“I will pray for you and your husband.”
“Grazie .”
Anton was holding the top of the car door, his expression darkening with grief. “I’ll call the hospital and leave a message for you with the hotel information,” he said.
She recognized his pain and couldn’t manage to look him in the eye. It was too much for her to bear. “Thank you. I appreciate it. I need to go now.”
Without any further gesture of good-bye, Lillian turned and walked away from him. She did not permit herself to look back.
Six hours later, Lillian sat down at Freddie’s bedside in the ICU, moments before he was taken into surgery.
His prognosis was the same. He had no sensation in his hands or feet, which meant the likelihood of him ever walking again was slim.
All was calm for a time while Freddie slept and Lillian sat next to him, her mind awash with regret. If only she had stayed in bed the night before and waited until morning to go and see Anton. If she hadn’t sneaked out in the middle of the night, Freddie would be back at the winery, sitting by the pool perhaps, basking in the pride of his completed manuscript, plotting his next novel.
She would never get over the guilt of that decision, not as long as she lived.
Freddie groaned in the bed, and Lillian practically leaped out of her chair. “I’m here, darling. Are you all right? Can I get you anything?”
His brow furrowed with agony, and he mumbled unintelligibly. “I couldn’t bear it.” He was drifting in and out. “Please, don’t leave me. I’ll die if you leave me.”
Lillian bent over him. “Freddie, darling, I’m not leaving you. I’m right here.”
His face contorted with a look of intense pain. “I’m scared. What’s going to happen to me?”
“Don’t be scared. I’m here. I’ll always be here, and I’ll take care of you. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Her heart squeezed wretchedly as she grasped his terrible fear of what the future would hold for him and his fear of losing her. Overcome with sorrow, barely able to keep her balance, she looked him in the eye and spoke fiercely. “And do not ever say to me that you’re going to die. You’re going to get through this. We’re going to get through it together, and if you give up, I swear to God, Freddie, I’ll never forgive you.” She squeezed her eyes shut, pushed through her grief, and braced herself for the tests and trials that lay ahead. “Whatever Anton said to you, it’s not true. I’m not leaving you. You’re my husband, and I love you. I’ll never leave you, Freddie, I promise. In sickness and in health, till death do us part. Remember? Are you going to break that promise to me?”
He blinked sleepily, then drifted off. Numb with shock, stunned, and disoriented, Lillian stared at him for an agonizing moment. A medical team arrived to take him to the OR. After they wheeled him away, she sank onto the chair and wept inconsolably.
It was a short walk to the hotel after Freddie was taken into surgery, which she had been told could last five or six hours or more. In a horrendous daze, Lillian collected the room key from the front desk clerk, who cheerfully informed her that the room was already paid for.
Slipping the key into the lock, she surrendered to her exhaustion, aching for the soft bed that awaited her. The lock clicked, and she pushed the door open but stopped in the doorway when her gaze fell upon the bed, which was not empty.
“Anton . . . ,” she uttered softly.
He was stretched out on top of the covers, asleep. At the sound of her voice, he sat up and quickly stood but did not approach her.
“You’re back,” he said. “How is he?”
Caught off guard by Anton’s presence in the room, Lillian closed the door behind her, walked in, and set her purse on the TV cabinet. “He’s the same. No change. And he’s in surgery now.” They stared at each other uncertainly for a few seconds. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”
She didn’t want him there. She wanted to be alone.
Anton took a step toward her, but she held up a hand. “Please, don’t try to comfort me. I don’t want that. I couldn’t bear it.”
If she fell apart now, there would be no coming back from it.
“I understand,” he replied, watching her retreat into the bathroom.
She shut the door behind her and stared at herself in the mirror, then turned on the faucet and washed her hands. She didn’t need to use the toilet—she had used the washroom at the hospital on her way out—but she didn’t want to open the door either. She needed time to get over the shock of seeing Anton in her bed.