The Healing (33 page)

“Well, maybe tomorrow she'll get to do that.”

“I hope so. The doctor said Mike should be more alert by morning.”

“Do you have any idea when they're going to let him come home?”

It was a perfectly logical question, but for Karen it was an emotional trigger. All evening she had swept the ominous reality into a locked corner of her mind, and now it burst forth like an untamed animal. Inwardly, she seized up against it, while her feet kept up the rhythm of a leisurely stroll. When she didn't answer, Greg gave her a sidelong glance.

“Karen?”

“He might not be coming home,” she said in a faraway voice.

“What do you mean?”

They reached the town beach and started across the empty parking lot, their footsteps oddly pronounced against the gentle lapping sounds of the surf. A few dim streetlights flooded the area with an artificial yellow glow, but beyond the asphalt parking lot the deserted beach was bathed only in moonlight. “Mike might have to go into a nursing facility if I can't afford around-the-clock care.”

Greg winced. “Oh.”

Karen slipped her sandals off as they made their way toward the shore. She tried to take it all in—the infinite, star-studded sky, the shimmering black water, the soul-stirring reminder that she was alive as part of a grand, wonderfully designed universe—but it only magnified her loneliness. With the rocky sand crunching beneath their feet, they crossed over the crest of the beach, where she used to sit and watch the sunsets with Mike.

Greg started to slow down, but Karen kept walking toward the water's edge. “Karen?” he called.

She stopped short, dropping her sandals, and Greg almost plowed into her. The tears pooled in her eyes so quickly, she was unable to stop them. “I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life,” she said, as if she couldn't believe it.

“Karen—” Greg said, collecting himself and stepping back from her personal comfort zone. “Please don't talk like that.”

“But it's true,” she replied. “I wasn't there for Mike the way I should've been, and I swore I would make it up to him if he got better and came home. Now I don't know if I'll get the chance.”

Greg didn't make a sound. He stuffed his hands into his pants pockets and listened while Karen came to her crossroads.

“It's so cruel,” she said, gazing out at the sea with a baffled squint as though directing her comment to the power in its depths. “
So
cruel. Here I should be thankful that Mike is even alive, and all I can think about is how he's slipping slowly out of my life, one beloved part at a time. And each time it's like another small death.” She turned to Greg with her tears shining. “I don't know if I can take it anymore. How many times can one person die?”

“He's not dead, Karen,” Greg said.

She started to cry. At first Greg just handed her his handkerchief and awkwardly watched her, knowing it wasn't his place to offer any more familiar comfort. “I'm sorry,” she said in a grating whisper, trying to get hold of herself. Then she mocked herself with a little laugh. “You can't bring me to a beach without opening some very deep wounds. It's like bringing old Heathcliff back to the Yorkshire Moors. I should've warned you.”

Greg smiled affectionately. “That's okay. I just wish there was something I could do.”

Karen had no reason to believe that embracing him would have any consequences. It seemed like a perfectly natural conclusion to an evening that had transported her away from her problems for a few hours. Her arms went up and around Greg's neck the same way they went around Vinny's, or Dave's, or any other man she knew well enough to hug. For a fleeting moment Karen forgot about what had happened at the hospital, and the fact that Greg was so attractive, and how it made her feel when he told her she looked great. She just wanted to show him he was a good friend and she appreciated his thoughtfulness. She forgot how he had confessed to wishing they were on a real date.

Maybe Karen expected Greg to hug her like Vinny or Dave would hug her. Maybe she assumed he'd pat her on the back and say,
There, there
. But he didn't. His arms wrapped around her and kept moving, pressing her against him in a way that made her immediately aware of his body. If Karen thought for an instant she'd misread the signals, his quick intake and slow expulsion of air dispelled the notion. It was almost a moan of pleasure in her ear.

Every brain wave . . . every prompting of her well-formed conscience . . . every modicum of decency that had kept her faithful and devoted to one man since the age of seventeen screamed for Karen to jump back and reclaim herself. But the need that fired up inside of her, a need so overpowering and visceral, took charge of her movements like a form of physical possession. Heat spilled under her skin and charged every nerve with that need. It had been so long.

Instead of letting go, Karen's arms closed tighter around Greg's neck, clinging more urgently and more daringly. His body came alive, dancing against hers in a sensual acquaintance of contours. Karen inhaled the heady combination of cologne and warm male skin, all too aware that even her sense of smell was igniting a primeval desire within her. It felt like something was tearing up her insides, to have strong hands touching the bare skin of her arms and to have a man's pelvis, fully charged with the passion to satisfy her, pressing against hers in provocative invitation.

