Christopher and Jaime (Pianos and Promises #1) (4 page)

BOOK: Christopher and Jaime (Pianos and Promises #1)
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The kind male nurse smiled at me. “Follow me.”

Finally.

“Your husband has been moved to ICU. A doctor is there . . .”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “ICU?”

His look was grave. “Yes, ma’am. His doctor can explain more when we get there.”

I placed my hand on the wall for support while I steadied my breathing.

The nurse hesitated, but he placed his hand on my arm. “Your husband is in good hands.”

I found the strength to move forward. He took us to the fifth floor. The elevator ride had me feeling like I was going to lose my lunch
.
He was alive
,
I kept reminding myself.

I had to sign in at the nurses’ station, as well as answer questions regarding my health before I was allowed back. It seemed like everything was going in slow motion. I only wanted to see Christopher.

I was met by Dr. Edward Little before I made it to his room. He held out his hand. “Mrs. McKay?”

“Yes.” I took his outstretched hand.

“Your husband sustained a significant blow to the head when he was hit by that car. We had to place him in a medically induced coma . . .”

Suddenly there was no air to breathe.

“That sounds worse than it is.” He tried to comfort me.

Tiny amounts of air returned. I took a shallow breath.

“We placed him in a coma to help reduce the swelling in his brain. The metabolism of his brain was altered due to the injury. What we are trying to do is reduce the amount of energy the affected areas need so that they will heal and the swelling will go down. We administered a well-known drug called Propofol; it’s used every day in surgery. It’s safe and he has been responding well to it. His EEG patterns are looking good.”

“How long will he have to be like that?”

“Typically two to three days. We will monitor him closely.”

“Any other injuries?”

He smiled. “He’s lucky he didn’t break any bones, but he has a serious case of road rash, a dislocated shoulder and he’s going to feel like . . . well, like a car hit him when he wakes up. We couldn’t find any other internal or external injuries, but like I said, we will keep a close eye on him.”

“Can I see him?”

“Of course, and as primary caregiver, you can stay as long as you’d like.”

I followed him to room three. The door was an automatic sliding door and it slid open when we approached.

I heard the monitors before I saw him behind the curtain. Nothing prepared me to see Chris looking so fragile. He was hooked up to all sorts of machines, everything from a ventilator to a heartrate monitor and a blood pressure machine. His face was consumed by medical gadgetry. I cautiously approached him and took up his hand.

“You can speak to him; many patients in his state report being able to hear loved ones.”

I wasn’t his loved one, but I nodded. I didn’t want to say anything in front of the doctor. I was doing my best to take this all in. To take in the injured body of the strongest person I’d ever known. He had always seemed invincible, but in that moment, I could barely recognize the man who had been a constant presence for most of my life, even during these last couple months of our separation.

The doctor left me alone with my soon to be ex-husband.

I took the chair by his bedside. He was motionless, but the machines assured me he was alive, a fact I was thankful for. I took his hand back and placed it against my cheek. It felt cool, not like the warm hand I had missed.

“Please don’t leave us.”

Chapter Two

I stared at him for hours, only moving to call Ruth and my family to let them know what was going on. Eating and drinking weren’t even on my radar. Bree offered to pick up Allie and keep her for the night. I knew Chris wasn’t going to wake up, but for reasons unbeknownst to me, I couldn’t leave him. I loved him despite all that we had been through.

During the late evening, my vigil was interrupted by perhaps the happiest person I had ever met, Hope, an ICU nurse. Her name fit her to a T.

“I’m here to check his vitals.”

I nodded.

She looked across the bed at me as she took his pulse. “Are you Jaime?”

“Yes.” I was surprised she knew my name.

Her eyes brightened as her smile grew. “I happened to be in the emergency room when they brought your husband in.”

“How do you know he’s my husband?”

“Besides the fact you are mesmerized by him, he kept calling for you when they brought him in. He said he needed to tell you how sorry he was. He begged the EMT to call you. We tried, but he was having a hard time remembering your number.”

My eyes widened.

“No need to worry, his head took quite the beating, but it should go back to working properly.”

“Are you sure?”

“Nothing is ever for sure.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” I looked back at Christopher. The last two years I never knew where I stood with him. I had wanted to feel assured of his love, but we never got there. And now we never would.

“I can tell that he loves you and, Allie, is it?”

“Allie’s our daughter.”

“He repeated several times, ‘If anything happens to me, tell Jaime and Allie I love them.’”

“Did you hear him right?” I shouldn’t have asked. It wasn’t fair to bring this sweet, unsuspecting nurse into our drama, but Chris never said he loved me. He would always say things like, “We love each other.” But never once, “I love you.” I looked up at a confused Hope.

“There was no mistaking it.”

“We’re getting divorced.” My mouth had a mind of its own, but admitting it helped me deal with it.

