51. Natalie
Natalie
Juliet came back ten minutes ago with a paper bag of sandwiches and cookies and a to-go carrier of hot coffee in paper cups.
I’m so nauseous I haven’t been able to eat more than a few bites, but the coffee actually seems to be helping.
It heats my insides and warms my numb hands as I hold it close to my chest.
Looking down at my clothes, I wish now that I had changed into something else before getting on the plane. I didn’t run back to the cabin for anything before speeding to the airport, and now I’m wondering if maybe I should have.
The denim shorts pull at my legs as I sit, and my skin sticks to the plastic material of the chair cushion. My frilly pink spaghetti strap tank top exposes my shoulders to the AC blasting from the vents above us. The only thing that makes any sense right now are my practical white sneakers.
I’m so deep in thought about what happened, how I got here in a blur, and the way things could have been prevented, that I don’t notice the doctor walk through the doors until he stands in front of us.
Juliet rises from her chair, laying her sandwich aside.
She doesn’t step forward, though, waiting on the sideline until we need her.
I jump out of my chair.
“Mrs. Hamilton?” he says. The doctor looks to be about forty and has short, smooth brown hair, olive skin, and sharp cheekbones. He wears a long white coat with pockets and tan slacks.
“Yes?” I say at the exact same time as Samantha.
We look at each other.
“I’m Luke’s wife, Natalie,” I explain to the doctor. “This is his mom and dad.” I point toward them.
“I’m Dr. Carlton. I’m the orthopedic surgeon who treated Luke. Luke is out of surgery and will be ready for visitors soon. He’s doing very well.” He smiles at us, and a wave of relief washes through me. I smile a little.
He continues. “Luke suffered a tibia fracture, a sprained wrist, a concussion, he has multiple bruised ribs, and one broken rib that punctured his lung. Road rash covers his right shoulder, side, and part of his face, along with some lacerations.”
My hands twist the hem of my shirt, and I hold the tears back. I can be brave for Luke.
The doctor isn’t done. “He’s had surgery to repair the lung and needed to have a metal rod placed in his shin to fix the break. He’s in recovery now, and a nurse will be out to tell you when he’s ready for visitors.” He looks between us all. “Do you have any questions?”
“I … Umm …” I can’t produce any thoughts that make even a little bit of sense. I look at Juliet, and when I do, she steps forward swiftly.
“I’m Juliet, Natalie’s sister. I have a few questions the family would like me to ask.” He nods for her to go on. “How bad was the tibia break?”
“He suffered an oblique tibial fracture. It was a break right through the shin bone at a diagonal angle.”
“And what did the surgery entail?”
“Luke had what’s called open-reduction-and-internal-fixation surgery. I placed a metal rod down the center of his shin bone to fixate it.” He looks at me and then at Luke’s parents, who have gone sheet white and grip each other for support.
I’m more than positive I don’t look much better. We watch quietly as we get far more information through Juliet’s questions than we would have gotten on our own.
“What does his recovery look like?” she asks next.
“His recovery will be long and difficult,” Dr. Carlton says. “But he will be able to walk again. Physical therapy will be extremely important.”
Juliet nods. “Thank you, Doctor.”
I press my lips together before saying, “Yes, thank you so much for helping him.”
Dr. Carlton nods. “He’s young, he’s healthy. I don’t see any reason why he wouldn’t make a full recovery. I’ll send a nurse to get you when he’s fully awake and out of the recovery room.” He smiles warmly, nods, and walks back through the doors from which he came.
I exhale, the breath long and heavy, letting all my worries and fears fade into the little black hole where I keep my nightmares.
Luke is okay. He’s been patched up, and I’ll be able to see him soon.
A while after the doctor leaves, a nurse with purple scrubs and a warm motherly smile tells us we can see Luke.
He’s been moved from the recovery room to his own room, where he’ll be for the next few days.
Jules and my parents follow behind me, but Jules stays outside the room as the rest of us enter, giving us a moment to see him first.
Luke lies on a bed, his head propped up by pillows and his right leg elevated and in a large cast. His right wrist is set in a black brace, and his face is red with angry scrapes.
A white bandage has been wrapped around his forehead.
There’s an oxygen tube under his nose, wrapping around the backs of his ears, and an IV drips fluid into his right arm.
My eyes prick with tears as soon as I see him. I rush to his side.
“Luke, you’re okay. You’re okay.” I grab the hand that doesn’t have a brace and kiss his fingers, pressing his skin against my cheek. Tears leak onto his warm, tan skin.
“Don’t cry,” he says, his voice sleepy and rough. “I’m alright.”
I search his blue eyes. One is red and bloodshot, the blue iris still bright, the same as it always was. His lower lip is split, and road rash covers his neck, trailing down into his hospital gown. From what I can see, I can only imagine how terrible the rest of him looks under that gown.
“Mom, Dad.” Luke attempts to smile past my shoulder.
Samantha speaks up through tears. “I’m right here, baby boy. We’ve been here since they brought you in the ambulance. We love you.”
I step aside, letting Luke’s parents have a moment with him.
After a couple minutes, they say they want to give us time together, and they head back to the waiting room. Juliet peeks in to check on Luke and scan the nurse board on the wall before telling Luke she’s glad he’s okay and following his parents out.
“Are you feeling alright? Do you need anything?” I ask, holding his hand again. Mike pulled a chair over to the bed before he left, and I sit in it with my legs crossed under me.
Luke shakes his shaggy blond hair, grimacing at the motion. “No, I don’t need anything. Only you. You’re all I need.” His words are slow and slurred from the drugs that kept him asleep during surgery.
I smile through the tightness in my chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m tired,” he murmurs.
“Go to sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
His eyes slip closed, opening again and again like he’s fighting to keep me in his sight. But after a few seconds, they drift closed for good, and I hold his hand until he wakes.