Faith spent a restless night mulling over why she’d been so free to disclose information she’d kept buried for years. She stared into the darkness of her hospital room, wondering what had gotten into her. Why had she chosen to uncover all that now? She’d known a long time ago that revealing her family junk would do her no good.
The look in Dr. Viv’s eyes, while sympathetic, was exactly as she would imagine. She didn’t need anyone’s pity. Never had.
The discussion held no merit whatsoever. Self-help books would say her inner child had never healed and that was the source of her anger. To buy into that theory meant she’d have to discount a man dressed in army fatigues who had pointed a gun at her head and blown her career—her life—to smithereens.
Now she felt naked—too out there—like she’d let information out of the bottle that could never be stuffed back in.
Clearly, her emotions were out of control. While that was a typical symptom of traumatic brain injury, she couldn’t just let uncaged feelings rule over her mouth.
By the time the nurses showed up to help her to the restroom and aid her in getting dressed, she was exhausted and certainly in no mood for the clumpy steamed oatmeal waiting for her on that dining tray.
She didn’t need to step on the scales to know this diet filled with carbs and preservatives was killing her weight control. While she may never again sit behind a news desk, she didn’t care to let her figure go.
In fact, she’d given her appearance particular consideration lately. Even started wearing a little makeup again. So when members of her medical team showed up later in the morning announcing it was time for the head bandages to come off, she was thrilled.
At least part of her was thrilled. She was also very nervous. No doubt there was good reason no one had offered to help her to a mirror.
“Good morning, Faith. Are you ready to get those bandages off?” A perky nurse Faith guessed to be in her late fifties bounded in the room with a huge smile plastered on her face. The gazelle of a woman left her feeling even more tired.
“I’m Lawana Maxwell and I’m a huge fan. Watched you every morning, darlin’. When I was on shift, I taped Faith on Air. Loved that show.” She brandished a package of sterilized bandage scissors and a bright attitude that was in stark contrast to Faith’s own. She glanced at the untouched dining tray. “You’re not hungry?”
Faith shrugged her good shoulder. “Not a fan of oatmeal, I guess.”
Lawana grinned as she swooped the tray out of the way. “Well, when I’m finished here I’ll make a personal trip down to food service and make sure the dieticians get something edible up here. Bad enough you don’t get to sleep in your own bed at night. The least we can do is provide palatable food.”
Faith smiled, liking her already. And she smelled fresh and clean—like the laundry aisle of a grocery store.
“Okay, let’s get this done, shall we?” Lawana tore open the sterile packaging and removed the scissors and a smaller tool with her gloved hands. “This will only take a minute,” she promised.
The scissor blade was chilly against her skin. The nurse clipped carefully, then unwrapped the gauze around Faith’s skull. Lawana bent over and took a closer look. “You’re healing nicely,” she reported.
Next she took the other tool in her hand. “This won’t hurt, but you’re going to feel some pressure when I remove the staples.”
She nodded and held her breath.
It was then she noticed Geary standing in the doorway. “Hey, do you guys need me to come back later?” he asked.
“Not on my account,” Lawana said, plopping the first metal staple into a waiting metal bowl. She dabbed at the place on Faith’s head with a bit of clean gauze.
Faith waved him in. “This nice lady tells me this is only going to take a few minutes.”
He nodded, came into the room, and planted himself in a chair by the window. “People at the news station have been calling. Clark and some of the others would like to visit. Are you ready for that?” he asked, looking like he believed it might be too early yet.
While she wasn’t entirely assured of the fact, she confirmed she was ready. “Why don’t you tell them they can come tomorrow?” she suggested.
Lawana pulled the final staple and stripped the thin rubber gloves from her hands. The effort made a snapping sound. “Well, we’re all finished here.” She looked at Faith. “Do you want a mirror before I tie your scarf on?”
Faith saw a flash of something on Geary’s face that she’d never seen before. Just the ghost of an expression, and in another state of mind she might not even have noticed the hint of alarm cross his features.
Geary was the steadiest man she’d ever known, and when she saw the look on her husband’s face, her heart grew cold.
“The mirror.” She pointed. “Could I have the mirror, please.”
Faith drew a deep breath and looked at her reflection.
The sallow color of her skin was still evident, as were the dark circles under her eyes she’d tried to hide with concealer earlier. But as she lifted her hand, her breath instantly caught.
Approximately four inches above her right eye, a large and rather deep divot dented her skull. The skin along the hook-shaped scar running from the front of her ear to the back of her neck was mottled purple and angry pink. The harsh overhead light spotlighted patches of tiny black bristles poking through scabs and flaking skin.
She looked scarily broken—like a monster.
She dropped the mirror to the bedcovers, unable to cry—to react.
Lawana patted her. “Honey, give it time. Your appearance will improve. I promise.”
“Just cover my head, please.” She swallowed and closed her eyes, feeling another layer of despair blanket her soul.
