Two minutes later, they wheeled him away.
Caleb caught me when I came back into the waiting room.
I did not remember falling against him. I only remembered his jacket clenched in my hands and the humiliation of the sounds leaving my throat.
He held on until I could stand.
Owen arrived carrying food none of us ate. He sat across from me, elbows on his knees, and watched the floor.
At four, the intensive care unit allowed me in.
At six, they told me visiting hours were over.
At six ten, I was still beside Noah’s bed.
At seven, a nurse named Tessa brought me a blanket and said nothing when I curled into the chair.
I learned the language of the monitors.
One sound meant his blood pressure cuff was cycling.
Another meant an infusion was nearly empty.
The ventilator had a rhythm I came to resent because it sounded too much like breathing without being his.
I watched the numbers until they blurred.
Caleb and Owen went home eventually. Leah called from an airport. Marlowe had been taken to Caleb’s house. The yard was secure. No one needed anything from me.
I talked to Noah through the night.
I told him about the Halvorsen trawler and the corroded junction box. I told him the insurance adjuster had rescheduled. I told him Marlowe had probably stolen Caleb’s dinner by now.
I did not tell him I was afraid.
By the second afternoon, the doctors reduced his sedation.
He did not wake.
They said this could be normal.
By the third morning, he moved his fingers.
I was holding his hand when it happened.
The motion was so slight I thought I had imagined it.
“Noah?”
His fingers shifted again.
I stood, knocking the blanket to the floor.
“Tessa.”
She came quickly, checked his monitors, and called for the physician.
Noah’s eyelids trembled.