“That would explain his agitated state, besides getting hit by a car.”

Agitated was a good word to describe him lately. I thought he would be relieved that I filed for divorce, but no. He only shut himself off further. It was like he was holding something in, and I thought several times over the past weeks that he wanted to tell me something, but he always fell silent. Our conversation by phone last night was the most we had talked in weeks, but I did my best to shut him right back up with my callousness.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I told you that. I’m not thinking straight. It’s been a long day.” A long year.

“Don’t apologize, buttercup.”

On my list of things I loved about living in the South, Southern terms of endearment was near the top. “Will he really be okay?”

“Time will tell, but judging by his behavior when he was brought in, I would say he has incentive to make a full recovery. Maybe he needed a good knock in the head,” she teased.

I felt myself smile. It seemed like forever since I had. “It couldn’t hurt.”

“Why don’t I bring you a blanket and some food?”

“You don’t need to do that.”

She waved me off. “Looks like you have a long night ahead of you. I’ll see what I can get up here from the cafeteria.”

I looked up into her smiling eyes. “Thank you,” I sighed.

“Don’t mention it. By the way . . .” She pointed at a table near the television in the room. “That white box contains his belongings.”

I followed her finger. I hadn’t noticed anything but Chris since I got there. “Again, thank you.”

“I’ll be back in a bit. Holler if you need anything.”

A heart transplant would be good. My broken one was killing me.

As soon as she left, I got up and stretched a bit before I walked over to see what the box contained. I looked down at my long, bare legs. They were covered in goosebumps and I was thankful she thought to bring me a blanket. The room was cold and I was only wearing shorts and a tank top. I was probably a mess from unpacking earlier today. I approached the white cardboard box and peered inside. It looked like a Christopher box, right down to his designer suit that had seen better days. Looks like they had to cut it off him, and the asphalt did it no favors. The bloodstains raised my heart rate. Under the tattered clothing lay his briefcase and shattered phone. I had no doubt he was talking on the stupid thing when he got hit. It was like an appendage to him, and a sore spot in our marriage. Even when he was home, he wasn’t always present. I pushed it to the back of my mind. All that mattered for the moment was that he recover.

I lifted out his Italian leather briefcase. It was a little scuffed up, but not too worse for the wear. I brought it back with me and took up my seat next to him. I stared at the combination lock and wondered how to open it. He would never give me the code, instead he would playfully say, “If you ever want to get in, you’ll figure it out. Here’s a hint: it’s my favorite day.”

I thought for a moment. Since he loved himself so much, I put in his birthday, 0405. Nothing. I tried Allie’s birthdate, 0131. Still no luck. With a sick heart, I punched in his anniversary date with Bianca. I was both relieved and frustrated it didn’t work. I tried to remember the day he graduated from Duke or landed his job, but I didn’t have exact dates, only months and years, so I tried those without success. After several minutes, and random tries, I punched in an unlikely day—our anniversary, 0516. To my astonishment, the case unlatched. I shook my head. How could that be his favorite day?

The briefcase contents were what I would expect him to have, file folders of clients and contracts. In the small pockets were mints and a picture of Allie bug. I admired our cute girl sitting on her rocking horse. I was missing her tonight. She cried when I talked to her on the phone. Poor baby had been through so much lately. We did our best to shield her, but the effects of divorce are far reaching.

I was about to close the case when something caught my eye. Under the files was his journal. It was a handsomely bound book Christopher wrote in every night. I pulled it out and ran my hand across the embossed cover, with his name in the corner. I remembered back to the night over fifteen years ago when his grandpa presented it to him on his eighteenth birthday. His grandparents had raised him since he was seven years old. Christopher’s dad was some high-ranking military official, but he died in a friendly fire accident in Iraq when Chris was Allie’s age. His mom never could move on from the loss of her husband, and right after his seventh birthday, she overdosed on sleeping pills. By the time I met Chris four years later, he hardly ever talked about them. To this day, it’s a rare occasion for him to bring them up. But Clive and Allison McKay were frequently mentioned. We both loved them. Clive, his grandfather, was his hero and mentor. Chris wanted to be just like him—successful and respected, a pillar of the community.

I could picture Chris opening the journal and his grandpa’s words, “A good man makes an account of each day. A successful man learns from both his triumphs and mistakes. Make a record of all your dealings, and you will be both.”

Every day since, you could find Chris scribbling in the large bound journal. I never asked him what was in it. That was private. But, now, staring at it, I itched to take a peek. Maybe it would help me figure out where his head had been, or better yet, his heart.

I kept running my hand over it; it was taunting me. I didn’t want to invade his privacy.

Hope returned and startled me. I dropped the journal. I let it lie on the cold tile floor when I took the warmed up blanket she handed me. “You’re a godsend, thank you.”

