“You’re my family, man.”
I offered him a large smile.
The ER nurses let me know of a family waiting room right outside the ICU and I immediately left for the fourth floor to be as close to Harper as possible. As I boarded the elevator, a woman came bounding up to the closing doors.
“Mr. Tate?” She asked, a bit breathless from her trot.
“Yes?” I said, stopping the doors with my hand.
“Your wife’s belongings, sir,” she said, handing me a plastic bag.
“Thank you,” I said, grabbing the sack and clutching it close to my chest.
When I reached the waiting room, I was the only one there, thank God and threw my body onto a sofa, exhaustion setting in. I had been a live wire while she was in surgery and the relief of knowing she was alive just beyond those glass doors brought on a new sensation. Residual fear. Now that I was alone, I fell to my knees and let my body wrack with the sobs I’d been holding back worrying about my wife. And I prayed. I prayed like I’d never prayed before, thanking God for keeping her on earth and asking for Him to watch over her.
I wiped my face with the inside of my jacket, took a deep breath and drug the bag holding Harper’s things onto my lap. I unclasped the plastic handles and pooled everything inside onto my thighs.
My eyes began to water when I took in her shoes, dress, and undergarments. I squeezed her tattered belongings into my hands, feeling the garments that were recently upon her body. Tears began to threaten once more but I sucked them back.
I studied the clothing on top of the pile, spotting a folded piece of paper tucked into the inside of her bra. I picked it up and unfolded it.
Callum, I love you more than you could possibly know.
“Oh, God!” I bellowed, crushing the note to my chest. She hadn’t thought she was going to make it.
I cried myself to sleep on that sofa, my face buried in her dress so I could inhale her scent.
“Mr. Tate?” I heard. Someone was shaking me awake.
I shot up. “Yes?”
“I’m Doctor Sullivan. I’m sorry to wake you but I thought you should know that your wife’s vitals have crashed and they’re working to revive her. I...” But I wouldn’t let him finish.
I pushed the man away from me and sprinted for the ICU doors but they wouldn’t budge. They needed to be opened by the ICU operating desk.
“Open these doors!” I yelled to the nurse manning the desk. “Right now!” I bellowed when she shook her head. “That’s my wife in there!” I screamed, punching the glass with my palms.
I heard a slight buzz and the door clicked open. I ran to a room filled with people. I knew this was hers. I forced my way through the line of waiting nurses, working my way around the physicians attempting to revive her. I stood at the head of her bed and bent toward her ear. I ignored how beaten and bruised she was.
“Harper,” I whispered, my voice catching in my throat. “Sweetheart, please. Please, Harper, stay here with me. Our life has yet to begin, Harper. You belong with me here. Stay, love.”
I watched them shock her heart multiple times but it refused to beat. The room moved slowly around me, people yelling, tugging at Harper, reading machines. Nurses, stoic in this very experience, yet looking on me with pity. I couldn’t stand looking at them. I wanted to tug Harper from all the wires and drag her back to New York. I wanted to pretend they weren’t working to bring her back to life. I wanted to pretend none of this happened and that John Bell, that bastard, didn’t exist.
Two men forced me away from Harper saying something about the paddles but I didn’t catch all of it. All I could do was stare at my beautiful wife and think that this was not how it was supposed to be. I stared at her thin frame, her long copper gold hair, dull, her tan skin, pale, her usual pink, full lips turned blue and thin. Get up, Harper. Get up, baby. Give me the life we both deserve, Harper. Screw what we used to be. Screw the shit our lives used to be as children. Let’s make our own way, Harper.
“Wake up, Harper,” I began softly. “Wake up, Harper!” I said a bit louder. “Wake up!” I screamed at her finally, fighting the men holding me back. “Wake up!” Tears streamed down my face. My hands dug into the shoulders of the men pinning me against the windows. “Please,” I tenderly requested. I closed my eyes. “God, I’m begging you,” I prayed softly. “Please, God, don’t take her from me yet. I’ve had enough tragedy in my life. I need something to keep me from taking the tumble over the edge. I don’t think I can live without her.”
Seemingly out of nowhere, a nurse came from the line and placed her hand on my shoulder, silently praying along with me. The men looked from one to the other and relaxed their hold on me, praying with me as well. Soon, the entire room was filled with prayer, including the physicians working to revive her. I even noticed, family members visiting their own loved ones drifted to the large glass windows that was Harper’s room and folded their hands.
They worked for what seemed like forever but a calm entered the room and they worked methodically, no more panic in their motions. They worked with an efficiency I’d never seen before but nothing was happening. Her body laid limp on her bed, her chest still without breath. I continually prayed but was losing hope, my stomach clenched in nausea. I was preparing myself for the worst and contemplated how I could possibly bury another family member. I wondered how in the world I could place the love of my life in cold, hard dirt. That’s when I knew. I knew I couldn’t do it, I would only throw myself in the hole with her. I clenched my teeth and fisted my hands, pressing my eyes closed. She had to stay with me. Had to.
