“He didn’t make it, Mrs. Baxter.”
“What happened? I thought he was… stable?” I have been able to cry on demand since I was nine. The tears came easily, and I only hung my head low enough to not meet Trace’s gaze. He had a perfect view of the tears running down my cheeks.
Trace didn’t move to embrace me, like most men would. He’d always kept a more than respectable distance from me.Unlike Stu.
The woman seemed even more uncomfortable than Trace. She purposely looked down at her paperwork.
Trace signed the last piece of paperwork, and the woman headed toward the door.
“My condolences for your loss, Mrs. Baxter.” She said, while pausing at my side. A gentle touch to my shoulder was meant to console me. I didn’t need any consoling. I was elated.
I sobbed for a few more seconds while Trace patiently watched on. When I thought I’d milked that as much as possible, I lifted my chin to face Trace.
“What happened? I thought he was stable.”
“I’m not sure, Mrs. Baxter. His heart rate elevated, and he had a seizure. Nurses and a doctor rushed in. He went into cardiac arrest and they couldn’t save him.”
“Did the hospital screw something up? Give him the wrong medication?”
“That is a possibility. But right now it is believed that the damage to his brain was more extensive than anyone expected.”
“Will they do an autopsy to determine the exact cause of death? Because if the hospital screwed up, they should pay for taking away my husband.” The righteous indignation roiled up inside me perfectly. I really didn’t want an autopsy done, though, so I had to be careful.
“They are not planning on it. All the checks of the medical equipment and records showed he didn’t get a drug he wasn’t supposed to or a dose greater than he should have gotten.”
“So, no autopsy is needed?” I whimpered.
“No ma’am. Unless you request one.”
“That won’t be necessary. Do I need to identify the body? I’d like to get that done and over with.”
“There’s no need, Mrs. Baxter.”
I searched his eyes. He was actually in pain right now. I wondered how well he was holding it together.
“I would like to see him one more time.” I sobbed some more and lowered my head, but kept my eyes focused on him just under the brim of my hat.
“You really don’t want to see him.”
“Trace. I do. I should do my wifely duties.”
“The crash really messed his face up. You’ll barely recognize him.”
I gasped and covered my mouth in dismay. No one had mentioned damage to his face, but that made sense with smashing into the steering wheel and flying glass in the Navigator.
“Oh, my. Will we have to have a closed casket funeral?”
“That might be best, Mrs. Baxter. I can take care of all that, though.”
“Trace. I don’t care what he looks like. I need to see him. Give him one last kiss.” A knot in my stomach formed and my chest felt heavy. I wanted to see his dead body. I wanted confirmation.
“I don’t want to upset you more. Maybe later.”
“Now. Trace.” I literally stomped one foot, and the thin heel let out a thin tap.
“Let me see if I can take you down to the morgue.”
Trace pulled his phone from the inside pocket of his black suit jacket. He tapped out a text to someone.
