The Perfect Life (20 page)

“They took him to St. Alphonsus 'cause it was closest. If you need somebody to come get you, we can—”

“Thank you, but I have a car. I'll leave right away.” I hung up without saying good-bye.

An accident. A broken leg.
“Busted up
.”

I grabbed my purse and raced to my car. I forgot about my bedraggled appearance—untidy hair and jeans with knees that were dirt and grass stained—until I was halfway to the hospital. By then it was too late to turn back.

I parked in the ER lot and rushed in through the large automatic doors, my heart pumping. The clerk behind the admitting desk looked at me with a practiced gaze that said she'd seen countless people come through those doors in similar states of dishevelment, fear, and confusion.

“I'm looking for my husband, Brad Clarkson. He . . . he was in an accident and they were bringing him here. Has he arrived? Is he all right?”

“Why don't you sit down while I check?” She motioned toward the chair beside her desk. “What did you say his name is?”

“Brad Clarkson.”

“Was it an automobile accident?”

“No. He was at work.” I turned anxious eyes toward the doors leading into the emergency room area.

“Was he brought in by ambulance?”

I nodded, then shook my head. “I don't know. The man who called didn't say. I assumed . . .”

“It's okay. Just sit tight. He isn't showing on my screen yet, but that doesn't mean he isn't here. I'll go check and let you know.”

I couldn't obey her instructions to sit tight. The instant she disappeared into a neighboring room, I got up and began to pace, walking toward the entry doors to the ER, then back toward the admitting area. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“Mrs. Clarkson?”

I spun around at my name. “Yes.”

“Your husband is here. They've taken him to X-ray, but he'll be back soon. If you'd come with me, I'll take you to the examination room. You can wait for him there.”

I nodded and fell into step behind her as she led me through the labyrinth that made up the ER. Finally she stopped outside a room filled with all the usual hospital paraphernalia.

“Right in here,” the clerk said.

I nodded again and took a step forward. There was no bed in the room, but I saw some clothes on the floor. Brad's clothes. A brown cotton shirt, faded Levis, and work boots. The shirt was splattered with blood, and there was more blood on the jeans and the gray linoleum floor.

The clerk said something, but I couldn't make sense of it. Her voice sounded like it came through a tunnel. I turned my head as the walls waved and shivered and lights exploded in my head, then dimmed.

“Mrs. Clarkson!”

The floor rose up to meet me, and after that, nothing.

Twenty-six

SOMETHING PUNGENT STUNG MY NOSTRILS. I JERKED MY
head to the side and inhaled through my mouth.

“Mrs. Clarkson.”

I opened my eyes. Bright lights everywhere. White. Lots and lots of white. Where was I?

“There we go. You gave us a scare, Mrs. Clarkson. Took ten years off poor Carol's life. Let's get you up off the floor, shall we?”

“What happened?”

The hospital. Brad. The admitting clerk. But the woman who knelt beside me wasn't the same one who'd led me into the ER. This woman wore hospital scrubs, the top in a multicolored-flowered pattern, and had a stethoscope around her neck. She must be a nurse.

She slipped an arm beneath my back and with her other hand grasped my elbow and eased me up to a sitting position. “Take a deep breath. How are you feeling?”

“Okay.” The room wobbled, then steadied. “I'm fine. What happened?”

“You fainted.”

“Fainted? I've never fainted in my life.”

She didn't bother to argue with me. Something in her expression—probably the way she fought to keep from smiling—said she'd heard similar protests before. “Are you ready to stand?”

“Yes.”

She was strong. I'd give her that. A good thing, too, because, once I was up, I found I wasn't as steady on my feet as I thought I'd be. With an arm around my back and a firm grip on my elbow, she ushered me into the exam room and eased me onto the lone chair. My gaze drifted to the clothes on the floor nearby.

“Easy there.” She brought the smelling salts near my nose again.

I gasped and turned my head away. “Please. No more.”

This time she smiled. “I think you'll be all right now.” She straightened away from me. “Is this your first time to the ER?”

I shook my head.

“Kids? That's often what brings people to the ER.”

I nodded. “Two daughters. But they're grown now.”

“Really? You look too young to have grown children.”

She was being kind. I knew I must look a fright.

“Thanks,” I said. Another glance at the clothes on the floor. “Can you tell me what's happened to my husband? All I know is he got injured at work.”

The nurse filled a Dixie cup with water from the sink and handed it to me. “Let me see if the doctor is able to talk to you. You just sit there and don't move. You still look a bit pale.”

