The Healing (34 page)

chapter forty-one

Mike felt like he had woken up in a parallel universe. The time he had spent perched on the windowsill of mortality was buried deep in his subconscious, like a series of elusive dreams that skipped along the circuits of his brain. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, alone in the ICU with the rhythmic beeps and whirs of the monitors coaxing him out of that coma-like slumber, Mike tumbled back into the real world and tried to calculate how many hours or days he had lost.

He had vague recollections of seeing Vinny and Lisa, his mother and Trish, the doctors and nurses. But the memories that had been haunting him all morning were the impressions of Karen, a constant presence during every brush with consciousness. The only problem was Mike couldn't distinguish between dreams and reality. When he'd been in that state of near-oblivion, had Karen been kissing his brow and brushing his hairline with her fingers? Had she been squeezing his hand and lightly caressing the soft, dark hair on his forearm? Or was his mind conjuring up treasured memories once again? Karen hadn't touched him like that in at least two years, but God knew how much he wished she had.

Had she really begged him not to leave her? Had it really been her voice acknowledging that she needed him, even in his decrepit condition? Or was it all in his imagination?

Mike's fragmented thoughts had been going around and around in circles until Karen walked into his hospital room and smiled. The way she kissed his overheated head, her soft lips lingering in a way he dared to interpret as affectionate, and the way she was stroking his hand and gazing at him to reach his very soul led him to hope none of it was a dream. And by the time Karen left to go check on Lori, Mike had a whole new series of loving gestures to contemplate. The negative forces within him tried to make him believe his wife simply pitied him more than ever, but his heart was telling him something had changed.

He recalled that even before he had gone into the hospital, there were subtle indications that Karen yearned for their old connection as much as he did. Something as simple as wiping the toast crumbs from his mouth became a reminder of the intimacy they had once shared. It was all coming back to him more clearly as he pieced together the previous two weeks, two days, two hours.

Mike dozed off thinking about how Karen had blown him a kiss when she left the room. When he woke up, she was beside him again. His lunch had arrived, and she was busy examining what was on the tray. He loved the way her nose wrinkled as she emptied the packet of salty dried chicken broth into the cup of steaming water and stirred it.

Mike knew what she was thinking.
Is this their idea of chicken soup?

Karen eventually realized he was awake, and she chuckled at her own fussiness. “It isn't going to taste like Grace's, I'm afraid.”

“That's all right,” Mike said hoarsely. “I can't really eat anyway.”

She presented the contents of the tray in a sweeping gesture. “It's all liquid,” she said. “There's no eating involved.”

Now Mike was the one with the wrinkled nose. “I don't want it.”

Perhaps he expected her to put the cover back on the lunch tray and push it aside. Perhaps he even expected her to bristle with impatience and then demonstrate indifference by opening a magazine or a book. But she picked up the small bowl of strawberry Jell-O and dipped the spoon into it. She didn't argue or plead. She simply offered him a little taste.

Mike shook his head obstinately.

Karen put it right to his lips. “It's strawberry,” she said with a demure grin. The multicolored flecks in her hazel eyes glinted at him with their old intimacy, the way they had across the kitchen table in their apartment or whenever he kissed her good-bye before a long tour at the firehouse.

His brain, fatigued and foggy from all the medicine, stumbled over a hundred different meanings to what Karen was doing. He was too absorbed in witnessing the miracle of a resurrection to think about his trampled pride or to wallow in his usual swamp of self-loathing because he was too weak to feed himself. So he just sat there, riveted on Karen's face with a kind of boyish bewilderment, as she tried to coax him to eat the Jell-O. First she jiggled it on the spoon under his nose, and then she flicked his lower lip with her index finger as though triggering a reflex to make him open his mouth.

Maybe he was imagining it, among so many other glimpses of the Karen he had known when he was a healthy, virile man . . . but her coaxing was almost sensuous.

“Come on, you haven't eaten anything in four days,” she urged. “Do I have to play airplane?”

He opened his mouth only a little, and she quickly deposited the Jell-O, her own lips parting to replicate the action. He swallowed with a wince, and the Jell-O slid down his throat, cool and sweet.

Karen was ready with another bite. “You know there's actually protein in this stuff,” she told him. “It's not just solidified Kool-Aid. So eat up. I can't imagine you want to stay here longer than you have to.”

He ate another bite, and Karen smiled.

“Hey, you know what Lori did when I went to see her?” she said, feeding him a third spoonful. “She gave me the biggest hug she ever gave me in her life. I think I have you to thank for that, Mr. Father of the Century.”