Lawana failed to notice. She wrapped the scarf and secured the pretty fabric in place by tying a bow at the base of Faith’s neck, then stepped back to examine her work. “Lovely. Red is your color.” She gathered the bandage pieces and the bowl of staples. “Okay, you take care.”
Faith forced a weak thank-you. The nurse left the room, promising to follow up on the meal concern.
Then the two of them were alone.
She let herself picture her and Geary intertwined with sheets in a bed on a tropical island, their bodies sleek from the muggy outdoor temperature and the heat of their honeymoon.
A snapshot of time never to be repeated. Not when she looked like this.
“Geary, come over here and sit.” She patted her covers with resolve.
Her husband complied and sat on the wedge of space at the end of her bed. He placed his hand over her blanketed foot, the one she still couldn’t completely feel. “Everything okay? Did that hurt—removing the staples, I mean?”
“Fine. I feel fine. But that’s not what I want to talk to you about.”
“Okay,” he said slowly, looking slightly puzzled. “What’s on your mind?”
She swallowed against the fear of being misunderstood. “Geary, why are you here?”
He frowned. “What do you mean? What kind of question is that?”
For a split second, she considered ending the conversation. It would be so much easier to default to the comfortable, the secure—but that would only stave off the inevitable. Eventually they would be forced into a much more difficult situation. And if she let more time pass, she might never survive what would no doubt come.
No, it was better just to face up to the fact that eventually he’d tire of her broken state. How could he find someone like her desirable? And most certainly he’d start to feel burdened with the role of caretaker.
“I want you to listen carefully to what I have to say. You are a wonderful man, Geary Marin. With a whole life ahead that should be spent with someone who can cook you breakfast, stand by the lakeside, and cheer you on, someone who can—”
His pleasant expression rolled up like a window shade. “What—you’re breaking up with me?”
“This isn’t junior high. This is real life.” She lifted her chin. “Look at me. My head is dented and mangled, my hair in patches. Have you noticed I’m in a wheelchair, that my limbs are broken? I’m broken.” Her voice grew more intense with every word, more emotional. “No matter how much you want to ride in on a white horse and be my Prince Charming, you can’t fix this. You can’t fix me.”
He stood then, his fists curled in tight knots. He took a deep breath, seeming to weigh his words carefully, finding them too heavy to carry. “I don’t understand why you keep pushing me away. I am not a perfect man—far from it. At times I’m thoughtless and demanding.” He combed his fingers through the top of his hair in frustration. “I made plenty of mistakes.” He looked at her with those blue eyes, intense and passionate. His voice darkened with jagged emotion. “But you don’t just throw us out. You don’t just go to an attorney the first time your relationship hits a hard patch.”
“But—”
“But nothing!” He was raising his voice now. “Life is messy, Faith. People disappoint. Our hopes and dreams sometimes get dashed. At times we’re all guilty of selfishly putting ourselves first and we don’t consider the feelings of the people we love. Myself included. But that does not give you permission to give up on us. That does not allow you to just toss me aside like I mean nothing to you.”
She realized then how deeply she’d hurt him. She hated herself for that. Even so, how did that change anything?
She was a mess. And she had no idea how to change that.
Geary deserved far better.
He deserved to be able to have children—to marry and create a family like his own. If she let him stay, all that would be lost. She wasn’t even sure she could have babies now.
She loved him deeply—always had. She’d still felt a deep connection to him, even when she’d met with the divorce attorney.
Sometimes love required sacrifice. There were too many reasons they couldn’t be together—it was true then and it was especially true now. Some reasons she couldn’t even begin to explain.
Faith wasn’t sure she was capable of being the wife he deserved, and she didn’t want to find out. He needed some nice gal who wasn’t broken and damaged. She owed it to him to let him go.
The night he’d placed the lock on the fence at the pier in Galveston, they’d been naïve at best, never knowing the difficulties that they’d face ahead. It was time to give back that key and unlock his obligation to stay.
He studied her until she had to look away. There was only one way to do that.
Staring down at the bed, she let the bitter words roll out of her mouth. “The bullets—it’s likely I can’t have children. With me, you’ll never have that family you crave. I won’t do that to you.”
A hard lump grew in her throat. She looked up at him. “You need to go.”
He stepped back a bit, as if her words had hit hard and knocked him off-kilter. “I know what the doctors said. Do you think that matters to me? You’re what matters—only you.” He shook his head in frustration. “Despite what you think, Faith, you are in the process of healing. In all likelihood you will walk again. Even if that weren’t the case, I’d want to be by your side. Don’t you get that?”
She tried not to let her voice shake. “You need to go,” she repeated, a little more sternly this time. “Please go.”
His hands dropped to his side. Geary looked at her with deep sadness. “Fine, have it your way. I’ll leave—for now. But I’m not giving up on us.”
She watched as he slowly turned and walked out the door.