PRESENT TENSE
Chapter Eleven
Rose returned to the hospital early the next
morning. Her ankle still ached, but had healed enough that she could walk on it
a little, so she spent the morning sitting beside Jack, forcing herself to get
up and walk when one of the doctors or nurses shooed her away.
Rose knew there was a good chance that Jack
would not recover. He had been in a coma for three days, and his chances of
even waking up were low. She accepted it, but she still dreaded the moment when
it would be over. Knowing how likely it was that this was almost the end, Rose
sat beside him, holding his hand for hours, talking quietly, hoping that if he
did comprehend something she said, he would remember it and take it with him.
Looking at the mass of tubes and wires
attached to Jack’s body, and at the machinery that kept him alive, Rose wanted
to cry, but it seemed like she had no tears left. She seemed to float in an
emotionless void, unable either to laugh or cry. Anything she did feel was
almost superficial, as though she was protecting herself from any further
turmoil.
Rose was unable to tear herself away from
Jack for more than a short time that day. Even as night fell, and she had been
beside him for most of the last twelve hours, she still could not force herself
to leave. Michelle had sighed in exasperation, instructing Rose to call her
when she was ready to return to the dorm, as the telephones were once again
working.
Tommy and Helga had arrived around six
o’clock that evening, after spending the day putting the house back into a more
livable shape, and then claiming Fabrizio’s body and making funeral
arrangements. Helga had been as pale and red-eyed as the day before, and had
been able to sit beside Jack for only a short time before she had to leave.
Already grieving, she had found the prospect of watching one of her friends—her
late husband’s best friend—slowly slip away to be more than she could handle.
Helga and Tommy had left around seven to find some dinner, promising to bring
back food for Rose.
Rose was sitting quietly beside Jack, holding
his hand, half-dozing, when she heard someone whisper her name. Sitting up, she
looked around. No one was there except Jack. Rising quietly, Rose peeked around
the curtain that separated Jack from the other patients in the room. Both other
patients were sleeping soundly, and there was no else in the room. Heart
pounding, Rose sat back down beside Jack, hoping that he was the one who had
spoken, that it had not been a figment of her imagination.
She shook his hand gently, hopefully, but he
didn’t stir. Then, about fifteen minutes later, he whispered her name again.
This time, Rose was sure that he had spoken; she had seen his lips move. The
sound was quiet, almost inaudible, but he was definitely speaking. She squeezed
his hand and leaned forward, whispering to him to wake up.
Jack’s eyelids fluttered somewhat, but he
didn’t open his eyes. She squeezed his hand, her heart in her throat, and was
almost surprised when she felt his hand tighten around hers. She whispered to
him again, more urgently.
"Jack, wake up. You can beat this; I
know you can. You’re almost there. You just need to open your eyes."
Jack squeezed her hand again, his other hand
moving restlessly, tugging against the IV line. Rose restrained him, afraid
that he would do himself harm if he pulled out the IV.
She sat quietly, waiting, as he moved his
head slightly, his face taking on a pained look as he put pressure on his
fractured skull. She moved his head back into a safer position. Taking both of
his hands in hers, she squeezed them gently, willing him to wake up. Jack
responded, his left hand squeezing hers. He whispered her name again, his
eyelids fluttering, and then slowly opened his eyes.