"Forever?" Cassie blinked again.
"Look, maybe I'm speaking out of turn. But we're old friends, Cassie. I don't want to hide anything from you."
"Forever? He could live like this forever?"
"Well, not forever, but for a long time. People can hang on for years."
"Years? Like this?" Cassie knew Mark intended to be kind, but his raising such a possibility felt somehow like an assault. She started shredding her paper napkin. Just two days seemed an eternity.
"I told you, he made it through the first forty-eight hours, but that's about it." He shrugged. "We'll have a better picture in the next few days, and we have to be hopeful, of course. But…"
"I'm very hopeful," Cassie said. Today was only Sunday. Hard to believe.
"But Cassie, you have to be your practical self, too. You need to look into the arrangements he's made for a major event like this. I'm assuming you've checked and made sure Mitch has provisions in his health insurance for all the long-term care he's going to need when he comes out of intensive care."
Cassie didn't want to tell her doctor and old friend that her kids were plotting against her, and she wanted them to leave the house before she started investigating those arrangements.
"What are the odds he'll recover?" she asked again. He'd told her already, but she couldn't take it in. She just couldn't absorb the alternatives: death or a partial recovery.
"Oh, I don't want to go there, Cassie. A lot of people do very well." Mark was distracted by a dapper man in a sports jacket at the coffee machines far away. He waved.
"But you don't think Mitch will do very well, do you?" she pressed. "You told me that yesterday."
"They can surprise you," he said, vague again.
"I'll say," she murmured. She'd had about as many surprises as she could take. As far as she was concerned, Mitch should just make up his mind: Walk into that heavenly light, or return to the chaos of life. Right now, if she were in his situation, she wasn't sure which she would choose herself.
She sighed, and Mark refocused on her. His round face was pink and healthy. He was overweight, but had a nice smile. He smelled of soap and fruity cologne. He was a man who liked women. She could feel it in his touch as he patted her hand. Mark, who'd always been so brisk and professional, was acting like a real friend. It made her feel important for a moment, and she realized that she'd forgotten what a man's comfort felt like. She enjoyed the warmth of his hand as it rested on top of hers. Her heart beat a little faster. A real friend.
Mark shifted a little in his chair, giving her a knowing smile that she felt all the way down to the tips of her toes. What was this? She withdrew her hand, ostensibly to adjust the scarf on her head. "How's Sondra?" she asked suddenly.
"Still very short. She's concerned about Mitch, of course, and sends her best," he replied, wry for a second, then casual again with the doctor voice she knew so well.
"It was nice of her to call." Cassie kept adjusting her scarf.
"Well, she's a very nice woman," he said without conviction. "Cassie, has anyone else called, been to visit? Any of your friends? You need a lot of support right now. Family and friends help."
"Oh, I totally agree." Cassie nodded. If there was one thing she didn't want, it was support. Mitch would hate having people know, having people see him like this, gossip about and pity him. She couldn't talk to anyone until things were more settled. It was a family thing. She had to handle it herself. And there was the little thing of her face-lift.
"Mark, what is this long-term health care you're asking me about? Why is it so important?" she asked. She just didn't get it.
"Oh, you know. When Mitch comes out of this, he may need to go to another facility for aftercare. We don't keep patients here long-term."
"Another hospital?" she said faintly.
"For rehabilitation, therapy. It can take a long time. But let's not talk about that now." He reached out and squeezed her hand one last time, then ended the conversation. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Just before noon is when I make my rounds during the week. But I'm in constant touch with the staff here. And you can call me on my cell anytime, night or day. You keep that pretty chin of yours up, okay?" He chucked her under the chin.
"Okay," Cassie replied gamely. "Absolutely." She tried to smile bravely as he left the cafeteria. She was still trying to figure out what had happened. Had he been coming on to her? Had she turned him off? The fleeting electricity in his smile and the delicate touch of his fingers lingered for a while in her mind after he was gone. She was unnerved by the heat she'd felt and the undercurrents, the innuendo of the conversation. She was concerned, but after a while she concluded that nothing bad had happened. Mark was a friend. She'd been starving for the personal touch and had gotten it, that was all. Still, she couldn't drink her coffee, even with its pleasant hazelnut-flavored creamer.
Sunday evening, ten days after Cassie's surgery and two days after Mitch's stroke, Marsha and Teddy further trashed their rooms in preparation for their return to their studio apartments in Manhattan. Just before they left, Marsha came into the kitchen, where Cassie was still on her feet, dazedly trying to find things to do.
"Mom, you okay?"
"Sure, I am," Cassie told her. "Fine."
"I've washed my sheets and towels. The towels are in the dryer now. Teddy was only here for two nights. I figure his sheets are good for a few more days. When is Rosa coming back?"
Rosa was the cleaning lady they'd had for the last fifteen years. She'd been on vacation in Peru for three weeks.
"Soon. I don't know."
"You should get someone else. And you don't have to sit at the hospital all day tomorrow. Why don't you rest for a few days. It wouldn't hurt."
"I want to be there when he wakes up," Cassie said.
"I hate to leave you like this, Mom." Marsha drew Cassie over to the kitchen table and sat her down. She looked sad as she patted her mother's hand. "Are you okay?"
It reminded Cassie of Mark's pats. She thought she must look pretty pathetic to engender this kind of reaction from both of them.
"You're a nice girl, Marsha," she murmured, her eyes puddling as she realized for the second time that day how unused to touch she'd become. "Marsha, about those receipts-"
"Oh, Mom, let's not talk about that now," Marsha cut her off quickly.
"I didn't sign them," Cassie told her. "I want you to know that."
"I know that, Mom." Marsha gave her another sympathetic pat.
"You do?"
"Yes. I'm really sorry." Marsha hung her head. "I shouldn't have jumped on you like that."
"Marsha, why did you do it? We would have taken care of you, gotten you therapy. Why-?"
"Mom!" Marsha's tone changed into a whine. "You don't think it was me? Are you crazy? I wouldn't do anything like that. How could you think it was me?" she cried.