Authors note:
This is an incomplete story. I just came across it while cleaning out an old hard drive. Maybe I will finish it if my readers like it so far.
Love Story (2003)
Her husband smiled at her, that movie star smile that made her insides lurch, even after two years of dating and one year of marriage. He caressed her hand across the table, his thumb stroking her knuckles, stopping to rest on her custom-made wedding ring. He had designed it himself, and a jeweler friend had crafted it for much less than the traditional one-month’s pay. She loved the ring more than if he had paid a mint for it at a fine jewelry store. He told her that he would upgrade it once he got promoted to partner, but she didn’t want a bigger diamond.
“You really look beautiful tonight, sweetie,” Jeff murmured, pulling her hand into his.
Ann-Marie squeezed his fingers. “You think so? Now that I’m an old married lady instead of a newlywed?” She fingered the orange and red carnations that he had given her, the same unique flowers that he had originally discovered on a business trip to Chicago two years ago. He had sent three dozen of them to her the night he proposed, and there were thousands of them adorning the church when they married.
He laughed, and lifted his glass of champagne. He stood up and loudly called, “Ladies and gentlemen, may I please have your attention?” Ann-Marie’s face reddened, but she continued to smile. The other patrons of the small, dimly lit Italian restaurant ceased their conversations and all looked to Jeff in curiosity. He held his glass high in the air. “I would like to propose a toast in honor of my beautiful wife, Ann-Marie. We have been married for one year today.” A smattering of applause rose up, quickly diminishing as he continued, “I promised my wife that we would have a dozen children someday, because I know that she will be a great mother. Money has been tight, so she has been very supportive of my desire to hold off for a while. I thought this would be a great opportunity to give her a little bit more good news.”
Ann-Marie’s eyes widened as Jeff turned back to her. “Annie, I made partner. We can start a family, tonight if you want.”
Ann-Marie shrieked and leapt from her chair. She threw herself into Jeff’s arms, sobbing with joy. “Oh, honey! Oh, thank you, thank God!”
The other patrons began tapping their glasses with their tableware, creating a rhythmic chiming. Jeff drew Ann-Marie in for a big, exuberant kiss.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Ann-Marie jerked her head from the crook of her arm in confusion, wiping the little bit of saliva from the corner of her mouth. A nurse flitted around the room, checking the tubes and monitors.
“I didn’t mean to wake you, Mrs. Powell. Just making the rounds,” she apologized. She reached into a closet and produced a pillow and blanket. She handed them to Ann-Marie, who nodded gratefully. “Can I get you anything else? A cup of tea, a soda? Ice water?”
Ann-Marie shook her head. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
The nurse closed the door behind her as she left.
Ann-Marie stood up and stretched her back and shoulders. How many times had she fallen asleep in that same position, sitting in that uncomfortable chair, her head resting on the edge of Jeff’s mattress? She rolled her head around in a circle to loosen her stiff neck.
She went into the small private bathroom and splashed cold water in her face. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she was shocked. The last seventy-two hours had aged her ten years. Her face was gaunt and pale, with the exception of her eyes, which were bloated and red. Her blond hair hadn’t been washed in days, and hung lifelessly and drably around her shoulders. She ran her tongue over her teeth and sighed. It was a good thing Jeff couldn’t see her looking this nasty. Her eyes welled up again, and she took deep gulping breaths to try to keep from losing control again. More cold water, try not to beat your forehead into the mirror.
She stepped back into the room, wishing now that she had the hot tea the nurse had offered. She gazed down at the half of her husband’s beautiful face that wasn’t buried under a mountain of bandages. She pushed the sweaty brown curls off his forehead, willing him to open his eyes and look at her, to say her name, to flare his nostrils at her, something. “Jeff, please wake up. I need you. You promised me a baby, remember?” The mechanical sounds of the breathing and heart monitors were his only response. She kissed his forehead gently, then went to the nurse’s station.
The nurses were always so sweet and sympathetic. It was so annoying. The older woman behind the desk smiled kindly at Ann-Marie. “Can I help you with something, sweetie?”
