The Healing (28 page)

Karen didn't dare utter a word. The only time she had seen him cry was when his father died, and it tore her apart. All the talk show pundits and all the advocates of an enlightened society could preach until they were blue in the face about male stereotypes and how it was healthy for men to be allowed to cry. In Karen's life, as in the lives of most people she knew, it wasn't a reality. In Karen's world, when a man cried, the earth shook.

It felt strange to trade places and become the stoic one. Karen only allowed one tear to escape from her own eyes because she didn't want to cause Mike any more pain.

“I'm sorry, babe,” he said against her temple.

“Ssssh.”

Karen glanced at the clock. A whole new wave of anxiety washed over her when she realized Lori would be home from school any minute. She sat at the kitchen table and flipped mindlessly through the mail, inwardly bracing herself. She had to be the one to tell Lori about her father's illness. Mike never woul be able to calmly say what he had to say and then watch those big blue eyes fill up with tears.

From her place at the table, Karen could see the front door when it opened, and she could see her daughter drop her backpack in the hallway. But she didn't jump up and try to give the impression that all was well.

Lori breezed into the kitchen, bringing with her the sweet aroma of late spring. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Lori stopped in her tracks. “What's wrong?” she asked.

Karen was a little surprised by her daughter's keen observation. She didn't think she was so transparent. She might have felt like a toy whose batteries had been spent, but she didn't realize she looked like one. “I need to talk to you for a minute,” she said in a whisper.

Lori sat down opposite her mother at the table, her face a canvas of innocence.

“Have you ever heard of multiple sclerosis?”

“I think so,” Lori replied, looking puzzled.

Karen tried to be scientific and straightforward. “Well, today the doctor told Daddy he has multiple sclerosis, and that's why he's been losing his balance and getting so tired. He said sometimes medicines and therapy can help, but Daddy might have to use a cane to keep him from falling again.”

It seemed Lori was trying to figure out whether or not she should be worried. “It's not like cancer, is it? It's not like what Grandpa has.”

Karen's father was undergoing some heavy-duty chemotherapy. “No, sweetheart. Daddy won't get sick in the same way Grandpa is sick,” she tried to explain without sugarcoating the truth. Lori was already upset enough about her grandfather and his failing battle against cancer. “But sometimes people with MS end up in wheelchairs later on in life. Their legs get weak and it's harder for them to get around.”

Now Lori's eyes brimmed. “Daddy might end up in a wheelchair?” she squeaked.

Karen swallowed the lump in her own throat. “He might. Someday. But probably not for a very long time. Right now he'll just have to use a cane.”

Lori was quiet for a few moments. “He won't be able to run races or pitch for the baseball team?” she asked.

“Probably not,” Karen replied.

“How about coaching softball?”

“We'll have to wait and see, Lori.”

Another few minutes went by. Karen eyed her daughter vigilantly as she digested the news. “Why did this happen?” Lori asked.

Now she had asked the bonus question.

“I don't know,” Karen replied in all honesty. “But Daddy's down in the den watching TV, and right now I bet he could use a hug. Why don't you go see him and tell him you love him?”

Lori didn't have to be told a second time. She wiped away her tears as she slid from her chair and headed for the den. Karen didn't move from the table, envisioning the exchange between father and daughter. She strained her ears to hear their soft dialogue but trusted that Mike was going to put Lori's mind at ease. As long as he wasn't the one who had to tell her.

It wasn't long before Lori returned to the kitchen looking reassured. “Daddy seems okay,” she said. “He told me the doctors were going to try and help him get his balance back so he wouldn't fall down and embarrass me at any more concerts.”

Karen grinned at her daughter. She hoped her face didn't appear as tight as it felt. “He'll find other ways to embarrass you,” she said, grateful for the gullibility and optimism of youth.

Lori laughed, but it was a bit tentative and ended with a sigh. “He told me it's not a big deal and that I shouldn't give it another thought.”

Karen tucked a lock of Lori's long hair behind her ear affectionately. “Your father loves you more than anything in the world, so I would listen to him if I were you. If he tells you not to worry, then don't worry.”
Leave that to me.

“He really seemed okay,” Lori repeated, as if trying to convince herself.

“Then I'm sure he is, sweetheart. So why don't you go and start your homework, and I'll let you know when dinner is ready.”

