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posture before she entered, telling herself that she wasn’t going to
cry.
The ICU was filled with machines and blinking lights. Alex was in
a bed in the corner, a bandage wrapped around his head. He
turned toward her, his eyes only half open. A monitor beeped
steadily beside him. She moved to his bedside and reached for his
hand.
“How are the kids?” he whispered. The words came out slowly.
Labored.
“They’re fine. They’re with Joyce. She took them home.”
A faint, almost imperceptible smile crossed his lips.
“You?”
“I’m okay.” She nodded.
“Love you,” he said.
It was all she could do not to break down again. “I love you, too,
Alex.”
His eyelids drooped, his gaze unfocused. “What happened?”
She gave him an abbreviated account of the past twelve hours, but
midstory she saw his eyes close. When he woke again later that
morning, he’d forgotten parts of what she had recounted, so she
told him again, trying to sound calm and matter-of-fact.
Joyce brought Josh and Kristen by, and though children weren’t
ordinarily allowed in the ICU, the doctor let them visit with their
dad for a couple of minutes. Kristen had drawn him a picture of a
man lying in a hospital bed, complete with a crayon-scrawled GET
WELL, DADDY; Josh gave him a fishing magazine.
As the day wore on, Alex became more coherent. By the
afternoon, he was no longer nodding in and out, and although he