You look beautiful tonight, sweetie.
“Is the gift shop still open? I was thinking of getting some shampoo and a toothbrush.” Anne-Marie lifted a strand of her dirty hair self-consciously.
“The gift shop is actually closed after visiting hours, but I might have a few things in the storage closet that you can have. Let me see what I can find.”
The nurse disappeared behind the wall. Ann-Marie saw the pot of hot water through the window to the waiting room, so she made herself a cup of tea. She sank onto one of the couches, sipping the warm liquid. She felt the warmth spread through her body, and she closed her eyes.
“There you are!” the nurse exclaimed. Ann-Marie stood and gratefully accepted the armful of toiletries that she gave her. “You get cleaned up, honey. Dr. Franklin will be in around 7:00 a.m. to do some more tests on Mr. Powell. Hopefully they will get some conclusive results this time.”
Ann-Marie dumped the items on the counter in the bathroom, fumbling with the tear-off top on the small toothpaste sample. She brushed her teeth until her gums were raw, then brushed her tongue until she gagged. She grabbed the soap and shampoo samples and stepped into the shower. She let the water get so hot that it nearly scalded her, and she cried until her knees gave out. She washed her hair and body from that same position, her stomach cramping from the wrenching sobs.
When she emerged from the bathroom, the nurses had wheeled in another bed and pushed it close to Jeff’s. Gratefully, Ann-Marie climbed into it, and reached for Jeff’s hand, falling asleep instantly.
Ann-Marie stared at the black smear of mascara on the tissue that the doctor had handed her not thirty minutes ago. So this is what it feels like when your life comes crashing down. She looked at the mascara again, wondering what had possessed her to put makeup on in the first place. Even after she found herself alone, she could still hear Dr. Franklin’s voice ringing in her ears.
“Your husband has suffered a Traumatic Brain Injury resulting from his head colliding with the steering column. His current comatose state is, we believe, temporary, however the last EEG showed inconsistent brain patterns. We should know more when he wakes up, but we’re looking at a pretty grim future at best. Most likely we’re talking about very primitive reflexes, some awareness of environmental stimulation, and some unpredictability in response to simple commands. At worst, Mr. Powell will awaken in a relatively vegetative state. His condition is most likely not terminal, so we have that to be thankful for.”
Ann-Marie refused to believe it at first. She would cradle his head in her arms and talk to him about their future, about the children they were going to have, about the trip to Europe they had planned for next spring. She put a photograph from their wedding in a frame near the bedside in case he awoke while she was gone, so that he would know instantly that she was nearby. She brought his favorite Monty Python movies in and played them over and over, hoping that something familiar would help him find his way out of the darkness.
Seventeen days after the accident, Jeff opened his eyes and his wife was there. “Hey, baby, I’m here,” she whispered, pressing the call button on the headboard.
Jeff looked deep into her eyes, wet his lips, and began to yell at the top of his lungs. Panic-stricken, Ann-Marie stepped back, knocking over the bed tray with a loud clatter. Jeff’s yelling became louder, and the nurse rushed in and fastened a bed strap over his chest to keep him from throwing himself from the bed. Another nurse injected a dose of Valium into Jeff’s IV, and in moments he had calmed down, his eyes glassy and vacant. The charge nurse put her arms around Ann-Marie’s shaking shoulders and pulled her into her motherly arms. Ann-Marie sobbed hysterically for several moments before she pulled herself away and returned to her husband’s side.
Nervously, she began softly talking to him, hoping for some sign that he recognized her. He stared blankly at her, occasionally darting his glance at one nurse or another when he caught their movement. In less than an hour, Dr. Franklin had arrived and whisked Jeff down the hall in a wheelchair to run some tests. More than anything, Ann-Marie wished that her mother were alive to tell her how to feel. It was funny, somehow, that when she was alive that was exactly what annoyed Ann-Marie about her the most. Mom, please help me! Tell me what to do! Nobody answered.
