Page 10 of Nineteen Letters
Three days have passed since the accident, and I haven’t left my wife’s side. I’ll go home when I can take her with me, and not before.
Although it’s apparently against hospital policy, the nurse let me have a shower this morning. It made me feel somewhat human again. Lucas went to our place and brought back some toiletries and fresh clothes.
He’s been calling in to the hospital on his way to work, and again in the evenings on his way home. There’s not much he can do here, but I’m grateful he’s keeping things moving at the office, even though I’m struggling to focus on anything other than Jem at this moment.
“You know what I mean, son,” Stephen says. “Jemma’s going to need you when she wakes, and you won’t be able to function if you keep this up.”
He’s right. I’ve barely slept and I’m not eating, but I can’t leave. I won’t be able to breathe easy until I know for certain she’s going to be okay.
“I’m not leaving her.”
She survived the first forty-eight hours, and with every passing day, my confidence grows. She’s still in an induced coma, but the doctor did some more scans this morning, and they showed that the swelling is subsiding. I know she’s going to have a long road to recovery once she’s conscious, but she’ll never be alone. Me, her parents, Lucas, and her best friend, Rachel—we will all help her, every step of the way.
“You need some rest,” Stephen persists.
None of us are really functioning properly at the moment. Stephen and Christine are here from early morning until late at night, but unlike me, they go home to sleep.
“For god’s sake,” Christine snaps. “His wife is lying in the hospital. Why would he want to leave her? He’s committed to the woman he loves. Unlike you, he’ll honour his wedding vows.”
Burying my face in my hands, I will myself to bite my tongue. I’m at my wit’s end with the snarky remarks she’s thrown at Stephen over the past few days. I get it, I do: she worshipped the ground he walked on until he broke her heart. But what we’re facing at the moment is proof that life is short. None of us knows what lies around the corner. And Jemma is their only child; surely if anything could bring them closer, it’s their shared pain and love for their daughter.
Christine needs to move forward and somehow try to forgive. The hate and resentment she’s carrying around is making a once compassionate and loving person bitter and resentful. I barely recognise the woman who was so kind to me when I lost my mother.
I feel for them both. It’s clear they still love each other; any fool could see that. But it appears Christine is going to make him pay for his mistake for the rest of his life. It’s so sad; the love they once shared is far too precious to waste.
“I’m going to get a coffee,” Stephen grumbles as he stalks towards the exit. I think he’s just hanging on by a thread as well. This is the closest his wife has let him get to her since they split two years ago.
“You really should cut him some slack,” I say, turning my attention towards Christine.
I’ve tried to stay out of this for the past few years, but right now it’s almost impossible. I even refrained from speaking my mind during the whole wedding fiasco. What Christine failed—or refused—to realise then, was that Jemma’s father was goingto be present at our wedding and give his little girl away whether Christine wanted him there or not.
The pressure nearly tore Jemma apart—on more than one occasion I held her in my arms while she cried tears of frustration brought on by her mother—but I know how much she loves both her parents, so I kept quiet. But not now.
“This shit needs to stop,” I mutter. “I won’t stand by and let you upset Jemma during her recovery.”
Christine’s eyes narrow slightly and her mouth opens to speak, but then she pauses. I see her whole body deflate, and I know she knows I’m right. Our priority right now needs to be Jemma.
“You’re right,” she replies, exhaling loudly. “I’ve tried to let go of the hurt, but I can’t.”
Rising from the chair, I make my way towards her. “I know this isn’t easy for you, Christine, but tell me this: does constantly beating him down makeyoufeel any better?”
“No,” she whispers. “No, it doesn’t.”
This isn’t her. Not the real Christine, the mother figure I loved growing up. When my mother passed away, Christine stepped in and cared for me like I was her own, and I’ll always be grateful to her for that. She has been wonderful to me and my father over the years. She and Stephen both.
“Just try to be a little bit nicer,” I plead, placing my hand on her shoulder. “Jemma’s going to need all of us to be united when she wakes.”
“I know.” The remorseful look on her face tells me she’s at least going to try.
I open my eyes just as the night nurse is leaving the room. Apart from the thin strip of light coming from behind Jemma’s bed, the room is bathed in darkness.
I crack my neck from side to side as I sit forward in the reclining lounge that has become a makeshift bed. I long for the day that I can again sleep on a comfortable mattress with my wife wrapped in my arms. My watch shows it is just after two in the morning.
Rising, I drag the chair closer to Jemma’s bed. I need to be nearer. If she wasn’t hooked up to so many machines, I wouldn’t hesitate to climb into bed beside her and hold her.
There is so much I miss. Her smile, her laugh, her touch, her love—but more than anything I miss waking up beside her. She’s been my life for as long as I can remember, so having her here but not present is hard to endure.
Bending down, I place my lips on her forehead. “Please come back to me soon.” I lie back down on the recliner and slide my hand under the blanket that’s covering her. I need the contact. Maybe this might help me sleep; I need to be at my strongest when she wakes. “I love you,” I whisper as my fingers wrap around hers.
