began to knead. “Ah . . . ouch, that’s the place.”

She shook her head as Tony Bennett started to croon, “I left my heart in San Francisco. . . .”

“Does it seem as impossible to you as it does to me, that it was just three nights ago that the McNealys were here for dinner?” As soon as the words left her lips, she knew it was a mistake. She saw it in his eyes.

Nick was quiet for several seconds. “What seems impossible is that we sat on our porch that night and talked about delaying the divorce. And by Tuesday we were back at square one.” His thumbs moved over her instep and his eyes held hers, unwavering.

“Nick, don’t start this. I’m exhausted.” She started to pull her foot back and pressed her lips together when he stopped her. “You were at her house.”

“I was. I admitted that. I also told you that nothing happened between us.” His forehead creased. “But you didn’t give me a chance to say that I went there because Elisa made a gift for me. A macaroni butterfly. You didn’t let me tell you that I haven’t been there, to that house, for more than a few minutes since that time in November. I swear.”

The shivers returned. “And if I hadn’t called you this time, interrupted you?”

“What are you asking?”

“For the truth, Nick. Would you have slept with her again?”

He was silent long enough to make her want to throw Tony Bennett against the wall.

“The truth is,” he said, his voice low and halting, “I think Sam wants that. I know she does. But I don’t. I don’t love her—I never loved her. I can’t even imagine that, because . . .” He took a breath. “I love my wife.”

Tears threatened again. “Nick, please—”

“I’m not finished,” he said, letting go of her foot. “I’m not even started. You said you want the truth. Okay. You’re getting it. The truth is that I screwed up last November; I made the biggest mistake of my life. I hurt you—it still makes me sick to know that. But I’ve tried, Leigh. I’ve tried everything I know to get you to listen to me. I know I did it wrong sometimes, wrong enough for you to start talking about a restraining order. Then pack up and leave. I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never done it before and, God knows, I don’t want to ever do it again. But I want us to have another chance. I can’t give up on us. I can’t lose you.”

He cleared his throat and took a slow breath. “When I got that call from dispatch yesterday, all I could think about was you, someone hurting you. I thought I’d never see you again. I shot someone; I killed those children’s father, and my best friend’s sister is lying in that hospital, but all I can think about is you. You, Leigh. You’re what matters to me.” The look in his eyes made her heart ache.

She didn’t know who moved first, but somehow she was in Nick’s arms. They were in each other’s arms, her face burrowed against his neck and his hands in her hair. She was crying and he was rocking her.

“I love you,” he whispered against her hair. “You have to believe me—say you believe me.” He held her away to stare into her face. “Do you?”

A tear slid down her face. “I think I do, but I’m afraid that . . .” Her voice choked.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Nick whispered. “I promise.” He cradled her face in his hands. “I love you. I’m going to make this work.” He brushed his lips across her forehead before leaning close and kissing her. Gently at first, more insistently as her arms slid around his neck and she responded. Then more deeply . . . as if he never intended to stop.

She moved away finally, her senses swirling. “Nick, wait. I don’t know how to handle this. I’m not sure what I want, or . . .” She smiled, completely confused as her pulse thrummed in her ears. “I’m trying to be honest.”

“Good.” He brushed her hair away from her face. “That’s the way it’s going to be from now on. Completely honest. The truth, always.” He smiled, then groaned painfully.

“What?”

“The truth is that right now all I can think about is carrying you upstairs and making love to you until dawn. Maybe noon tomorrow. And waking up with you in my arms, begging me for an omelet.”

She raised her brows. “I don’t beg.”

“You have . . . you will.” He smiled at her. “But I don’t want those things to happen because you’re tired and confused or because the last two days have been a nightmare. I want them to happen because you know you love me and that you can trust me and because you want our marriage to work.” He glanced toward the stairs, honest regret on his face. “So all I need right now is for you to say there’s a chance for all of that.” His dark eyes searched hers. “Is there?”

Leigh reached up and rested her palm against his face. “Yes. I do know that much. I want us to have a chance.”

He pulled her close, hugging her tightly, and kissed her again. And again. She chuckled against his lips.

“What?”

“If Tony leaves his heart in San Francisco one more time, I’m calling the transplant team. And—” she yawned—“I’m so tired I can’t focus my eyes.”

Nick nuzzled her neck. “So shut them.” He scooted back against the armrest, pulled her into his arms, and arranged the down blanket over them. “Comfortable now?”

Leigh nodded, lulled by the feel of his chest rising and falling and the soft thudding of his heart. She wanted to say she’d never been more comfortable in her life, that she loved him, that with all her heart she wished that she could believe in forever. She couldn’t help but think it would feel a lot like this.

+++

Nick’s eyes flicked open at the clicking sound, and he tensed for moment, pulse quickening. His gaze darted toward his duty weapon on the mantel; then he blinked, realizing that the sound was from a key in the front door. He lifted his arm to glance at his watch, careful not to disturb Leigh. Midnight—Caroline, coming home from her evening shift at the hospital. He waited for the inevitable.

