“Will do.”
Now I’m worried sick about him driving like that. Sitting and waiting is the worst. I want to call him, but I hate to be a bother. Too many minutes tick by and my phone rings at last.
“No break but I’m bruised. I’ll be home in a bit.”
“That’s good news. Be careful.”
I pace until I see his headlights through the blinds and I shoot out the door.
“This is a fine greeting. I need to get injured more often.”
“Drew McKnight. Don’t you ever say that. I’ve been worried sick.”
I hold his arm while he gets out, noticing him wince as he does.
“Can I get you some ice?”
“I’m not sure that will help, though it won’t hurt. I have pain meds, but I don’t like taking them.”
“Take them at least tonight. Can you tell me what happened?”
“An everyday body check. Happens all the time, but this must’ve caught me just right. It was weird though, because I didn’t feel like the guy hit me that hard.” He shrugs and says, “I guess he got my sweet spot or something.”
“Know what I think?”
“What?”
“Gramps can’t take it anymore.” I give him a lop-sided grin.
“Oh, I guess that’s what it was.”
We’re inside now and I ask, “Want to sit or lie down?”
“Sit. I need food with these pain meds.”
“Well, lucky you. You’ve come to the right place. Let me fix you a plate.”
He doesn’t eat much, which tells me how much pain he’s in. Drew is not one to complain, and he doesn’t now, but he can’t seem to take a deep breath.
“I’m sorry, Cate, this is excellent, but I can’t eat any more.”
“It’s fine. I’d rather you be comfortable than force yourself to eat. Let me help you to bed.”
“I need a hot shower.”
“Need help?”
“I’ve got this.”
He does hurt. Normally he’d never refuse an offer like this. I help him to the bedroom where he slowly undresses. His side already has signs of bruising.
“Yep. Black and blue popping out already,” I say.
“Hmm.” His fingers probe the area, and he winces.
“Stop that. You already know you’re bruised. You don’t need to keep poking at yourself.” He favors his side as he sort of does a wobble-walk to the bathroom. Not much later, he’s out and gently plops onto the bed.
“Damn, I do feel old.”
“But you look like a million bucks.” I wink.
“Kiss me, Cate.”
I bend over him and offer him my lips.
“You’re the best wife-to-be a man could ever hope to have.”
“And I love you more than ice cream, Drew.”
“Hmm. That’s a whole lot, isn’t it?”
“You bet it is. Now let those pain killers do their job and get some sleep.”
The next morning, he’s feeling better. Physically, anyway. But something bothers him, only he won’t say what. I pester him but he tells me he’s fine.
It’s about three weeks later while Drew is in the gym doing bench presses, when the side he injured flares with pain. It’s so severe, he has to drop the weight, and call me.
“Cate, can you come to the gym?”
I pick him up and take him to the ER. They X-ray him and tell him he has pleurisy, an inflammation of the lining of the lung. Drew grills the doctor, while I as the ignorant layperson have no idea what’s really going on. They give him antibiotics, which Drew insists he doesn’t need and argues with the treating physician, but they eventually convince him to take them.
On the drive home, Drew is quiet and when I ask him questions, he responds in monosyllabic answers.
“Will you tell me what’s in your head right now?”
“Frustrated, that’s all.”
“It’s fine. You’ll take the medicine and you’ll be fine.”
He isn’t. The pain doesn’t resolve. He goes to one of his attendings at the hospital, and they suggest more tests. He doesn’t tell me any of this until a few weeks later.
Summer is ending and my final year at Purdue begins in one week. I can’t believe it. I’m ready to get this show on the road so Drew and I can get on with our lives. I move back to West Lafayette in few days, as my internship has ended, and most of my things are packed up. Drew and I will be spending these last few days together, because for whatever reason, he doesn’t have to work.
I’ve just come in from the store and Drew is sitting on the couch. My arms are laden with grocery bags and normally, he would jump up to help me. This time he only sits there.
“Hey,” I say.
“Cate. Can you sit here with me, please?”
“Give me a minute. My hands are full.” It sort of pisses me off a little that he ignores my struggles. When I have everything put up, I go into the living room and notice how pale he is. His usually tanned face has a slightly grayish cast to it and he appears … stressed. The normally happy-faced Drew is absent.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, as I sit down, taking his hand.