TWENTY-ONE
When I returned to the hospital the next morning, Zoe and Jack were rolling dice on a laminated tray a few feet from Adam’s bed. Adam, who was tethered to multiple monitors, was fast asleep.
“Greedy?” I whispered, referring to the game that my mother had taught me, which I had taught them. Zoe nodded, but Jack, who had just thrown down a hand, exclaimed, “A thousand. Taking it!”
Adam groaned, then opened his eyes. “Oh,” he rasped, his voice bearing the effects of being intubated.
Jack was sheepish. “Sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s okay. I want to be awake.” His gaze shifted to me. “Maggie. You came back.”
“Yes.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’m glad you’re looking better today.”
He struggled to look down at himself and grimaced. “I feel like someone ran a lawn mower over my chest. It hurts like hell.”
I gave him a small smile. “They said the first few days would be pretty awful.”
“This makes awful sound like a cakewalk. I need more painkillers.”
Like Rose, Adam acted as if he were allergic to all forms of medicine; if he was requesting it now, he was in a bad way. “Do you want me to see if I can get a nurse?” I asked, and he nodded.
As I pressed the red call button to page the nurses’ station, Zoe touched Adam’s foot beneath the sheet. “Dad, you up for playing a round? Might be good to distract yourself until the nurse gets here.”
“We can move up,” said Jack, who was already pulling his plastic chair toward the front of the bed. “Can you roll, Dad?”
Adam smiled weakly. “I suppose I can try, though you might have to help me with the score. My head’s still fuzzy.”
Zoe made four new columns on a piece of paper and told Adam to roll the first hand. He didn’t get the six hundred points required to enter the game, so he passed the dice to me. As his fingers met my skin, I didn’t dare look at him; I was too afraid I would begin to feel the stirrings of affection that I had the day before. Instead, I squeezed the melamine cubes for luck, as my mother used to, and tossed them onto the bed, pretending I cared deeply that my lousy hand meant I would stay out of the game until the next round.
We had been playing a few minutes when a nurse came in. Adam told her his pain had gone from a six to an eight or nine, and she disappeared again. Soon after a doctor came in to check Adam’s vitals and scans, and a nurse anesthetist showed up and added something stronger, as he put it, to the IV drip.
Within minutes, Adam’s lids fell to half-mast, and the game was abandoned. “It’s so nice to be here with you guys,” he murmured.
“Dad, you sound cooked,” Jack said.
“I mean it,” said Adam, slurring slightly. “Love you three.”
I turned toward the window so the kids wouldn’t see the grief that was ripping through me. As a young boy, Jack had once said, “Love you three!” after hearing Adam say, “Love you, too” to me. We had laughed our heads off and adopted it as a family joke, but I had not heard Adam say it in years—maybe because it had stopped being true. Had he said it now because he had finally come to understand what a fool he had been? I found myself wishing it were nothing but a medicated blunder, because I had just begun getting used to life without him.
“We love you, too, Dad,” said Zoe. “Get some rest. We’ll be here when you wake up.”
With Adam passed out, the three of us moved our chairs to the foot of the bed and talked quietly for a while. When Zoe and Jack decided to go to the cafeteria for coffee and some food, I told them I would stay behind.
I watched Adam, whose sleep was fitful; his face kept twisting as though he were running through a field of brambles. With his furrowed brow and pink skin, he looked like the oldest child who had ever been born.
I must have been staring at him for a while when I found myself thinking of our wedding day. Adam had walked me down the aisle himself, in spite of his mother’s protests and his father’s offer to stand in for the father I had never known. We had conceded on every other point of tradition that they had requested—church, minister, bridal parties, lengthy procession, and lengthier guest list—but on this one, Adam would not budge.
And so we made our way to the front of the church, two people who were unable to believe their luck at finding the exact right person with whom to spend the rest of forever. Just before the minister began to speak, Adam took my hands in his own and said, so quietly that only I could hear, “Maggie, I promise to be the best husband I can for you.”
I remember staring at him, overcome with love. And then—I don’t remember why—I turned to look at my mother, who was in the front pew, weeping into a tissue. I knew that she, unlike Rose, was not crying because she felt she was losing me. She was weeping with joy because I was about to embark on the safe, stable, loving life she had always wanted me to have.
Maybe Adam had kept his promise, I thought as I watched his bandaged chest rise and fall, then shudder frighteningly only to return to a normal rhythm. Maybe he had been the best husband he could be, and in the end, that had not been enough.
After Jack and Zoe returned, the three of us sat sipping burnt hospital coffee and whispering among ourselves about nothing much. We must have been like that for some time when Adam’s eyes sprang open. His face immediately relaxed at the sight of us. Then he smiled, which made us smile back. For a second—only a second, but a lovely one—it seemed we were an intact family of four again.
“Maggie,” he rasped. “How was Rome?”
I startled. Was he making a veiled comment about my phone call from Benito’s, or was he actually interested in whether I had enjoyed the trip we were supposed to take together? “It was wonderful, actually. Thanks.” I wasn’t sure if I was thanking him for asking or for not putting up a fuss about the bill. Both or neither, it didn’t matter.
“Good. I’m happy you went,” he said earnestly.
I looked at him. “Adam,” I said slowly, “did you pay for a flight upgrade for me?”
A new smile formed on his lips. So he had paid for my first-class ticket. And though that ticket had been lovely and landed me next to Jean, who of course had led me to Ann Arbor—and yes, Charlie—learning that he had done this for me made me inexplicably angry.
“You always said you wanted to fly first class at some point,” he said. “I just thought . . .”
He just thought it was the least he could do, given what he had put me through. He might have fallen out of love with me, but he cared. He might even still love me. But most likely, he had been looking for a way to ease his guilt.
And with that realization, the spell was broken. We were not an intact family of four, because the man before me had decided to stop being my husband.
It was time for me to go home.
I stood from my seat. “Adam,” I said, “I’m relieved you made it through surgery. I’ll be sure to let your mom know you’re doing great, and I’ll call Rick to ask him to bring her to visit you once you’re out of the hospital. But I need to get back to Michigan.”
“Now?” he croaked.
I nodded. “Now.”
“What about—” Zoe began, but I held up my hand. She, Jack, and I were supposed to have dinner that night. I would call later to apologize and arrange another time for the three of us to get together.
“I’m so sorry to dash, but I must. I love you two,” I said to Zoe and Jack, and kissed them both quickly. “Be well, Adam,” I said.
He waved weakly, looking so helpless that I almost changed my mind. As Dr. Chen told us, it would be days before Adam was out of the woods. Even if his recovery went as planned, hard times were up ahead, both for Adam and for the kids. By leaving, I was letting them down.
But if I stayed, the glimmer of affection I was feeling for Adam might turn into something more—something that threatened to blow out the light I was still waiting to see.