Corinne
“Where is he, Michel?” I ask my brother-in-law.
Michel turns to me, and in that moment, in the light from the window, he looks so much like my husband that he takes my breath away.
“He’ll be here, Corinne. He just went home to change his clothes and shower. How are you feeling?”
He sits in the chair next to the bed, grasping my hand in his. The machines beep around us, and he’s so very concerned.
I shrug. “I’ll be better when Jude gets here.”
“He’s coming,” Michel says, and there’s something wrong. I see it on his face. He’s unsettled, disturbed. Restless.
“What is it?”
But he shakes his head, protecting his brother the way they always do. “Nothing at all. I’m just worried about you.”
I let it go, and my fingers rest on my belly, hovering beneath my navel. There is life there, however faint.
“It’s all going to be okay,” Michel tells me, reading my face. “Everything.”
“I hope so.”
“Trust me.”
He holds my hand and I close my eyes, because I’m exhausted. But I can’t...I won’t...sleep until my husband gets here, until it’s all been worked out.
A bit later, Lucy pokes her head into my room. Her hair isn’t pulled into a ponytail today—it’s hanging down, and she seems different to me, somehow.
“How are you feeling?” she asks softly, slipping into the chair next to me. Her hand pats mine, and it scrapes my IV tube.
“You need to do your nails,” I point out.
She smiles. “Yeah. I guess I got distracted. You know, with worrying about you and all.” She pauses. “They say you don’t remember anything.”
I stare at her. Her eyes. They seem so...something. Sad?
I look away. “It’s embarrassing. I...wouldn’t do this.” I glance at my wrist, at the bandage. Lucy does, too. She’s uncomfortable, and she won’t meet my gaze now.
“It’s okay,” she tells me, her voice hollow. “Sometimes we all do things we regret. You’re going to be okay.”
She’s so sad, and I feel awful for making everyone worry. I close my eyes.
“Just sleep, Corinne,” she tells me. “I’ll check on you later.”
The next time I open my eyes, the room is dark, immersed in shadows. It takes a minute to acclimate to the dark, and then I see him.
Jude.
Sitting next to me where Michel had been.
“Hi,” I say, because I can’t think of anything else through my sleep-addled brain. My voice seems loud in this quiet room. Jude’s eyes pop open, relief in them.
“Hey,” he answers. “God, you scared me, Co.”
“The baby is okay,” I tell him. “For now.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he answers. “I thought I’d lost you.”
His shoulders slump, and I don’t know what to say.
“I’m sorry, Jude.” My words aren’t enough. I know that.
“I should’ve seen that you were in distress, and all I did was ride you about coming home early every night. God, I’m sorry.” Even in the dark, I can see the angst in his hazel eyes, and his hand grasps mine more tightly. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
“Already done,” I tell him, and my heart is warm and full. I thought we were done, and now we’re not, and it’s like the end of a happy chapter in a book. I didn’t lose the baby. Jude and I are fine.
“Brock saved you,” he tells me. “He saved you, Corinne. He did an emergency aspiration for the hemorrhage. You’ve got to be on bed rest for now, so you’ll have to slow down, but the baby is fine. You’re fine, too.”
He’s so happy, so genuine and warm, so full of wonder, and all I want to do is sleep curled up with him.
“Get in bed with me,” I tell him. He’s surprised for a second, but then he does as I ask, folding himself into the hospital bed with me, holding me from behind, his forehead pressed to my back.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you,” he answers. “Rest now. I’m here.”
Tears run down my cheeks, and I’m not sad. Everything is going to be fine. Michel was right.
I close my eyes and let the darkness overtake me because the exhaustion is immense.
Buzzing from the machines wakes me later, when the morning light penetrates my eyelids. I don’t open my eyes, and I realize that the buzzing is Jude’s phone.
There’s a rustle as he gets to his feet, and I hear his voice hiss, hiss, hissing as he closes the door behind him.
It sounds like he says, “Don’t call me,” but that can’t be right. He’s rarely rude to anyone. I focus on waking up, and when Jude comes back in, my eyes are open.
“You’re awake.” His relief is evident on his face, and I try to smile.
His smile is warm and reassuring, and it’s mine. It’s always been mine... Our priorities were just skewed.
“You’re still here,” I say weakly, and he squeezes my hand.
“Of course. I haven’t left.”
I’m happy about that, until I remember the dog.
“Artie...” I say, and I try to remember what happened with the dog. I remember hearing her yelp, and I try to focus on that, to remember what I did to hurt her, but I can’t. “What did I do to Artie?”
Jude is still. “There’s no reason to dwell on this, Corinne.”
“I have to know,” I insist. “I have to, Jude. I want to remember.”
“You... It seems...that you struck her in the head with something.”
My heart sinks. “I don’t remember... I couldn’t have, Jude. I wouldn’t have...”
“We’ll get through this, Co,” he assures me, even though I injured our dog. “We’ll get you some help, and you’re going to be okay.”
The IV in my hand stings.
“God, poor Artie. She must’ve been so afraid. She trusted me, and...”
“Corinne, don’t. She’s okay now. And I’m here, and I’m not leaving, and everything is okay.”
I want to ask him why that little muscle in his jaw is ticking, the one that ticks only when he’s upset. But I know why.
I’m some sort of monster.