"My wife," he asked breathlessly. "I need to see my wife. Where is she?"
"Calm down, sir," the desk nurse responded. "What is your wife's name?"
He ran his hands through his hair and exhaled loudly. "Angela Trelawney. The
news report said she was here. I need to see her. Is she all right?"
She looked at him cautiously, then glanced down at the phone. "Hold on, sir.
You'll need to speak to the officer in charge." She pressed a button and spoke
quietly into the receiver, keeping her eyes on the 40-ish man dressed head to
toe in J. Crew. He paced nervously until a large-bellied plainclothesman with a
cheap tie and a service pin approached. The detective held out his hand.
"I'm Lieutenant Wise. Can I help you, sir?"
Trelawney took his hand and pumped it earnestly, sincere worry oozing from every
pore.
"Yes, please, Lieutenant. My name is Sean Trelawney, my wife Angela is here."
Wise motioned to the nurses' break room to the left of the charge desk. "Why
don't we step in here, sir?"
Trelawney followed him into the brightly lit room and sat opposite the aging
officer at a round, Formica-topped table. Faxed slogans like "It's hard to fly
with the eagles when you're surrounded by turkeys" were taped to the walls, in
between OSHA and EEOC posters. The fluorescents gleamed off the bright pink
scalp of the cop, whose thinning white hair stuck straight up in a military
burr.
"Now," said Wise, "what makes you think your wife is here?"
"They showed her picture on TV, they said she was injured. I drove straight
down from Seattle as soon as I heard."
"What was your wife doing down here all by herself, Mr. Trelawney?"
"Hiking. She's a programmer, and she likes to get away by herself a couple
times a month."
"Where does she work?"
"Copper Canyon Technologies. It's an IT - information technologies company.
Look, can I see my wife, please?"
Wise settled his rump back in the plastic seat, which creaked in protest. "Well
sir," he said, "you have to understand my position. I can't just hand her over
to any ya-hoo who walks in off the street. Do you have some proof of who you
are, and your wife's identity as well?"
Trelawney looked confused for a moment, then began patting his jacket and pants.
"Well, I don't have Angela's ID, she had that with her." He pulled out his
wallet and flipped through it. "But here's my driver's license, and my work
security pass. Oh, wait - - here's our wedding picture."
He pulled out the two-by-four color glossy and handed it to Wise. A smiling
Angela in white dress and veil stood close in a three-quarter shot to a tuxedoed
Trelawney. 'Kelly is going to get a bonus for this one,' he thought with an
inward smirk.
Wise studied the photo briefly, then looked up with a smile. "You can't much
beat that, can you? If you don't mind, though, I'd like to call your company,
just to provide a little extra verification."
Trelawney pulled out a business card. "The number's at the bottom. Ask for Don
Smith. He supervises both of us."
"Husband and wife team, huh?"
Trelawney smiled, concern for his injured wife tightening the corners of his
mouth.
In five minutes, Wise returned to take him to Angela. She looked better than he
thought she would. The doctor explained that she'd suffered a concussion in the
fall, which had resulted in partial amnesia. Her memory would most likely
return in a few weeks, although she might never recall the accident itself.
Trelawney cautiously approached her bedside, and was relieved to see a complete
lack of recognition in her eyes. He bent down over her and gently brushed her
bangs away from her face.
"Angela, honey," he whispered, "I've come to take you home."
She blinked, her eyes traveling from him, to Wise, to the doctor, and back
again. "Who are you?"
"I'm Sean, honey. I'm your husband. Don't worry, the doctor says you'll
remember everything in a day or two. We can go home now."
"I want her to follow up with a neurologist. I'll give you a couple of names on
the way out," the doctor said, then left the happy couple, plus Wise, to
themselves.
Angela looked to the portly detective for assistance.
"Don't worry, Mrs. Trelawney. I checked everything out. You'll be okay. I'm
sure your husband will take good care of you."
Trelawney turned and shook the detective's hand. "Thank you for all your help,
Lieutenant."
As he left, Angela shifted in her bed, moving slightly away from her husband.
"I don't understand," she said. "If we're married, where's my wedding ring?"
He smiled. "Right where you left it, on the kitchen counter." He sat down on
the edge of the bed and she scooted even further away. He covered her hand with
his, his eyes warm with understanding.
"Don't worry, Angela. I know you don't remember me, but the memories will come
back. Until then, I'm not going to pressure you. I -" he looked down at the
hand cradled in his own. "I love you, Angela."
She remained silent, unsure what to say. He stood up and picked up an overnight
bag.
"I brought some of your things from home." He looked around awkwardly. "I'll
just wait outside until you get dressed."
Standing outside the hospital door, he had to congratulate himself on his
performance. He'd hit every nuance of the loving, concerned husband just right.