Chapter One

My wife is dying, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to save her. 

I hold her limp hand in mine, stroking her knuckles with my thumb, careful to avoid the many tubes and IVs attached to her in this hospital bed, as her chest moves steadily up and down, helped by an invasive ventilator. I silently plead with her to open her eyes and give me a reassuring smile. Maybe she'll quip about my hair being too long, or say this is the only way she can get time in with me. And our fight from just a few nights before will dissolve into forgiveness. But her eyes remain closed, and I remain unforgiven.

Three days ago, just after 8 am on April 10th, I got the call that a teenager had T-boned her car. He was going fifty in a twenty-mile-per-hour school zone and ran right through the stop sign, straight into her door. Somehow, the kid walked away with just a laceration on his brow. But my Sara…

I’m not sure how much awareness she has or whether she hears me speaking to her. Every time I try, my voice breaks, and I clam up. I’m not good at this. Sara’s the strong one, staying calm under pressure, whereas I panic. Like that time our plane hit a bird during takeoff, forcing us to turn back to the airport. I had an anxiety attack at the sight of all the first responders coming to greet us. But Sara just held my hand, stroked my fingers, and calmed me down. She gets her strength from her mother, Annie, who sits vigil in a chair near us. We take turns at Sara’s bedside. Annie knows what to say to her daughter, offering comfort and hope, unlike me. I’m a coward.

This is all my fault. If only I’d called her back for our usual morning kiss instead of standing in the shower a minute longer. I was still sour from our argument the night before, about me missing dinner at Shelby and Todd’s. 

I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Andy.

Like a toddler, I pouted instead of seeing her off. And this is what it cost me. 

The chair groans as Annie stirs from a brief nap. Dropping the sheet she’s wrapped in, she brushes by me and steps to Sara’s other side. She rests her hand softly on Sara’s forehead, pushing away strands of hair, and then leans down to murmur in her ear. Though Annie doesn’t show any weakness to her daughter, I know this is killing her as well. I’ve heard her muffled sobs in the sterile bathroom. But I carry the burden of deciding how long we let Sara remain in this non-responsive state. Brain-dead, no breath of life without the tubes. How could anyone possibly make that decision? 

How could I live with myself? 

How can I live without her?

Annie looks over at me. “Need a stretch break, Andy?” Her voice is tender, but I don’t miss the catch in her throat.

I shake my head. I am too busy studying the row of freckles on Sara’s fair skin. Was there always six on her nose? Last I counted, there’d been five.

“Okay.” She rubs the multicolored healing beads she put in Sara’s loose hand. “I’m going to grab some coffee. I’ll bring you back one.” She doesn’t ask because she knows I will tell her not to bother, but then drink it anyway. I give her a light nod. 

She tiptoes out of the room, keeping the door ajar as she leaves. Monitors buzzing and beeping from nearby rooms are reminders that we are not the only patients, and yet I couldn’t care less about what is going on next door. When a frenzy of nurses rushes by to attend to an alarm code, I barely notice. 

Ten years race through my mind as I try to replay every moment of our life together. It runs like a movie reel, out of order, as I narrow in on what is most important to focus on. The first time I saw her in the law library. On our wedding day, seven years ago, how beautiful she looked walking down the aisle in a dress that swallowed her up, which she later confessed she hated—our first kiss under her porch light, with Mr. Whiskers at our feet. The beach in Grace Bay in that little red string bikini for our honeymoon, and the time we made love in the back seat of my old Nissan when I was still living at my parents’ house after law school, and we couldn’t wait to get back to her apartment. 

Sara is everywhere. There isn’t a moment in the last ten years that isn’t tied to my wife. And now I am supposed to let her go?

My left leg has gone numb. I adjust in my seat as a gray-haired male in deep blue scrubs enters the room. He must have escaped the commotion next door. He walks to the side of Sara’s bed where Annie recently stood, and gently rests a hand over hers. I almost flinch at the intimacy of his touch. Usually, nurses come in on a mission. They want to check her vital signs, update meds, or just make sure she is still alive. But when I look up to see what he wants, he is faintly smiling at me. I’m not sure what to make of it. 