Mike barely heard what she was saying, he was so transported by what he saw in her eyes. For a brief and glorious moment, he wasn't aware of his physical limitations or of all he had lost. He was only aware that Karen was making a bold attempt to tear down the ugly wall that had stood between them for so long.

He watched her put down the bowl of Jell-O and pick up the cup of soup, blowing on it to make sure it wasn't too hot before offering him some. But she didn't plop a straw into it and simply hold it to his lips. She lowered the bed rail, sat herself right beside him, nestled his head in the crook of her arm, and helped him to sit forward so that he could take small, cautious sips. The physical contact was so comforting, with his head resting against her breast and her warm breath on the side of his face, that he drank the entire portion of broth and finished off the Jell-O just so he could savor a few moments of this new heaven.

He might have asked for more, just to prolong the pleasure of it, if his mother and sister hadn't walked in when they did. “Hey,” he said in unceremonious greeting, trying not to show his disappointment when Karen eased him back on his pillows and got up.

Nora practically fell across the bed. “Oh, Mikey! Thank God!”

For the next few hours, Nora took center stage while her daughter and daughter-in-law both took a step back. But throughout it all, while Mike was supposed to be drawn in by his mother's saga of worry, memories of difficult times, and weak-kneed relief that he was going to recover, he remained focused on Karen. He was like an infatuated adolescent watching for any glance, any movement, any silent communication that came his way from the object of his obsession.

And he could've sworn every time Karen gave him a gentle smile, it was to remind him that she had a delicious secret she was waiting to share with him.

chapter forty-two

Karen's newly found exuberance quickened her pace as she walked into her daughter's hospital room. She smiled when she saw Lori sitting on the bed, waiting anxiously to go home. Lori's suitcase was packed, and her stack of get-well cards was tucked into a shopping bag with other assorted gifts she had accumulated while at Stony Brook.

And her blue eyes, so identical to her father's, lit up when she saw Karen. “I thought you forgot about me,” she said.

Karen could barely contain herself. It had been a long time since she'd felt so blessed. “I had to make a few phone calls before I left,” she replied, clapping her hands and rubbing them together like a child about to dive into a mound of birthday presents. “So are you ready to go?”

Lori looked hopeful. “Can we go see Dad?”

“Yup. He's waiting for you.”

Ten minutes later, after Lori was discharged, they walked into Mike's room, hand in hand and smiling. To Karen's further delight, Mike was bathed, clean-shaven, and propped up in a wheelchair, enabling his daughter to believe the watered-down claim that he had been hospitalized for a bad cold. Even his hair, months beyond the taming it needed from a barber's scissors, was neatly combed back off his face, although a thatch of unruly waves fell forward from the top in stylish rebellion.

Lori rushed forward to embrace him. “Daddy!”

His right arm lifted up as if pulled by puppet strings and draped across her back. Karen almost wept with relief. He hadn't lost the use of his arms yet. He could still hug his daughter.

Lori drew back to look at him, and Mike's eyes twinkled at her with sheer adoration. His smile was genuine, his affection explosive. They rested their foreheads together, the tips of their duplicate noses almost touching.

Finally, Mike found his voice. “You look so beautiful,” he said.

“You always say that,” Lori said.

“Because it's always true.” His unsteady hand rose up once again, to touch her face. “And you're smiling. What a sight.”

“Well, I feel a lot better,” she said. “I feel like I can try to start over.”

“That's my girl.”

Karen quickly pulled up a chair and placed it beside Mike, motioning for Lori to sit. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and watched her husband and daughter share their personal victories, allowing their powerful bond to strengthen her with even greater resolve. They might have been dealing with more tragedy and more daily challenges than most, but they were still a family.
Her
family.

Lori picked up her father's hand and started toying with his wedding ring. “So how are you feeling?” she asked.

“Not bad,” he replied.

Karen shook her head. Mike was putting up his best façade. She could only hope their daughter didn't see through it.

“When are they going to let you come home?” Lori asked.

It was a natural question, but Mike shot a look at Karen so fast that his eyes went out of focus. As he blinked and stammered, Karen answered without a qualm, “Probably Monday.”

Lori looked pleased. “You're coming home Monday?”

Mike was still blinking. “Well, that's not for certain.”

“Oh, it's pretty certain,” Karen said.

“But—”

Karen didn't want to hash it out in front of their daughter. “We still have to talk to the doctors,” she said evasively before changing the subject. “So, Lori, show Dad some of the wonderful cards and things that people sent you.”