She stepped into the foyer, switched on the light, and walked toward the kitchen, then did a double take as she caught sight of the still-glowing embers in the fireplace—and of him on the couch. Her eyes widened. She walked a few steps closer, her mouth dropping open as she saw Leigh asleep in his arms, her dark hair tumbled over his chest. He smiled sheepishly in the darkness.

She shook her head, a grin spreading slowly across her face. Then lifted her hand in a thumbs-up before quietly retracing her steps, switching off the hallway light, and tiptoeing toward the stairs.

Nick could have hugged her.
Thank you, sis.

He listened to Leigh breathe for a while and then glanced toward the bleached pine bookshelves framing the fireplace. Second shelf on the right, fifth book, the gold lettering on its spine lit by the fading fire—the study Bible he’d bought Leigh when they’d started attending church together. He had no doubt it needed dusting; he was fairly certain she hadn’t picked it up since November. He was sure, too, that the bookmark was still on the same page it had been months before that: 1 Corinthians 13. The verses he’d read aloud to her in those last tumultuous weeks before they’d separated. The ones he’d wanted to say at their wedding. About love:
“It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”

He rested his palm against Leigh’s hair, felt her warm weight lying against him, smelled the faint trace of eucalyptus from her shampoo.
“Love never fails.”
His heart tugged. He had failed her, but he wouldn’t do it again. He’d spend the rest of his life proving that to her, protecting her, loving her . . . showing her she could trust him. She was giving him a chance. And that was what he’d been praying for all these months. God was giving them a second chance to get it right. Nick would make good on that. When he’d told Leigh he’d wait to make love to her, it hadn’t only been because she was tired and because he wanted her to say she loved him, to feel committed to their marriage. It was also because he knew that in order to finally get it right, God had to be part of it—at its center, exactly as the marriage counselor had said. If they had a chance for survival, it had to be that way. God’s blessing was their hope.
“Love always hopes . . .”

He needed time to talk with her about that. And he would. Because now he had the luxury of time. He’d call the court and get the divorce put on hold. They’d already agreed to honesty and a second chance. Add God to that, and they’d have it all. He tightened his arms as Leigh murmured in her sleep and remembered the tiny infant caps she’d been knitting. Warmth filled his chest. Tonight he’d sleep with his wife in his arms. The first night of forever. His home, his family . . .
Thank you, Lord. Thank you for your grace.

He glanced toward the ceiling at the sound of soft footfalls. Caroline. In a few hours, he’d be fixing omelets for three.

+++

Sam shivered, teeth chattering, and batted at the air around her head. The snowball had gone right down her wool sweater. She shivered again, racked by a chill so forceful she bit her tongue. “Stop it, Toby! It’s c-c-c-old; you’re gonna freeze me! Try that again and I swear I’ll pop you one!” She batted again, and strong fingers grabbed her arm.

“Miss Gordon. Samantha, relax. There’s no snow here. It’s a cooling blanket. You have a fever; you’re in the hospital. Open your eyes and look around.”

“What?” Sam blinked against the light. “What the . . . ?” She grimaced and grabbed at something hanging from her nose. Then glared at a heavyset woman with crooked teeth and unplucked brows leaning over the bed. “Get this off my face!”

“Can’t,” the woman explained gently, reaching for Sam’s arm again. “It’s oxygen tubing. You’ve had surgery, dear. On Tuesday morning.”

Sam lifted her head and felt a stab of pain in her abdomen. Surgery? She squinted, surveying the room and shivering as the puzzle pieces started to lock together.
Surgery, because I was . . .
She closed her eyes as the ugly truth settled in around her. The nurse’s voice continued.

“That’s better. You spiked a temp of 104. That’s far too high. Sometimes it happens as a reaction to anesthesia; we’re not sure yet. You’ve had a Tylenol suppository.”

Sam grimaced at the indignity and shivered again—this time with fear.
What will happen to Elisa if I don’t make it?

“And we’ve drawn a CBC and blood cultures. You’ll have a portable chest X-ray, and I’ve taken a urine sample from your catheter. Dr. Bartle is on top of things; don’t worry.” The nurse glanced at a small IV bottle hanging from a hook overhead. “You’ve got a second dose of broad-spectrum antibiotic hanging, but if the fever continues, there will likely be a new one ordered on day shift. We’ll know which kind to use after the blood cultures.” She leveled a no-nonsense look that Sam hadn’t seen since grammar school. “I’m sorry about the cooling blanket. But it’s necessary.” She raised a warning finger. “If you pull at your oxygen or get any more agitated, I’ll have to ask the doctor for permission to use soft restraints on your wrists. For your safety.” She smiled and showed several more equally crooked teeth. “All righty then. Are you on board?”