I felt pale—and more than a little embarrassed. I'd seen blood before. Like the nurse said, I had kids.When Hayley was eleven, she rode her bike into a parked car. Her head bled like a stuck pig, and it took over ten stitches to close the gap in her scalp. At the age of seven, Emma climbed onto the kitchen counter to get something off the top shelf of the cupboard. She slipped and fell, cutting the underside of her chin and blackening her eye. I'd forgotten how many stitches she needed.

This wasn't Brad's only trip to the ER either.He'd worked in construction his entire adult life. He'd experienced his share of mishaps and shed his share of blood because of them.

I hadn't fainted over any of those previous calamities, whether major or minor. I'd often been the person in charge of stopping the bleeding and taking the injured party to the nearest clinic or hospital. I knew how to answer all the questions from the admitting clerk while still tending to a crying child. I was not some sort of swooning airhead.

Or at least, I didn't used to be.

I leaned over and picked up the shirt, wrapping my fingers in the fabric as I lifted it to my face and breathed in.

Let him be okay, God. No matter what I've—

I heard laughter in the hallway. A moment later, a gurney was wheeled into view, Brad lying on the bed. His face was swollen, so much so that for a second I thought it wasn't him after all. But then he saw me and raised his left hand in acknowledgment before they turned the gurney around and rolled it headfirst into the examination room.

I clutched his shirt to my chest.

“I'm okay, Kat,” he said when he could see me again.

He didn't look okay. He looked dreadful.

“I broke my nose. That's why my face looks so bad. It's not serious.”Two nurses were busy hooking him up to various monitors. Brad turned his head on the pillow toward the young woman in pink scrubs. “Olivia, tell my wife I'm okay.”

She smiled at him, then at me. “He'll be okay, as long as he follows orders. Can you make him do that?”

“I'll do my best.”

“The doctor should be in soon. He's going to put a cast on that right leg. It's broken in two places.” She looked at Brad. “You were lucky. They're clean breaks. They ought to mend without any complications.”

I rose from the chair and stepped to the side of the bed.“How did you do this?”

“I was working on the second floor of the house. I tripped over my toolbox and fell through the stairwell. It was my own fault. I wasn't paying enough attention.”

“What else is hurt?”

“Besides my ego?” His chuckle ended in a grimace.

I saw no humor in the situation. “Yes, besides your ego. Is anything else broken?”

“No, nothing else. I've got a couple of cracked ribs, a sprained shoulder, and some scrapes. That's all.”

That's all?

He made it sound as if his injuries were nothing more than a minor inconvenience, but we both knew it was more than that. Much more. Fear inched its way back into my heart. What were we supposed to do now? He'd barely found a job and now this.

My knees weakened. I took a quick step backward and sat on the hard plastic chair.

Surely God had forsaken us.

Many hours later, I made up the sofa bed in the family room. This would be Brad's bedroom until he could manage the stairs again.

Because he couldn't use crutches—not with cracked ribs and a bad shoulder—he was forced to use a wheelchair to get around. He was none too happy about it. But he learned his lesson when he tried to hop his way to the downstairs bathroom. He only made it a couple of jumps before pain forced him back into the chair.

“Follow the doctor's orders,” I said. “Remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” There was a sharp edge in his voice.

He'd been good natured throughout his time in the ER, joking with the nurses and doctor, making fun of how he got his injuries. But now that he was at home, cracks were beginning to show in his humor.

“Maybe I'd better help you into the bathroom.”

“I can manage, Kat. You go on to bed. You look dog tired.”

He might as well have told me I looked old. Well, why not? I felt old. I felt tired and old and unattractive and anxious and depressed and helpless and hopeless. And a lot more things besides.

“Good night then.” I turned on my heel and headed for the stairs.

“Kat?”

I stopped and looked over my shoulder.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bark at you.”

I gave him a nod, then continued on my way. Once upstairs, I sank onto the twin bed in Emma's room, hid my face in my hands, and had a good cry.

Brad

HE LAY ON THE SOFA BED, HURTING FROM HEAD TO TOE,
unable to sleep even after taking one of the painkillers prescribed for him at the hospital. Moonlight fell through the half-open miniblinds. If he had the strength, he would get up and close them, but he was too tired to bother.

“What now, God?” he whispered.

He'd thought things were about as bad as they could get, and then they got worse. How does a guy go lower than rock bottom? Impossible—but somehow he'd managed it.

He massaged his right shoulder with his left hand, releasing small grunts as his fingers kneaded the taut muscle.

Katherine was scared, and he couldn't blame her. Look how he'd let her down. His reputation was in ruins. He was unemployed for the second time in less than two months. And because of his injuries, it would be weeks before he could start looking for work again. He'd only had two days on the job. What kind of benefits would he get from workers' compensation? Couldn't be much. But at least the medical expenses would be covered.

What did I do to deserve this?