Turning Thirty-Twelve (27 page)

The irony of the whole situation was that I really
was
sorry. I was sorry that I’d hurt Mark, even if I’d done what I thought was best for everyone involved.

Why couldn’t I tell him that?

When I should have been soothing him, I couldn’t put aside my stupid, obstinate pride.

“I’m an idiot.” I flopped down on the bed, entirely exhausted.

My cell phone vibrated for a second, signaling a text message. I fished it out of my pocket, hoping it was a note from Mark telling me he was at a crime scene. I retrieved the message.

Cop stuff. Back later.

I wanted to cry again when I read the cold words, desperately wishing there had been some mention of love. I stretched out on the bed, grabbed Mark’s pillow, and held it to my chest. Burying my nose in his scent, I tried not to lose hope.

He’d promised. On the day we were married, he’d promised to stick around no matter how rough it got.

Well, the waters were definitely getting choppy—but until today, I’d never feared that he would leave. We had weathered our share of arguments, but I had never been afraid I would lose him. Not once.

I was afraid now. I was
petrified.

“Mark promised,” I reminded myself over and over. It didn’t help much. I could feel sleep dulling my thoughts, and I gave in, desperately needing some rest.

The last notion that floated through my mind was that my husband always kept his promises.

I’d just have to trust him.

***

“Is there anything else I can get you?” I asked as I picked up the tray of empty dishes from Kathy’s dresser.

“No thanks, Jackie. I’m just really tired.” She leaned back against the stack of pillows.

“Do you need anything else for pain?”

“Nah. It’s not bad now. I’m just a little crampy. Nothing I can’t deal with.”

I nodded, happy she was making a wise choice. “It’s better not to take the strong stuff unless you really need it.” I inclined my head at the tray full of dishes. “I’m taking this stuff to the kitchen. Just holler if you need me.” She closed her eyes, and I left the room, shutting the bedroom door behind me.

Putting the tray on the kitchen island, I tried to squelch an enormous, wide-mouthed yawn. My nap hadn’t done much to revive me. I was exhausted, I was frightened, and I was nursing a growing annoyance with Mark.

He hadn’t called, nor had he sent another text. He knew I hated it when he was out of touch, and I wondered if he was staying quiet just to get to me. That seemed out of character. It was more like something
I
would resort to.

As I put the dirty dishes in the sink, the phone rang. I hoped it was my husband. Grabbing the dishtowel, I dried my hands and picked up the handset. The ID read the police station
.

About time he checked in.

“Long time, no hear, Detective Brennan,” I said. Then I tried to rein in my annoyance and be a bit more conciliatory. After all, I loved the guy. “I was hoping we could make up over a nap. But, here I was, all alone in our big bed, waiting for you to come home and get naked.”

“Mrs. Brennan?”

I have a really, really big mouth
.

“Yes, this is Mrs. Brennan. I’m sorry, I thought you were my husband.”

“This is Lieutenant Barrows. I need to tell you something.”

Time stopped. Just
stopped
—right along with the beating of my heart.

I knew what was coming. I
knew
, and I wanted to scream in anguish.

Moments like this changed lives forever—just simple seconds of time that we should be able to stop and hold in place to keep disaster from striking. It’s like the precious seconds before a car crashes into yours—those seconds that seem to last an eternity as you see the car coming right for you and realize there isn’t enough time for you to be able to do a fucking thing about it.

Why couldn’t we suspend the laws of the universe and stop that moment and just...
fix it?

The fear thrumming through me made me want to go bury my head under a pillow and scream. 

No. No. No.

I wasn’t ready. Whatever it was, I wasn’t ready.

“Detective Brennan was shot.”

I sat down hard on the floor. Mark was dead. I could hear it in the lieutenant’s voice. I could feel it in every muscle, every nerve, and every bone. Mark was dead. 

“Mrs. Brennan? Are you still there?”

I stupidly nodded my head. I wanted to talk to the guy, to get some more information. I really did. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

The phone slipped from my fingers and clattered on the tile.

Mark. My Mark
.

He was dead.

