Chapter Forty-One
Atlas
"Here it is, Wendy Durant. Oh, they took her straight up to surgery—"
"Surgery..."
The word is like a punch to the gut. I had rushed into this hospital like a bull seeing red, people jumping out of the way as I stomped up to the front desk.
Sheriff Grady had dropped me off at the doors as he and my dad went to find parking.
Thankfully, with the roads cleared from the Sheriff’s sirens, we were able to reach Mercy Trauma Center in twelve minutes, a trip that would usually take thirty.
"Yes, she's in surgery right now. They brought her in about twenty minutes ago and stabilized her..."
The nurse—Barb—from the tag clipped to her scrubs, speaks in a soothing but firm voice. She's older with salt-and-pepper hair as she stands in front of me. I wonder how long she's worked here, how long any of these people rushing by in scrubs have worked here.
Are they experienced? Are they competent?
Will they save her?
What are the facts?
Wendy is hurt.
Wendy is getting cut open as we speak.
Wendy could die.
"What... why—"
My mind is swirling, a torture nexus of blood and sharp scalpels, and my Wendy cut open on a table.
I can't speak through my closed throat, my mind fixating on the word surgery. Surgery means bad, means life-threatening.
Barb's face grows extremely sympathetic, and she glances over to another nurse, who nods and paints a comforting smile on her face as she steps to me.
"Sir, let's step over here, and I'll explain."
I let myself be guided to a quiet corner of this emergency room and she continues speaking, "I'm Jenny. I was one of the nurses who helped treat your wife when she came in."
She gives me a small, comforting smile. She's younger, looks like she's fresh out of nursing school, but she talks like she knows what she's talking about, so I listen.
"She was involved in a side-impact collision. She arrived with pelvic instability and signs of internal bleeding."
“Internal bleeding,” I repeat, locking my knees to keep upright. I clench my jaw so I don't vomit all over my boots.
"She's... but, she's alive..." I choke out, the world tilting.
"Yes," Jenny is quick to assure me. "She lost consciousness briefly at the scene and again during transport. When she was conscious, she was a little confused so we also suspect she's concussed."
My imagination runs wild as I envision the accident as I'm in the passenger seat with her. It plays round and round in my head with the knowledge of what injuries she has.
Wendy smacking her head on the glass, the car door crumpling and slamming into her side, the seatbelt tugging her tightly, the sounds of screeching metal and broken glass.
I feel sick.
"The orthopedic team is stabilizing her pelvis. The internal bleeding was not catastrophic, but it needed to be addressed."
Not catastrophic. It's like a buoy in the middle of the ocean as I drift. I grab onto those words and pull them close.
"Sir, are you alright?" Jenny asks, holding her hands out ready to catch me if I should suddenly collapse.
I just might.
"How long?" I rasp.
"I'm sorry?"
"How long will she be in surgery?"
"Oh, two to four hours, depending."
I nod. I can hold on. I have to.
"Can I see her then?"
"As soon as she's out and stable," she says. "She'll likely go to the ICU for observation overnight."
"Was she in pain?" I ask, not able to help it. I want to know, and I don't want to know. "When… when she was brought in?"
Jenny's face softens, and she gives me a small nod.
"She was in pain, but not for long—we managed it very quickly. She was confused, but she knew who she was,” she gives me a small smile. “She was asking for her husband and her boys."
My chest collapses in on itself. I run my hands through my hair and tug until it hurts. Anything to channel this inward hurt outward.
Wendy is hurt.
Wendy was in pain.
Wendy is being cut open and operated on somewhere in this building.
◆◆◆
"Atlas? Is everything alright?"
Dr. Wilson's voice is concerned, but it's a nice reprieve from my own thoughts tormenting me.
It's been an hour already of waiting in this private family waiting room, fitted with comfortable couches and cheery art, hoping to ease you through the worst time of your life.
My dad stepped out to call my mom and update her. He’s been running himself ragged getting insurance together, talking to the front desk about paperwork that I cannot deal with right now.
Sheriff Grady had stayed, but had stepped out to talk with some of the police at the scene.
On the way, he had told me it was a kid texting and running a red light that hit her. The kid got off with minor injuries, which threatened to skyrocket my anger if my worry wasn't so damn potent.
His ass should be on that operating table, not my wife, who was running a fucking errand for me.
God, if only I hadn't called her to pick up that fucking wine. I should have gone out instead. My fault. All my fucking fault. She had to go to Mabel's to help out, and I had the audacity to ask her to turn around and pick up wine.
Look what you did, Atlas.
It's all your fault.
She's going to die, and it's all your fault.
When things felt too overwhelming, my body had moved on its own, grabbing my cellphone, dialing the familiar number.
I needed to talk to someone, and it seemed appropriate to call the man who helped me pull myself out of the abyss.
"Wendy was in a car accident," I push out through clenched teeth, bile swirling in my stomach.