Following the same impulse, their heads drew back and turned so that their mouths could meet. Their synchronized rumblings vibrated between them, nearly drowned out by the rush of blood in their ears. Greg's tongue didn't have to lure hers to play. Karen was just as hungry. When his right hand coursed boldly up her side and moved between them to stroke her breast, indulging in its mound of stimulated flesh with escalating fervor, her surrender was almost complete. In mere seconds her body was primed and seeking fulfillment with a will of its own. The hem of her dress rode up farther and farther as they strained together through the barrier of clothing.

Karen's eyes were closed, and in the lusty exchange she became a new bride again. It was a time of discovery, and each new discovery was pure rapture. Kisses became a prelude to physical union. The exquisite torture of the climb to consummation would be surpassed only by the exquisite torture of its climax. Two bodies became as one . . .

As did two spirits. Karen's and Mike's.

She could never give herself to anyone else.

“Oh, God!” she cried out, tearing herself away from Greg before his hands ventured any farther. Her heart hammered against her chest wall, and the very real sensation of being strangled by some invisible force caused her to grip her throat. She was all too aware that her lips were throbbing, her legs were numb, and the scent of a man other than Mike was on her like an unfamiliar garment. And she was filled with an abysmal shame.
What had she done?

She looked at Greg. He staggered a bit and then leaned forward on his knees as though she had sucked the air from his lungs. Luckily he didn't move or try to persuade her to finish what she had started.

He only wheezed her name. “Karen.”

Her hand, which had been on her throat, now cupped her mouth, stifling her reply. She trembled from head to toe.

“I'm sorry,” Greg said, sounding like someone who had run for miles.

She couldn't see anything but Mike's face. Not the black water, not the stars above them, not Greg's crushing remorse. “I need to go home,” she finally said, and started looking around for her sandals. When she found them, she retrieved them and started walking up the beach.

“I didn't mean for this to happen,” Greg said softly, falling in step behind her, his gait obviously affected by their very physical encounter. “I didn't ask you here so I could make a move on you. I swear.”

“I know,” Karen replied almost absentmindedly. She couldn't blame Greg at all. Her own instincts had railed against spending time with him, but she rationalized them into submission. She had underestimated the power of her physical need. Now the guilt was far more unbearable than any biological yearning. “It's my fault. I never should've come.”

“Don't say that,” Greg said, trotting to catch up with her. When he did, she could feel his gaze studying her profile. “We had a very nice evening.”

Karen was still breathless and quaking inside and out, and when she stopped at the edge of the parking lot to put her sandals back on, Greg had to support her. But as soon as the task was accomplished, she jumped away from his grip as though she didn't trust herself. “Yes, we did have a very nice evening,” she said, striding off. “While my husband is lying in the hospital, sick as a dog and barely able to move.”

Once again, Greg had to trot to catch up with her. “You're only human, Karen. Don't beat yourself up about it when nothing happened.”

“How could you say nothing happened?” she asked.

“You know what I mean,” he replied. “Nothing for you to really regret.”

“I regret it enough.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have caused you more grief than you already have.”

Karen softened. Greg was not some Lothario who had walked into her house and devised a scheme to seduce her. “You didn't cause me grief,” she said. “I just needed to be held.”

“So did I.”

At Greg's admission of loneliness, Karen finally realized their close encounter was not all about her. She looked at him, her pace slowing, but she couldn't form a reply. He was a handsome middle-aged man of upstanding character, yet he was alone.

They walked the rest of the way in silence and climbed into his pickup truck. Once they were seated inside, that silence became oppressive, and Karen was glad it wasn't a very long ride to her house. When they pulled into her driveway, however, she forced herself to say what she had to say, even though her voice sounded distant and unsure.

“I didn't mean to lead you on.”

Greg only glanced at her. “And I didn't mean to disrespect Mike.”

Now Karen nodded. With a sigh, she picked up her bag. When Greg made a move to get out, she gestured for him to stay put. “Please don't.”

He sat back.

Karen actually felt sad saying good-bye to him. “Thank you for dinner, Greg.”

chapter forty

Karen walked into the ICU hoping she wouldn't fall to pieces when she saw Mike. No amount of time in the shower was going to wash away the memory of being in someone else's arms. No amount of self-justification was going to change the fact that she had betrayed something sacred, and no matter how many times Mike claimed he wanted her to leave him and go on with a normal life, in reality she knew it would have robbed him of his last reason for living.

She approached the place where Mike had spent the last three days, and one of the nurses spotted her before she realized he wasn't there. “We shipped him out, Mrs. Donnelly,” the nurse said cheerfully.

Karen panicked for a split second, not grasping her meaning. “Shipped him out?” she echoed. They couldn't have . . .

