“But it can happen.”
“In less than one percent. And a small tear can heal itself.” Dr. America checked his pager again, and Felix imagined pulverizing it under the heel of his boot. “Mr. Fitzwilliam, I understand how frightening this situation is for you and your family, but I don’t think this conversation is helpful.”
“When can she come home?”
“That all depends on her condition and her recovery, but I’d say in a few days.”
“So she can’t come home tomorrow?”
“Definitely not, Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
“The next day?”
“Unlikely.”
“The day after?”
“Let’s wait and see, shall we?”
But Felix needed answers, he needed solutions, he needed absolutes. He needed someone to say, “Yes, she’ll be home in four days, and her chances of making a full recovery are ninety-five percent.” This man was not telling him what he needed to know.
“Your wife is in excellent hands here at the Raleigh Regional CCU, Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
Brilliant, so now Dr. Beau Carlton Beaubridge sounded like a cheap car salesman. Felix scribbled on his pad: check doc’s credentials.
Dr. Beaubridge shook Felix’s hand. “I suggest running a Google search. That’s the easiest way to check my credentials. I think you’ll be impressed.” And he left. The nurse, eyes lowered, shuffled out behind him.
Felix turned and stared at the blank television screen and the vase of flowers next to it. Unlike him, Katherine had thought to bring flowers. They were ridiculously gaudy and horribly inappropriate for January. Also far too sweet. He would bring ones that didn’t nauseate; ones Tom would have approved of. Was it too early for jonquilla?
“How’s Harry?” Ella said.
As Felix moved to her bedside, a memory ambushed him: holding Ella’s hand during labor. Drug-free labor at Ella’s insistence, although Felix, who’d believed he would die from the horror of watching her suffer, would gladly have taken any drug offered.
“Harry’s in school. Max drove him.” He reached out and twisted her wedding ring round and round. It was warm and smooth. “Did you know that after two teenage boys share a bedroom, the stench is worse than when Saint John’s gun dog rolls in manure?”
“Welcome to my life.” She gave a laugh that disintegrated into a cough. Felix poured water into the plastic cup and held the straw to her lips.
She lay back on her pillow. “Is Max doing school pickup?”
“No, I am.”
“Good. Keep Harry on his normal routine as much as possible. He needs routine.” Ella looked up at him with huge brown eyes, eyes that normally reflected passion, humor, anger. This morning, they were dull and lifeless.
Her mobile dinged with a text; she ignored it. “Felix, I need you to look after Harry.”
“Harry doesn’t need looking after. He’s practically a man.”
“He’s a sweet, all-over-the-place kid who needs help structuring his life and a lot of parenting.” Ella smoothed out the edge of her sheet. “Tag, you’re it.”
Felix dug his fingers into his hair and was shocked to discover its softness. He must have forgotten to use gel. He never forgot the gel. “Our son is a brilliant teenager who needs to learn independence. You baby—”
“He’s a remarkable person who should be full of insecurity but isn’t—partly because I work hard to bolster him, to praise him, to show him what an incredible person he is, to reinforce that his challenges give him strength, not weakness. I never stop, Felix.”
“I know. You’re a remarkable parent.”
“I need you to be one, too.”
Her mobile dinged again. Felix waited two seconds. “Ella, your phone—”
She dismissed him with a limp wave, but how could he ignore a message? Look at me, look at me, it seemed to scream, until he reached over and grabbed the phone.
Harry. How did he get access to his mobile during school hours? “Harry’s sending you a virtual hug.”
“Send him back the heart sign.”