AFTER USING VACATION time, I request an extension of my bereavement days. I need another week off from work to cope with the loss of my husband. I spend each day grieving him, grieving our marriage and grieving myself.
The following Monday morning, I finish my twelve-hour shift and head over to the ICU. I set my workbag down on the chair and walk over to read the cards sitting along the window sill. The once bare walls are now lined with pictures of Tyler racing his motorcycle. Wilting flowers grace the tray table.
I smile at the picture of Tyler, Alex and many others standing around a tall trophy, each with an index finger pointed upward, exemplifying the team’s final standing that day. Number one. Always number one.
I lean over the bed rail and look at the man lying still as if he were sleeping peacefully. The constant beep of the monitor is a reminder of where I am. Where Tyler is.
“Looks like you’ve had some company.”
The lower half of his face is covered with an unkempt scruff. The swelling appears to have gone down, but according to the nurse, nothing else, aside from his physical appearance, has changed.
“So how long do you plan on sleeping? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love to sleep, too, but I think you’re taking it to the extreme.” I offer a cheeky grin, but he doesn’t respond.
Obviously.
He lies there motionless. I wonder what he’s thinking about or if he can even think. Who knows what cognitive ability he’ll have once he wakes up.
“You need to wake up because I have something really important to tell you and …I have to ask you a few questions. Really important questions…about Alex. “
The erratic sound of the machine catches my attention. I stare at the machine as I watch the red line peak and then fall.
“Can you hear me?”
Again, I look at the monitor and watch for the influx of activity.
Nothing.
“God, I’m so stupid. You don’t even like me. Why would you want to talk to me? Me of all people. Maybe I should try to get in touch with Penny.”
Beep, beep. Beep, beep.
The red line spikes.
“You can hear me, can’t you?”
A wave of anticipation flies through me as I glance at the door before lowering the rail to lean over him. I rest my hand on his shoulder.
“Tyler, can you hear me?”
I rub his shoulder.
“You are stronger than this. You have to be. It’s your name. You are Tyler Strong and you need to wake up. You have people here who obviously care about you. Some of these people traveled hours to see you and you didn’t have the decency to open your eyes for them.”
A slight movement of his left hand demands my attention.
“What are you doing?” I mumble to myself.
I watch the slight movement again. My eyes move down the length of his body to the movement under the white blanket.
Left hand. Left foot.
I blink with comprehension and swallow hard.
“You’re racing, aren’t you? That’s what you’re doing. Clutch and shift.”
I pull my lips in tightly and refrain from laughing out loud.
Silvia, the nurse I’d seen last time breezes into the room.
“How’s the handsome devil doing today?” she asks as she reviews his chart then checks the IV bags.
“I think he’s waking up. Or at least he’s trying to. Watch.” I point to the extremities he moved moments before.
Staring at the unmoving hand, I narrow my eyes and will him to move it.
“C’mon. Do it again.”
She looks at me with a mixture of sympathy and pity and I find it rather annoying.
“I know what I saw. He moved his left fingers and raised his left foot.”
“Okay. I’ll make a note.”
“You don’t believe me. I’m not crazy and I’m not making this up!”
The irregular sounds coming from the monitor demand our attention immediately and I turn back, looking at her pointedly.
“He can hear me and I’m pretty sure he’s thinking about racing.”
The countenance on her face transforms into one of an apology. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe he is waking up. Keep talking to him.”
“What’s that look for?” I ask.
“Look, you haven’t been around for a few weeks. He took a turn for the worse at one point. His family called the priest and had his last rites read.”
“His family?
She nods.
“But he’s still alive,” I retort, trying to understand what it all means.
“He’s alive physically, but there’s no guarantee what he’ll be like when or if he wakes up.”
An ache fills my heart.
“He’s so young.” I turn watery eyes on Tyler and sigh, feeling remorseful for having treated him indifferently, and sometimes even unkindly, over the years.
“And handsome,” she adds before turning to the door. “I’ll be back soon. His sheets need to be changed and he needs a sponge bath. He could use a haircut, too.”
I shiver at the thought of this nurse touching him intimately.
My arms cross over my chest in anger when I picture him having sex with Penny that night at the bar. I remember her legs were wrapped around his bare ass and her hands ran wildly through his hair and over his neck. According to the intimate stories Alex had told me, Tyler enjoyed a rather colorful sex life. He doesn’t seem like the type of man to depend on anyone, and though I don’t know Tyler well at all, I’m pretty sure he’d be mortified at the idea of some stranger caring for him.
It’s hard to determine if what I feel is anger or sympathy. Where are all the people who cheered him on? Where are all the people who came to my husband’s funeral? Where is Penny? Why isn’t she here caring for him? Why isn’t she holding his hand, talking to him or bathing him?
And his family? As far as I knew, Tyler had no family. His parents split up when he was a kid and his mom lived out west. I thought that’s why he gravitated toward Alex so much. The years between them were plenty, but they were the best of friends. One might even have thought they were brothers.
I run my palms over my face and release a deep breath of exasperation.
So many questions and no answers.
Judging by my internal clock, I realize it’s time to go home and get some rest. My body is weary and my lids are heavy. I yawn as I walk over to the chair and toss my bag over my shoulder. A series of pictures grabs my attention.
They all appear to be of Tyler at different ages. Tyler on a dirt bike. Tyler on the pitcher’s mound. Tyler at the Grand Canyon. Tyler playing hockey. Tyler smiling with an elderly couple. Tyler holding an infant swaddled in a hospital blanket.
Each photo tells a story of his life, but it’s the black and white picture that calls to me. I lift it, inspecting the image captured along a beach. A young Tyler stands alongside a boy who looks just like him. Their white polo shirts and board shorts match the color scheme of the pretty woman and handsome, dark-haired man who stand behind them as each embraces a child lovingly. The joy of this family is apparent in the smiles on their tanned faces. It’s obvious how much love is shared amongst them.
