The Healing (17 page)

Lori grinned demurely at her father—a daughter who knew she was the apple of his eye. “I saw you carrying
Mommy
up the stairs,” she said. “And she's heavier than
me
. Besides, you're a fireman. You can carry
anyone
up the stairs.”

“Mommy's tummy is still sore,” Mike said, looking to Karen for confirmation.

She did her best to look infirm and gave a nod.

“My tummy's sore, too,” Lori replied. “I think I had too much ice cream.”

It really was hard not to laugh. Karen couldn't believe how quickly and keenly that little mind worked.

Mike leaned over the armchair, where their precocious daughter was sitting with her arms stubbornly folded, and rested his forehead against hers. “Then you'd better not have any ice cream for the rest of the week.”

Lori blinked at him, blue eye to blue eye. Karen loved how Mike was talking to a seven-year-old blueprint of his own face. “Well, it's not
that
bad,” Lori said.

“I didn't think so,” Mike said. “Now go brush your teeth.”

The case was not closed. “But I'm not tired.”

“Well, I am,” Mike said. “Scram.”

Karen finally let herself smile. For the past two weeks, Mike had been spending a lot of time with Lori, helping her with homework, making her lunch, watching her favorite television programs with her, and trying to keep track of the daily details. Lori loved having her father around full-time and quickly grew accustomed to his presence on the home front. So did Karen, for that matter.

“Oh, all right,” Lori said, getting up from the chair with slumped shoulders and a sigh. Then an idea struck her, and she brightened. “Can I at least have a piggyback?”

Oh, she was good.

“But that means I still have to carry you,” Mike pointed out.

Her pink hands slapped together as if in prayer. “Oh,
please
?”

Mike gave an exaggerated groan, winking at Karen playfully when he turned around and offered his back to their daughter. Lori jumped on with the agility of a baby chimp, and Mike dipped her sideways to kiss Karen good night. Then he took off like a racehorse, circling the sofa three times before bounding up the stairs two at a time. Lori was squealing and laughing the whole while, clinging to her father's sturdy neck with all her might.

Karen almost berated Mike for getting their daughter all riled up before bedtime. But she let them have their fun. She only gave him a mild warning when he came back downstairs a short while later. “There'll be no living with her when we go back to work,” she said.

Mike fell onto the sofa beside her and stretched lazily. “I can't worry about that,” he replied, his arm going around her as it always did. “I'm enjoying every minute of it while it lasts.”

Karen laid her head on his shoulder, and he let out a roaring yawn.

“You really are tired,” she said softly.

“You're working me to the bone,” he said. “I have it easier at the firehouse.”

She gave his ribs a little jab with her elbow and laughed.

They intended to watch old reruns for a little while, but both of them started nodding off. So they went upstairs and crawled into bed before ten o'clock. Karen was asleep before Mike even came out of the bathroom. But somewhere on the fringes of her consciousness she felt him kiss her lips. “Good night, babe.”

chapter twenty

July 2004

Karen lay awake in bed remembering so many details. In light of the question Grace had posed while on their leisurely stroll the previous day, every recollection prompted a new revelation. In the darkest hours before dawn, while everyone else in the house slept soundly, Karen stared at the bedroom ceiling and started to come to terms with the truth.

Mike would never again enjoy the fundamental freedom of walking.

It was possible he would live for no more than a few years.

And yes, Grace, my husband would do the same for me if I were sick. I know it. I knew it all along. I just had to remember it.

She had to admit she'd been too busy to see it. She'd been busy discussing the new hospital bed with the occupational therapist. She'd been busy appeasing her distressed mother-in-law and scrutinizing her daughter's behavior for the old warning signs of depression. Even when it was right in front of her—when she was tending to her husband's ever-growing medical needs—she'd been too busy to take a long, hard look at what it really meant. Now she could see it all too clearly. But how could she get up this morning and look at Mike as though she had just realized he couldn't walk? How could she treat him like he was dying? She needed time to absorb it all.

As the first hint of daybreak cracked the horizon, Karen sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Many times, in the middle of the night or early in the morning, she ventured downstairs to check that Mike wasn't too cold or too warm. The doctors had warned them that any setbacks in motor function could be permanent, and something as simple as catching a chill could bring that on.

Clad in her oversized T-shirt, Karen tiptoed out of her bedroom. It was the same room she had slept in as a teenager, with the maple trees rustling outside the windows and a view of the cornfield across the road. Grandma's room was right across the hall—Karen used to see her lying in bed because they never closed their doors—but Nora was sleeping in Grandma's room now. And the door was only open a crack.

Lori slept in the master bedroom. Luka the overaffectionate dog slept curled up beside her, and Bitsy the underfoot cat was usually curled around her head. The guinea pigs that occupied the large two-tiered cage in the corner existed in a state of constant agitation at the prospect of becoming prey for the larger animals. But somehow the variety of species managed to coexist with nothing more than an occasional chase.

Karen had told Lori she could move into the master bedroom when it became clear that Mike wouldn't be sleeping upstairs with her anymore. “You need the space for your animals and your stuff,” she had told her daughter.

“Are you sure?” Lori had asked.

“Absolutely.” Karen was perfectly happy moving back into her old room. The familiar environment and smaller bed provided a good alternative to sleeping on her queen-sized mattress without her husband.

