Page 38 of Trust No One

“Mrs. Durant’s husband will be here this morning.” I spoke as if it were certain, but Gabe was hard to gauge. “Will they direct him to her new room?”

“Yes.”

“And the doctor?”

“She’ll be making rounds soon.”

“As in how soon?”

“A half hour if all goes to plan.”

“Thanks.”

I took the bag of clothes from Dan. We rode the elevator down two floors and stepped into a louder, bustling hallway filled with nurses, more family members, and random doctors. This floor wasn’t a tomb. A good thing, right?

I entered her room and carefully set the flowers and cards on the counter by a small sink and lowered the clothes bag to the floor.

Slowly I turned to Maria.

She lay motionless in her bed, no ventilator. A little less pale, I thought. So still. Several seconds passed before I noticed the rise and fall of her chest. When I counted three breaths, I moved closer.

A new dry-erase chart displayed her name: Maria Durant. Hale should have been sandwiched between the two names. She hated it when anyone left it out.

“Looks like you’re improving,” I said to her. Small lies didn’t matter in the greater good.

I shrugged off my jacket and draped it and my purse over a chair. “No more ICU.” And repeating Dan’s words: “Heading in the right direction.”

Her face remained still, her jaw slackened and her skin pale. The faint ring around her mouth left by the ventilator. Honestly, I saw few real signs of improvement. She remained a shadow of who she’d been. No telling if she’d ever fully recover.

A sharp intake of breath behind me. I found Gabe standing at the threshold. His wet hair was slicked back, his cheekbones hollow.

My body blocked his view of Maria, so I moved aside to give him an unfettered look at what he’d been avoiding. He stood still, his eyes unblinking for a few seconds before he approached the bed. A cautious hand reached out. Skin-to-skin contact, warm to cold. His fingers recoiled.

“How is she?” He swallowed, stepped back.

“The PA said better. Doctor should be making rounds soon. Then we can find out more.”

“She doesn’t look anything like herself,” he said.

“When she opens her eyes, she’ll look better.” Another small lie. “How’s Molly this morning?”

“Mom is taking her to the park around lunchtime. We still haven’t told her. But she senses a problem.”

“You’ll have to tell her soon.”

“I know. I will.”

I heard footsteps and hushed voices in the hallway, before I saw Judson and Dr. Webber enter the room. Dark circles smudged under her blue eyes.

Dr. Webber pressed the sanitizer dispenser, worked the gel over her hands.

“Dr. Webber, you remember Maria’s husband, Gabe,” I said.

“Yes, I do.” At a computer station, Dr. Webber pulled up Maria’s record. She studied the screen, trailing her finger down a line of numbers. “Mrs. Durant’s vitals are improving. She was in excellent shape, which is why she’s still alive.”

“Do you know what caused the heart attack?” Judson’s masked expression gave no hint of his thoughts.

“Still waiting on the test results,” Dr. Webber said. “In some cases, we never discover the root cause.”