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Fourteen hours into what had become the longest day in the history of the universe, the neurosurgeon walked into the room.
He looked exhausted, and his expression was impossible to read.
The Wildes, almost as haggard-looking as he, sprang to their feet. Without plan or discussion, they gathered around Travis in a protective semicircle.
Travis opened his mouth, then shut it.
It was the general who finally spoke.
“My daughter-in-law?”
The surgeon nodded.
“She made it through,” he said, his eyes on Travis.
Travis’s knees buckled. Caleb and Jake, standing on either side of him, grasped him by the elbows.
“And?” Travis said hoarsely.
“The tumor’s gone. We got it all.”
Travis nodded.
“Is she...” He hesitated. “Is she all right? Was there any—was there any—”
“She’s stable. Her vital signs are good. But...”
That “but” made all the Wildes stop breathing.
“But, we’re not out of the woods until she regains consciousness.”
Travis nodded again. It seemed all he was capable of doing.
“You mean, when the anesthesia wears off.”
“She’s unconscious, Travis. It isn’t the anesthesia. It’s her brain’s reaction to the trauma of surgery.” The doctor cleared his throat. “We just have to wait. I wish I could be more helpful but I can’t.”
Another nod.
“I understand,” Travis said. He didn’t, not really, but what was the sense in admitting it?
They had to wait. They just had to wait...
“I want to be with her.”
“Travis,” the doctor said, not unkindly, “the best thing you can do is go back to your hotel, eat something, get some sleep. We’ll call you the second your wife—”
“I want to be with her,” Travis said, in a tone that would not admit any argument.
The doctor sighed.
“She’s in recovery. We’ll let you know when she’s in her room. You can see her then.”
* * *
Two more hours dragged by.
Travis told everyone to go to the hotel.
“I’ll phone,” he said. “I promise.”
“Not yet,” Jaimie said softly, and the others echoed those words.
At last, a nurse appeared.
“Mrs. Wilde is in her room,” she said. “Mr. Wilde, if you’d come with me...”
Travis rose slowly to his feet.
His brothers hugged him. His father patted his back. His sisters and sisters-in-law kissed him.
“I’ll call you,” he said.
And he followed the nurse out the door.
* * *
Jennie was sleeping.
He could almost believe that because of her peaceful expression.
But there were tubes everywhere. Her head was wrapped in layers and layers of gauze. She was hooked to a battery of machines.
“Sweetheart,” Travis said.
“She can’t hear you, Mr. Wilde,” the nurse said gently.
Travis ignored her.
He drew a chair close to the bed, wrapped his hand around his wife’s and said, “Baby, it’s me. I’m here. And I love you.”
* * *
The surgeon came by.
Checked the machines, the tubes. Gently lifted Jennie’s eyelids, shone a light into her eyes.
“Well?” Travis said.
“Nothing’s changed. And that’s good. She’s holding her own.”
Travis nodded but it wasn’t good. He wanted to hear that his wife was coming back to herself, back to him.
“You might want to get some sleep,” the surgeon said. “In that lounge. Someone will wake you if—”
“I’m staying with my wife.”
The doctor smiled.
“Of course.”
* * *
The lights were bright.
A police siren was blaring.
Travis shot upright.
He’d fallen asleep bent forward, his head on the bed. It was daylight—that was the brightness in the room. And somewhere in the distance, a police car was racing toward its destination.
Jennie had not moved.
Travis could feel his cell phone vibrating.
He ignored it.
It stopped. Then it vibrated again.
He frowned, carefully let go of his wife’s hand, got to his feet, took the phone from his pocket and walked to the windows.
Jake: “It’s me, Trav. Anything?”
Travis shook his head, as if his brother could see him.
“No.”
Caleb: “What can we bring you? Some Danish? Bagels?”
“Nothing. Just—just wait at the hotel.”
“Trav. You shouldn’t be alone...”
“I’m not,” Travis said gruffly. “I’m with my wife.”
* * *
More time went by.
The Wilde bunch gathered in the private waiting room, same as the prior day.
Travis had no idea they were there.
They’d agreed they had to be there, for themselves if not for him, but they suspected that knowing they were there, worrying about them, would be a distraction that would not do him any good.
They spoke in hushed voices about everything, anything...and nothing, because they only topic on anyone’s mind was Jennie Wilde and what the healing process would reveal.
Nobody wanted to take things further than that.
* * *
It was close to sundown.
Streetlights outside the hospital blinked on.
It was raining.
Inside the hospital, the corridor lights brightened.
Jennie still lay motionless with her husband seated beside her, clutching her hand.
He was talking to her, as he had been most of the last hours, babbling about whatever came into his head.
“Football season’s coming,” he said. “Do you like football? Did I ever tell you I played? I bet you’d be great at touch football. My brothers and I play sometime. My sisters, too, and Addison. Not Sage, ’cause she’s pregnant. Did you know that? I’m going to be an uncle. Heck, you’re going to be an aunt...”
His voice faded.
Jennie didn’t move.
Despair was a wild thing, clawing for purchase in his chest.
“So,” he said thickly, “are you one of those women who likes sports? No? Doesn’t matter to me, sweetheart. I’ll be happy for the chance to quarrel over the TV remote, you know, me clicking on a baseball game, you grabbing the remote and clicking on a couple of talking heads...”
Without warning, a sob broke from his throat.
“Jennie. Talk to me. Please, honey...”
He kissed her hand. Laid it gently on her chest. Got to his feet and walked to the window because he couldn’t cry in front of her just in case she could hear or see or know or—
“...ice skate.”
Travis spun around.
“Baby?”
“Always wanted to learn to ice skate,” his Jennie said, her voice soft and fuzzy around the edges but, God, it was her voice, her voice...
He hurried to the bed. Wrapped his hand around hers.
“Jennie?”
Slowly, slowly, her lashes lifted.
“Jennie. Oh, God, Jennie!”
She turned her head. Her eyes were wide open, her gaze clear, her pupils focused directly on him.
“Travis?” She began to weep. “Is that really, really you?”
Travis sank onto the edge of the bed. Tears streamed down his face as he took his wife in his arms.
“It’s me,” he said. “I’m here, and so are you.”
Her lips trembled, then curved in the most wonderful smile he had ever seen.
