Just Destiny (4 page)

“Are you okay? I didn’t see you. The water bottle fell and I reached down to get it and…the shadows…” His mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

Head snapping from side to side, Jenny brushed by him. A lone shoe sat in front of the vehicle and then she spotted a hairy male leg and foot on the far side of the truck. She sprinted around the car and fell to her knees beside Gabe.

He lay curled on his side as if asleep. Legs and arm scrapped, face ashen, his eyes were closed—not pinched shut as if in pain but lightly, as if resting. He wasn’t the bloody mess she’d feared when she’d seen that lone foot and leg, just a little blood seeped from his ear. His head was bare. Maybe he was just knocked out. A concussion. You weren’t supposed to move an accident victim, were you?

Jenny’s hand hovered over him, afraid to touch yet desperately needing proof that he still lived. She stroked his stubbly cheek and was reassured by its warmth. He was breathing and warm; that had to be good.

“Gabe?” she whispered.

“I didn’t see him,” the man sobbed. “The shadows—I’m so sorry.”

“Gabe? Honey? Wake up.” Jenny lightly caressed his face. “Gabe.”

“Help should be here any minute,” the man rasped. “I tried to stop. I tried. But…”

Chills chased through Jenny as she pressed against Gabe’s inert form. Shivering, she inspected his body, looking for broken bones and signs of injury. She picked up one limp hand. “He’s cold. He needs to be covered.”

The man ripped off his coat and handed it to her. “Here, use this.

She spread the khaki jacket across Gabe and then hovered gently over him, mindful of possible internal injury, but needing to warm him with her own body heat.

“It’s okay, honey,” she crooned. “You’re gonna be okay. The ambulance is on the way. See? Hear the siren? It’ll be here in a minute and you’ll be fine.” Her voice clogged with tears as she wiped away the blood trickling from his ear down his cheek.

“I love you. You’re going to be okay.” She sniffled. “You’ll be fine.”

Her eyes never left Gabe’s face as she willed him to wake. When the ambulance pulled alongside, Jenny allowed the paramedic to back her away from Gabe. She shook her head when asked if she was hurt. With her arms wrapped tightly over her stomach, Jenny hovered nearby, scrutinizing every move the paramedics made.

One man ran skilled hands over Gabe from his face to his toes, while the other carefully strapped an oxygen mask around his head and then fitted a thick collar around his neck. Together they rolled him onto his side and then back again onto a board. They worked in tandem to a script they’d practiced and perfected.

Each paramedic knew his role, and there was no fumbling or getting in the way of the other. One of them started an IV while the other put the oxygen tank between Gabe’s legs and checked his blood pressure, scribbling numbers on his glove like an ugly tattoo. When they loaded him onto the truck, Jenny tried to climb in behind them.

“Ma’am, you need to ride up front.” The paramedic helped her off the bumper step and slammed the doors shut.

“Hey, what about the police?” the driver yelled.

“Wait for them and then send them to Saugatuck General.” The paramedic helped Jenny into the front seat before jogging around the truck.

Jenny twisted around until the seatbelt gouged her waist. She watched the paramedic in the back tend to Gabe. Her hand touched the cold glass partition, needing to be closer to him. Gabe lay so still on the stretcher.

The paramedic spoke into a black disk CB radio. “We’ve got a truck versus bicycle; male, Caucasian, mid-forties.”

“Forty-three. He’s just forty-three,” Jenny mumbled.

“Unconscious. BP eighty over fifty. Respirations, thirty-five. Pulse one-thirty and thready. Pupils, seven millimeters, fixed and dilated. We’ve got him on oh-two at fifteen liters and normal saline drip running wide open. ETA, ten minutes. Any further orders?”

A voice crackled back, loud and clear, “Nothing further. Expect in ten.”

The paramedic hung up the radio and pumped up the cuff around Gabe’s arm. Deflating the cuff, he fiddled with the IV, opening the line wide, forcing fluids into Gabe’s veins. He checked his pulse, then his blood pressure again. Frowning, the paramedic deflated the cuff and grabbed the radio. “Med Control from unit twenty-four. Pressure’s dropped to sixty over forty, Requesting orders for Dopamine.”

“Affirm. Start dopamine. Ten micrograms per kilogram per minute and get a second line in if you can.”

The man flipped open what looked like an orange toolbox. With quick efficient movements, he withdrew a syringe and vial of clear liquid. Poking a needle in it, he drew some up into the syringe, injected it into a small bag, and then attached it to the IV.