“Where’s Miranda?” I say. My throat is dry and hoarse. I clear it and try again. “She’s our head nurse.”

“On a break.” He slides his gaze to Sara, mimicking the same motion as I am on her other hand, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. “I’m sure she’ll be back shortly.” As his eyes shift back to me, he asks, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

I grunt. “The only thing I need is for my wife to stay alive.”

He lets out a sad humph, then says matter-of-factly, “You haven’t left her side.” 

“How could I?” 

He nods in understanding. “Letting go of someone you love must be incredibly difficult.”

“It’s cruel, is what it is.”

I observe his appearance. His blue scrubs fit in with the other nurses, but his demeanor is more like that of an end-of-life hospice caregiver. Any softness I feel towards him evaporates. 

“If you’ve come to tell me to pull the plug, you can save your speech. I’m not ready.”

“That’s not why I’m here.” He adjusts the afghan blanket I brought from home, straightening it out over her chest. “You’ll know when the time is right for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes, for you. That’s why you’re holding on, isn’t it? For the last bit of hope that something could change?”

That dreaded word. Hope. Hope will fucking kill you. I sigh and run my free hand through my too-long hair. 

“Do you think things could change for her?”

His smile is gentle when he answers. “No.”

My shoulders fall. “But how can you be sure?”

“I’ve been around death enough to know.”

Death. I know that is what’s coming for Sara, and yet I don’t like to be reminded. Her body is shutting down, one organ at a time. I am keeping her alive. Me and my stubbornness.

“Tell me about Sara, Andrew,” the man says with gentle persuasion. 

I flinch. “What?” 

We’ve been quite lucky in the days we’ve been here to have compassionate doctors and nurses to care for Sara, but not one has asked me such a personal question or used my formal name. He must have access to our medical papers, maybe the one where I am her next of kin and hold all responsibility for her care. You don’t think you’ll be in this position when you’re full of optimism, standing at the altar vowing “in sickness and in health”.

“You want me to tell you about my wife?”

He dips his chin, yes, as if it’s the simplest question. How do you wrap up one’s life in a short answer? Where would I even start? And yet, I want to tell him. I want them all to know she is not just another patient lying in a numbered room. She is real. She is a person. She is my everything. 

I take a ragged inhale. “She’s…” I shift in my seat and peer at her. Had someone asked me this a week ago, I would have made some joke about her nagging, or scoffed sarcastically that she was perfect. That’s what happens when resentment enters a marriage; you focus on the negative. But grief strips everything away, until only the good remains. Sara’s human—flawed and beautiful. “She is everyone’s favorite person.” My shoulders relax. “And she makes you feel like you’re her favorite person.” The man’s expression is kind and attentive. It keeps me talking. “She’s a teacher; she teaches kindergarten, and her kids love her so much.” I snort. “She is always bringing home drawings from them, and she puts each one up on the fridge, like they’re our own children's.” I clear my throat. “I know she’d be worried about her students. She’d…” I trail off with a shake of my head.

He doesn’t speak, just lets me sit in my thoughts. 

“It isn’t fair. Good people don’t deserve to die so young.” I lightly brush my finger near the bruising and swelling around her left eye and the bandage on her temple. “She’s only 31.”

He gives me a sad smile. “Fairness has nothing to do with it.”

I lift her wrist and kiss the back of her hand. I close my eyes, pressing her skin against my face, caressing her fingers against my cheek. I don’t care that this stranger is here to witness this moment of intimacy with her. I need to touch her every second that I can. 

“I want more time with her. It’s selfish, I know, but I don’t give a damn about being selfish right now. We’ve only had ten years together. We deserve thirty or forty—hell, I would have settled for just ten more.”

His hand is on my shoulder. I didn’t hear him move. “Would you do anything differently if you had more time?”

I’d asked myself that same question too many times as I sat in this chair. It’s the curse of a life that ends too soon; you start to think of all the things you missed out on. What would I have done differently? 

