met. Hers registered nothing out of the ordinary. But she’d obviously noticed the movement. Why didn’t she seem excited?
“That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
“Mr. Chamberlain, your wife is experiencing involuntary muscle contractions.”
“But isn’t that a sign of—”
“Not necessarily.” She smiled that pitiful oh-the-poor-man smile that gagged him. “I wish I could tell you differently. There’s been little change. She’s a three on the Glasgow Coma Scale.”
“Three out of ten?”
“Three out of fifteen. There are three categories with numbered levels. The total score comes from her level in each category: stimuli, ability to communicate, and ability to move—intentionally.”
“So, zero is the lowest in each of those categories?”
She looked away briefly. “One.”
Three categories. Three ones. Three can’t-get-any-worse scores. Oh, Karin.
“But, the curiosity is that her eyes are sometimes open. That’s more indicative of DBT—deep brain trauma—than true, full-blown coma. Some rating systems—”
Josiah stared at the now motionless spot on his wife’s shoulder. Move, Karin. Do it again. Prove this Florence Nightingale wrong.
“—use a little different scale to determine brain function.”
Angie, was it? He waited until she addressed the IV pump and its annoying alarm then glanced at her identification badge.
“For instance, the Ranchos Los Amigos Scale,” she said, “uses an eight-level system based on awareness, ability to think, behavior signals, and the way the patient interacts with his or her environment.” She smiled. “And that probably sounds as if I just finished my final exam in neuropsychology, doesn’t it?”
“A little bit.”
“I know it’s a lot to absorb right now. It’s important. But it’s not important for you to know today, at this stage.”
She probably meant well with her smile, but it seemed completely inappropriate in that setting. “So, Angie, you nurses work pretty long hours, don’t you?” Lame. But it qualified as conversation.
“The hospital’s a little understaffed at the moment. Oh, don’t worry. We have your wife’s needs well-covered. But yes, it does require that we work extra-long shifts.”
Her rubberized clogs squeaked with each step as she continued fussing with equipment and moving between the bed and the wheeled stand with its chest-high computer. Logging everything she did to his wife, Josiah assumed. Making sure the billing department knew about every needle, every change of sheets, every alcohol wipe.
“I don’t mind.” Her voice floated to him.
“What?”
She stopped, fingers hovering over the keyboard, and said, “I don’t mind the extra hours. My husband and I are saving as much as we can before our baby comes. We’re going to try to live on one income.”
She’s pregnant. He hadn’t noticed. More than a little pregnant, in fact. What was with this place? Every bloomin’ woman cradled a baby in her belly.
Including Karin.
You had to find someone else who could make that happen for you, huh, Karin? His eyes traced the line of her body under the thin sheet. The hollows on either side of her neck, the gentle rise of her breasts. He didn’t recognize them. They looked fuller than he remembered. And the small mound where her empty womb should be.
Josiah cupped his hand over the mound. It just fit the curve of his palm. He rested his hand there, breathing, imagining, aching to change things so the little life could be his.
Karin, you’ve robbed me. I can’t even ask you what I did that was so wrong, besides failing to make you a mother. When did you decide I wasn’t worth forgiving for that?
He felt warmth growing under his palm, as if the life were responding to his touch. The baby probably would fit into his hand with hand to spare.
God, protect this child.
No more words came. He lifted his hand from the mound. His palm tingled. Stung. The room shook as Karin screamed.
Josiah? What are you doing? Why are you here? Why
won’t you talk to me? Need to talk. Need to—
He couldn’t read too much into Karin’s involuntary muscle movements. Involuntary screams. It wasn’t a reaction to his touch. Or his prayer. She wasn’t demon-possessed. Just unfaithful. And broken.
Deep inside, on a level beyond recognition, her body railed against the pain, the nurse explained. A positive sign, in a way, she said.
Josiah cried the tears Karin couldn’t. He understood soul-deep pain. His own screams died in his throat as he watched her writhe and thrash. Instinctively, he laid his torso over her flailing arms and convulsing chest while Angie tethered her lower extremities and called for help.
He heard a crack and prayed it was his watch crystal or the housing on one of the pieces of equipment, not yet another fragile bone. Karin wrenched, he countered, his weight holding her to the bed for her own good. Her own good.
Within one of those minutes that bloats into distended oblivion, a boost of medication drove Karin deeper into unconsciousness. Theirs. The one they shared.
Crisis averted, Josiah stumbled out of the room. His visiting time expired mid-writhe. He would have fought against leaving the room at all—ever—but the air in there rivaled Kilimanjaro for thinness and lack of oxygen. He felt his way out of the intensive care unit, down the hall, and toward the family waiting room. The door to the visitor restroom stood open. He slipped inside, locked it, and created his own scream. Muffled. Throat-burning. Scalp-tingling.
He leaned over the porcelain sink, his head unhinged at the neck. Unblinking, he reached to flip the chrome paddle faucet handle to the On position and waited while a stream of cold water grew colder. Then he cupped both hands, filled them with glacial runoff, and shocked his face back to reality. Out there in the plum-couched room, Catherine and Stan waited for his report.
It was time to let them know about the baby.
Something was wrong. More than the obvious. Conscious of an irritant but disengaged as one might slap at a fly without reaching for the flyswatter, Josiah flicked the irritation away from his thoughts and took the last few strides toward the waiting room.
“Sharp dresser.” Stan’s eyes glinted with the mischief few knew lay hidden beneath his composed demeanor. “New fad