She realized that Mike had been right all along. It was better to pretend everything was normal.

chapter thirty-three

July 2004

“Your Mike is quite the gentleman,” Grace whispered as Karen poured some of the chicken soup into a small pot and set it on the stove.

“Oh, that was just an added bonus,” Karen replied.

Grace smiled tightly. “Yes, he's quite handsome, too.”

Karen filled up the kettle and then ignited the burner below it. “Well, the MS has taken its toll,” she said. Turning around, she realized Grace was standing next to the Formica table because she hadn't formally invited her to sit down. And she wanted to kick herself. “Grace, please,” she said, and motioned to the chair. “Make yourself at home.”

Grace sat in one smooth fold and set her tote on the table. “Thank you.”

“I don't have much of a selection when it comes to tea, only honey lemon or raspberry. That's what I use to make iced tea, because—”

“You're coffee drinkers.” This time Grace's tranquil eyes wrinkled pleasantly when she smiled, putting Karen more at ease. “Honey lemon is fine.”

“I'll be sure to pick up some Earl Grey when I go to the store.”

“Don't buy it just for me,” Grace said. “I drink any kind of tea.”

Karen retrieved cups and saucers from the cabinet. “But you deserve the best,” she said. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you coming here today.”

Wisdom glistened in Grace's eyes, and she caught Karen by the hand as she breezed by. Karen, always interested in what Grace had to say, stopped and listened. “I'm not the one who deserves your best,” Grace said, and pointed with a slender index finger in the direction of the living room. “That suffering man in there, who loves you with every fiber of his being, is the one who deserves your best. But you're afraid to give it to him.”

She was speaking in the softest whisper, but Karen heard every word like a reprimanding shout. Her eyes brimmed as if by reflex. “Grace, how can you say that? I do everything for him.”

Grace squeezed Karen's hand. “It's true, you obviously go above and beyond the call of duty to take care of him day in and day out. Nobody would ever question that. But I'm not talking about his medical care,” she said. “I think you know that. And I think you know that your husband is a special soul, good looks and ravaging disease aside. It took me only a few minutes to see it.”

Karen could never get angry with Grace. She knew, on some fundamental level, that the woman was right. She didn't understand how Grace knew the things she did, or how she seemed to see into the hidden corners of people's hearts, but Karen knew that her strange abilities and her intentions were purely good. “I'm trying,” Karen said. “God knows I'm trying.”

Grace was satisfied. She nodded with vigorous approval, and her face shone with encouragement as she released Karen's hand. “He's a lucky man.”

They heard Mike coughing in the other room, and Karen shook her head in frustration. “I'm sure he would disagree with you on that.”

“I meant he's a lucky man to have a woman like you by his side.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Karen replied with unmistakable self-reproach as she fished out her prettiest tin tray and gathered the rest of the items for their midafternoon treat.

“Well, look at it this way,” Grace said. “He could've married a woman who left him at the first sign of disability.”

Karen emitted a small blast of cynicism. “I wouldn't judge anyone faced with this situation,” she said.

Grace looked up at her. “That's precisely why I said Mike is a lucky man.” She glanced toward the stove. “I think that soup is hot.”

A few moments later they headed back into the living room, and Mike greeted them with a weary smile. Karen put her tray down on the coffee table and brought Mike the covered cup with the soup. “It's just right,” she assured him.

“Thanks, babe.”

She put a dishcloth on his chest so that he could hold the cup and drink the soup himself without spilling it. To her delight, he uttered a moan of satisfaction upon taking his first taste. Karen knew he wasn't just being polite. The soup must've hit the spot.

“Mmm, that's good,” he said, and looked up at Grace with a hint of his old charm seeping through. “My Karen makes a killer of a chicken soup, but I have to say, this is the best I've ever tasted.” And then to Karen, “Did you try it?”

“Not yet,” she replied softly, still hearing an echo of his words.
My Karen.

“Try it,” he urged. “It's delicious.” As he turned back to Grace, his expression softened with appreciation. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Grace responded in her simple, genuine way.

