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Sharon Raydor was just finishing up her notes from the morning's briefing when Julio Sanchez tapped at her door before poking his head in. He looked worried and a little confused.
"Captain? A call for you got switched to my extension."
Thoughts of a schoolyard accident—or worse-ran through her mind. "Can you transfer it here?"
His eyes looked a softer brown when he was feeling bad for someone else, and her anxiety escalated.
"They left a message. It was Cedar Sinai hospital. You need to call this number." He handed her a pink call slip. "It's about your...husband."
She rose and took the slip from him, a different set of worries washing over her. "Thanks, Detective. Close my door, please."
Sanchez slipped out as she reached for the phone.
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Fifteen minutes later, Sharon flipped her lights off and walked out of her office, tote bag over her shoulder. The room was empty except for Sanchez, still running financials on his computer. The rest of her team was scattered out in the field, trying to get some traction on the latest homicide.
"Are you okay, ma'am?"
"Yes, thank you, Detective. I need to take a couple of hours personal leave…you have my number. I should be back before Rusty gets out of school," she said, heels clicking as she headed for the elevator.
At least he waited for a fairly calm day around here. There's that. She clung to that slight consolation as she waited for the elevator to take her to the parking deck.
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"Alan Raydor? Room 1011." The charge nurse took another long look at Sharon's ID and insurance card, then pointed down the long hallway. "Turn right after the family room, it'll be on your left." Sharon could feel the questions in the nurse's eyes as she left the desk.
Hospitals always smelled the same. Sharp antiseptic and a musty sadness. The only difference had been in the birthing suites, and she figured she wouldn't be revisiting that area anytime soon. Her footsteps were steady but not rushed…she knew the special dialect staff used when the situation was dire and it was time for "end of life decisions," and she hadn't heard any of those phrases yet.
Just another glitch in a long line of them that was her continuing marriage (of sorts) to Alan Raydor.
He looks smaller was her first thought when she got to his room. She counted the tubes by reflex: an IV, an oxygen line, and a catheter draining into a bedside bag. A quick glance at the monitor told her his vitals seemed stable. She took a deep breath.
Showtime.
The man in the hospital bed had his eyes closed, but she could tell he wasn't asleep. His blond-gray hair was mussed against the standard issue pillow. His exposed arm already had bruising from blood draws at the elbow. He'd lost the tan he'd always sported and his skin had an ashy cast to it. His cheekbones were starting to disappear in the puffy contours of his face. It was getting harder and harder to believe that she'd had two children with this man.
She touched his hand a few inches up from where the IV line started. "Hey."
He opened his eyes. "I'm sorry, Sharon. I hate they had to call you. We couldn't find the insurance paperwork in the middle of everything."
Even his eyes looked like they had faded into a watery blue.
"Don't worry about it, Alan. What happened?" She pulled the visitor's chair over to the side of the bed and sat down.
"Guess I needed a tune-up." He smiled weakly. "Damn blood sugar went way out of whack while I was asleep."
She glanced at the array of bags on his IV pump. "Looks like a little more than that, Alan."
He looked away, then up at the bags as if seeing them for the first time. "Yeah, there's a bit of a new wrinkle…there's some stuff going on with my kidneys."
Sharon's stomach twisted. She'd not had to watch the slow decline her husband had taken…they had been separated for over a year when his alcohol abuse started really hitting his health. She'd always figured, after the first few good years, that he'd go in a fatal crash, or maybe (in her darker moments) a race track-related homicide. She hadn't seen this coming…the legacy from his addict lifestyle chipping away at every part of his body, his diabetes an insidious gateway to the alcohol-fueled destruction.
She saw it, though, in the insurance forms that showed up in her mail. She felt it every paycheck, their relationship marked in the payroll ink showing her coverage: self and spouse. She was reminded of it every month, when his check for his share of the premium came in, sometimes bearing his signature, sometimes bearing that of his girlfriend's.
"You've always been worried about that." She bit her tongue as she thought about the rest of that sentence. Not worried enough to stop drinking, though. Not when it would have counted.
He sighed. "Yeah. Among other things." She looked at his free hand. The fingers seemed to be curling up of their own accord. " They've been doing that lately," he said, noticing her look. "More of the neuropathy."
