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flitted through her mind, too elusive to catch or fully understand.
"You want me to stay?"
Stay. The word was like a gift from God, perfect. She understood.
"Tree," she said in a rush. At his frown, she knew that she'd done something wrong again. The wrong word had slipped from her mouth. He didn't understand. He was pulling away again.
She tightened her hold, feeling the hard muscles of his arm beneath the soft fabric of his sleeve. "Basket." She winced. No. Not right again.
The smile he gave her this time was a little sad. "You'll be allright," he murmured, stroking the matted hair from her forehead, wiping the moisture from her cheeks. "Youneedn't cry."
Cry. The moisture in her eyes. She remembered suddenly that the water was called tears when it came from the eyes. She'd been crying tears.
"You'llbefine . .. need sleep." He sighed again, and like the smile before it, the gesture was strangely sad.
She offered him a smile, though it hurt to do so. She wanted so much to express what was in her heart, to tell her golden god that she already was fine, that she was everything he wanted her to be. She couldn't remember anything, couldn't find the words to unlock her emotions or tell him how she felt, but still she knew. In some hidden, primeval pocket of her soul, the knowledge existed. She loved him.
"I am ... Ian," she whispered, placing her hand over his, feeling the comforting warmth of his flesh against hers. Of course she was fine. God was with her. Still smiling, she fell asleep.
Ian stared down at Selena. She was sleeping peacefully now; there was no evidence that she'd slipped back into the coma.
She had spoken to him, touched him. Even now,
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he could feel the warm imprint of her hand on his arm, could feel the warm moisture of her tears on his fingertips.
She had been confused and aphasic, but that was normal, that was to be expected. According to the dozens of books he'd read, no one knew precisely how damage to the brain could affect behavior. Every case was different. But some level of aphasia was to be expected. It was completely normal that Selena would have difficulty retrieving words and speaking and remembering the morphology and syntax of the English language.
Normal.
He sighed, feeling suddenly old.
He'd forgotten what it was truly like to be a doctor. In the past six years, he'd idealized it, had cultivated a glistening, perfect memory of his halcyon days in medicine. He'd remembered the successes, the parties, the flamboyance.
Somewhere along the way, he'd forgotten the terrifying uncertainties, the agonizing fear. The constant dread that a patient would die.
Or be brain-damaged.
Jesus, how had he forgotten all that? How could he have forgotten the times he sat up all night, standing in the shadows of a patient's room, just watching the person breathe? Praying that each breath would be followed by another, and another, and another?
How had he lived through it back then?
It came to him all at once.
Confidence.
That was how he'd manipulated his world and made it from day to day, brushing off the failures and relishing the successes. He'd been supremely, arrogantly self-confident. He'd believed in himself, in his hands, in his power to heal.
He needed that confidence again.
Aphasia was normal. Her recovery was proceeding
SO
nicely. He repeated the words over and over again until he believed them.
