She couldn't bear to tell him once she reentered the room. Christine merely resumed her seat at his bedside as Phillip's words circled through her mind. Thankfully, Raoul was sleeping, and she was spared the discussion for a little while. Curling her fingers, she brushed her knuckles against his right cheek. She ran her hand over the bruise on his head and through his soft blond hair, heart aching.
At least he was alive. That's all that really mattered.
But he had always enjoyed being active so much. All the Chagny men liked hiking, jogging, tennis, and backyard ballgames. This was going to be devastating as far as some of his hobbies were concerned.
Maybe the doctors were wrong….
Of course, he finally opened his eyes again and smiled at her. This time, she couldn't smile back.
"With your expression, I'd think you were the one in a head-on collision," he softly joked.
"Is that what it was?"
"Yeah. The guy went down the wrong exit ramp and into oncoming traffic. I tried to swerve out of his way, but at those speeds…didn't quite make it."
"My God."
"The passenger side was completely crushed in." He grimaced. "If anyone had been with me…if you had been with me…."
"Shh," she hushed. "Let's not think about that." Reality was going to be hard enough without any fantasized worst-case scenarios.
"Yeah. You're right. We're good now." He attempted to turn slightly and then frowned as though he was having difficulty moving. Christine winced; if she or Phillip didn't tell him soon, Raoul was going to figure it out on his own.
She sighed, knowing they couldn't put it off any longer. It was better that Raoul hear this from his family than from some stranger in a white coat. Phillip walked into the room, but she ignored him. "I need to tell you something important," she steadily began. "You need to know everything, love."
"What's wrong?"
"You're injured…badly…."
"In what way?"
Phillip made a gurgling noise in the back of his throat but didn't stop her from continuing.
"It's…It's your spine," she whispered.
"What?"
"It's…." Her lips parted, but she couldn't seem to go on.
Phillip took over. "The doctors are saying-they're saying some permanent damage was done to the lower part of your spine."
"What does that mean for me?" He looked between them and nearly growled in frustration. "Just tell me!"
Phillip continued, his forehead creasing with the strain of the conversation. "You're not…they say you might not be able to walk again. They say you might be paralyzed below the waist." He forced a warped smile. "But what the hell do they know, eh? They have to say shit like that or they get sued when something goes wrong."
Her heart fell as she watched Raoul's expression change.
"We're going to get through this." She squeezed his hand. "There are all kinds of new therapies. This hospital even has a special rehabilitation program for spinal injuries, doesn't it, Phillip?" Christine cast him a pleading look.
"Yeah. It does."
Raoul didn't say anything, only lowered his head back onto the pillow with a stunned, sickened gleam in his eyes.
"We'll get through it," she promised, feeling more helpless by the second. "I love you so much."
Raoul still didn't reply, and there was silence in the room until an ambulance wailed outside. At one point, Phillip excused himself to get a drink. Christine only sat there holding her husband's hand, unsure of what to say. Maybe if she knew anything about injuries, she could have been more specific about how to go forward. But, for the time being, she had no solutions—only questions to which she feared the answers.
After nearly thirty minutes of staring at nothing but the grey wall, Raoul finally turned to look up at her. "This…really…." He searched for the right word and then gave up.
She rested her forehead against both their hands. "But you're alive."
"I can't believe this is happening. I don't know…I don't know what to do. This is…I don't…."
"You need to rest," she gently interrupted. "That's important right now."
"But it doesn't fix anything…."
"But it can't hurt. It'll help you recover."
He grunted, always wanting to have solutions to problems. His attitude had been of benefit to her as she generally had a hard time making choices—everything from her college major to what to have for dinner. Raoul liked to take action; she wanted to ponder the details of every decision. They had always balanced each other out.
A minute later, she glanced at him and saw he'd gone to sleep, still under the effects of the pain killers. Or maybe slumber had seemed like the best escape from this nightmare. When he half-awoke, Raoul tried to turn on his side again, and then dazed terror entered his blue eyes.
"I can't move my legs," he stated in a panic. "I…can't. This is hell. Christine. This is hell. I can't move-I don't know what to do!"