Thomas plugged the bed into the wall, testing the electronic controls for each direction the bed was supposed to move. Satisfied, he unfolded the crisp new mattress pad and began tucking it onto the mattress. Smoothing the quilted layer with the palms of his hands, he called out, “Mrs. Powell, I’m ready for the new sheets now!”
Ann-Marie walked solemnly into the room with the newly washed sheets in her arms. She looked around the room that had been earmarked for a nursery when she and Jeff had bought the house. The nurse, Thomas, had disinfected the whole room from top to bottom, and it smelled like the hospital now. With a sigh, Ann-Marie plunked the sheets down onto the bed. Thomas smiled politely at her, and then began stretching the soft white fitted sheet on the bed.
Ann-Marie turned to leave him to his work. “Mrs. Powell?” he said softly. She looked at him. “Are you ready for tomorrow? For Mr. Powell’s homecoming?”
She furrowed her brow, thinking. “I-I think so, Thomas. I have the medical supplies that the doctor told me to get, plus the special food and medicine. I posted the doctor’s instructions on the refrigerator in case I forget anything.”
Thomas abandoned the sheets and put his hand gently on Ann-Marie’s forearm. “I know that you have everything that you need to care for your husband, Mrs. Powell. I’m asking you if you are ready.” He looked into her eyes with sympathy and caring, and she bit back her tears.
“Thank you for your concern, Thomas, but I don’t think I will ever be ready for this. That’s why Dr. Franklin had me hire you—in case I can’t handle it.” Her lip trembled as she fled the room. She threw herself onto her own king sized bed, grabbing the pillow that still smelled like Jeff’s shampoo. Burying her face into it, she could also smell traces of his cologne, and cigar smoke from the lounge at the law firm. “Jeff, oh, Jeff!” she cried, her sobs muffled by the soft down of the pillow.
Thomas stood outside the door, so deeply saddened for the young woman whose heart broke more each day. In his twenty-five years of nursing he had never seen such unrelenting heartache. Maybe some chamomile tea would bring her a little peace, he thought as he made his way to the little kitchen. As the water boiled, he chopped some vegetables for the soup he planned to make for Mr. Powell the next day. With Mr. Powell’s unpredictable temperament, soup was always good for calming a body down.
The teapot’s whistling drew Ann-Marie to the kitchen. She came in as Thomas was picking up the knives and cutting board and placing them into the dishwasher. He picked up a mug and placed in her hands. “Drink this,” he ordered. She inhaled the steam, and looked at him gratefully.
“Thomas, I’m sorry for my abruptness with you earlier,” she began. He motioned to an empty chair at the table, and she sat down. He sat across from her, his face open and welcoming. “It’s just that I really don’t know what I’m doing, you know? I mean I want my husband to be here with me… he belongs here, right?” Thomas didn’t reply, just sipped his tea and listened. “It has been hard enough with him being in the hospital, but with him home, sleeping in the next room, not knowing me, not loving me—” Her voice broke, and he patted her hand compassionately.
“I understand what you’re feeling. You want your husband back.”
She looked at him in dismay. “Oh my God. That’s it completely. This, this thing that is coming here tomorrow isn’t my Jeff. It’s like going to a funeral and saying, ‘That is the shell of someone I love.’ It’s as if my husband died, but instead of getting to go to heaven, he is stuck inside that useless shell, helpless as an infant. He would hate this. He would get embarrassed if I pointed out some marinara on his cheek—how would he react to perfect strangers wiping his ass, for God’s sake!” She buried her face into her arms on the table, her shoulders shaking.
Thomas pressed a tissue into her hand, which she balled up in her fist but didn’t use. She raised her head to him, the tears staining her cheeks. “I’m sure you will think I am a horrible person after this, but I am so angry at Jeff.”
His expression didn’t show shock or disgust, only concern. “Tell me. Tell me why you are angry with him.”