“He's been upgraded to a regular room,” the nurse said. “Let me find out exactly where they've put him.”

Like misplaced luggage,
Karen couldn't help but think. As soon as she found out where Mike was, she thanked the nurses and practically ran to the designated room, her heart pounding with anticipation. If Mike was fully awake, how was she going to react?

She poked her head into the semiprivate room. Mike was propped up in the bed closest to the door, free of the life-monitoring equipment. All that encumbered him now was an IV line in his arm and a mist-filled nebulizer mask strapped to his face. His eyes were open and lazily watching the television set above him, where images of CNN News moved without sound.

Karen blinked, making sure her eyes weren't deceiving her.

Mike spotted her before she even stepped into the room, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with contentment. His hand lifted off the mattress, his quivering fingers reaching for her, because he was too weak to raise his arm.

“Hey, babe,” he said behind the mask. His words were barely audible over the hiss of the nebulizer, but Karen heard them because she knew what Mike would say. He had been greeting her that way for almost thirty years.

She found herself smiling as she moved forward and took her place at his bedside. Taking his hand in both of hers, she tenderly kissed the knuckles and then leaned forward to kiss his brow, her chest burning with an onslaught of emotions. His head smelled sweaty but was wonderfully, comfortingly familiar; his dark mane of hair was damp and unruly. He looked withered and pale, like a sojourner after a long and tedious journey. Three days' growth of dark whiskers accentuated his sickly pallor. But what reached inside of Karen and wrenched her heart the most was to have those beautiful eyes pierce hers with their old, unconquerable love.

This time she didn't look away. If Mike could fight his way back from the clutches of death itself, she wasn't about to leave him unrewarded. She would never take his life for granted again.

“Hi,” she said in the softest whisper, her grip on his hand tightening. She could feel the response in his fingers, trying to match that grip. Her eyes stung with tears, but she didn't allow them to fall. Not yet. Not in the sterile and impersonal environment of a hospital. Not where strangers would bear witness to what she needed to say to her husband in private. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

Mike twitched with the hint of a shrug. It clearly meant,
So-so
.

She didn't know what to say first. But there was one thing she knew Mike needed to hear. “I was never so scared in my life,” she said. She wanted to tell him he never looked so beautiful to her. She wanted to tell him she loved him more than ever. But those proclamations would have to wait. For now, another kiss on the forehead was going to have to be worth a thousand words, this one lingering to convey a tenderness that Karen had long withheld. She was simply basking in the moment, grateful for the opportunity to feel his skin warm and alive beneath her lips.

Mike's eyes fluttered closed. When he opened them again, Karen was waiting to dive back into his gaze. And he must have perceived all the turmoil in their depths, because he asked, “Are you okay?”

Karen smiled tightly, her eyes glistening but not gushing. “I am now,” she replied. Her hands clutched his for dear life, her fingers stroking his and willing the strength back into them.

Mike's eyes glistened back at her over the mask, drawing life from the current passing between them. A few minutes later, the nebulizer treatment was finished, and a nurse came in to remove it. Without the cumbersome mask strapped to his head, Mike was finally able to speak and smile a little more comfortably with no more than the standard cannula puffing oxygen into his nostrils.

“He's all yours, Mrs. Donnelly,” the nurse said before leaving.

Karen pulled up a chair and planted herself by Mike's bedside, and this time his hand clasped hers with a little more vigor. “How's Lori?” he asked, winded. “How's my little girl?”

“She'll be a lot better once she talks to you. I've been giving her lame excuses about why you couldn't come to the phone.”

“Then call her.”

“Right now?”

He nodded.

“But I haven't told her anything,” Karen said. “You didn't want me to.”

“Call her,” he reiterated. “I'll tell her myself.”

As Karen picked up the telephone, Mike was seized by a coughing spell. He sounded sicker than the day he had been brought to the hospital, and Karen had a hard time convincing herself that the deep, gagging sound meant he was getting better. “Are you sure you're up to it?” she asked before she finished dialing.

Mike nodded again.

When Lori came on the line, Karen could barely speak. “There's someone here who wants to say hello,” she told her daughter, and held the phone to Mike's ear. His quaking hand made an attempt to rise off the mattress and hold the receiver, but he was too weak.

“Hey, baby,” he said softly.

Karen could hear the excited “Daddy!” on the other end of the line.

When Mike smiled, his drawn face appeared to crack with joy and relief. “How's my girl?”

“I'm a hundred times better,” Lori replied, her voice still bright enough for Karen to make out what she was saying. “I might even go home tomorrow.”

He let out such a contracted sigh that Karen was afraid he would pass out. “That's great news,” he said.

