Chapter 16 Emma #2
“Em, it’s fine. This takes precedence,” Tom tries to reassure me, but I can’t see his side.
This could very well be the last celebration they get to have, and Steven might not know me right now, but I know him.
And I know that if he knew he was the reason it didn’t happen, he’d never forgive himself.
“N—no. Let me figure some things out, alright?”
“Emma, really…” he hesitates, as if he’s trying to convince himself as well as me with his next words. “It’ll be fine.”
“You know he will never let it go,” I whisper, trying to subtly cover my mouth, but Steven’s eyes are pinned on me, calculating.
“He’s going to have to. My son’s health is more important than some party we can do next year.”
He doesn’t say it, but I hear the if in his tone. If we can do it next year.
“Let me get him home, and we can talk more, alright?” I rub at my brow, letting Tom’s silence act as an agreement, and add, “Don’t cancel anything until you hear from me, alright?”
“Fine. Can I talk to him?”
“Of course,” I answer robotically, like it’s obvious, but then cautiously ask Steven, “Do you want to talk to your dad?”
Steven hesitates but nods. It’s not like he’s talking to the kids.
It’s his dad. The man has been the same Texas rancher who hates cell phones and anything about the internet since the ripe age of twenty-one.
Nearly fifty years of consistency. Talking to him might be better than talking to me if he needs some kind of familiarity.
I hand the phone over with an encouraging smile and turn to step into the hall.
“Please don’t leave,” he whispers almost desperately.
I sit back on the edge of the bed, and he takes my hand.
When he speaks into the phone, his voice is a crackle of emotion, breaking at the edges.
I can hear his dad and his usual Southern timbre flow out on the other end.
Steven’s shoulders relax at the sound, and I relate to the feeling.
The sense of calm that comes with his dad’s voice and the repeated reassurance he gives with his trademark, everything will be as it should.
A knock at the door comes, followed by a slow creak of it opening, as Kate’s head pops through.
If she is going for stealthy, she is failing royally, as Steven and I watch her awkwardly try to set my bag on the counter and a gift bag that rustles loudly as she sets it on the ground.
A bottle of water tumbles out of her arms and bounces across the floor.
She curses the bottle, crawling on all fours to get to it, then inches awkwardly back toward the door.
“Kate,” I whisper-snip. She stops like a possum in headlights. Wild and convinced she was convincing.
“Shh. I’m not here.” She attempts a whisper, but it’s just a raspy hiss.
I roll my eyes, leaving Steven stunned in the bed. He goes back to talking to his dad, and I pull Kate into the hallway.
“What are you doing?”
“I thought you might need your pumps, but the doctor said visitors might be overwhelming, so I wanted to drop them and run before you even noticed.”
“We noticed.”
“Sorry. How’s he doing? How are you doing?” she asks while opening a bottle of water then handing it to me. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“I can’t either,” I mutter into the bottle before taking a drink, and the lack of hydration hits me with blunt force. I chug the entire bottle, and Kate hands me another.
“Have you eaten?” Her question is more courtesy because she already knows the answer as she hands me a banana.
“They’ve been doing a million things to him in there.” I pinch off a piece of banana and practically inhale it. My words are muffled by the mouthful. “I didn’t want to leave his side.”
Kate snorts at my puffy cheeks and banana drool then hands me a napkin. “Do they think it’s permanent?”
“They don’t know. They said only time will tell.
” I scoff, taking another drink. “I mean, who says that? Who tells someone their husband might never remember their marriage? Their kids?” The wall I’ve been holding up around my emotions seems to weaken, threatening to jostle my anxiety monster awake.
I clutch my chest, the stinging sensation brimming there as tears sting my eyes.
“Here, sit down.” Kate pulls me to a chair across the hall from Steven’s room. “Breathe.” She mimics the breathing cycle I’m supposed to do during an attack while rubbing my back then whispers, “It’s alright. It’s going to be okay. Repeat that.”
“It’s going…to be…okay…” I have to force it out as my chest tightens against the words.
“Breathe and try again.”
I inhale, slow and dramatic, pursing my lips as the air leaves my lungs. I do this three times before my chest starts to loosen. My jaw is tight, and my mouth tastes like chalk when I finally muster the words, “It’s going to be okay.”