Suddenly, Harper gasped and my tears turned to wracking sobs. “Thank you,” I told God. “Thank you,” I told the doctors and nurses quietly. The nurse who placed her hand on my shoulder, squeezed it and left the room, letting the doctor stabilize my wife.
Unnecessary staff left the room, but there was an eerily quiet blanket that descended on every person inside the ICU, realizing the miracle that was their prayers. A breathing tube was placed, and eventually she was stabilized enough that the ICU staff could leave me alone with her. I pulled a rolling stool over to her side and held her hand. She wasn’t conscious but it didn’t matter to me. She was alive.
I breathed deeply, my body exhausted from the fear. “God, Harper, He gave you back to me.” I gripped that hand with both of mine then. I rubbed the back of her swollen hand with my thumbs, making lazy circles over her pale skin. “He gave you back.”
I was astonished, to be honest. I reached my hand up, sliding it over her gown, and placing my trembling hand over her chest to feel her heart beat. ‘Thump, thump, thump’, it told me, steady and strong. I buried my chin into my chest and reveled in the miracle that was Harper’s beating heart. I released a pent up breath and sat up straight, leaning over her face and tracing her hair line with my fingers.
“I love you,” I told her, “so much.”
Over the week, Harper healed at an astonishing rate, according to her physicians. She was still in a medically induced coma because of some swelling in her brain but was expected be woken soon and moved to a regular room once she was breathing on her own since her back was healing so remarkably well and the swelling was completely eradicated.
The nurses were incredibly helpful to me, not making a big deal about leaving Harper’s side. Essentially, I refused to leave her but Ames convinced me that I should probably shower because, and I quote, I would ‘scare the shit out of Harper’ if she woke and found me days without a shower and a full beard. I still refused to leave the hospital but thanks to Ames and the kind nurses. I was able to shower in one of the hospital rooms and had a change of clean clothes. Ames even brought me my meals on break from work and visited me for hours each night.
Five days after Christmas, the physicians decided it was time to wean Harper off the barbiturates keeping her comatose. When I knew she would be waking, I made a long list and sent Ames to a local department store to get all the things I thought she would want and a few things I just wanted her to have.
“Okay,” Doctor Sullivan said, to me outside Harper’s room. “I’ve taken her off the drugs.”
“And how long before she wakes?” I asked, my tired arms wrapped around my chest.
“It’s up to her,” he told me with a smile, “but if she was a smart girl,” he teased, “she’d wake so you’ll get off my back.”
I laughed. Doctor Sullivan and I had an understanding. He made jokes and I laughed so I didn’t lose my mind.
“Seriously, within a few hours is usual. We’ll be transferring her to the third floor within the hour. Chelsea will let you know what room. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Thanks Dr. Sullivan.”
“Of course.”
As Doctor Sullivan walked away, my cell rang. “Hello?”
“Hey, Callum.”
Cherry.
“Hey, Cherry.”
“What’s the progress?” She asked for the sixth time that day. I loved her all the more because she was so concerned. Cherry and Charlie were still in England but kept tabs on Harper throughout the day. It was three a.m. there but Cherry said she didn’t mind setting her alarm to catch wind of any progress.
“She’s been taken off the drugs that’s keeping her comatose. It’s up to her now when she’ll wake.”
“Oh, thank God,” Cherry sighed into the phone. “And you’ll...”
“Yes, Cherry, I will call you the second she wakes.” I laughed.
“Good.” She yawned. “Alright, buttercup. Catch you on the flip.”
“Bye, Cherry.”
Chelsea, an ICU nurse who helped make my life easier, came bounding up to me as I slid my phone in my back pocket. “Three oh-seven,” she said, smiling.
“Excellent! Thanks, Chelsea!”
“No problem,” she said, sliding by me to enter the room next to Harper’s.
Chapter Twenty
Young Blood
Harper
I woke to the sound of his voice. His voice. “...No, not yet,” he said. Pause. He was on the phone. “Because it takes time, Cherry. She’ll wake when she’s good and ready.” He sighed. “I know, I know. You’ll be the first we call. Okay. Alright, I love you, too. Send our love to Charlie. Bye, Cherry.”
My eyes were heavy as well as my arms. All I wanted was to lift my sluggish lids to look at his beautiful face. I felt trapped inside my body. I inhaled deeply, catching the soothing scent that was Callum’s cologne.
I could hear him slide a chair over the floor toward me, toward the bed I was in. When he took my hand in his, small, salty tears cascaded down my cheeks. His breath caught.
“Ha-Harper? Are you- Are you there?” I tried to squeeze his hand but lacked the control. “Can you hear me, Harper?” He asked, coming close to my face. The warmth of his body radiated over me and the tears came faster. “Oh, love, listen, you were hurt.” John. My heart rate accelerated. “But I’m here...” My eyes fluttered open to a dim room. Night. Callum took in a sharp breath. “Harper,” he said softly, caressing my face with his hands. I watched him and tried to smile. “Oh my God, Harper.” Tears began to fall softly down his own face. “You’re here. You’re really here.” He tenderly cupped both his hands over my face. “Harper.” He broke down, making my insides twist in agony. I squeezed my lids shut, flushing out fat drops of my own tears.