Page 4 of Someone to Watch Over Me

I know from experience that even if the EMT is certain of what’s wrong, he can’t tell me. That’s not his job. Memories of Jim in respiratory failure come rushing back along with emotions I haven’t experienced since the final days with him—despair, fear, anxiety, overwhelming sadness, all mixed with a love so deep, it still touches every corner of my heart and soul.

Do I love Tom like that?

I think I might. I’ve known for a while now that my feelings for him have blossomed in our months together, but I’ve kept him firmly in the friendship zone because I’m not ready for more. I might never be ready. It’s been almost three years since Jim died, and I’m still mired in the lingering anguish of his illness and death.

Loving someone else the way I loved Jim will take courage I’m not sure I possess anymore. I’ve learned the hard way not to risk more than I can safely afford to lose.

My phone vibrates with a reply from Iris.Oh God, Lex. I’m so sorry. What can I do besides pray for your Tom?

I want to tell her he’s not my Tom. But isn’t he? He wants to be. I’ve known that for a while, too. Iris and our Wild Widows friends were the ones who gently informed me that a man doesn’t pack a lunch every day for a woman unless he has strong feelings for her.

Of course they’re right, but I told them I’m not ready for all the things he could be to me.

They reminded me I’m not on anyone else’s timetable but my own, which brought me comfort. The last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt him in the process of dealing with my own crap. I had the hugest crush on him in high school, but he never knew I was alive, or so I thought, until we met up a year ago in a local bar, and he definitely recognized me. That was interesting. We had a drink, and I shared my sorry tale of widowhood with him, including the strain of living with my parents out of economic necessity while Jim was sick and in the two years since he died.

I’ll never forget the way he gave me his full attention that night, listened to my story of loving and losing Jim, and how we’d had no choice but to move into my parents’ basement when his decline became more than I could handle on my own—and with both of us out of work and our medical insurance maxed out, we couldn’t afford outside help.

Tom offered me a lifeline that very same night—a room in his huge, empty house, free of charge and no strings attached. After weeks of trying to decide if taking him up on his offer was the right thing to do, I moved in, insisting on paying some rent. He didn’t want it, but I paid it anyway.

As I stare at him now on the stretcher, seemingly clinging to life, I’m suddenly in tears at the thought of losing this sweet, kind, amazing man who came back into my life at a time when I was certain my best years were behind me. Our relationship has evolved organically, one dinner, one conversation, one house project at a time. He’s never pressured me for anything more than friendship.

Despite my initial concerns, there’s never been any hint of a quid pro quo or anything like that. I love my parents dearly, but as their only child, I get their full focus and all their considerable love. That saved my life when Jim was sick and in the years since he passed away. But what had been so essential to me during a time of crisis became smothering as time went on, and my life remained stuck in the first gear of widowhood. With a go-nowhere job and medical debt that’ll take the rest of my life to pay off, I had few options until Tom came along with his lifeline.

I reach over to take his hand and am immediately shocked by how cold he is.

“Tom, it’s me, Lexi. I’m here. I’m right here.”

The shaky sound of my voice reminds me of Jim’s final days, when everything about me was shaky and rattled, despite having had plenty of time to prepare myself for what’d been coming for four years by then. I’ve learned through my widows that even with years to prepare, you’re never ready to lose the person you love the most.

Thoughts of Jim and memories of my months living with Tom cycle through my mind during the rapid trip to the hospital with the siren screaming and the paramedic never losing his sense of urgency as he consults with the hospital. I’m sure it takes only minutes to get there, but every minute feels like an hour without a single indication that Tom is in any way aware of what’s happening.

He commands every room he walks into, or at least that’s how it seems to me. Seeing him like this is devastating.

We’re met by a team of medical personnel wearing scrubs, masks and latex gloves. It’s a scene straight out ofGrey’s Anatomyas they whisk him inside with the paramedics chasing after them. Their concerned expressions do nothing to soothe my battered nerves.

I’m like an afterthought as I follow them into the Emergency Department, where there’s already no sign of Tom or the paramedics who brought him in. I stop at the reception desk. “I came with Tom Hammett in the ambulance.”

“Please have a seat in the waiting room. I’ll have the doctor check in with you when there’s more information.”

“I can’t sit with him?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

The empathetic look she gives me indicates it’s probably in my best interest not to witness what’s happening behind the scenes.

“Thank you.”

I take a seat in a room full of people waiting to be seen. Their wait probably got much longer after Tom arrived in critical condition.

How can Tom be in critical condition when only this morning he told me to have a nice day at the office and that he planned to make the chicken dish that’s become my favorite of all the things he cooks for dinner?

I’m trying so hard not to totally lose my shit in a room full of strangers who have their own problems, but as the events of the last hour overwhelm me, that’s much easier said than done.

2

Lexi

The Inova ER is frantically busy with ambulances arriving one right after the other. Is it always like this, I wonder, or did something big happen? Focusing on the activity around me keeps me from obsessing about what’s happening to Tom. What will I do if they come out and tell me he’s dead?

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