“There. Now what’s the plan?”
I can’t help but smile at this. Everyone who knows Kate knows she is the least type-A person.
It’s not just her unruly black curly hair that lives wildly; she views life in a way that’s carefree and spontaneous.
Making a plan, sure, but knowing it could—and most likely will—change?
She welcomes that. I, on the other hand…
I need a plan. I need structure. I need something to guide my steps, or my mind will crumble in on itself.
And because she knows this, she knows helping me verbalize the plan will help my anxiety.
“Well”—I take a breath—“other than his memory, there’s nothing medically keeping him here, so he should get to leave in the morning.”
“Great. And then?” She takes a sip of water then adds, “Is he going to your house or should we set up a hotel?”
This thought didn’t occur to me. “I, uh…didn’t even consider that.”
“Well, of course you didn’t. He’s your husband, Em.
” She looks around conspiratorially and whispers, “And even if things have been hard and he doesn’t know you from Adam, I know you’re going to do everything you can to make sure he’s taken care of.
And in your mind, you can only do this by not leaving his side, right?
So, of course you’re going to assume he’s going home with you. And that’s okay.”
I nod, grateful for the reassurance. If I second-guess myself right now, I could overwhelm Steven, and who knows what that could do to his recovery.
“But I can book a hotel if you want.”
“I’ll ask him what he wants to do.” It would make sense if he didn’t want to come home. I wouldn’t blame him. But it would still hurt. Even with everything between us feeling rocky, he’s still my husband, and I want him to choose us. To choose me.
“Does he know?” Kate asks.
“Know what?”
“That you’ve been going through a hard time?”
Her tone doesn’t sound like a jab, but it hurts just the same. To hear someone acknowledge what we’ve been going through for months now fills me with an icky sensation.
“No,” I finally say. “He doesn’t know.”
“Are you going to tell him?” She can’t help herself from asking. If it was her and Malcolm, I’d be asking.
“No,” I say quickly. “At least not until I know if this is…permanent.” My words are quiet and painful, settling on my chest like an elephant. The possibility of Steven never regaining his memory lingers close by, ready to suffocate me.
Kate squeezes my elbow but doesn’t say a word. What could she say? Don’t worry, he’ll get it back. She knows better than to fill someone with false hope.
A sharp knock rattles Steven’s door, pulling our attention. Kate and I both whip our heads just in time to see Malcolm waltz inside like he was summoned there.
“Well, hello there,” he mutters as the door swings shut behind him.
Kate and I exchange a horrified glance before sprinting after him.
“Malcolm!” Kate huffs at the same moment I groan, “You freaking giant.”
But it’s too late, because Malcolm is already at Steven’s bedside, his massive hand engulfing Steven’s in a firm shake. I brace for Steven to flinch or freeze, overwhelmed by the stranger, but he surprises me by giving Malcolm that award-winning smile that makes my insides gooey.
“Now which one are you?” Steven asks, eyes traveling up the six-foot-something frame in front of him.
He sits a little taller in bed, like he’s trying to reclaim ground he suddenly lost. At five-ten, Steven was never one of the tall ones, but he never let that chip away at his confidence.
He knew size didn’t matter in most arenas.
But now, stuck in a hospital bed, indisposed and vulnerable in a way he’s never been, I can see it.
The way his self-worth falters slightly.
But he doesn’t let anyone see it, acting as though it was to adjust his pillows, and he settles back as Malcolm says, “One of Emma’s coworkers.”
“Employee now,” I amend, reminding him that, as of this week, I am now his boss.
He wilts at this before sitting in the recliner next to Steven’s bed and waves me off. “Yeah, right. But you and I are fishing buddies, so…” He points to Steven as he makes himself comfortable in the recliner.
I can’t help but gape at his lack of social awareness, then I whip my eyes to Kate, who looks at me in feigned innocence before sitting in the chair underneath the television.
“Sure, I guess you guys can stay,” I grumble.
“Can Jones not have visitors?” Malcolm asks.
“I think it’s fine,” Steven says.
“The doctors just don’t want him to get overwhelmed,” I mutter, stepping to the sink and taking the first look at my reflection since I got to the hospital.