“Are you kidding? The two of you are kind of a big deal in Scarlet. You’re on the Town Council, and you both run the Team, which is a source of pride for us all. After everything you’ve both done to save the lives of neighbors and strangers alike, you’ve paid it forward. This is just karma coming back around.”
Megs swallowed—hard. “Thanks.”
“Is there anything else I can do?”
Megs was about to shake her head when she remembered. “The surgeon said that hearing the voices of loved ones can help coma patients recover. He suggested I record myself talking about shared experiences and then replay those recordings over earphones for Mitch to keep him stimulated.”
“What a great idea.”
“Mitch kept journals dating back to before we first met. They’re big, leather-bound volumes. You can find them in his office on shelves next to his desk. Could you bring me one of those, along with tapes and a cassette recorder or something?”
Rain bit back a smile. “I think technology has progressed beyond cassette recorders. I’ll bring a digital recorder and earbuds and show you how to use it.”
“You’re a peach.” It wasn’t easy to say these next words. “There’s one more thing. Mitch has a living will in a folder in his filing cabinet. The doctor said I should have it on hand just in case.”
“I’ll find it and bring it tomorrow morning, along with the journal and recorder.” Rain hugged her again. “Please call if you need anything else.”
Megs stepped back. “I can’t lose him, Rain. I can’t.”
Rain took her hands, squeezed. “I know.”
Megs foundit almost impossible to sleep and spent most of the night sitting beside Mitch, talking to him, stroking his hand. She couldn’t quiet her mind, couldn’t turn off the gnawing worry. Medical staff came and went. The nurses checked the ventilator, the intracranial catheter, replaced IV fluids, and gave him antibiotics and other medications. Lab staff drew blood through the subclavian line to monitor his blood gasses. A radiologist brought a portable X-ray machine to his room to check the placement of the ventilator and the condition of his lungs.
She could have gone to the hotel, of course, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave Mitch’s side. It was almost a relief when the sun came up.
Dr. Schwartz, the neurosurgeon, arrived at seven o’clock on his morning rounds. He checked Mitch, read his chart, and repeated much of what he’d said yesterday. “He made it through the night. He’s stable for now. This is what we’d expect from a traumatic brain injury of that severity. There is some evidence that people in comas can hear us, so keep talking to him.”
“I will. Thanks.”
After the doctor had gone, Megs made her way downstairs, used the restroom outside the cafeteria, and splashed cold water on her face. She glanced at her reflection, saw lines of fear and fatigue around her eyes. “You look like hell.”
She ate a quick breakfast, got a large coffee with cream and some yogurt for later, and rode the elevator back upstairs. She found Rain waiting outside the ICU, a small duffel bag at her feet. “You’re here early.”
“I wanted to get these to you as quickly as possible.” Rain held out Megs’ car keys. “The guys got back with your vehicle last night and unpacked your gear. I drove your car down so you could have transportation. It’s parked not far from the ER entrance. Joe is waiting for me downstairs, so I can’t stay long.”
Megs waved to the security guard, who buzzed them in, and the two walked back to Mitch’s room.
Rain set the duffel at the foot of his bed. “How is he?”
“He’s holding on.” Megs set her coffee and yogurt on the small bedside table. “The doc said this is what he’d expect after this kind of injury.”
“That’s good news, right?”
“I suppose it is.” Megs couldn’t help but wish for more.
Rain knelt, unzipped the duffel, pulled out a file folder. “Here’s a copy of his living will. I left the original at your place. I wasn’t sure which journal you’d want, so I brought the first three.”
“You are amazing. Thank you.” Megs took the folder and the journals and set them on Mitch’s overbed table. “This really helps.”
Rain pulled a digital recorder, earbuds, and extra batteries out of her handbag and spent the next five minutes showing Megs how to record and play. “If you push the repeat button here, it will keep replaying until you stop it.”
“Easy enough.” Or so Megs hoped.
Rain set the recorder aside. “We’re just up the canyon if you need us. Please keep us updated. Just shoot me a text message when you can.”
“Will do.”
When Rain had gone, Megs picked up one of the journals, ran her hand over the aged leather. She’d never read them, never even peeked. As far as she was concerned, Mitch’s journals were his business.
