19

April paced the floor of the emergency room like a caged animal. She couldn’t sit still or close her eyes because whenever she did, visions of the past few hours flooded her mind.

She saw Mark’s car in flames, men scrambling onto the track with fire extinguishers and then prying open the crumpled door of Mark’s car, hauling out his limp body, and a fire-rescue truck speeding him away. Mark had been flown in a helicopter to the huge medical complex in the city, where they all now waited for word of his condition.

With a start, April realized that she’d come full circle—back to the very hospital where Mark had first walked into her room months before and announced, “You’re the girl I’m going to marry.” Silently she begged, Please, God, please let him be all right.

April couldn’t stand seeing Mark’s mother, sitting ramrod straight in a chair, never moving, not even flinching. All her fears had been realized that night in front of her eyes. And nothing her husband could say brought her any peace. Anything Mr. Gianni said was greeted with a stony silence from Mark’s mother that was as impenetrable as a wall. It broke April’s heart.

At some point, Mark’s sisters arrived in a rush of tears and fell into their mother’s arms. Her own parents were troupers, going for coffee and sodas, calling friends and family. “I’ll get us a room at a nearby hotel,” April’s father offered.

April insisted that she wasn’t going to leave the hospital, so he’d be wasting his money. And just when she didn’t think she would be able to bear the suspense one more minute, a doctor appeared and hustled them into a corner of the waiting room.

“How is he?” Mark’s father asked, taking his wife’s hand.

April braced herself for the worst.

“He’s doing remarkably well,” the doctor said, and April felt her knees go weak. “He has a broken foot, three cracked ribs, and; first- and second-degree burns on the side of his face and on his left hand. It’s very fortunate that he was wearing that flame-retardant suit. It saved his life.”

Mark’s parents turned to her and she read gratitude in their eyes. Mark was alive! “Can we see him?” April asked.

“I’m having him moved upstairs to a room. He’s being sedated so he’ll rest more comfortably. You can see him there.”

“How soon before we can take him home?” Rosa asked.

“That will be up to the endocrinologist, Dr. Bejar. He’ll take over your son’s case. Just because Mark’s injuries weren’t severe doesn’t mean he won’t need careful monitoring. The suit protected him from burns, but it did little to protect his lungs from smoke inhalation. He’s not out of the woods yet.”

It was well after midnight before Mark was settled into a room and April and both families could see him. The head of his bed had been raised so that he was semi-upright. The side of his face and his hand were wrapped in gauze and his foot, encased in a soft cast, rested on a pillow. His chest had been wrapped in tape to keep his torso rigid, and an oxygen mask was strapped across his mouth.

His mother and sisters broke down crying. “I’m all right,” he told them. “Just banged up. Don’t cry.” He appeared exhausted and his speaking was laborious, but his gaze kept falling on April.

It seemed like forever before she was alone with him. With her parents waiting in the hall, she leaned over him, slid her arms around him, and rested her head on his shoulder. “I thought I’d lost you,” she whispered.

“No … such … luck,” he said with difficulty.

She wiped away the tears sliding down her cheeks. “You need to rest. Dad’s forcing me to go to a hotel, but I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

“Love you.”

She kissed him tenderly. “I love you too. Now get some rest.”

He was asleep before she left the room.

By the next day, Mark’s color had returned. The oxygen mask had been traded for small oxygen tubes clamped to his nostrils, which allowed him to talk more easily. Still, his voice sounded thick and scratchy to April.

“You gave us all a real scare,” she told him after a hug and a kiss.

“Please, I’ve already heard all about it from my mother.”

Rosa had left the room to give Mark and April privacy, but April hadn’t been surprised to learn that she’d spent the entire night in the chair by her son’s bed. “Are you in any pain?”

“My side’s killing me, but don’t let my mother know. I told her I feel pretty good. Actually I feel like I was dragged behind my car.”

“It was so awful, Mark.” April shook her head. The memory still haunted her. “I can’t get over the picture of your car overturning and going up in flames.”

“Don’t think about it. I’ve called the garage to see how much damage was done to the car. And to get estimates on repairs. It’s more work than I can do by myself—”

“You’re not really going to race that thing again, are you?”

“I sure am. But not until after we’re married. I promise not to do anything to threaten our wedding again.” He grinned.

