ROAR (16 page)

She pulled her wrap more tightly around her shoulders when the cool night breeze hit them, and Kristoffer wrapped his arm around her. “Thanks for the body heat. I forgot how cold it gets at night, even in May.”

“No problem. We’ll be there in a flash.”

And they were. Too soon. She liked having his arm around her even if the gesture had been practical, not romantic. After ordering their desserts, seeming to be at a temporary loss for words, he sipped at his glass of water before Pamela broke the ice. “So what did you think about the musicians?”

“Great talent.”

“Yeah. They really are good. Glad I got to catch them again before they move on to bigger and better things. I doubt they’ll be hanging around Denver forever.”

After more idle chat, they somehow found themselves talking about the time he’d run away to live with Gunnar. “He introduced me to his love of jazz, although I was too young to frequent the clubs.” The server brought his bowl of Italian ice and her tiramisu.

Before he took a bite, he continued with his story. “When that school year ended, I moved back home. Gunnar had about given up on me ever amounting to anything, I think. I was a little wild in those days.”

She couldn’t picture him being anything but the serious, responsible financial expert he was today and wondered what kinds of trouble he’d gotten into, but didn’t ask.

“My mom still lives in New London, but I can never return to that rat race in the Northeast, even though I did choose a career in which Hartford or New York City would have afforded me many more opportunities for clientele than Denver did. But Colorado is where Tori loved to be. I can’t take her aw—” He stopped and stared at his spoon as though he didn’t know what to do with it.

When he met her gaze, he seemed to have come to some decision. “No, Tori wouldn’t know one way or another where she was. I guess the real reason I stay here now is because
I
like it. The pristine mountains, the cosmopolitan city. It’s the best of both worlds. And I feel closer to Gunnar than anyone else in my family.”

“Do you ever go back to visit your parents?” He hadn’t mentioned his father at all tonight or in prior conversations.

“I try to visit Mother once a year around the holidays, usually New Year’s. Not long after they divorced, Dad married a woman with a son.” His mouth flattened into a straight line before he relaxed it again. “He moved that family to Florida.”

She’d uncovered another commonality between them. How had he felt about being abandoned like that? No wonder he’d been so close to his grandfather and Gunnar. “How old were you when your parents divorced?”

“Just turned fifteen. Gunnar’s parents had split up when he was a lot younger, so he helped me understand how to survive it all when I moved in with him eight months later.”

Interesting that both cousins had come from broken homes. Yet Kristoffer had remained faithful and true to his wife long after another man might have divorced her under the circumstances and sought a new love and a new life. His father had abandoned his mother. Had she been devastated? Perhaps their split was what had made him so much more adamant about honoring his own vows.

Gunnar also seemed to be a mate-for-life kind of guy. If Heidi never returned from Afghanistan, Pamela expected he would continue to be involved in her life and support her in anything she chose to do. These cousins shared a lot more than genes.

Pamela wondered if she’d been drawn to them subliminally because of her history. But she hadn’t known their story and still, she had felt a pull toward them—probably because they were strong, alpha men and her equals in many ways.

“Your wife is very fortunate to have married you. You haven’t abandoned her. I can’t imagine what it’s like when patients in extended-care facilities don’t have a loved one looking out for their best interests.”

He spooned a bite of Italian ice into his mouth and swallowed. “I’m no saint. I’ve let her down sometimes, but FarFar and Gunnar taught me early on to keep picking myself up and trying again. To always strive to be an honorable man. I promised to stay beside her come what may when we married, and I’m a man of my word.”

“When those words ‘for better or worse, in sickness and in health’ and ‘ ’till death do we part’ are spoken, I don’t think anyone really knows what they’d do if the worst should happen, as it did with you two.”

“True. But vows are vows. We need to remain true to them.”

She wondered if she would be as steadfast and true if faced with the same situation. She’d like to think so, but the thought of those lonely days and nights stretching out before her with no hope of intimacy or having her love returned hurt to even think about. His devotion to his wife was admirable, but had to have taken a toll on him. “Don’t answer this if I’m meddling, but I’ve never known anyone to be in that kind of state. Does she…”—
How to put this?
—“recognize you at all or know that you’re there?”