I tried to grab the handset sitting on the floor next to me. My hand trembled, and for the briefest of seconds, I stared at it as if it wasn’t my own. Then I groped to pick up the phone.

“Where is he?”

“Methodist Hospital. Do you have a way to get there?”

I nodded.

God damn it, Jackie, stop nodding!
 

“Mark’s dead. Just say it. He’s dead.”

“He’s
not
dead, Mrs. Brennan. He’s at Methodist. They’re taking him to surgery. Do you need a squad car to come get you?”

I’d already grabbed my purse and was running to tell Kathy where I was going.

***

I didn’t even remember the trip to the hospital.

I’d been on the cell phone most of the time. Kat was next to hysterical when I told her, but she’d calmed down enough to call Carly at Faith’s. She decided to wait at the house until Carly was able to make it home and Nate came to get them. I don’t think she was ready to face the hospital again, and she wasn’t physically strong yet. I had faith that Nate would help her through this.

Patrick told me he was heading directly to Methodist, and I was afraid he was driving too fast—as usual. At least this time he had a good excuse.

My heart was breaking from fear and guilt—guilt that Mark might leave this life hating me because he thought I’d lied to him. I couldn’t bear it. But I had to—I couldn’t fix this now.

I wiped away the tears that were flowing freely down my cheeks and tried to concentrate on getting to the hospital in one piece.

I strode into the Emergency Room, feeling so cold it was as if there weren’t a drop of blood circulating in my body. I almost retched at the smell and my overpowering dread, but I forced the bile back down my throat with a hard swallow. I didn’t even stop at the reception desk. Instead I went right through the enormous doors leading to the treatment area and walked toward my future—a future I was positive would no longer include the love of my life.

I bit back a grieving sob by chewing on the inside of my cheek. It wouldn’t do Mark any good to have me standing there bawling like an infant when I saw him. I was a cop’s wife—a
detective’s
wife. I needed to pull myself together and damn well start acting like one.

“Strong, Jackie,” I whispered in an empty affirmation. “Be strong for Mark.”

But Mark’s dead.

“Then do him proud.”

“Are you Mrs. Brennan?” a nurse in pink scrubs asked when I stopped at the busy nurses’ station.

She had to know who I was by the absolute panic that had to be smeared all over my face. I wasn’t sure I was ready to see some nurse pull back a white sheet to show me my deceased husband. I would
never
be ready to face that.

But it was clear I had no choice.

“Yes, I’m Jackie Brennan. Where is he?”

“He’s waiting for you.”

“He’s alive?” My heart pounded so hard and fast I was sure everyone else could hear it.

He’s alive! Mark is alive!

She nodded. “He’s stable. He wouldn’t go into surgery until he talked to you. The surgeon’s scrubbing up. We really need to get him to the O.R. soon.”

He’s alive! Mark’s still alive!

I took a couple of shuddering breaths and tried to find some kind of control over my tumbling thoughts. “I understand. Just give me a minute with him.” I had no idea why he would want to wait. I was tempted to tear him a new one for being so damned obstinate.

I followed the nurse to a small treatment area. When she pulled the curtain aside and I saw Mark lying there on that gurney, my legs almost gave out as the world spun around me.

Get it together, Jackie.

He looked like a macabre science project. The left side of his chest was covered in big gauze bandages that had already bled through. Small tubes were coming out of both his arms and a bigger one poked into his left side. One of those goofy nasal oxygen cannulas was stuffed in his nose. His right index finger had an enormous clip on it that glowed red next to his skin. All around him, bags of fluid hung on machines that beeped and whirred and turned my blood to ice water.

“Sweet Jackie,” he rasped and held out a hand to me.

I rushed to his side and grabbed his hand, giving the back of it a gentle kiss, wanting to crawl into the bed with him and wrap my body around him like a cocoon. “I hear you’re being stubborn as usual.”

He actually smiled. Then he coughed and winced. “I needed to see you first. If I’m not going to make it—”

“No! Don’t you
dare
say it!” Tears started streaming down each of my cheeks. “You’re going to be fine, Mark. Just fine.”