"It's all right!" she exclaimed, lurching forward to try and calm him. "We're fine. You'll be fine. I promise. I promise you will. Relax, and we'll be fine."
"But I can't…."
"I know. But you'll be able to again. I promise! I promise, Raoul."
He stared at her with wide eyes before closing them again. She was unable to tell if he'd been soothed by her words or if he wasn't entirely conscious in the first place. Probably the latter.
A nurse in the hall had glimpsed the scene and poked her head into the room. "Let me know if he does that again," she said with a frown. "We may have to do more to sedate him so that he doesn't try to move and worsen the injury. We'll also want to keep his blood pressure down."
Christine only nodded.
Thankfully, Raoul was quiet and calm the second time he awoke. His jaw was clenched as he stared forward. Still, he held her hand.
"Are you heading home soon?" he asked, breaking into the silence after another nurse had left. "It's going to get dark."
"I don't want to leave you here," she murmured. "Maybe they'll let me stay."
"And sleep in that old chair? You need a good night's rest. There's going to be nurses coming in and out. You being exhausted…it's not going to fix this…."
"But-"
"One of us needs to be functional tomorrow. My parents are going to be here, and you know how that's going to go."
She reluctantly stood as visiting hours ended. Maybe he wanted some time to himself; it was hard to tell. "I wish you could come home with me," she whispered.
"Me, too, Chris. I'd do anything for that."
Christine hesitated. "I'm going to my dad's." The thought of sitting in their empty house by herself was too disturbing.
He nodded. "Yeah. Good idea. Be with your father."
"I'll be back first thing tomorrow. I promise."
"I'll wait for you." She leaned in, and they kissed goodnight. Christine gave him several more reassurances that all would be fine. She also warned him about what the nurse had said before leaving the hospital with a pain in her stomach. Despite the fact that the evening sky was clear, she felt as though she were driving through a drizzly fog. She couldn't keep from crying when she arrived at her father's house and told him everything. He only sat there and listened with sympathetic eyes, his graying beard partially hiding his expression.
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he said, giving her a warm hug. "Damn. Of all the people for that to happen to…." He shook his head in disgust. "How severe is the injury?"
"We still don't know how much damage there's going to be." She took a deep, shaky breath. "But I have to believe we'll get through this fine. He won't quit until he does walk again. I know he won't."
"Yeah. That boy will be up and around in no time," he agreed. "He's a fighter."
"Just like you." She swallowed and stared at his face, searching for any signs of illness. It was hard to tell in the lighting. Was he paler than normal?
"Yeah." Her father shifted on the sofa and appeared uncomfortable, his calloused fingers digging into an aluminum can of diet soda. "Don't forget to take care of yourself, too, kiddo. I know tonight that's the last thing you want to hear. But I don't want to see you wear yourself out like you did when I got sick. Eat well. Get some sleep."
She didn't answer, instead standing to make herself a cup of caffeine-free tea with plenty of sugar. Her father had always jokingly asked if she'd like "some more tea with her sugar." Christine sat cross-legged in the living room and drank it while her dad half-watched the news. The setting brought her some peace. Her thoughts wandered back to Raoul; she hoped he was resting.
Near eleven, she stood, bid her father goodnight, and headed for her old bedroom. Going in there always made her feel like a little girl again—with the smiling dolls on the shelves and figurines of dancers and musicians in various poses. A violinist sat nearby a twirling ballerina, a pianist was playing next to a cancan girl, and a flutist with his eyes closed was standing beside a grinning tap dancer. Pictures of her at different stages in her life hung on the wall and decked her dresser. Sometimes the juvenile setting brought her comfort; tonight it only made her feel more powerless.
No. She was not helpless! Her father would be fine; she'd see to it that he adhered to a healthy diet with plenty of exercise. And Raoul would recover and walk. She would have him jogging around their neighborhood again in no time. She wouldn't lose. The two people who defined her life would not suffer or leave her. Failure wasn't an option.
Unused to sleeping alone now, Christine rested on her stomach and stretched her arm across the empty space beside her, pretending that her husband was there and all was well.
By the time she arrived at the hospital early the next morning, Raoul's parents were already in his room.