“I have no clue. I don’t think so, but I talk to her as if she hears me. She can’t speak or even make gestures to respond to direct and simple questions, not like I’ve seen other persistent vegetative state patients do in videos.”

“So she’s not declared brain dead?”

“Correct. She breathes on her own. Opens her eyes when awake—or whatever they call that state of being.” He shrugged. “At other times, they’re closed as if she’s sleeping. Her gaze used to follow me across the room, but not in a long while. I’m not sure if she was aware of me then or if it was some residual eye reflex where she follows the movement of light and shadow.”

Her heart broke for him. “How do you handle continuing to go see her knowing she isn’t aware you’re there?”

He cocked his head as if she’d grown a second head, and she realized too late how callous her words sounded. Before she could apologize, he answered her question. “
I
know I’m there.
I
know I’m looking out for her needs, connecting with her in whatever way I still can, even if it’s only one-sided.”

She had no clue how old he was, but the worry lines around his eyes told her he probably was on the other side of forty. He had a lot of years ahead of him most likely. Would he feel the same thing at fifty? Sixty?

“I’m convinced somewhere out there her soul exists and is aware of my visits. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories about patients coming out of a coma after months and reporting knowing what went on around them while in the coma.”

“A coma and a persistent vegetative state aren’t the same.”

“But who knows if it’s the same or not?”

She’d read studies in journals that showed varying degrees of awareness for those in a PVS. Perhaps he’d been given more hope than she felt. “Do the doctors think she could come out of it eventually?”

He avoided her gaze again as he focused on eating before answering. “Not really. They haven’t for years.”

They must be basing their opinion on science. “Have they conducted an fMRI—functional MRI?”

“Yeah. Several. Years ago, after she came out of the coma. She only has brain function for the most rudimentary of processes—blinking her eyes, breathing. There’s been nothing to indicate cognition or awareness since she came out of the coma. Hell, not since the accident really. No reflexes. She doesn’t respond to physical stimuli either, although sometimes she grimaces, making me worry that she’s in pain.”

He gripped the spoon as if a bolt of pain had shot through him then met her gaze again, the intensity of his blue eyes stealing her breath away.

“But they say there are no signs of any awareness or anything remotely akin to living other than the basic brain functions that keep her breathing.”

She squeezed his hand. “That doesn’t improve with time, Kristoffer. I worry about how this will affect you over the years, though.”

He pulled his hand away from her. “I’m handling it. It’s part of my daily routine now.”

She supposed as long as he knew miracles most likely weren’t going to happen, he wasn’t doing long-term damage to his own mental health. At least, she hoped not. Situations like these took a toll on a person, though.

“Some believe the soul of patients like Tori transition over to an afterlife somewhere, leaving behind the shell of the body that continues to function on a very primitive level due to the use of tubes and modern medicine. I simply can’t take the chance that her soul’s still here and have her think I’ve abandoned her.”

She nodded. “Do
you
think her soul has moved on?”

He remained silent for a while and then spoke in a hushed whisper, as though afraid the universe—or Tori—might hear him. “Yeah.” He glanced away and blinked his eyes a couple of times. Again, she reached across the table to squeeze his hand, finding no other appropriate way to comfort him.

He stared at their hands. “At least, I’m beginning to think that. It’s easier for me to imagine she’s somewhere better enjoying some form of existence again.”

“But isn’t that the definition of death—when the soul leaves the body?”

“That’s the belief of some. Others say there’s life as long as the brain is functioning, however basic that function is as long as it’s keeping the body alive. Legally, I think, death is defined by most courts as when the brain ceases all ability to function cognitively.” Defiance entered into his eyes and his voice. “But I have no intention of having her declared dead until she stops breathing on her own, so I don’t care what their definition is. Until I know for certain she’s gone, I won’t play God.”

