“Before I go, I’d like to say a prayer for Mitch—if that’s okay.”
“I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”
He took her hand, his fingers warm. “Gracious God in Heaven, I ask you to pour out your Holy Spirit on your servant Mitch Ahearn. Bless and guide the doctors and nurses who are working tirelessly to save his life, and grant him the miracle of complete recovery. Be with his partner, Megs, and strengthen her for these challenging days ahead. I ask all this in the name of the one who suffered for us.”
He paused, then went on. “And, Dad, if you see Mitch, please tell him it’s not his time, and send him back. Amen.”
Megs barely managed to croak out an “Amen.”
“I’ll check on you tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
“That would mean a lot to me—and to Mitch, I’m certain.”
“Thanks for sharing the journal entry.” Kurt glanced at Mitch one more time. “I’ll see you later, Mitch.”
Then he walked out of the room.
Megs moved closer to the head of the bed, took Mitch’s hand. “Do you know who that was? That was Dean’s son—Kurt. I had no idea he worked here. Hell, I still thought of him as a little boy.”
A knock.
Jackie checked Mitch’s IV fluids and went through the oral care routine. Then the lab tech stepped in to draw blood. A respiratory therapist came in a few minutes later to check the ventilator machine itself.
It was getting late, time for Megs to head back to the hotel for her first full night’s sleep since the accident. She put fresh batteries into the recorder, then kissed Mitch’s cheek. “I’m going to the hotel now, but I’ll be back in the morning. In the meantime, you can listen to me drone on. Keep fighting.”
She put the earbuds on him, hit play, then reluctantly left his room. She made sure Jackie had her room number at the hotel, then took the elevator to the ground floor and searched for her vehicle. The air was chilly, the wind blowing away the antiseptic odors of the hospital and reviving her.
She’d wandered around in front of the hospital for about five minutes when she remembered they’d parked her SUV near the ER entrance. She made her way around to that side of the building to find two ambulances parked outside the doors. A man and woman jumped out of a car and ran toward the building, panic on their faces.
She’d spoken with lots of grief-stricken families during her years with the Team, but this was different, the couple’s distress hitting her in the chest, empathy for them swamping her, filling her with impotent rage. If God suffered with humanity, then why the hell didn’t God do something about the situation down here?
She found her vehicle, unlocked it with her fob, and climbed into the driver’s seat, slamming the door. “Damn it!”
She sat there for a moment, pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes to keep herself from crying. When she was in control once more, she turned on the engine and drove down the street to the hotel. She showered, checked her email, then crawled into bed. The last thought in her mind before exhaustion caught up with her was of Mitch with his arm around Dean’s shoulder.
Megs arrivedin the ICU to find the place busier than usual. Then she remembered. Last night’s accident.
She made her way to Mitch’s room, passing a room where the couple she’d seen last night hovered over the bed of a teenage boy, their faces twisted with fear.
God almighty.
Empathy washed through her, followed by a rush of gratitude. Unlike the poor child in that bed, Mitch had lived a full life. He’d known a level of success and fame in his field that few men could claim. He’d stood on the summit of Mt. Everest, climbed in Patagonia, traveled the world. They’d had forty-eight wonderful years together and made a difference in the lives of others. If this was the end…
It better fuckingnotbe the end.
She wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
Debby, the daytime RN, was in Mitch’s room, hooking up a small bag of meds to his subclavian line. She looked up when Megs entered. “Did you get some sleep?”
Megs nodded. “How is he?”
“He started running a fever late last night.”
Megs’ stomach knotted. “Shit.”
“It’s not unusual for patients to run a fever post-op, but we’re doing a full range of tests to make sure he’s not developing an infection or sepsis. We’re continuing antibiotics. I wouldn’t worry too much. Dr. Schwartz wanted to talk to you, so I’ll page him and let him know you’re here.”
Megs walked to Mitch’s bedside, touched her hand to his cheek, and found his skin hot. She stopped the recorder, removed his earbuds. “Good morning. What’s going on with this fever? I wish you could open your eyes and tell me. I bet you’ve got one hell of a headache.”
