From her seat in the wheelchair, Jenna lifted a defiant jaw and reminded herself she could do cool, calm, and collected. Even with the Iowa-sized knot on her head, ugly raw stitches holding her torn flesh together, and pain meds roiling in her stomach and fogging her brain, she could do serene.
“I’m going in there.”
Standing on either side of the chair, her parents hummed “honey” and coughed their embarrassment. Claire and Max had witnessed her “attitude” since she was a child—in private, though, not in public, not toward a person in charge.
That person was a middle-aged nurse in a white top and slacks that swished with every gesture. She blocked the entrance to the ICU. “I’m sorry. As I said, only family is allowed.”
Obviously Jenna’s teacher persona was not going to get the job done. She pushed aside the thought of Amber lying beyond those doors, all alone, unconscious. Lingering there would only make her bawl.
Better to take a lesson from Kevin and douse her thoughts with testosterone. Act like a tough roller. Act like a coach. Act like a Marine. Act like—
Or just be. Be that military wife whose duty it was to take charge of things while the guys were gone.
Jenna pushed herself out of the wheelchair. Her dad’s hand grasped her elbow, which prevented her from plopping right back down. “Nurse.” She peered at the woman’s name tag. The letters blurred. “Um.”
“Cathy.”
Jenna met her gaze. The woman knew the whole story. She knew that the hospital had called Amber’s emergency contact number, that it was the Navy, that her husband was incommunicado, that they were doing what they could to locate him. She also knew that Jenna had talked with their principal and that Cade was still trying to connect with Amber’s parents in England.
“Nurse Cathy,” she said. “My husband and Amber’s husband are in the military. They’re both overseas. They don’t know each other but we know each other. That makes us family. I will see her now. I will tell her she is not alone.”
The nurse’s eyes filled.
Oh, don’t do that. Don’t do that. Jenna’s legs wobbled along with the surge of adrenaline.
Cathy’s nose twitched and her eyes cleared. “Can you walk unassisted?”
“Yes.”
“Come with me.” She looked at Claire and Max. “Family only, you understand.”
Max let go of Jenna’s arm. “Of course.”
Her mom patted her shoulder. “We’ll be here, honey.”
Jenna followed Cathy through a large set of doors and down a hall. She missed Amber, missed her perkiness, her bubbly chatter, her smile. What if she died? Was it Jenna’s responsibility to tell her husband and parents? The military knew how to do those things. They had special people who knocked on the door. They read from a script. Like a spouse didn’t know what they were going to say. He’s dead. She’s dead. What else was there to add?
This was all backward, the spouse safe at home getting hit by debris from a bomb. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.
Of course Amber had other friends. She was the sort of person who never met a stranger. She seemed close to a biology teacher, a history teacher, neighbors in her apartment building. She had friends in a Camp Pendleton wives’ book club. Two of them had been sitting on the other end of the pew.
Were they all right? Would her other friends know yet what had happened to Amber? Except for the teachers, they were all nameless to Jenna. Should she call someone?
The sense of hospital overwhelmed Jenna. Antiseptic odors. Soft beeps and hisses. The squish of rubber soles against linoleum. Harsh lights. Muted voices.
The nurse stopped in front of an open doorway. “Five minutes, Mrs. Mason.”
“What . . .why . . .”
“They didn’t tell you?”
Jenna shook her head.
“The doctor removed a teensy piece of glass that entered through her neck. It made its way up into her head and interfered with the blood flow. There is some swelling of the brain. She’s in a medically induced coma. Now we wait. And believe in miracles. Five minutes, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Prepare yourself. Her appearance may upset you.”
Jenna nodded.
“Please talk to her. I’m convinced my patients can hear.”
“Thank you.”
Just inside the door, Jenna halted. She clenched her teeth and fought down the impulse to dart right back out.
Amber was nearly hidden beneath tubes, wires, machines, and bedding. Thick, white dressing swathed her head.
“Oh! Your beautiful blonde curls!” Jenna slapped a hand to her mouth. Had they shaved her head? Probably.
I’m convinced my patients can hear.
She should be upbeat.
Jenna moved to the bedside and found a place to lay her hand on Amber’s shoulder. She took a deep breath. “But hey, it’s only hair, right? I’ve heard you say that. It grows back in no time, you say. And just think, for a while you and Joey can have matching ’dos.”
Oh, dear God. Dear God. I don’t know what to say, how to pray. Please tell my Nana to pray. Let her know.
Then she remembered that her mom had called her grandmother. Yes. They had talked. Nana knew. Nana was praying. Nana was carrying them.
Jenna forced her voice into a lilt. “The nurse said your parents are coming as soon as they can get here from England. Of course Joey will come too.” She didn’t mention that he had not yet been contacted. “Those military bigwigs are going to be really ticked at you. What a way to get your guy back home, huh? Brilliant on your part, my dear.”
She talked on, filling the precious five minutes with upbeat words, hoping with all her might that Amber could hear them and take comfort in knowing she was not alone.