Annie and I are not alone here. Sara’s father, Gregory, takes turns with Annie at her bedside. His wife, Hilary, and Sara’s older sister, Emily, along with my parents and brother, Daniel, camp out in the waiting room, reminding us they are here. Even through their own devastation, they want to support. What do I need? Can they do anything for me? I don’t want any of them. I don’t want to talk. Yet this stranger somehow brings out the word flow in me. Everything I have kept bottled inside for the last three days is boiling to the surface, bursting to come out. Maybe that’s because he is someone I owe nothing to or need to pretend with, and I will never see him again after Sara…

“Yeah. I would.” Insecurity flows through my veins as I think about all my shortcomings with her. “I wasn’t the best husband. When we met, I’d just finished law school, and she was finishing up her bachelor’s degree. I thought I had it figured out,” I scoff. “But I was so stupid. I thought if I worked hard enough and made something of myself, that I’d…” My laugh is bitter as I recall all my misgivings. “Sara used to tell me I was going to work myself to death.” My voice catches on the word. “She used to say I needed more balance. But all I saw was the future. If I could put in the time now, then I would be setting us up for a great life. But she saw what I was sacrificing.”

“What was that?”

  “Us.” I let out a long exhale. “I missed dinners, date nights, events at her school that were important to her because I had some stupid case I was working on.” I pause. “I missed everything.” Tears well, making my vision blurry. I haven’t cried, not really. The shock of it took over all of my senses. I glance at him as the first tear falls. “You ask me what I would do differently? I would have loved her more.” I shake my head, wiping the dampness with the back of my sleeve. “No, no. I would have given her the love she deserved.”

His face shows no pity or sadness. Instead, his expression simply says that he understands. He squeezes my shoulder one more time. The touch sends an electric shock through me, shaking me back to my senses. I do not need to be crying on a stranger’s shoulder. Or around Sara.

Brushing him off, I stand up and adjust her pillow, wiping a stray blonde hair off her forehead. 

“She prefers a cold pil…” I look over my shoulder, but the room is empty. He must’ve snuck out when I had my back turned. I didn’t even catch his name. I’ll have to ask Miranda when she comes by.

  A strange sensation comes over me, one I’d never be able to explain. Not quite dizziness, not quite delirium, but somewhere in the realm. Probably from stress and exhaustion. I nestle down in my seat. Annie will be back any moment and will want to sit by her daughter’s side, but I’m not ready to let go. I cradle Sara’s hand in mine and rest my cheek against the crook of my elbow. Before long, I fall asleep.

I don’t know how long I slept, but it’s the deepest, hardest sleep I’ve had in years. The grief and sleep deprivation had taken over, and my body caved. Soft laughter and a murmuring hum wake me. Most likely, Annie is speaking to Sara. But this is more than one voice; it’s a chorus of whispers. Then a squeak of a chair, and the smell… so familiar, like artificial pine wax that takes me right back to college. 

Once, after I’d pulled an all-nighter studying, I’d fallen asleep in class. And through the veil of dream and wake, I could hear my professor speaking and my buddy Jeff taunting me and chuckling close to my ear. But like a deep sleep paralysis, I could not wake. I shouted at myself, to no avail. My arms were dead weight, my head like a bowling ball on my shoulders—just as I am now. 

There is something hard beneath my arm, not the expected softness of the hospital bed. I wiggle my fingers, which sends a jolt of awareness through the rest of my body. Next, I cup my chin in my hands, holding up the weight and command my eyes to open.

It’s a giggle that does it. 

Stunned, I check to my left, expecting Sara with her ventilator and bruised skin. Instead, there is a sea of oak tables stacked with books and papers. Young adults tapping away on computers. 

There’s a law resource book open in front of me. And I understand two things simultaneously: I am not in the cold, sterile hospital room, but back in my old U of O law library. 

But it can’t be. I must still be dreaming, and my mind is playing tricks on me. The computer screen glows, showing me multiple tabs from websites and program notes. I scan over the text, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. I catch the date tucked up in the corner and fall back in my seat. 

July 7th, 2009.

2009? This can’t be right. It’s not — the familiar laughter startles me, breaking me from my thoughts. I whip in its direction, and my whole body jerks, causing the chair to catch on the floor. The book in my lap falls to the ground with a loud thud that echoes through the open air. My jaw drops open, and once again, I am at a loss for words. 

The voice I would know anywhere is coming from a beautiful blonde, her cheeks rosy pink and full of life, who in three years will become my wife.