"I've got plenty of time to sleep, after my girl is married, Andy," he whispered. "I don't want to risk being muddle-headed."
"How about if I put you to sleep, the way I did yesterday?" Adam said, glancing at Saloa. "I promise you won't be muddle-headed; but I will ask that you let Dr. Saloa give you another half-dose of your usual pain medication, to make my work easier. Would that be all right?"
Wearily Lockhart nodded, his eyes heavy-lidded with pain only barely held at bay. Signalling with a glance that Saloa should fetch the indicated medication, Adam settled beside Lockhart's bed, gently taking his hand as the other doctor slipped quietly from the room.
"I think you've made a wise decision, Alan," Adam murmured, gently stroking the back of Lockhart's hand. "Close your eyes now, and let yourself go back to that place of peace and comfort you found yesterday. Take a deep breath and let it out, and feel the pain draining away as you float and drift…."
Lockhart was deeply asleep by the time Saloa returned, relaxing even more profoundly when the medication had been administered. Saloa watched in something of amazement as Adam bent to murmur final instructions in Lockhart's ear, though he did not speak until they had left the room and closed the door.
"Does hypnosis usually work that well?" he asked, jotting a notation on Lockhart's chart.
"It depends on the patient - and the hypnotist," Adam said with a faint smile. "Anyone can learn the basics. I suggest that you might find hypnosis useful in your practice, if you're prepared to put a bit of effort into it."
"I may just do that," Saloa replied. "I may just."
Adam headed down to Emergency after that, stopping en route to alert Philippa regarding what he had done with Lock-hart. Then, after joining Ximena for coffee, he set out to brave San Francisco traffic to pick up the champagne and glasses before the stores began closing for Christmas Eve; Vance had gotten tied up fetching the wedding cake.
Meanwhile, following a quick lunch, the two mothers repaired to Lockhart's room and settled into the happy task of arranging the floral decorations for the coming wedding ceremony. Lest their bustling disturb the sleeping Lockhart, Teresa drew the curtain around his bed - though Philippa assured her that he would not stir, and checked on him from time to time, in case Adam's instructions needed reinforcement. In honor of the season - and also to minimize too close a concentration of floral scent that might overpower the room's fragile occupant - much of the greenery consisted of holiday garlands of holly, ivy, and evergreen fronds to supplement the tiny tree at Lock-hart's bedside.
The floor nurses looked in from time to time to admire the decor and offer help, but Teresa declined, sweetly but firmly. Slowly the illusion grew. But midway through the afternoon, when Philippa returned from speaking to one of the hospital porters about bringing in chairs, she found Teresa softly singing a Spanish lullaby to her husband, tears all but blinding her as she fastened a garland of evergreen across the foot of his bed with love knots of red and white satin ribbon.
Philippa tactfully withdrew before she could be noticed, taking care to make more noise when she returned a few minutes later, this time pushing a small wheeled table.
"Teresa, I think this might do for an altar," she said, calling to the other woman as she rattled the table into place against a side wall. "Anything bigger, and we'll have no room for the wedding guests."
"I'll be there in a moment to take a look," Teresa replied, from behind the curtain.
When she emerged a few minutes later, Philippa was busily engaged in covering the table with a white sheet appropriated from the linen room, careful to make no reference to Teresa's swollen eyes.
"I believe you said you have a proper cloth to go over this," Philippa said brightly, giving the other woman a sympathetic smile.
"Yes, Laurel and Austen are bringing it, along with some other things," Teresa said. "They should be here very shortly."
As if on cue, the door swung back to admit Teresa's older son and his titian-haired wife, both of them still clad in jeans and sweatshirts. Austen was carrying a cardboard carton, and gave an admiring whistle as he glanced around at the garlands swagged around the window and above the door.
"Wow, now it really looks like Christmas!" he exclaimed with a grin. "You two have worked wonders in the time we've been gone."
"Were you able to find everything?" Teresa asked, a shade anxiously.
"Sure did," Laurel assured her. "Your directions were better than a treasure map. I also put some red votive lights in the box. I thought they might look nice on the windowsill."
While she spoke, Austen had been lowering his box to an empty chair. As Teresa came to look, Laurel began to unpack its contents. First out of the box was a finely woven tablecloth of snow-white damask, its patterning as delicate as lacework.
"Ah, si," Teresa breathed. "This belonged to my mother," she explained to Philippa, as she took the cloth from Laurel. ''It was made by the nuns at the convent school she attended outside Barcelona, and she and her sister were allowed to do a little of the stitching on the hem. I had it on the altar for my wedding, and Austen and Laurel had it for theirs, and I always promised Ximena it would be hers one day, to grace the altar at her wedding - and maybe be passed on to her daughter."
The cloth was accompanied by a pair of bronze candlesticks, lovingly polished, and a pair of tissue-wrapped wedding candles. Last to emerge was a carefully swathed bundle the size and shape of a large book.
"This is one of my dearest treasures," Teresa whispered, as she removed its wrappings.
What came to light was not a book but an iconographic painting of the Good Shepherd, executed on wood in egg tempera. The style of the painting, like the gilt-wood frame surrounding it, proclaimed its Spanish origin. Gazing down at the sensitively modeled features of the Christ-figure, as Teresa shyly laid it in her hands, Philippa silently commended the creative artistry of its maker, who had endowed the work with a tenderness and compassion that transcended any denominational labels.
"Teresa, it's beautiful," she murmured, shaking her head in wonder.
"Gotta run, Mom," Laurel broke in, before Teresa could comment. "Do you need anything else, or can Austen and I head out? We've got to pick up Emma from the day-care center and see that she gets changed into her party dress. I don't think she'd ever forgive us if we brought her to her Auntie Mena's wedding in a paint-splattered track suit."
Laughing softly, Teresa gave her daughter-in-law a fond hug.
"Oh, si, my darling. Go! Every woman, even the littlest, must be allowed her indulgence of vanity, especially on such a night! By all means, go and get changed - as Philippa and I must do, as soon as we have finished here. And assure my granddaughter that we will be looking forward to admiring her loveliest frock!"
Following Austen's and Laurel's departure, the two mothers set about dressing the altar, laying the damask cloth in place and then nesting the candlesticks amid arrangements of evergreen and white Christmas roses at either side. When Philippa had straightened the wedding candles in their holders, Teresa carefully placed the icon-painting on an easel at the back of the altar and then stood back to let Philippa make a final, minute adjustment to the drape of the white damask cloth.
"It is perfect," she said to Philippa, nodding to herself. "Thank you so much for all your help."
"It was my pleasure," Philippa said warmly, with a glance at her watch. "We've some time to spare yet before we get changed; and your husband shouldn't stir until Adam gets back. I expect he's showering and changing just about now. Shall we go and get a cup of coffee?"