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Chapter Thirty-Eight
The rest of the day becomes a long blur of actions and words, doctors and family, as everyone tries to help in whatever way they can. Only the medical professionals can fix my wife, though. She has appendicitis, a doctor informs me. Emery needs surgery, right away. This would be one time when cool calmness would benefit me, but though I remain even-tempered until my wife is wheeled away for surgery, after that I snap. Cannae control my emotions anymore, not with my wife being rushed into an operating room. I bark and snarl and glower at everyone, even my family, as I haunt the waiting room like an ogre.
Fuck what everyone else thinks. My wife is being cut open right now.
Hours go by, and gradually, I reassert the calmness I'd marshaled when I carried Emery into the hospital. Still, I lose track of time and feel like I'm floating in outer space where I have no bearings. I'm adrift without my wife. Eventually, I wind up sitting in an uncomfortable metal chair that doesn't quite fit my body while my wife sleeps in a bed beside me. After briefly waking, she sank back into sleep. I don't think she noticed I was here, too groggy to comprehend anything.
The hard seat makes my erse hurt, and I fidget, causing the chair to creak.
For half an hour, I've tried to concentrate on a magazine to distract myself, but the only one I could find is devoted to home decor. Aye, that's a topic of interest to me—if I'd suffered a severe brain injury. I shift in my seat again, and it creaks louder this time.
"Hey."
My wife's voice startles me, and I drop the magazine. "Emery, you're awake. How are you feeling?"
"Like I got sliced and diced." She manages a faint smile. "Thank you for coming with me."
"Of course I came." Dragging the chair closer, I fold my hands around hers, careful to avoid the IV line taped to the backside of her hand. "I haven't taken care of you, but that changes now."
She wriggles as if she can't get comfortable either.
"Easy," I say. "You've only just woken. Are you in pain?"
"Some."
Though I don't want to leave her, I hurry outside to track down someone who can ease Emery's pain. Then I return to my wife's side. "A nurse will bring medicine for you."
"Thanks."
"Stop thanking me. I have more than enough to make up to you to fill several lifetimes." I focus on her hand, cradled in mine. "Will you let me look after you while you recover? I have no expectations of what will happen once you're well. But I'd like to care for you."
"Rory, about what I said earlier. I was sick, and I didn't mean—"
"Hush." I skim the backs of my fingers over her cheek. "You're not to make major decisions for at least a week, two would be better. Anesthesia impairs your thinking."
"But I know what I—"
With one finger on her lips, I silence her. "No arguments this time. Wait two weeks. Then we can discuss things."
She seems to accept my command. I don't want her to vow she'll stay with me forever, only to have her realize later it was the aftereffects of anesthesia clouding her mind. If she still wants me, I can wait a few weeks to hear her say it.
I touch my lips to her forehead. "The surgeon says they'll release you later this evening. I can take you to Erica and Lachlan's, if you'd feel more comfortable there."
"Oh, Rory." She raises her free hand to touch my cheek. "I want to go home. With you."
A smile struggles to take hold of my lips, but they twitch and quiver from the effort. Then, at last, I muster a smile that must look pathetic. "No more secrets, Em. I promise."
She nods, her smile small but sweet.
I press my cheek to hers.
Everything will be different now. I will be different. Whatever Emery decides about us, at least I will know I've done everything I can to show my wife how much I love her.
*****
Two weeks should feel like a long time, considering what I'm waiting to hear my wife say. But the time races by so fast that I hardly have a chance to worry about Emery's answer. I'd married her in a whirlwind, and now I await her decision as the days fly past us. Have I changed? I think so, but it's my wife's opinion that matters. For the first time in years, maybe in my entire life, work becomes a secondary concern. Spending time with my wife is all I care about, and my clients will need to wait a bit longer to regain my attention. If anyone has an urgent concern, I will speak to them. But I spend only a few minutes now and then in my office.
Every morning, I lounge in bed until Emery wakes up. Sometimes I fall back asleep while I'm waiting. And every day, I greet my wife in the same way when she rouses.