"How is she?" Dr. Wilson asks, his tone measured and even.
"She's in surgery. She was t-boned."
A longer pause before he asks, "How are you?"
I scoff, shaking my head. "Trying to hold myself together."
"Are you doing your breathing?"
The question is annoying on my frayed nerves. "Yes."
"So, what are the facts, Atlas?"
My anxiety flares violently.
"Well, Dr. Wilson, the facts are that my wife is currently being cut open and operated on.
She was hit by a kid who decided texting was more important than paying attention to the road.
All because I asked her to go back to the store to get wine.
If she hadn't been on that road at that exact moment, she wouldn't have been hit, and we wouldn't be talking right now.
Me. I caused this. I tried so fucking hard and for fucking what—for nothing! She was hurt anyway!"
I'm breathing heavily by the end of my rant, my voice raised to a shout. A nurse peeks into the room to check on me, but I turn away and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying not to break apart.
Dr. Wilson's voice is still soft when he asks me, "And she's alive?"
"Yes," I grit out.
"Repeat it, Atlas."
I hesitate before I mutter. "She's alive."
"Again, and louder."
"She's alive," I repeat, because there is a faint sense of relief at the words. "She's alive."
"Were you behind the wheel of the other car?"
"No."
"So, you did not cause this."
I huff stubbornly, "Then what did?"
"Life, Atlas. Life happens. People get into car accidents every day; some walk away, and some don't. It's not fucking fair when the ones we love don't walk away, but Wendy is in a hospital right now.
Here are the facts: she's being treated.
She's in capable hands. That voice in your head is trying to hurt you. It's not real, it's fear, not facts."
I close my eyes and inhale deeply through my nose, holding and exhaling through my mouth. I do it again and again, trying to focus on his words.
"Do you feel better?"
"A little bit."
"Are there people there with you?"
"My dad. My mom is watching the—" my voice breaks as I think of my children. How scared they are, how worried they are for their Mama. "The boys."
"Good. I'm glad you have someone there with you. You can always call me again, too."
"Doc, I..." I clear my throat and push out my fear into the world. "I'm really scared."
"I imagine anyone in your shoes would be," Dr. Wilson says, and I can practically see him nodding with that sympathetic expression on his face. "I sure would be. But remember the facts, Atlas."
It's a calm wave that washes over me then, and I close my eyes, breathing through it.
"She's alive. She's being treated. She's in capable hands."
"And?"
"I did not cause this," I say, glancing to the door where Sheriff Grady is now lingering. He sees that I'm on the phone and mouths for me to take my time.
"You did not cause this," Dr. Wilson says firmly, and I feel the coil around my chest loosen even more.
"Thank you, Dr. Wilson," I say, before adding. "For everything."
"You need me again, you call me—I don't care if it's five minutes from now. You call me, understand?"
"Yes," I whisper.
"Good," he says. "Take care, Atlas."
The line goes dead, and I see Sheriff Grady walk into the room. I freeze when I see that he's holding a very familiar item in his hands.
My own hands start shaking.
"They brought this from the scene, Atlas."
I take Wendy's purse from his hands. It's her Mary Poppins bag. She always called it that because whatever you needed, she had it with her.
A seam ripped? She's got a sewing kit.
Forgot to brush your teeth? She's got a toothbrush and toothpaste for you.
"Thank you," I say, taking it from his hands and pressing my face into the soft orange fabric. Her scent hits me, and I take deep, greedy inhales of the comforting warm vanilla.
It makes tears well up in my eyes.
"I'm going to see if I can find out any more information," he gives me a small grin, flicking the gold star on his chest. "I throw this around, people start talking."
I nod, glancing back at the bag in my hands. Sheriff Grady lays a hand on my shoulder and squeezes before walking out of the room.
Hugging the bag to my chest, I feel something poke under my chin, and I frown, opening the back to see that it's a thick file. Something from work?
My curiosity gets the better of me, so I take the file out and freeze when I read the top.
"Oh, baby..." I whisper, reading it over and over again to make sure what I'm seeing is real.
Withdrawal of Petition for Legal Separation
She withdrew the separation.
It shouldn't be a surprise, but it is.
This is what we've been working toward. Restoring our marriage. Getting back together. Me being the husband she needs, the father our children deserve. All the work, the feeling, the tears, the sweat, the bumps were worth it because Wendy wants to stay married to me.
Instead of feeling like it's too late because she's hurt in this hospital, I let the tears fall. A needed release.
And I focus on hope.
I grab onto it tightly, hold it to me, and think of my kids. I think of my wife. I think of my family. I think about how sometimes things fall apart and allow us to put them back together. I think about how sometimes things that are restored are even better, shinier, and stronger.
I think of our marriage like that. What was beautiful then is even more beautiful now. Because we worked so hard to hold onto it.
I don't despair, I think of Wendy, and I hope.