Her brown eyes sparkled when she smiled. “We’ll have some food up here for you shortly.”

“Really, that’s great. Thank you.” I could probably use some nourishment.

“Don’t mention it, sweetie.” She was one of those Southern women that had a pet name for every occasion. I liked it.

Upon her exit, I picked up the open journal and peeked at what was on the page. But my guilt turned to grief. Of all the entries it could have landed on, it picked the one day that had opened my eyes—our second wedding anniversary. It seemed like ages ago—so much had happened between then and now—but it was only two and a half months ago.

His entry started with the date, 5/16/16, and several bullet points. Leave it to Chris to make his journal look like an outline.

Ran five miles on the treadmill.

Listed 470 Church Street.

Returned Dr. Callahan’s call about leasing an office in the Addison building.

Called the appraiser and set up an appointment for the Wabash building.

Met with Councilman Duncan for lunch. Need to follow up with him about the city’s beautification efforts.

It sounded like Chris, all business, but then at the bottom of the page were the words:

I broke Jaime.

I curled up on the uncomfortable chair, wrapped in the warm, white blanket and took those words in. They were exactly how I felt, broken. I let my guilt go out the door and kept on reading.

I forgot our anniversary today, and to top it off, I went back on my word. Why couldn’t she leave well enough alone? Things are fine the way they are. Except that she’s lying as far away from me as possible doing her best not to cry. In all the time I’ve known her, I’ve only seen her cry at my grandparents’ funerals and the day I married Bianca. It’s always been a quality I admired about her. I appreciated that she wasn’t like her female counterparts that cried at the littlest infraction. But tonight, I broke her. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt as terrible as when I watched the tears stream down her face. Even now, I can hear her trying to hold them back. And what am I doing? Nothing. Why can’t I reach over and give her what she wants? What she deserves? I hoped she had forgotten about the careless promise I made her.

Things at work are tenuous to say the least. It would be the worst possible time to have a baby and move. I’m not even sure why she wants to have a baby with me. It’s not like I’m winning at the dad thing. I love Allie, but I’m not cut out for fatherhood. The problem is Jaime was born to be a mother. Maybe we’ll have a baby someday, but not now, not when I’m on the cusp of either setting us up for the rest of our lives or headed toward bankruptcy. The Addison deal is going to put me on the map in this town, or be my downfall.

The tears Chris found so distasteful made their way down my cheeks as I read his words. I thought back to that night.

I had eagerly planned our anniversary, right down to having Allie stay the night at Bree and Caleb’s. I made Chris’s favorite, filet mignon, and ordered an overpriced bottle of champagne. I put on one of his t-shirts and nothing else. I did my hair in that messy-rock-band-video sort of way, the way that did him in. The candles were lit and the table was set. His gift was situated perfectly in the middle. I had texted him all day to remind him to be home on time. He never even said happy anniversary.

And then I watched the candles flicker and melt down into their holders. The food turned cold and the champagne warmed. At ten I texted,
Happy anniversary.
I laid my head down on the table in defeat. I didn’t know why I was surprised work had consumed him, but I thought maybe he would remember. As I sat there, it was the first time I thought maybe I had made a mistake, or at least it was the first time I admitted it. I had been so focused on proving to everyone, including my parents, that we weren’t just playing house that I failed to notice we had become what Chris promised we wouldn’t be, friends with benefits.

Twenty minutes later, he walked in the door. “Jaimes, I’m so sorry,” he called out and it echoed into the cold space.

I didn’t bother lifting my head. I felt him kneel beside me before I saw him.

“Hey Jaime, the day got away from me.”

I still didn’t acknowledge him. I was getting tired of that excuse.

He ran his hand up my bare leg. “You look hot in my t-shirt.”

I lifted my head and he smirked.

“Happy anniversary. I really am sorry.” He took the chair next to me and pulled me to him. Like a magnet, I crashed against him. He held me on his lap.

When I was close to him like that, it made me doubt my doubts about our relationship.

He rubbed my back and held me close. “So, what did you get me?”

“I’m rolling my eyes at you,” I spoke into his chest.

“I know. I messed up. You name it and it’s yours.”

I sat up and measured the truth of that statement in his eyes. There were only two things I wanted, and I had planned on starting that night. He looked sincere in all of his boyish charm. I turned to reach for the gift bag on the table, but before I could, his lips caught mine. I sank into his kiss while he ran his hands up through my hair and back down the length of my body. When he kissed me like that, I swore he loved me. His mouth consumed mine, reaching as far as he could go. We were both breathing hard when it was over, several blissful minutes later.

He leaned his forehead against mine and caught his breath. “Definitely my favorite outfit.” 

BOOK: Christopher and Jaime (Pianos and Promises #1)
5.5Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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