It wasn’t her place to tell him what to believe about an afterlife or the definition of death. For obvious reasons, he’d given this a lot more thought and study than she had. Right now, he sounded as though he wanted to accept that she’d moved on, but he hadn’t yet arrived at that point where he could let her go.

“Had the two of you talked about end-of-life issues before the accident?”

He shook his head. “Have you talked with your parents about what you want to happen with your body in case something catastrophic happens?”

“Yes. But I’ve seen what harm modern medicine can do at the end of one’s life. I also put myself into situations with my job where the likelihood of death or injury is greater than for the general populace. Anyway, my parents know I don’t want to be kept on artificial means beyond any hope of returning to the living. If I can’t have quality of life, I wouldn’t want to be kept
alive
on tubes and machines.” That wasn’t living. She wouldn’t want to merely exist with no awareness of anything or anyone around her, not to mention be such a financial burden on her family who weren’t exactly wealthy, although they were better off than many.

He pulled her back from her thoughts. “Neither do I, now that I’ve seen what can happen. I had my advanced directive, durable power of attorney, and living will drawn up two years ago. Late, I know, but I wasn’t functioning very well before that.” He met her gaze in earnest. “Gunnar knows my intentions and preferences, but I’d venture to guess most people haven’t had that conversation with loved ones. Far fewer have actually drawn up legal documents outlining their end-of-life preferences. Even with those documents and family support, you still have to hope your doctors and the staff at the healthcare facility you’re in will honor your wishes. Some places refuse based on the institution’s religious beliefs. But while there are no absolutes or guarantees, I think having the legal papers can help family members by providing some guidance as to what their loved ones would want.”

Kristoffer looked down at his bowl as if only now realizing where they were and took a bite. As they were served fresh coffee, she turned her attention to her tiramisu for a moment, trying to digest all she’d learned about him today. They both probably needed a little silence to reflect.

After finishing his dessert, he set down his spoon. “I could have divorced her and moved on years ago if I’d wanted to, and most wouldn’t have blamed me. But I won’t do that as long as her body is functioning in some way.”

“I understand.” Well, she didn’t really, but admired him for his faithfulness. Many men abandoned their wives—even when their partners were fully functioning—through divorce, emotional or physical absence, work, or other reasons. He was one of a kind. Tori had been—and still was—well-loved.

“Pamela, you asked earlier if I believed her soul had moved on. If it has, it would have happened back when she went from being in a coma and on the ventilator to her current persistent vegetative state. I see that now. But at the time, I couldn’t give up hope that she’d come back to me eventually. It had only been six months since the accident. That’s when I asked the doctors to insert a PEG tube to feed her. I see now that was selfish on my part.” He glanced away as the server took their empty dishes away. She barely heard his next whispered words. “I hope she isn’t aware of the hell I’ve put her through since.”

The man’s anguish was palpable. She wished she could hug and comfort him, but wasn’t sure he’d welcome such personal contact. Oh, who cared? He could push her away if he didn’t. She stood and walked around the table to his side, wrapping her arms around him. He said nothing and remained rigid. She thought he’d stopped breathing, but eventually, he returned the hug, holding on to her so tightly she found it difficult to breathe herself.

Then the moment was gone, and he pushed her away. “Sorry. Thanks.”

“I hate that you’ve had to go through this, Kristoffer.” She returned to her seat. “I hope you don’t mind all the personal questions. I’m just trying to understand better.” And to learn more about him for a change.

“I don’t mind, Pamela. I’m not used to talking about Tori with anyone but Gunnar, and even we haven’t really talked the last couple years because nothing ever changes. The few others who knew about the accident quickly stopped asking about her as the months and years dragged on.” He smiled at her, albeit with sadness in his eyes. “I appreciate that you care.”

“In college psychology classes and even to some extent in medical school, we’re taught about the stages of grief—primarily how to relate to those engulfed in grief or on the journey through the five stages. One of the things that hit me hardest and raised my own awareness was that those grieving often felt, after a while, that no one talked about their loved one anymore.”