They smiled warmly at each other, and Karen recognized the swift and comfortable bond that had formed between her husband and her friend. When they started chatting like they had known each other for years, Karen realized that calling Grace to sit with Mike had been a good idea.

chapter thirty-four

Karen climbed into the van with renewed energy. The doctor had just informed her that Lori would be well enough to come home in a few days. She had been at Stony Brook for more than two weeks, and Karen was exhausted from holding vigil on two fronts. Now Lori would be coming home, and Mike finally seemed to be getting over the nasty respiratory virus that had immobilized him for more than a week.

Did Karen dare to hope that in another week her daily existence would return to its altered sense of normalcy?

She drove out of the hospital compound and turned up the radio, feeling more optimistic than she had in a long time. Mike was going to be so happy to hear Lori was coming home soon. Every day he woke up and swore he felt strong enough to make the trip to Stony Brook. And every day Karen felt terrible leaving without him.

Thank God for Grace. She had stayed with Mike every afternoon and given Karen the freedom and the peace of mind to be there for Lori. Mike seemed to enjoy her visits, although he wasn't very forthcoming when Karen asked him what they talked about. Grace was just as elusive, which didn't surprise Karen. Grace told her Mike slept a good portion of the time, and if he did voice any concerns, they were always for his wife and daughter.

No news there.

Karen was halfway home when her cell phone rang. She almost didn't hear it over the music and the wind rushing in the window at highway speed. She fumbled for her bag and saw it was from home.

Karen went into multitask action: turning off the radio, shutting the window, opening the phone . . . all while driving and keeping her eyes on the road. “Hello?”

“Karen?”

A sense of foreboding dropped into Karen's chest. “Grace?”

No time was wasted. “Are you on your way home?” Grace asked.

“Yes.”

“I don't want to alarm you while you're driving, but Mike came down with a fever,” Grace told her. “I was debating whether or not to call you, but I'm a little concerned. He's pretty sick.”

Karen didn't let herself panic. “Did you take his temperature?”

“It was a hundred and four.”

“One hundred
point
four?”

“No. One hundred
and
four,” Grace replied. “The first time I took his temperature, it was only a little over a hundred. But then he got terribly uncomfortable and had violent chills, and I realized the fever was climbing. When I took it again, it had spiked to a hundred and four. So I gave him Tylenol, and I've cooled his head, but I'm afraid to try and bring the fever down with cold compresses.”

“I'll call the doctor right away,” Karen said. “See you in a bit.”

Her foot pressed down on the gas pedal as she disconnected the call from home and punched in the number for Mike's medical group. By the time she got through to the doctor's office, she was almost in Southold. And by the time the nurse told her to bring Mike in as soon as she could, she was pulling into her driveway.

Karen wasn't prepared to see Mike looking like death when she ran into the living room. He was so colorless his lips appeared blue, and his chest was rising and falling in a rapid, shallow rhythm. His dark brows were drawn in a frown of pain that was all too familiar, and his hair was damp and matted from the cold cloths Grace had placed across his forehead. His body was still—a mere ridge beneath the sheets—while his head moved from side to side either in a vain attempt to find relief or as a conscious repetitive movement that helped him abide his misery.

To complete the picture, Grace was sitting beside the bed, holding his hand. Her eyes met Karen's with unmistakable intensity.

It looked like a
real
deathbed scene, not the ones Nora had imagined.

“Oh, my God—” Karen flew to the bed. Grace rose from the chair and gave her Mike's hand. It was weaker than ever, but his fingers feebly curled around hers. “Mike?” she called, leaning over his stricken form.

His eyes fluttered open, glassy with fever and unfocused. He moaned in response.

Karen whirled around to Grace. “I can't believe this is happening,” she said. “He seemed okay this morning.”

“When I arrived,” Grace told her, “the health aide told me Mike was so tired he could barely move.”

“Well, of course he's tired,” Karen said. “He's getting over a cold.”

“Karen, I think Mike has pneumonia.”

Now the tentacles of panic threatened to engulf her. “But his cough is drying up.”

“I know,” Grace said with a nod. “I heard it.”

Karen couldn't breathe. “No,” she said defiantly. “He can't have pneumonia. He was getting better.”

“I don't have a stethoscope,” Grace said, “but I'm almost certain.”

In a mental frenzy, Karen tried to absorb what she had heard. Her attention reverted back to Mike, her gaze darting all over his lined face, his suffering body, his overheated hand in hers. She was overcome by a feeling of fear unlike any she had known before. In fact, she was suddenly too afraid to think rationally or even to speak.

