Page 6 of Midnight and Mine

The setting sun transforms the gorge from the greens and browns to a colorful pastel painting. Leaves drip with gold, and the shutter of my camera is the only sound I hear. I wander down the trail to capture the magnificence of these hills from below. The yellows turn orange and pink within minutes, and I push the kiss to the back of my mind. I steady myself with my back foot on a rock while I tilt my head back and take the photos from a rare angle.

Looking at the images on my camera, I tweak a few of the settings and hike a few hundred feet since the amber hues have moved, now dancing across the rugged cliffs. These majestic hills soothe my aches. It’ll be hard to tell Scott that one of his best friends kissed me, but I’ve always been honest, and I’m not keeping secrets from my husband.

The nature of the gorge whispers the answer to my problems. I sigh, completely absorbed in the breathtaking beauty of this gorge. My word of the day flashes in my mind.

Lucky to have this gorgeous view.

Lucky to be the one who captures its essence.

Lucky to be in a marriage where we tell the truth.

I adjust my lens to catch the drifting streaks of the sunset. My camera clicks, finally getting the money shot, as a strand of purple sneaks between the trees. I smile as I review the photo, and my foot slips on the mud. I tumble backward, and my hands desperately reach for anything to stop myfall. My camera momentarily wraps around my neck, and panic rushes through me. “Scott. My baby,” I yell.

The landscape and sky spins around me as branches and brush rip at my clothes and skin. My heart pounds in my ears, a wild drumbeat of fear, as I frantically grasp for anything to stop my fall.

A pain so sharp pierces through me when my head meets the unforgiving ground. Birds flock against the lavender sky, swirling above me. Then they fade out to black.

Chapter Three

Scott

No matter how many times I stand in the observation area, watching the surgical team work with painstaking precision, trepidation flows through my mind. After years of working for another company, I invested almost all my money in this device. This is the culmination of hard work, stress, and sleepless nights. I don’t own the device, but I invested in and contracted with the company to secure the rights to distribute. With my contacts from my years selling devices for another company, I had plenty of recommendations and studied all the research to demonstrate complete knowledge of the device as well as possible complications.

In moments, it will be inside the patient’s heart. This is only the second time it’s been used at this Lexington hospital, which is known for its award-winning cardiac care. Only a few hospitals in the United States can perform the surgery until we get more feedback.

The patient is hooked to numerous beeping monitors as the surgical staff communicates in hushed whispers. The surgeon positions the device. Half of the time, I watch them live, and the other half, my eyes are glued to the operating room television streaming in the observation room. Holding my breath, I hope the device is calibrated to the precise measurements needed. The nurses clap when the doctors stitch him back together. Kudos all around.

A profound sense of purpose washes over me. The surgeon removes his latex gloves, throwing them into a container. He washes his hands and pushes through the door. “Scott, it went perfectly. You just saved this man’s life.”

“No, Doc, you did. Thanks to your steady hands.” He shakes my hand as I glance to watch the nurses performing the after care.

“I’ll write up all my notes tonight and send them to you. If the company has any questions, call me,” he says with a smile on his weathered face. A seven-hour surgery isn’t for the faint of heart, and you must have stamina, which is one of the reasons we chose this hospital and this doctor to perform the surgery. He’s the only surgeon in the South. Then we have a doctor at Mayo and a doctor at Cleveland Clinic also.

I follow the doctor to the locker room to shed my scrubs and put on my street clothes. It feels good to contribute to society. Checking the time on my phone, it’s already eight in the evening, but I also see a message from Wynter.

Bojangles. God, I love her.

On the way to my car, I call the device company and share the details of the surgery through my eyes and experience. What I observed, how long the surgery took, and that there were no complications. The CEO keeps asking questions until I’m already in the drive-thru at Bojangles in Versailles.

I place an order for three chicken biscuits. One for me. One for her, and one for us to argue over tomorrow. I chuckle, thinking that Wynter will win any argument, even when she’s not using her pregnancy as a ploy. She knows I’ll give her the world, and I don’t mind telling anyone who’ll listen that she deserves every bit of it. Wynter makes life exciting and adventurous, and I enjoy the ride.

Kissing Springs is about forty-five minutes away, so I call Wynter to let her know that I’m on my way home with her request. Her voicemail answers, which doesn’t surprise me since she usually falls asleep on the couch about this time every night.

Remembering the Kentucky Stallions basketball game is on, I switch the satellite radio to the local station. It’s March Madness and for the first time in a few years, we’ve made it to the Final Four. We haven’t been able to put together a team with chemistry since Dane Greathouse graduated and went to the NBA.

The announcer says, “Kentucky’s down by two. Bybee brings the ball up with seventeen seconds left in the game. If I’m the coach, I want Bybee to take the shot; if he’s double teamed, then Hager.” He takes a breath. “Bybee to Hager at the elbow. He swings it cross-court to Johnson. Back to Bybee. Five seconds. Four. Three. Gotta put it up. Bybee, a step back three and it’s goooood!”

I slam my hands against the steering wheel. “Yes!”

Life is good.

I’m married to the woman I’ve loved since I was a teenager. I’m having a family in a few short months. My investment is paying off, which will make our lives easier. Wynter can freelance as much or as little as she wants once she has our baby girl.

After the radio announcer says, “We’ll play Kansas for the title. Two blue bloods trying to be bluer,” he and his partner laugh. “We’ll be right back with the post-game show after a word from our sponsors.”

My phone rings, and it’s Heath from the Emergency Management team in Kissing Springs.

“Hey, Heath. What’s up?”

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