Jenny’s eyes never left her husband and the man working to save his life, as if she could will it to turn out right. The brakes squealed in protest as the ambulance stopped next to the Emergency room’s sliding glass doors. The paramedic hopped out and ran around the back to help unload Gabe. Jenny jogged behind the paramedics, doctor, and nurse, as they rapid-fire reported Gabe’s condition in what seemed like abbreviated code language.

The nurse directed the group into the second treatment room on the right, then stepped in front of Jenny as she tried to follow. The exam door slowly drifted shut, cutting off Jenny’s view. Her last picture of her husband was of yellow-gowned people swarming Gabe like a hungry pride of lions at a fresh kill.

* * *

Hours later, Jenny stood in the hall outside Gabe’s room. Flattening her back against the wall, she drew in and pushed out measured breaths in an attempt to clear her numb brain. The doctor’s earlier words still echoed through her head, meaningless. She probably should have grasped what Dr. Collins said; the doctor hadn’t used any confusing medical terms, but Jenny needed it spelled out.

She swallowed the sour feeling and tried to paste an optimistic smile on her trembling lips before following a nurse inside. The young blonde woman with her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail fiddled with a machine, then smiled kindly at Jenny.

“Mrs. Harrison? Come on in. Don’t let all these leads and tubes intimidate you.”

Jenny moved closer, stepping around various IV poles. Gabe lay still in the bed. A clear tube was taped to his mouth and several smaller lines disappeared into his arms. A bag hooked onto the side of his bed collected pink-tinged urine. Dark bruises circled his eyes. Mesmerized, she moved closer.

Jenny turned to the nurse, speaking softly. “Can I touch him?”

“Absolutely.” The nurse ran a hand lightly down Gabe’s arm. “And talk to him too. You never know what he might hear.”

“They said he has no brain function.”

The smile faded. “I know. But I believe his spirit’s still here.”

Jenny watched Gabe carefully, wistful. “He looks so peaceful—like he’s sleeping.”

“He’s not in any pain.” The nurse paused at the door. “If you need anything, just ring his button.”

“Thank you.” Jenny moved closer to the bed, dropped the plastic hospital bag and helmet to the floor before stroking Gabe’s cheek. His warmth reassured her.

“Hi, honey.” She lovingly scanned Gabe’s face, searching for some response to her voice. Finding none, she leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to his warm cheek. She eased back and her hands gripped the cold metal bed rail as she studied his face. Nothing. No twitch. No eyelids fluttering. No slight lifting of his lips. Nothing. Breath rushed from Jenny’s chest, crushing her aching heart in disappointment.

Well, what had she thought? That he’d magically awaken at the sound of her voice or her kiss. He wasn’t sleeping beauty and this wasn’t a fairytale. Jenny was trapped in a nightmare. Blinking rapidly, she blew out another hot breath and moved her hand up and down his arm.

“That’s okay. You’ve got some mending to do. The doctor said your head took quite a hit. It’s probably good you’re not awake because you’d have a whopper of a headache.”

Talk to him. You never know what he might hear. The nurse’s advice echoed in Jenny’s tired head. People who came out of comas often recalled what had gone on around them. Maybe Gabe would. Maybe that was the key to her miracle.

Jenny’s hand cupped her stomach. Gabe couldn’t die. They had too much to do, too much to share. If he remembered how much they loved each other, if he knew how much she needed him, he’d never leave her. Spirit or coma, Gabe would fight to come back to her. Jenny sniffled and swallowed the lump clogging her throat. He would come back. She’d bring him back.

She dragged the chair closer and perched on the edge of the seat. “Gabe, remember the day we met? I’d snuck into the hospital to stay with Michael, and you caught me while making rounds.” A smile lightened her voice. “That was the luckiest day of my life. I was so nervous. You were this gorgeous guy; older, sophisticated, and my little brother’s doctor for Pete’s sake. I was just an insecure kid a couple of years out of college, struggling to support myself at the
Chronicle
, and in trouble with my mom. I was hardly in your league. But you—” Jenny smiled at the memory; warmth and happiness flooded her. “You smiled at me as if I was perfect and asked me out.”

She stared at the white cotton blanket. Her vision blurred until she could clearly see the past. “You took me to the Hunt Club for our first date, remember? And when you showed so much interest in my article on the Donnatelli Clinic, I felt a real connection with you before dinner was even over.