Grace gripped her shoulder. “Karen, I don't think you should drive Mike to Stony Brook in the van. It would be too hard for him to sit up in his chair the whole time. Besides, he might need some oxygen. You should call the paramedics to take him in an ambulance.”

“To the doctor's office?” Karen asked, not realizing Grace was alluding to a different course of action.

“To the hospital, Karen,” she said without mincing words. “Save yourself the extra trip to the doctor's office. He'll need to be admitted.”

Karen felt herself falling into despair. She pressed Mike's hand to her forehead and then kissed it, realizing he might not even be aware of her gesture. Some cruel demon surfaced from the back of her mind and planted the realization that if Mike left home, it could be for good. If he recovered from the pneumonia, the doctors and therapists could recommend he be placed in a nursing facility permanently. And if he didn't recover . . .

“Don't do this,” she begged him, as if he were in control of his destiny. “Not yet.”

He didn't answer. His head just rolled from side to side.

“Karen?” Grace said after a few moments had passed. “Should I make the call?”

She nodded and swallowed a sob. Her eyes filled with tears—tears that her husband, her soul mate, was too sick to notice. All the things Grace had said about Mike, without even really knowing him, came back to haunt her.

That suffering man in there, who loves you with every fiber of his being, is the one who deserves your best. But you're afraid to give it to him
.

All of these things you do for your husband—would he do them for you if
you
were sick
?

Wouldn't it be worse for Mike to think it
doesn't
hurt you
?

The tragic realization hit Karen like a speeding train. In an attempt to keep herself from coming undone, she had deprived Mike of what he needed most. In thinking she could stand alone in proud defiance against a serious disease and human frailty, taking more on her shoulders than any one person could be expected to bear, Karen had lost sight of herself. Mike was caught in a living hell, where the reassurance of her caress or the comfort of her embrace would have been his lifeline. To know he was still the love of her life would have given him a reason to get through each day. A kiss from her would have been like giving a drink of water to a parched man in the desert.

She had been wrong to think fulfilling her duties without showing any emotion made her a strong person and a good wife. She had been so wrong!

No wonder he wanted to die.

“Karen?”

She turned with a jolt and saw Grace standing there with another handful of cool washcloths. Without a word, she put them on the rollaway tray next to Karen and retreated back to the kitchen. Karen folded the first one and placed it across Mike's forehead, gently brushing back the strands of hair that were in the way. She used the second one to cool the rest of his face and neck, cherishing every rugged feature and recalling how often her lips had intimately grazed their contours.

His head stopped rolling. He must have realized it was Karen who was wiping him down, because his eyes fluttered open again, the cobalt blue of his irises shining like jewels between the long black lashes. Then his bloodless lips said, “Thanks, babe.”

The tears were streaming down her face, but this time she didn't try to wipe them away. “Grace called the ambulance,” she said quietly.

His head bobbed once in acknowledgment.

Two paramedics arrived a few minutes later, and one of them had been part of the trio that had taken Lori to the hospital. Karen was hoping Greg Allen would come striding in, but a younger man was wheeling the gurney. They asked her a few questions and proceeded to check Mike's vitals before lifting him out of his bed.

Grace materialized at Karen's side just when she started to break down. The sight of Mike being strapped in and fitted with an oxygen mask was like seeing a grim premonition come to pass. She leaned into the older woman's side and felt a supportive arm slip around her shoulders as they watched the paramedics take Mike from his home. Just before the gurney rolled out of the house, Karen saw Mike's hand reaching, his fingers waving in the air as if searching for something. Grabbing her keys and her bag, she ran to his side and gave him what he was looking for—her hand to hold. Grace gathered her own things, picked up her tote, and followed them out, telling Karen she would lock the door so that her friend could walk alongside the gurney to the driveway.

Once Mike was settled in the back of the ambulance, Karen climbed in and sat at his side. Before the back door was slammed shut, however, she leaned out and waved to the tall, poised woman in black who was standing by like a lone well-wisher bidding farewell to a sailing ship. Karen didn't have to say
Thank you,
or
Pray for us,
or
I'll be in touch
. She didn't have to say anything.

She just sat back down and picked up Mike's hand once again, knowing everything would be drastically different from that moment on.