“Hovering. You've followed me from the bedroom to the kitchen to the bathroom and back. That's the textbook definition of hovering.”
“I'm not hovering. I'm just…standing nearby. In case you need something.”
“I went to pee, James. It's not exactly a high-risk activity.”
“You could slip.”
“On what? The bathroom floor is dry.”
“Hypothetically.”
She'd rubbed her temples. “If I promise to text you every time I successfully use the toilet, will you stop?”
I considered that. “That seems excessive.”
“More excessive than following me to the bathroom?”
Her point was taken.
“I'll give you more space.”
“Thank you.”
“Starting tomorrow.”
She'd thrown a pillow at my head.
I've tried to follow her orders since then, but it's hard.
I set down the tablet and lie back on the pillows. I’ve got a long day tomorrow, and I need all the rest I can get. But sleep feels nowhere near. The house feels too quiet somehow, the heavy silence pressing around me. I wonder if Maura’s asleep in her room. She should be, according to her doctor-approved schedule. Maybe she's tossing and turning, too.
I stare at the ceiling. Normally, I sleep like the dead. Once I give myself permission to rest, my body falls in line. For the past week, though, I've been too restless. I can't stop thinking about silence. About the absence of breath, the absence of a heartbeat. Sometimes I think that if I listen hard enough, I could hear those small noises that prove that Maura is still here. Still alive.
Pulling the sheets up to my chin, I turned to the side, trying to find a comfortable position. Nothing feels right. My body buzzes with energy, ready to run on the treadmill for hours or punch the speedbag downstairs until I wear through my boxing gloves.
Neither task seems harder than walking the dozen steps over to my wife’s room.
Time seems to drag on as I shift in bed, chasing sleep. My dark curtains hide the city lights, so I have to squint at my watch to see the minutes tick by. One, two, three.
Reduced life expectancy.
Not enough time.
I drag my hands over my face. The whole thing feels so unfair. It shouldn’t be possible that this gentle woman, who’s never hurt anyone, who has this artistic fire burning inside her, should have to face death far before her time. She’s known about this since she was a child. I can’t imagine how terrifying it musthave been, being forced to confront your mortality before you even know how to read. No wonder Maura’s so eager to seize life, when she’s always known how little of it she’ll get to enjoy.
I drum my fingers on my sheets, frustrated. I hate that there’s nothing I can do to help her. I can bring her water and vitamins and make sure she remembers to eat breakfast, but those aren’t things that will really move the needle. Her heart will keep going, or it won’t. All I can do is wait and hope that she’ll be alright.
What if something’s wrong now?The doctor said a cardiac event could come on without warning. Could I even hear her cry for help, all the way in here?
What if she needs me?
Fuck it. If she wants to accuse me of hovering, let her. I can't stand lying here any longer wondering if she's okay.
I throw off the covers and walk into the hallway. As quietly as I can, I ease open her door.
Maura left her curtains open, and moonlight streams into her bedroom. She’s asleep on her side, one hand curled near her chest. The moonlight softens her features, casting a gentle glow over the slope of her nose and her curving lips.
I settle on the edge of her bed, careful to shift my weight slowly enough that it doesn’t move the mattress and wake her. I gaze down at her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. Her hair circles on her pillow like a halo. I dare to reach out and run my fingers over a loose strand. Maura doesn’t shift.
