It was close to suppertime when Kurt came to see Mitch.
Megs gave him a quick update. “He’s had a rough day.”
Kurt looked at her through eyes so like his father’s. “And for you, I’d say. Come with me down to the cafeteria. Have a cup of coffee. Take a break.”
They rode down together in the elevator.
“I noticed that the boy in the room next to Mitch’s is gone. Did he get better—or are you allowed to say?”
Kurt pressed his lips together, shook his head. “He didn’t make it.”
Megs’ heart sank. She’d been better off not knowing. “How can you do this job—so much human suffering, so much grief, so much anguish.”
He touched a finger to the white of his clerical collar. “It has something to do with this. It’s faith.”
“Huh.” She didn’t know what to think about that.
They found a table in the cafeteria away from others.
Megs started to tell him about the journal entry where Mitch and Dean had gone to San Francisco and had dinner with his aunt and uncle—leaving out the sex books, of course—but Kurt stopped her.
“I’d love to hear about it some other time. I’m here because I’m concerned aboutyou. This is some hard stuff you’re going through, and today was a tough day.”
The sincerity of his words and the compassion in his eyes made it impossible for Megs to pretend or to offer some trademark smart-ass reply.
She drew a breath, tried to find the words. “Mitch is the only man I’ve ever loved. He’s been the best part of my life since I was sixteen. This is going to sound pathetic, I know, but I … I don’t know how to live without him.”
Kurt took her hand. “That doesn’t sound pathetic at all. That’s how it is when we love someone with our whole being. The price of deep love is, unfortunately, deep pain.”
By the following day,Mitch’s condition had improved somewhat. His oxygen levels were normal again, and his fever wasn’t as high. His gaze moved over the room, though it remained unfocused.
“Good morning, love.” Megs took his hand, rubbed his knuckles with her thumb. “How are you doing? I had a pretty good night. No erotic dreams, though.”
His gaze drifted in her direction, his eyes still unfocused.
Was he responding to her?
She moved to the other side of the bed to test this theory. “Rain is coming down this morning. The Gazette ran a story about you in today’s edition, and she’s bringing me some copies.”
His gaze slowly drifted her way once again, his head turning as much as it could in the collar. Still, he didn’t look directly at her.
She went on. “I hadn’t planned on doing an interview, but I had a run-in the other night with a reporter from a webzine and decided I needed to give the press something. It looks like Riana from PT is here.”
“Good morning! It’s time for more stretches.”
By the time the staff had completed all of Mitch’s routine care, it was almost noon. Megs picked up the journal and scanned the next few entries, laughing as she settled in with the recorder.
“Knock, knock!” Rain peeked her head inside.
“Look, Mitch, Rain is here.” Megs set the journal aside.
“Hey, Mitch. We’re all praying for you.” Rain held out several copies of theGazette. “Here you go. You’re on the front page, Mitch. I brought extras in case you wanted to share them with the nursing staff or his doctors.”
Then Rain held up a paper bag. “I also brought lunch—pesto-crusted salmon salad, your favorite.”
“You are a saint!”
“Oh, hardly. But you’re welcome.”