Upset, she cried, “It’s not our wedding I worry about, Mark. It’s your life!”

“I can’t fight about this now.”

He coughed deeply and harshly. The sound chilled her. She immediately backed away from her argument. “You’re right, this isn’t the time to go into this. Just put all your energy into getting well.”

He took several labored breaths before he asked, “Have you found a dress yet?”

She jumped at the chance to change the subject. “I think so. It’s beautiful, Mark. Kind of simple, but with a long train that’s decorated with lace and seed pearls. The store’s altering it for me.” He nodded and smiled, but she could tell he was weak and tired. “Listen, I’m going to run down to the cafeteria, but I’ll be back soon.”

He didn’t protest, and she hurried into the hall, where she discovered Rosa huddled in a discussion with a dark-haired man in a white lab coat. Rosa introduced April to Dr. Bejar as Mark’s fiancée, and the doctor greeted her cordially. “It’s good to meet you. I’m sorry it has to be under these conditions.”

“How’s Mark? I mean how is he really?”

Dr. Bejar glanced at Rosa, who gave him a silent nod of assent. Dr. Bejar said, “I’m concerned about his CF. The smoke he inhaled is bad enough, but the broken ribs make it extremely difficult to maintain his daily therapy and break up the congestion.”

April hadn’t even considered that Mark’s broken ribs could be a threat to his health. Suddenly frightened, she asked, “What are you going to do?”

“That’s what Mrs. Gianni and I were just discussing. I can insert a drainage tube through his chest and into his lung and increase his decongestant and inhalant medications. I want to keep pneumonia at bay, because frankly, it’s a serious risk for him.”

Pneumonia. April felt afraid. For Mark. For herself. For all their plans and dreams.

“He’s a good doctor,” Rosa said once Dr. Bejar had gone. “We trust him completely to do what’s best for Mark.”

“I just want him to get well.”

Rosa touched her April’s arm. “Me too, April. Me too.”

———

The minor surgery to insert the drainage tube was performed without complications, and Mark was moved into intensive care. April stayed with him as much as the hospital rules allowed and was astounded at how many hospital personnel stopped by to see him once word spread that he was there. Rosa explained, “Mark’s been a patient here off and on for many years. These people have come to know him and truly care about him.”

Once news got around about Mark, he had a steady stream of visitors—nurses, health care professionals, friends he’d made in the hospital during his frequent stays over the years. April realized that to many of them, Mark was a CF patient who’d, so far, beaten the odds. She only hoped he could do it one more time.

April’s mother continued with the wedding plans, partly to give April something else to occupy her mind. When she could pry April away from the hospital, they visited stationery stores and flipped through books of sample invitations. They checked out florists, listening to suggestions for flowers and greenery for the June date April and Mark had chosen. They sampled the wares of bakeries and caterers, and April became entranced by photos of elaborate cakes.

April found herself caught between the dreamworld of a fantasy wedding and the harsh reality of the hospital and sickness. Mark always seemed heartened when she told him about the wedding plans, so she kept working on them. But after he had spent a week in the hospital with no obvious improvement, she began to see his enthusiasm fading and his hope crumbling.

He said, “I’m never going to get out of here.”

“Don’t talk that way. Of course you will. Dr. Bejar said you shouldn’t put a time limit on this stay. Your injuries—”

“Aren’t getting better,” Mark finished. “I don’t want to be pushed down the aisle in a wheelchair, April.”

“It’s only November. We have months until the wedding.” She fingered the chain around her neck, the half of a heart he’d given her. “Besides, my father will strangle you if you break off our engagement.”

He managed a half smile. “That will never happen. But if you want to—”

“Stop it!” Her voice was sharp. “I won’t listen to you say those things. I plan to marry you in June, so get used to the idea.”

His expression turned grave. “April, I once told you I wasn’t afraid of dying. That’s a lie. I used to not be scared, but that was before I met you and made all these plans for living. No matter what happens, remember, I love you. And this past spring and summer have been the happiest of my life. All because of you.”

“Mark, please, don’t give up.”

“I can’t help it. I know how I feel physically. I know that somehow, this time, it’s different.”

April tried to change the subject and make him laugh. But Mark was right. That night he developed a fever and pneumonia.