"Have you called the kids?" The monitor for his vitals beeped and she looked up, briefly fascinated by the numerical reading of the beating of his heart.
"Not yet. I need to find out more about what's going on. But Shar…we need to talk."
"I'm here, Alan." She smiled, trying to be encouraging, all the while wishing his girlfriend, his real partner, would show up and take over. His girlfriend was the one he should be having bedside talks with, not her. She was the one whose name was on the health care power of attorney papers. Sharon was just the leftover wife.
"The separation…I know what you've done for me, Shar. And we both appreciate it more than you know. Lord knows I've tried to get insurance on my own, but—"
"I know you have. But we knew you'd be uninsurable, for all intents and purposes. Between the diabetes and the DUIs…." She trailed off. Years ago, she had scrambled, trying to figure out a way they could divorce and he could still get medical coverage.
Between his high income (when he was able to work) and his high risk, the premiums were impossible for him to cover alone, when the bad times came and he went months without making a dime. Even after he moved in with Marissa, and all three had looked at the options, there was still no good solution. A year's waiting period for pre-existing conditions would have killed him.
It was what it was. That was the theme of their marriage. Of their separation.
And it wasn't like she had any likely fiancés waiting in the wings. Staying separated kept him on her insurance and out of her guilt-zone. When he finally did himself in, she'd be able to tell herself and their children she'd done what she could.
"Thing is, if this is going where I think it's going, there's a good chance it'll tap out your policy's lifetime max."
She was surprised to feel the prickle of tears at the corners of her eyes. 'You mean if you need a kidney transplant."
"Yeah. And at your age—"
"Hey! Watch it, buster." She gave him a half-grin, and for a second she was back in school, flirting with the confident young law student whose eye she had caught at the crowded bar.
"I mean, Miss Touchy, you might still look like you're in your forties…hell, you could pass for thirty-nine if you wanted to…but you're gonna have your own issues coming up. You can't move into your, um…golden years with maxed out insurance. Or being on the hook for my unpaid medical bills."
"So…you think it's time?"
"I do." He smiled and flexed the finger that still carried the gold band she'd put there decades ago. "Sometimes it doesn't seem like that long ago that I was saying those words to you in front of a crowd."
Sharon frowned. He was forgetting the other times she had said "I do".
Do you want to press charges?
Do you want to sign his bond?
Do you enter into this separation agreement willingly?
I do. I do. I do.
"Think about it, Shar. I can get one of the guys at the firm to draw up the papers and file everything. In 30 days, it'd be over."
"Can I get back to you on this, Alan? I see what you're saying and it makes sense…but I'd like a day or two to work it out in my head."
"Sure. But I wouldn't leave it too long." They both fell silent.
"So, do you think you and Marissa will finally get married?"
His eyes went from the vitals monitor to the IV pump. "I'm thinking that wouldn't be a very nice thing to do to someone I love…I'm pretty high-maintenance and I'm not that great a catch anymore."
"How about you?" he asked. "Any men in your life, wondering when you'll be free?"
"Actually, I do have a new man in my life, sort of. He wondered about your suit in my closet."
"Oh, man…you're still keeping that outfit?"
She shrugged. "It's become kind of a talisman, I guess." She thought back to the night she'd gone to his side of the closet, ice water in her veins, coldly asking for a good suit so she'd have something handy for the funeral home.
For the day when she'd get the call that his luck with drinking and driving had finally run out.
Maybe she'd give it to Marissa, once their divorce was finalized. She looked at his changed frame again. Maybe she'd just give it to Goodwill.
"So, the new guy?" he prompted.
"I'd love to string this out, but I've got to be back before he gets out of school." Her grin was wide and wicked this time.
"Are you serious?"
"I've become a foster parent, Alan. I know it sounds crazy…."
Alan visibly relaxed against his pillows. "You always were a good mother, Sharon. But fostering? What brought that on? Grandkids aren't coming fast enough?"
His eyes widened as she briefly explained how Rusty had come into her life.
"He's a lucky kid."
"Thanks, Alan. I appreciate that."
She was getting up when a nurse opened the door. "I need to borrow Mr. Raydor for a few minutes. Could you wait outside, please?"