Lori started rummaging through the shopping bag, extracting Beanie Baby animals, inspirational books, and fragrant toiletries. An hour later, when Mike's lunch arrived, Karen sent their daughter down to the cafeteria to get something to eat. “Bring me back a burger,” she said, knowing it would take a few extra minutes to cook.

No sooner was Lori out of the room than Mike threw down his gauntlet. “What the hell are you doing?”

Karen lowered the rollaway tray and positioned it by Mike's chair. “I'm feeding you lunch, that's what I'm doing.” She lifted the cover off his plate and grinned. “Mmm. Solid food today.”

He looked like he was going to spit. “Never mind,” he said, not even looking at the food. “Why are you telling Lori I'm coming home Monday?”

“Because you are.”

“And what planet are you living on?”

Karen was delighted to have Mike argue with her. They had rarely argued in more than twenty-five years of marriage, but when they did, he was passionate. “Krypton,” she said, grinning at her own joke.

His eyes fixed on her wildly. “Yeah, that's right. Because you obviously think you're Superman.”

Karen sat in the chair vacated by their daughter and started poking at the servings on the tray, deciding it was best to start with the mashed potatoes. “Wonder Woman,” she said, correcting him as she brought the fork to his lips.

But Mike turned away. “Is that what this is all about? You being a superhero?”

Karen kept her cool and tried not to be hurt. “Not really,” she replied. “It's about you getting better and coming home on Monday.”

Once again she touched the mashed potatoes to his lips, and once again he jerked his head away. “This morning Dr. Gupta asked me how I felt about going into a nursing facility,” he said, getting a little breathless. “He asked me if you'd discussed it with me. Because apparently you were advised to look into it.”

“And let me guess what you told him.”

“I told him I was ready to go into a nursing home a year ago,” Mike said. “Before we moved to Southold, before we had to install all those stupid lifts in the house and equip the van. Before I even got the motorized chair.”

“But now we have all those things,” Karen replied.

“It doesn't matter. We can get every piece of equipment ever made for home health care, but I'm getting worse every day. And I'm almost twice your size.”

Karen was still holding the forkful of food to his mouth. “Not quite,” she said. “And you could end up weighing
less
than me if you keep acting like a stubborn little kid who refuses to eat.”

“Karen, you're being so unreasonable about this,” Mike said. The debate was actually putting color into his cheeks and blue flame into his eyes.

“I'm not unreasonable at all,” she replied, her voice still soft and noncombative. “In fact, I'm very reasonable. I've talked to the social worker about getting a full-time aide.”

“At
home
?”

“Of course at home. Where else?”

Mike's face went taut, his indignation giving way to desperation. “Babe, we can't go on like this, and you know it. I don't want you risking your own health to try and take care of me because you think you have to. I'd rather know you'll always be there for Lori. I'd rather know you're okay. Don't you get it?”

Now Karen's eyes took on the sparks relinquished by his. “Don't
you
get it? I
won't
be okay if you go into a nursing home.”

He froze and locked into her gaze, reading the truth as it was plainly written there.

“I want you home with me, where you belong,” Karen said without mincing words. “In our house. With our daughter. For as long as we can
both
hold out.”

Karen could tell Mike was astonished by what he was hearing, especially when she explained how she planned to resume working and take out an equity loan to pay for his care. “I even called Richie and asked him to find out if there was anything the job could do for you. I called the local chapters of the MS Foundation and the National MS Society to see if they could help. Anything to keep you at home for as long as possible.”

Mike swallowed. Hard.

“Is that so unreasonable?”

He couldn't answer.

Karen felt empowered by her new honesty, and she knew it was going to take a while for Mike to believe she could love him just as much in his incapacitated state.

Lori returned a few minutes later and set down the paper bag with her mother's lunch. “What's wrong?” she asked, her gaze darting from one of them to the other.

Karen used her daughter as further leverage. “Tell your father he has to eat,” she said, finally realizing Lori needed to be a positive force in their family dynamic. According to Lori's psychiatrist, being involved and feeling needed on an adult level would do her a world of good. It was time Karen let her daughter know how much she needed her.

“Come on, Dad,” Lori urged, having no clue what her parents had discussed while she was gone. Yet she added, “I want you to come home.”

Mike looked at the pasty mashed potatoes and the dry chicken breast on his lunch plate. Then he looked at the paper bag sitting on his tray. “That burger actually smells pretty good.”

Karen didn't think twice. She unfolded the foil and fed it to him.

And, surprisingly, he let her.