Chapter Fifteen
She means more to me than just sex, but I can’t be the One. I don’t know how to be that for anyone. -Asher
Asher
“So, she’s going to be right as rain in a week or two, right? Back to her old self?” Mr. Sheffield’s shaky voice asks in a panicked whisper. “She won’t always look this rough, will she?”
“Thanks darlin’. You look great too,” his wife’s dry voice speaks up from the bed.
I watch as eighty-year-old Craig Sheffield hurries over to his wife’s bedside. Up until now, the man has moved at the pace of a tortoise. Now, at the sound of her voice he moves at record speed.
“Sweetheart, you’re awake?” he asks his wife in a soft voice while stroking her hair.
I look across Mrs. Sheffield’s hospital room and catch Lyla’s gaze. She’s watching the older couple with such a tender look that it nearly breaks my heart. I know she wishes her own parents had been able to grow old together. Hell, I wish my own had been able to do that, or just been happy at all, really.
“She’ll be in better shape over the next few days. She’s just had major surgery, Mr. Sheffield, so she’s going to need help for a while. She’s going to need to take it easy.”
“We’ll do whatever needs to be done to get her better.” Mr. Sheffield continues to stroke his wife’s hair without sparing me a glance. “She’s my treasure. She gets the best treatment possible.”
I can practically hear Mrs. Sheffield roll her eyes. “Craig, honey, I’ll be fine. Don’t give the doctor a hard time. I just won’t be able to iron your pants for a while. That’s all.”
“Honey, you scared the crap out of me. You’re not leaving me yet.” Her husband blinks back tears, thinking of the shape his wife was in when she came in two days ago.
With three of her coronary arteries majorly blocked, Annette Sheffield had been running on fumes a few days ago. She underwent a triple bypass two days ago and everything as far as we know has been successful. Her husband has been constantly by her side, with her adult children and young grandchildren coming in and out.
“I’m sure she still has lots of time to spend with you yet, Mr. Sheffield,” Lyla murmurs and lays a hand on Mr. Sheffield’s shoulder.
He pats her hand. “Thanks, dear.”
He glances down at his wife again. “Did I tell you two how we met?” he asks. He looks over at me and then at Lyla. We both shake our heads no.
“Don’t…tell…that story again, Craig. You…always embellish.” Mrs. Sheffield’s voice is raspy as she admonishes her husband.
He chuckles. “No, I do not. We were both stationed overseas during Vietnam. I got wounded in Saigon and she was my nurse. Knew she was going to be mine the first time I saw her. I swear a light surrounded her that day. She was a damn beautiful angel, took my breath away.”
Mrs. Sheffield snorts. “You were high on pain meds. That old nurse…the one that works here…would have looked good to you.”
Both Lyla and I struggle not to laugh at the thought of Nurse Vicky as anyone’s angel. More like angel of death.
“I wasn’t so high that I didn’t know what was right in front of me.” His wrinkled hand reaches for his wife’s face and caresses her cheek softly. “Knew you were the one. Knew we were going to have years of happiness.”
Even Mrs. Sheffield doesn’t contradict that. I hear her sniff and then say, “Alright, Prince Charming, I need sleep.”
“If you need anything else, let us know, Mr. Sheffield. We’re right outside.” Lyla gives Mr. Sheffield’s hand one last pat and then we quietly leave the room.
“That’s so sweet, isn’t it?” Lyla asks once we’re outside. She’s looking up me with her big blue eyes misted over with tears and my heart beats a little faster.
I stuff my hands in my coat pockets and look away from her. “Yeah, it’s a little unrealistic though.”
“What do you mean by that?” Her voice is tempered with caution, but harsh enough that I know she’s not happy.
I sit down at the nurse’s station to make a few notes in the computer. “I just mean most marriages aren’t happily-ever-after endings. Most are trainwrecks.”
Her blue eyes dim and my heart sinks as I realize my words are making her sad. “Not most, Ash. Some are happy. My parents were happy when Mom was alive. Dr. Blanchard is in a happy marriage. He glows when he talks about his wife.”
She’s right. Those are examples. Two examples. But God, there are so many more of marriages that end in hate, that end in screaming and throwing things and the acceptance that love is not real.
But I don’t say that. Instead, I train my gaze on the computer. “You were lucky. Dr. Blanchard is lucky. But that kind of luck doesn’t strike everyone.”
Now, her blue eyes swim with sympathy. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to see a happy one up close.”
I clear my throat. “So am I, Lyla. So am I.”