I’m pathetically incapable of attending to this most basic task. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to stand back up. “Yes. I’m just resting for a minute.”
I watch as Chris takes off his clothes and steps into the shower. He squirts the shampoo into his hand and when he massages my scalp I almost fall asleep. The hospital-issue washcloth is rough but the soap and water on my skin feel wonderful. He washes and rinses me and then washes himself while I remain on the bench, my head tilted to the side and resting on the shower wall.
“Stay here,” he says. When he’s dressed again he pulls back the curtain and shuts off the water. He pats my hair and skin gently with a towel and wraps my pink bathrobe around me. “I have your slippers. Step into them.”
Chris tucks me back into bed and pulls the covers up. I’ve done my best to take care of everything at home while he’s been on the road all these months, but I can’t even shower without assistance and I’m going to need his help. For the last month, he’s been flying out on Sunday evenings. I don’t want him to go.
“You’re not leaving tonight, are you?”
“No.” I hear so many things in his voice: surprise, pain, sorrow. “I already told them I’d be out all week.”
“You did?”
“Yes.” He clenches the sheets in his fists. “You asked me once, ‘what is the worst thing that could happen?’ And it isn’t being unemployed. Or having to sell the house. Or the cars. Or any of those things. I thought it was, but it’s not. The worst thing that could happen to me is if something happened to you. Nothing matters but you and the kids.”
“Do you still love me?” I ask suddenly.
“Of course I do.” He looks confused and hurt, as if my words have cut him to the bone. “Why would you ask such a thing?”
“Because you haven’t said it in a long time. And sometimes I still need to hear it to know that it’s true.”
“I love you, Claire. I always will.”
“I love you, too.”
He brings my hand to his lips, kisses the back of it, and holds it close to his cheek. He lowers the railing on the bed, and I pull him closer.
I stroke his damp hair, knowing that Chris is the one who needs reassuring now.
53
chris
Claire has fallen asleep again and she doesn’t wake up when the doctor walks into the room fifteen minutes later. He shakes my hand and keeps his voice low.
“Your wife is doing great,” he says, flipping through her chart. “Blood glucose looks good, there’s been no recurrence of ketosis, and she’s done fine with the switch back to her pump. She can go home tomorrow.”
“Great,” I say. “That’s wonderful to hear.”
“I’ll be back in the morning to go over some discharge instructions,” he says before he leaves the room.
“Okay.”
This report is a vast improvement compared to what they told me shortly after Claire and I arrived at the emergency room. She was barely conscious and they said if I hadn’t found her when I did, the outcome could have been tragic.
She asked me if I was going to leave. I could see it on her face, the fear that I might actually get on a plane tonight like I have for the last month. Despite the fact that we were having this conversation while she was lying in a hospital bed.
What the hell kind of husband would leave his wife alone after something like this?
She thought you might, Chris.
And if that didn’t drive home just how badly I need to make some changes, then I don’t know what would. The image of her lying on the bathroom floor and thinking about what might have happened if I hadn’t been home sends me over the edge.
I walk into the bathroom, shut the door, lean my head back against it, and cry.
54
daniel
Claire didn’t respond to any of my texts, and all my calls went straight to voice mail. Fearing the worst, I made myself wait twenty-four hours and then I started calling the hospitals. I got lucky on the first try when the woman who answered the phone at Shawnee Mission Medical Center confirmed that there was a person admitted the day before by the name of Claire Canton. They couldn’t tell me anything other than she was a patient, but I still felt relieved. The obvious reason for her dropping off the radar like that was her diabetes, but if she’s under medical care, then at least I’m no longer thinking the worst.
That was two days ago. Now I’m waiting for her to call me. I know she will as soon as she’s able. Part of me wanted to go down there, find out her room number, and see for myself that she was okay. But I couldn’t do that to her because as far as I know, her husband still doesn’t know about me.
And I sure as hell don’t think he’d understand why I was there.
55
claire
I wake up the next morning when a nurse comes in to take my vital signs. Chris is still asleep, slumped over in the chair. My mom walks in a few minutes later and my spirits lift instantly.
“Hi,” I say. I keep my voice low so I don’t wake Chris. “What time is it?” For some inexplicable reason, my room does not have a clock. I’ve lost all sense of time, especially since I can’t remember parts of my stay here, and I sleep in frequent, random intervals.
“A little after eight,” she says, bending down to give me a kiss. “Your dad will be here with the kids in about an hour. He’s taking them to breakfast at McDonald’s. Did the doctor say what time he’d be discharging you today?”
“Chris talked to him last night, while I was taking one of my many naps. I should be able to go home around noon.”
Chris wakes up when he hears us talking, stretching his legs out in front of him. He rises from the chair and approaches the bed. Resting one hand on the rail, he bends down and gives me a quick peck on the mouth. I like the kissing. It reminds me of before: before Chris lost his job, before I lost Chris. He used to kiss me all the time.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Good. I’m ready to get out of here.”
“I’m going to run home and take a quick shower. I’ll be back to get you.”
“Okay.”
Chris returns an hour later, in time to listen as the doctor goes over my discharge instructions. When he tells me I’m free to go we start to gather my things.
“I brought your phone,” Chris says, handing it to me. “The battery was dead, so I plugged it in while I was in the shower. Looks like you’ve got enough of a charge to check your messages. I’m sure you have some.”
My stomach drops and my heart starts pounding as I pocket the phone, wondering whether Chris looked at the text history or the call log. He wouldn’t normally, but maybe he did this time because of the circumstances. He doesn’t seem angry or upset, though; he’s acting quite calm. Because he was gone so often I never really worried about Chris seeing a message from Daniel, and therefore, I never really had to face just how duplicitous it was. I realize I wouldn’t feel the way I’m feeling right now, wouldn’t feel the guilt and shame, if Chris knew about my friendship with Daniel. If I’d told Chris about him instead of hiding everything. “Thanks,” I say.
He smiles at me and we ride the elevator down to the lobby.