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When my father walks over, looking solemn and grave, I hold my breath and internally count to five before I ask, “How is he?”
“He…” The pause is all the answer I need. “Let’s just go see him, okay? Kellie and Greg are with him.” I nod, my stupid veil practically highlighting what was within reach, but will never be.
The nurse buzzes us through a sectioned off ward to the left, most likely pleased to see the back of us. When we rush inside, the antiseptic odor burns my nostrils, but I don’t care. I will scramble through heaven and hell to find Sam.
My heels pinch my feet, slowing me down, so I stop, lean against the wall, and rip them off. Nothing will stop me from seeing my fiancé. My feet sing in relief as I follow my dad with a now quickened step. He’s looking overhead, ensuring we’re going the right way. The moment we see Gregory Stone standing in front of the last door on the left, we know that we are. His downturned face, unfastened tie, and disheveled salt-and-pepper hair reveals that whatever is happening inside that room can’t be good.
“Greg!” my father calls out. Our footsteps are in sync, reflecting our urgency to reach him.
As Greg raises his head, his grim expression brings on a fresh set of tears. His greenish-gray eyes—eyes so similar to that of his son’s—meet mine, while his lower lip trembles. “I’m so sorry, Lucy.”
I can’t stop the avalanche of tears. Will I ever stop crying? “Is he okay?” I manage to choke out.
Greg sighs, placing his hands into his expensive suit pockets. “We don’t know the extent of his injuries. He’s in a coma. The doctors say the swelling around his brain is—” He halts, shaking his head. He clears his throat, fighting back tears. “It’s too early to tell.”
Why did he pause? What was he going to say?
I don’t have time to question him however because Kellie emerges from Sam’s room, still wearing her navy Chanel dress, her long blonde hair snarled. When she sees us, she bursts into tears. Her onset sets me off once again.
“Can we see him?” my mother asks, filling in the blanks for me.
Kellie dabs at her blue eyes with a tissue. “Of course, but only two people are allowed at a time. Doctor’s orders.”
My father looks over his shoulder and nods. “You girls go in. Piper and I will wait outside.” I don’t need to be told twice as I hike up my dress, the wretched long train a hindrance as I almost trip over it.
Once we sterilize our hands, my mother pushes open the door while I take three calming breaths.
One…
Two…
Three.
I take one step, then two, and enter the room which seals this awful nightmare as truth. Lying in a single bed is the man I was going to marry. But that man, no, that can’t be Samuel. That man is barely recognizable as that person is more machine than man.
A loud beeping pervades the otherwise still air in concert with my breaking heart. My gaze takes in the unfathomable sight of my fiancé hooked up to endless machines. Tubes and cords are coming from his nose, mouth, head, and out from under his gown. An IV drip is inserted into the back of his hand, the saline solution feeding his wounded body.
If it weren’t for these apparatuses, it would appear that Sam is simply sleeping. He rests gently on the bed, his arms lying by his side, his legs covered with a stark white blanket. I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe to see bruises and contusions? But I know, just as an unseen iceberg is dangerous to an unsuspecting ship, it’s what I can’t see that will do the most harm.
“Honey?”
My mother’s concerned voice whips me back into the now. I realize I’m slouched against the wall, unbelieving what I see. I don’t bother wiping my tears away as I know new ones will just take their place. “I-I want to talk to his d-doctor.”
She nods, brushing past me as she exits the room, leaving me alone with Samuel. It takes me a minute to feel confident enough to stand on my own, barefoot in my wedding dress, as I beg the love of my life to wake up.
Seeing Sam so still makes me physically ill. He’s usually such a vibrant, lively person—a quality I adore about him. You’d never catch him lounging around, reading a book, or watching a DVD. He would prefer to be outdoors, working on the ranch, walking our beloved Border Collie, Thunder, or playing ball. His downtime would be reading the paper. But now, I don’t even know if he’ll ever be able to do any of those things ever again.
I need to touch him, feel that this is real. I stagger over, my hands wavering as I reach out and brush the backs of my fingers down his clean shaven cheek. He feels warm to the touch. His short, dirty blond hair sits in twisted tufts, and I gently run my fingers through it, trying to comb out the snags.
“Please come back to me, Sam,” I plead, running my fingertip over his slightly parted lips, cringing when I brush over the clear tube. “Our life together has only just begun. I can’t do this without you. I need you. You can’t leave me. You’re my f-forever.” Every word chips away at the hole in my chest, and I’m afraid before long my heart will spill out onto the floor, exposing how it’s broken in two.
I slip my hand into his, remembering the feel of his fingers squeezing mine. But now, nothing. Closing my eyes, I place my other hand over our union and press, my mind happy to pretend that the pinch was Sam’s hand closing over mine. But I can’t pretend forever.
The door opens and I look up. I see a middle aged doctor in a white coat, holding a clipboard and talking quietly to our parents. When he sees me holding vigil beside Sam’s bedside, standing in my soiled wedding gown, his mouth dips into a poignant frown. “Ms. Tucker, I presume?”
I nod, hating how if life was fair, I would be Mrs. Samuel Stone by now.
“I’m Dr. Kepler. I’m so sorry about what happened to Samuel. We’re doing everything we can for him.” We’re all silent, waiting for him to decode what that means. “Samuel sustained very serious head injuries, and due to that trauma, his body has gone into a coma. The coma will hopefully give his body time to heal. It’ll also hopefully help with the swelling so we can determine the extent of his injuries. As you can see—” he steps over to a machine “—we’re monitoring his brain waves.”