"I was just leaving." She stood and turned to her soon-to-be-ex-husband. "Is Marissa here?"
"She went to get something to eat. She's been here all night." He winced as the nurse began checking his IV site. "Call me about what we discussed, okay?"
"Sure. Goodbye, Alan. Take care." She left, pulling the door shut behind her.
Halfway down the hall, a familiar figure appeared, jet black hair and a pretty face marred by tiredness and worry. Her jeans and sweatshirt looked slept in, and judging by the pairing of one brown sock and one blue sock, she'd gotten dressed in a hurry. Anyone seeing them together wouldn't have thought Sharon was her senior by a good ten years.
"Hey, Sharon. Have you already seen Alan?"
"Just left his room. Marissa, can we talk?"
Marissa nodded, then tilted her head towards the small family room to her left. "That looks empty."
Sharon sat on the pseudo-homey sofa and patted the seat beside her in invitation.
"How're you holding up, Marissa? Alan said his blood sugar got out of whack?"
The brunette's chin quivered. "That's probably how he remembers it. Oh, God, Sharon, it was about three this morning. He was restless, struggling in his sleep…his skin was really cold and clammy…I tried to bring him out of it but I couldn't. I called 911…he had a seizure after they got there."
"I'm so sorry, Marissa. That must have been terrifying." Sharon looked at her with all the sympathy she could muster, trying to hide the enormous relief she felt that it had been Marissa, not her, dealing with Alan.
"You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but…yeah. It was bad."
Sharon drummed her fingers lightly on the arm of the sofa. "Has Alan told you about wanting to finally file for divorce?"
"Yeah. I don't know if he told you, but his law license got suspended a few months ago. He can't practice for a year." Both of them grew silent, and Sharon knew they shared the same thought: chances were high he'd never stand in front of a judge again.
"He have another slip?" Alan's involvement with AA had been an on-again, off-again affair. His sober days apparently were enough to keep Marissa around through the bad times.
She nodded. "The doctor's told him about the damage piling up, but…you know how he is."
Sharon shook her head. She did know how he was. That was the reason she'd be walking out of the hospital in a few minutes while the tired-looking Marissa would be staying at his side, trying to figure out what was going to happen next.
"He can go on Medicare, I think, and Medicaid will supplement it. His doctor said that should cover everything. So yeah, you can finally cut him loose." Her smile was touched with sadness, and Sharon wondered if Marissa would miss their odd little working relationship.
"Well, all right, then." Sharon touched Marissa's sleeve as she stood. "I'm afraid I need to get back to work, Marissa. Call me if you need to, okay?"
"Sure." Marissa looked like she was torn between wanting to shake Sharon's hand and wanting to give her a hug. In the end, she just stood there, finally settling for a light squeeze of Sharon's arm. "Thanks for everything."
Sharon's steps were lighter as she left the hospital. The sunlight felt wonderful on her face after the florescent lights. Maybe she and Rusty could go for a run before supper. She felt like she'd just put down a weight she'd forgotten she was carrying. She was curious to see what this new freedom would feel like.
She was curious to see if she'd miss it.
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Sharon paused at the front door of the LAPD building. "Lt. Flynn—just getting back in from the field?"
"Yeah…about three hours' work for fifteen minutes worth of progress," he said grumpily. She could tell by the way he looked at her that his grumpiness was feigned.
"Alan's back in the hospital again."
He nodded. "When I talked to Julio, he said you'd gotten a call while everybody was out. Anything I can do?" he said as they walked to the bank of elevators. He punched the "up" button.
She chewed at her lip while she thought. "Could you let his AA sponsor know?"
"Sure thing, Chief. I should be seeing him tonight." He searched her face, and she knew what he was looking for: signs that she was taking on more of Alan's problems than was good for her.
"You know…there's an Al-Anon meeting tonight at the same time. Just…if you know anybody who might need it."
The doors slid open and they stepped into the elevator, empty in the afternoon lull.
"Thanks, Andy." As soon as the doors closed, she surprised herself by giving him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. "You're a good friend."
His hand rested on her waist for a second as the floor numbers flashed.
"So are you, Shar. So are you."
The doors opened. Captain Raydor and Lieutenant Flynn stepped out of their quick private moment and went back to work.
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