Karen was especially quiet as she tiptoed past Lori's room, careful not to rouse the menagerie. Bitsy would often dart out and follow Karen downstairs when she got up before sunrise, but Lori had shut her door as a courtesy to her grandmother. Nobody wanted Nora to wake up to Luka licking her face or Bitsy sitting on her chest.

The old oak stairs creaked as Karen made her way down to the living room. In the dim amber halo of the night-light, she could see the adjustable bed planted in the middle of the room like a giant white altar and the stark white arms of the Hoyer lift glowing in the dark. The sofa was a sofa again, yet it certainly didn't do anything to restore the living room to its former ambience. It looked more like a hospital room than ever.

Karen didn't make a sound as she approached the bed. The side railings were raised—the occupational therapist had mentioned it would be easier for Mike to move around if he had something to grab on to—and the head of the mattress was slightly elevated. Mike was sleeping peacefully on his back, his head lolling to one side. The light, rhythmic snore that rattled from his throat indicated that he was totally unaware of Karen's presence. She peered at him in the shadows. And once again she was tempted to pretend he wasn't sick at all. The man who had been the cornerstone of her life for thirty years was simply a little older, a little thinner, perhaps a little worn out.

She stepped closer.

Mike's left hand was resting on the edge of the mattress, where it had dropped from the railing, his wide, fleshy palm facing upward and his fingers curled and relaxed. Karen stared at the simple gold wedding band, which he never took off, and succumbed to more intimate memories. How those strong, gruff hands could touch her so gently, worship her so passionately, pleasure her so erotically.

A tear slipped from her eye. Over the years, Karen could remember getting irritated with Mike for his seemingly insatiable libido, especially right after Lori was born. Karen was often too exhausted, too moody, or too interested in the end of a movie to consider sex a priority. And after trying so hard to get pregnant for so long, their lovemaking had lost a little of its creative romance in favor of reproductive science. But whether Karen wanted Mike to plant the seed of life within her or just share conjugal bliss, she had always taken him and his virility for granted. So when he first started having problems with impotence, she treated it rather lightly and told him he was getting too worked up over it. It was only when the problem didn't go away that Mike finally opened up and explained things to her from his male perspective. That was when Karen understood why he was so frustrated. “Don't you get it? That's how I show you I love you,” he told her, as if she should have known all along.

According to Mike, rejecting the act was the same as rejecting him and his demonstration of love. That was why, while Karen was recuperating from childbirth, minor gynecological procedures, or her hysterectomy, Mike constantly kissed her lips, held her in his arms, and touched her skin. It was his healthy male biology fueled by an extraordinary capacity to love.

Why didn't I appreciate it all those years?

Karen leaned over his sleeping form and brought her face close to his. She breathed in and savored the strong scent of him that clung to his pillows and pajamas. It was so familiar . . . so ingrained in her life . . . that she could barely remember a day it wasn't in the air she breathed. Yet for the past two years, as Mike's health rapidly declined, Karen had erected an impenetrable fortress around herself—a fortress that disconnected her senses and protected her heart. The cost of such protection had been high, indeed. Karen had paid with the foundation of her existence—her sacred, intimate, and spiritual bond to Mike. It was no wonder he was giving up the fight. While outwardly performing above and beyond the call of duty, Karen had virtually abandoned him.

How could she possibly undo two years of emotional isolation?

A silent scream erupted within her.
God, help me!

Karen hovered over Mike for a long time, her mind and soul in turmoil. But when he stirred and sighed, she realized that the first bands of daylight were pouring in the eastern windows. So she kissed him tenderly and impulsively on the lips as a pledge of her new commitment.

And she hurried into the kitchen to make the coffee.

chapter twenty-one

He wasn't a very fast runner, like some of the leaner guys with legs up to their nipples, but his athletic ability and stamina exceeded that of the average firefighter. So by the end of the annual five-mile run to benefit the memorial fund for a fallen brother, Mike was usually in the front of the pack, with those members of the FDNY who trained for marathons.

It was a warm day, and the sweat was pouring off him. But it felt so good to run. His muscles were pumped and strong. The rhythm of his heart, his breathing, and his feet hitting the pavement were like music to someone who loved a physical challenge. His veins were standing out, rushing the blood through his body to give him a natural high.

And best of all, Karen was waiting at the finish line, cheering him on and jumping up and down. He ran right into her open arms and lifted her high in the air, spinning and laughing with his face upturned to her smile and to the sun.

His skin was so charged by the swift current of his circulation that he felt her breath on his lips before she even kissed him. He stopped spinning, his head dizzy, and reveled in the soft sensation of her mouth pressing on his. Suddenly his body stopped moving altogether, until all he could feel was the pleasure of his wife's kiss.

And still he couldn't move.

Mike didn't wake up in a single gasp. He didn't come out of the dream with the usual crushing disappointment at finding himself a prisoner in his body. He blinked in the early daylight and saw Karen walking away from his bed. A little disoriented, he licked his lips to see if any hint of her taste clung to them, wondering if the kiss had been real.

So often he dreamed of being whole again. It was like slipping into some other parallel world where he was given a temporary but precious gift—to run, play, and work as his former self. In that same world, he was able to make love to Karen again, and it was then that waking up to his afflicted reality was most unbearable. This time, however, the very possibility that Karen had kissed him stirred a long-dormant hope, spilling a little bit of the bliss from his dreams into the bleakness that was his physical world.