Karen didn't hear the next thing their daughter said, but she saw Mike swallow hard. “I miss you, too, baby.” Pause. “Well, I wasn't feeling so good.” Another pause. “Yeah, I'm better now. I came to the hospital for a few days, too. I'm right nearby.” He smiled again, looked up at Karen, and winked. Mission accomplished. “We didn't want you to worry. I just had a really bad cold, and the doctor was afraid I'd come down with pneumonia.” He was slurring his words and getting a little breathless, and Lori picked right up on it. “They've got me on some cough medicine, so I'm a little out of it,” Mike told her. “Listen, before I start snoring in the middle of a sentence, I want you to do something for me.”

He was looking right at Karen, holding her captive with his gaze in a way she hadn't allowed in years, as his words drifted into the phone.

“I want you to be there for your mother,” he said, somehow mustering the strength to speak. “Don't get upset. No, baby. I'm okay. You can come to my room tomorrow and see for yourself. It's just that your mother's been worried sick about us, and she looks like she's been through the wringer. Now that you're feeling better, you can step up to the plate for me. Right, baby? You can do things for her that I can't do anymore. I know you can. Mom's always been there for us, and I need you to show her some appreciation. From the both of us.” He swallowed again. “That's my girl. We've got to hold each other up.”

Karen didn't try to slip out of her body or distract herself with other thoughts. She let herself feel the impact of what Mike was saying to their daughter. She let herself feel the pangs of pain, the scorch of love, the twists of tragedy, the comfort of hope. As the words floated softly from her husband's lips, Karen made a solemn vow to herself.

She was going to bring him home, no matter what it cost.

Karen clutched her cell phone as she paced back and forth near the hospital's main entrance.

“Richie, you've got to do something for me,” she said into the phone. Their old friend, who had recently retired from the fire department, always offered to help Mike any way he could. All they had to do was ask, he told them.

Well, Karen was asking.

“You've got to find out if Mike qualifies for any of the charity funds in the department. I won't be able to bring him home without hiring a full-time health aide and a daily visit from a nurse, and we just can't afford it,” she explained. “With Mike's pension and disability, we're not eligible for Medicaid, but the money coming in isn't enough for all the home care he needs. Insurance won't cover all of it. They'd rather see him go into a nursing home.”

Richie groaned. “Oh, man. How is he now?”

“He's doing better. They'll probably discharge him after the weekend if I line up the aide. But I'm between a rock and a hard place.”

“I'll get right on it.”

“Thanks, Rich.”

Karen ended the call to Richie and immediately dialed her old boss at Pell Publishing. When she had left her job as senior editor, her boss was so sorry to see her go that he promised her the door would be open if she ever wished to return. “We can't guarantee you a position as senior editor,” he had said, “but we can always find a desk and a manuscript for you.”

“Does that offer still stand?” she asked now. “I'd be able to come into the city one day a week and pick up manuscripts. Anything else, I can do on the computer. Reading, line editing, story editing, conference calls—whatever you need.”

“Let me see what we can work out,” he said.

“I'll do freelance if you can't put me on salary.”

“We can use you, Karen,” he said. “Just let me work out the logistics.”

Feeling more hopeful with each phone call, Karen dialed her sister's number next. Helen answered the phone with a very tentative, “Hello?” She seemed to be expecting bad news.

“Hi, it's me. Sorry I didn't call you last night.”

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Better.”

Helen audibly sighed with relief. “Whew. What a trip this must've been for you.”

“You can't even imagine. But it isn't over yet.”

“What now?”

Karen went through the mantra of explaining her circumstances once again.

“Mike is that bad now?” Helen asked. “He needs a full-time aide?”

“He can't really do anything for himself. And we still don't know how much strength he'll recover after all this. So to everyone else, it seems perfectly logical to put Mike in a home. But I can't bring myself to do it. Not yet. Not until I really have to.”

“And what does Mike say?”

“He's been talking about going into a home for the past year,” Karen replied. “But we haven't discussed what will happen when he gets out of the hospital. I wanted to have all the pieces in place before I even brought it up.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, and Karen knew her sister was thinking about what she could do to help. “You can use the equity in the house to help pay for the aide,” Helen said. “I'll cosign anything you need. I can even cover a few of the monthly payments, if you're strapped. I'm sure Dave wouldn't mind. It's the least we can do since we're not there to help you guys out.”

Karen quickly calculated that with fifty thousand dollars from an equity loan, approximately thirty thousand in earned income, and a few extra thousand from FDNY charities, it started to look like a full-time aide was possible. At least for a while.

She called the social worker next, deciding to take the necessary leap of faith.