“And then we kissed.” Jenny sighed and smiled warmly at her husband. She squeezed his unresponsive hand and stood to press a tender kiss to his cheek. Blinking back tears that blurred Gabe’s beloved face, Jenny blew out a deep breath and forced a smile to her lips, whispering, “You had me at that first kiss.”

Nurses and lab people came in periodically to take blood and urine samples and to check on Gabe. They all kindly offered Jenny words of sympathy and encouragement, but she just wanted to be alone with her husband. She smiled wistfully, lowered Gabe’s bed rail and sat next to him. Hip pressed tightly against his side, she raised his slack hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. She nuzzled his hand, wishing he would cup her cheek as he often did before kissing her.

“Gabe? Can you hear me?” Jenny stared intently at his face, but Gabe didn’t so much as twitch. Heart heavy, she sighed and gently placed his hand on the bed. If she hadn’t run from that stupid fight, he wouldn’t be lying in that hospital bed. Her lips trembled. “I’m
so
sorry. This is all my fault.”

She reached for the rough tissues on Gabe’s bedside stand and blew her nose. Her gaze dropping to the helmet and bag on the floor, she slid off the bed, opened the plastic hospital bag and looked inside. Lying on top of Gabe’s jeans was the vintage Tissot doctor’s watch George gave Gabe for his graduation from medical school.

George claimed the watch had been given to grandfather Harrison in nineteen thirty-eight when he graduated med school—a real family heirloom. She stared at the watch until it blurred. She couldn’t remember a time when Gabe didn’t wear it. She scooped it up and stuffed it in her pants pocket. Gabe would be upset if anything happened to his beloved watch.

Jenny returned her attention to the bag and his wallet, peaking out of the neck of his navy knit shirt. His wallet was brown leather, creased and worn, like all Gabe’s favorite things.

Taking the billfold out, Jenny sank into the nearby chair. She moved her thumb back and forth over the cool rawhide. One side was curved, bowed from years of being stuffed in Gabe’s back pocket. Maybe she’d get him a new one for Christmas.

She slumped in the seat until her head rested against the chair back. Rolling her head sideways, she looked at Gabe. His eyes remained closed, his body still but for the rhythmic breathes the ventilator forced into his chest.

She toyed with the billfold and looked at Gabe’s face. His eyelids didn’t even flutter. With a sigh, Jenny dropped the wallet to her lap and leaned forward to stroke Gabe’s warm, hairy arm. She laid her cheek on the back of his hand and laced her fingers through his slack ones. The wallet plunked to the floor. When Jenny’s back began to ache from the awkward position, she gave his hand one final pat, straightened and stretched her sore muscles. Picking up the wallet, she put it on his bed.

The night crept on and the nurse brought Jenny a dinner tray. She tried to eat, knowing she’d need the strength, but could only force down the salty meatloaf and soggy green beans. At ten o’clock, Ken Stanley, the chief of St. Francis’s neurosurgery department, entered Gabe’s room. Tall and balding, wearing wide, wire-rimmed glasses, Ken exuded confidence, even casually dressed in navy corduroys and a cream cable-knit sweater.

He put a warm hand to her back. “Jenny.”

“Ken. Thanks for coming.” If anybody could help Gabe, it’d be Ken. Not only was he a friend but Gabe had always respected his skill as a doctor, so Jenny had asked Dr. Collins to call Ken for a second opinion. Surely he’d find something the others here had overlooked.

“How’re you holding up?”

“Okay.” Alone in his room, Jenny could pretend that Gabe was just like any other sick patient—just resting deeply—perhaps drugged by pain medication. But with the appearance of this doctor she recognized from social functions, reality suddenly came crashing back. Fear and impotence filled Jenny, like a dam broken loose. She grasped Gabe’s hand in a crushing grip. “They say he’s got no brain function, but they’re mistaken, right? There must be some medication, some surgery,
something
you can do to help him.
Please
, tell me there’s something you can do.”

“I’ll try.” He squeezed her shoulder. “I talked to the admitting doctor and looked over his chart. Let’s see if there’s been any improvement.”

Jenny watched carefully as Ken pried Gabe’s eyes open and flashed a light in them. He tapped his knees and elbows with a small rubber mallet. When he pinched the muscle on the back of Gabe’s neck and then pricked his thigh with a safety pin, Jenny flinched—unfortunately Gabe didn’t.