“You’ll have to take care of things. I got all the paperwork done after we got married. All the life insurance will go to you.”

“There won’t be any life insurance money. You’re not going to—”

He held up his hand. I figured he would be wagging his index finger at me if it wasn’t entirely encased it that stupid clip. “Don’t argue with me. Please.” He chuckled and coughed. “For once.”

I nodded, sniffing back more tears.

“I know you’ll take care of my girls—especially after what you did for Kat.”

I squeezed his hand. “You know I will. I love them like my own.”

“That’s why I put everything in your name. I didn’t want them to fight over anything if I... if I...”

“Please, Mark,” I squeaked, trying not to wail my anguish and despair, trying to be strong. I clutched his hand, wanting to draw strength from his warmth. “Please don’t say it.”

“I couldn’t go into surgery without talking to you, without saying I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t, babe. You don’t need to apologize. I know why you didn’t tell me. As soon as I calmed down, I understood. You were trying to help Kat.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to talk without weeping. I thought I should say something meaningful, but nothing came to mind except, “You can’t die. I need you.”

He smiled, the warmth of it thawing me. “You need me. That was harder for you to say than ‘I love you.’ Wasn’t it?”

It was a hell of a lot harder than he would ever know. I just nodded.

“I need you too.”

Two orderlies in teal scrubs came into the room and started to pack things up to take Mark away. “Sir, we need to get you to the O.R.,” the tallest one said before he nodded at me. “You’ll need to go to the surgery waiting room. Take the main elevators to the third floor and turn right. It’s just down the hall.”

“I love you, Jackie,” Mark whispered, refusing to release his grip on my hand. “I love you so much.”

I kissed the back of his hand again as one of the orderlies covered him with another blanket. “I love you too, Mark. More than I ever thought possible.”

“You’re everything to me.”

“Don’t you dare die on me, Mark Brennan. Don’t you fucking well die on me. You hear me?”

My husband gave me a weak smile. “I’ll sure try my best to stick around. I want to grow old with you.”

“I’m already old—and you’ve aged me another twenty years in the last hour.”

I savored that final, weak chuckle, fearing it would have to last me a lifetime. I brushed a kiss over his lips before they wheeled him down the hallway and out of sight.

“God go with you,” I whispered at the closing doors, fearing I would never see my husband alive again.

I just stood there feeling the panic and grief bearing down on me, crushing my will to live. If Mark died, he would take my heart and soul with him.

How easy it must have been for women in the past... If things got too intense—too real—they could just faint. They could simply slip away and not deal with reality. I wanted to swoon. I wanted to drop into dark oblivion where I didn’t have to think. I wanted to drink myself into a blessed stupor. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run away pulling at my hair like some crazed lunatic.

But I didn’t do any of those things. Instead, I sucked it up and headed out to find out if any of our children had made it to the hospital yet. If they hadn’t, they would be here soon.

Our children
.
Not his. Not mine.
Ours.

I wasn’t going to fall apart. Not now. They needed me. I’d allow myself the luxury of going entirely to pieces at some other less critical time.

With courage I didn’t really feel, I marched back to the waiting room. I saw a couple of uniformed officers and instantly found my lightning rods. I needed some answers, and I needed them
now
. They looked like the best place to start.

I shoved my way through the doors. “What in the hell happened?” My shout drew stares from the poor souls waiting to be seen in the E.R. “He’s a detective, not a patrol officer! How in the hell did he get shot?” I was being horribly rude, downright hostile, but I couldn’t seem to get a grip on the emotions roiling through me.

Both officers calmly took off their hats and tucked them neatly under their arms. While my world was falling apart, their utter composure pissed me off.

“Detective Brennan answered a call for a silent alarm at a convenience store over on Pleasant Street,” one of the uniforms replied. “He was first on the scene and caught two men fleeing after an armed robbery. When he identified himself as an officer, they shot first. He brought one down, but the other caught him in the chest. Uniforms just nabbed the second guy. When he found out he’d hit a cop, he pissed himself.”