The air was heavy, the weight of decades of family members waiting to find out about their loved ones stealing the oxygen out of the beige room. The colorful abstract canvas mounted on the wall seemed like an afterthought, an attempt at injecting life back into the room.
Carina and Jacques were talking to the chief, their low voices a hum that carried across the sterile room. I tried to focus on what they said, but I couldn’t concentrate long enough. The only thing that broke through the fog was the tick of the wall-mounted clock. But I watched as Jacques closed his eyes, the tension melting from his shoulders. Carina nodded and wiped her face with the heel of her hand, then sucked in a breath and exhaled slowly. They were relieved. That meant Travis would be okay. That was all that mattered.
Jacques came over to me and reached for my hand. “He has a broken arm. He’s in surgery. We just have to wait for them to finish and Travis to wake up.”
Relief swamped me, and the energy drained from my body, leaving me hollow. I melted onto the nearest chair, my bones no longer solid.
Jacques paced the room, the steady squeak of his sneakers on the linoleum lulling me into a trance. Waiting, listening to the interminabletick, tick, tickof the clock was hellish. I knew he would be okay, but that wasn’t enough. I needed to see him.
Carina bit her thumbnail, but otherwise stood unmoving as if she were made of glass and would shatter with the slightest nudge.
When the nurse reentered, she looked straight at me. “Mr. Zimmerman,” she said.
I stood up and waited for her to continue.
“Mr. Taylor is in surgery. He’s undergoing repair work for a compound fracture to his left ulna. His forearm,” she clarified. “He’ll be out of surgery in about an hour, and then, when he’s awake and in his room, you’ll be able to check in on him.”
“That’s good,” I choked out.
“It is. A couple of months and he’ll be back to normal.” She smiled gently and turned to Jacques. “Best of luck this season, Mr. Gauthier.”
It hit me then—every emotion that I’d barely been holding back barreling into me like a wall of water—and I cried. I buried my face in my hands, and fat tears rolled down my cheeks. The burden of anguish lifted off my chest. The room, weighed down with fear a moment ago, was now filled with light and color. I sucked in a breath, and fresh air filled my lungs. It was as if I’d been trapped in a vacuum. The confirmation from the nurse was everything I’d needed.
Now we just had to wait for him to get through the operation and come to. I could do that. We could.
I reached for Carina and wrapped my arm around her shoulders, drawing her to me. She buried her face against my chest, and I breathed her in. She laughed, but it was a half sob, half giggle.
“I just drove in the US,” she said.
I huffed out a laugh and held her tighter. “You did.”
“Even managed to stay on the right side of the road,” Jacques added with a grin. It was such a contrast to only a few moments ago when we were all sick with worry.
“It’ll never be the right side of the road,” Carina shot back. “You’re all backward here.”
Jacques chuckled and reached out. But then he hesitated and dropped his hands. I brushed the back of my hand against Jacques’s, and he hooked our index fingers together, holding me the only way he could in the waiting room while he rubbed his wife’s back.
I closed my eyes and thanked God for stepping in and keeping Travis safe.
He was going to be fine. I’d make sure it was the same with Carina. I couldn’t let her leave. No matter what, she needed to stay with us.
thirty
Carina
IwalkedintoTravis’sward,and my breath caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh. I’d expected him to be lying still, asleep or dozing. Perhaps just quiet.
But he was the opposite. Thank goodness there was no one else in the room with him who needed peace.
A nurse stood on either side of him. They were gently holding his shoulders and reasoning with him, trying to get him to settle down. But Trav wouldn’t have it.
He was jerking his unbandaged hand, trying hard to move the other one—without much luck given it was bandaged and suspended in a sling away from his body. He was tapping his feet and bobbing his head. The blanket that covered him from the waist down was all messed up, as if he’d been trying to kick it off.
Against the washed-out blue of the hospital gown he wore, his skin was pale except for his cheeks. They were flushed pink, his lips a rosy red, and his eyes were glassy. He looked high.
“We will, we will,” Trav sang out of tune at the top of his voice.
I bit back a laugh. He was apparently channeling Freddie Mercury and Roger Taylor now. I shook my head at my sweet, funny man.