She took a deep breath. “He promised me a baby. The only thing I ever asked him for, the only physical thing I ever wanted from him, and he never gave it to me. And now I won’t ever have a baby, not as long as he lives!” She clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes huge with horror. “Oh, God, Thomas! I don’t mean that! Oh, Jeff, I’m so sorry!”
She jumped from the chair and ran to the bathroom. Thomas stood in concern and followed her. She threw the lid up on the toilet and retched, her entire body twitching as her self-loathing filled the basin. Thomas pressed a warm washcloth into her hands and lifted her from the ground. He guided her into her room and pulled the comforter and sheets down on her bed. He coaxed her onto the edge of the bed, and then tucked her into the covers. She diverted her eyes from his, certain that he found her loathsome now.
“Mrs. Powell, I promise you that your feelings are normal. Nobody would ever doubt how much you love your husband. He knows it, too, and I’m sure, if he were aware, that he would be just as mortified as you are about this strain of events. You stop fretting so much about it. Tomorrow, when I bring Mr. Powell home, I want you to look pretty for him, and I want you to have photo albums to share with us about your life together.” He placed the remote for the television and the box of tissue on the bed beside her. “I’ll lock the door on my way out. Get some rest.”
“Thomas,” Ann-Marie called softly as he reached for the light switch.
“Yes, Mrs. Powell?”
“Please call me Ann-Marie.”
Thomas smiled graciously, and then flipped the switch.
The white van pulled into the driveway, and Ann-Marie decided half-heartedly that she was ready. She stood at the picture window in the living room, watching as Thomas opened the sliding door on the side of the van. Pushing a button in the door jamb, he began to lower the wheelchair lift. When the lift was lined up with the floor of the van, Thomas climbed in and began to unfasten his passenger. Although Ann-Marie had just visited her husband at the hospital two days earlier, she felt nervous and anxious. She hoped he didn’t start screaming again.
Thomas wheeled the chair onto the ramp, and then held onto one handle to keep it steady as he pushed the button that lowered the lift. Ann-Marie forced herself to look at Jeff, and was shocked at how pale and small he looked out in the natural sunlight. She held the door open silently as Thomas pushed Jeffrey up and over the threshold into the living room. Thomas pushed the brakes on the wheelchair, and let out a deep breath.
“I present to you, his majesty, the king!” he said quasi-cheerfully, bowing at the waist, his goofiest smile plastered across his face. His crows’ feet deepened dramatically, and Ann-Marie had to smile at his sincere attempt to lighten the moment.
“Why, thank you for bringing him safely home, Sir Thomas,” she tried to tease back, the quavering in her voice betraying her.
He gave her a little squeeze of support and then said, “Let me go put the lift back up, and then we’ll get Mr. Powell all settled in.”
After he had gone, Ann-Marie felt Jeff’s presence beside her. She turned to him and spoke softly, as Thomas had suggested she do. “Hello, Jeff, welcome home.” His eyes flicked to her, filled with anxiety, and he quickly went back to studying his fingers in his lap. “I know you don’t remember me, but my name is Ann-Marie, and I am someone who loves you very much.” Her lips were shaking so bad that she was surprised that she wasn’t speaking gibberish, not that it would matter. She crouched down in front of him, and held out the present that she had nearly mangled to death in the last twenty minutes. He stared at the orange and red carnation in interest, and then swatted at it. Startled, Ann-Marie dropped it on the ground and stepped up and backed away. Jeff started to rock in his chair, his face twisting up like a child gearing up from a tantrum. Ann-Marie backed further away, choking on tears.
Before Jeff could start hollering, Thomas was beside her. He stooped over and picked up the discarded flower, and gently placed it into Jeff’s curled fingers. “There you are, Mr. Powell. That is sure a pretty flower that your wife got for you!” Jeff’s rocking slowed as his attention was diverted back to the flower, and his face smoothed out. His mouth formed a perfect circle as he softly moaned, “Ohhhhhh,” and clutched the flower to his stomach.
Ann-Marie was trembling, and Thomas put his arm around her shoulder. “It’s alright, Mrs. Powell,