“You have a twin.” I glance to the side at Tyler. “I didn’t know that about you.”
I chuckle humorlessly and wonder how I would have known that anyway. The only glimpse into Tyler Strong was through my husband’s perspective, through his words, through his eyes.
I yawn again and set the picture back in its place.
“I’ve got to go Tyler. I worked all night and as much as I don’t want to go home, I have to. Can I tell you something?” I roll my eyes at my own stupidity. It’s not like he’s going to answer anyway.
“It’s so quiet at the house. I miss the sound of the trucks. I miss Alex talking about racing. I miss seeing you wait by the truck. I’m surprised you never took off a coat of paint with all the waxing you did while you waited for Alex to come out.”
Laughter erupts when I realize how crazy I must look talking to myself.
“I’ll be back in a few days. I might even bring something back for you.”
From the corner of my eye, I see the fingers of his left hand curl inward.
“Have fun. Be safe,” I utter quietly.
I close the door behind me, hoping Tyler has a good ride even if it’s only in his dreams.
***
THE FOLLOWING WEDNESDAY after dodging phone calls from Alex’s attorney for several days, I finally slide my finger across the screen and accept his call.
“Hello, Roger. What can I do for you?” My voice is even and stiff. Roger had not only been Alex’s attorney and closest confidante for years, but also the one who’d saved his ass so many times in their younger days. I still can’t believe how reckless they had once been. The women. The sex. The parties.
“Karrie,” he starts then pauses with a raspy timbre. It appears the years of hard alcohol and smoking cigars have finally caught up to him.
“I’m so sorry. I got back from Africa late last night and just heard about Alex. My God, I don’t know what to say.”
That makes two of us. Words evade me as thoughts scurry away from my brain.
I hear him sigh on the other end of the line. “What happened?”
Taking a deep breath, I tell Roger about the accident. I spare him the horrific details I witnessed at the hospital when he was brought in.
“I am so sorry.” It’s obvious he’s fighting a losing battle with his emotions. “Alex is gone.” The resolve in his voice wanes as reality sets in. Alex is gone.
“You were a good friend to him. I know he cared about you very much.”
“He was like a brother to me.”
I nod even though he can’t see me.
“Can I come see you?”
“Why?” I blurt out and then restate my words. “What do you need to see me about? Is this about his will?”
“Karrie, please. I need to see you…in person.”
“I’m working all week,” I lie. “We can meet next week.”
“I’d rather see you sooner than that if you don’t mind.”
“What’s the rush?”
“I need to tell you something before you get ser—”
“Served? Is that what you were going to say?” I spit as a flood of disgust rips through my tense body.
“Oh God.” I hear the pity in his voice and the creak of his chair. “You know already, don’t you?”
“Know what? That my husband filed for divorce before he died?”
A rush of air releases from his lungs. The silence builds until he utters on simple word, “Yes.”
“Does it really matter now? He died! My husband died!” Tears spring to my eyes and release in a torrent.
“I’m coming to see you. Don’t leave.” The line goes dead instantly.
An hour later, I answer the door and am hauled into Roger’s chest. His button-down dress shirt reeks of smoke and stale whiskey. Minutes tick by as he offers and receives comfort for the death of his friend Alex.
I lead him into the living room and we sit adjacent to one another. I sit in the single chair as he takes a seat on the oversized sofa.
“Karrie, I have to tell you how shocked I am by this almost as much as I’m sure you are. I had no idea. He never said a word. He didn’t seek advice from me. He didn’t file with me. I’m completely dumbfounded by this whole thing. And what makes matters worse is the bastard isn’t even here to answer any questions.”
I search into his gaze, trying to find a shred of deceit in his eyes, but I find nothing but pure shock and surprise. He really didn’t know Alex was going to leave me.
“How did you find out then?” I wonder aloud. “If he didn’t file with you, how did you know?”
“I received a certified copy of the letter seeking the divorce with a Post-It note attached that said, ‘I’ll explain later. I need to do this.’ ”
I sit there solemnly, absorbing his words, knowing I’ll never have the opportunity to ask Alex the millions of questions I have.
“There’s more I need to tell you.”
Roger rises and sits closer to me, taking my hand in his, preparing me for more bad news. A lump forms in my throat, and I force it down.
“Alex changed the beneficiary of his will.”
Goosebumps dot my skin as my blood runs cold.
“He what!? Why?” I scream, pulling my hand away and yanking at my long hair. “Why would he do that? I don’t understand!”
“I don’t know! He had become distant and…secretive. I thought he was having a mid-life crisis or something.”
“Who is it?”
“What?” Roger’s eyes widen, rounding like giant orbs and he swallows nervously.
“Who is it? Who’s the beneficiary?”
With shagging shoulders, Rogers sighs in what seems like relief.
“Tyler.”
“Tyler?” I breathe. “Tyler Strong?”
Roger tightens his lips and he nods a glum confirmation.
“I,” I stutter. “I don’t understand any of this. We had a good marriage. Was it perfect? No, we had our problems. No one’s marriage is perfect, but this—
I race to the bathroom, slam the door shut and vomit what little sustenance I was able to keep down at lunch.
Ignoring the soft knock on the door and Roger’s pleas, I kneel over the porcelain bowl and continue to unleash the involuntarily purging of my stomach. It feels as though my soul is being expunged, too.
An eternity seems to stretch as the afternoon sun descends in the sky, its light shining brightly through the window as if taunting me with happiness.
“Call me later. We can talk about your options.”
When I’m sure he’s gone, I open the bathroom door, go upstairs to shower and drive over to get some answers. I’ll wait forever if I have to