She walked into the bathroom to give him a few minutes to fall apart in privacy. Peeking around the corner, her heart wrenched as he looked down at the blanket and gave a long, tender stroke to the flag. Not her husband but a veteran, too brave and stubborn for his own good, sat in that bed right now. A man not even born in this country had more loyalty and love for it than many. This man may've been forced to join and moved up the ranks to spite those who said he'd be nothing, but that hadn't instilled the devotion to the flag.
The heartbreak rippling off of him broke her heart. Returning to his bedside, she sat in the chair rather than on his cherished blanket. "After you proved yourself, why did you remain enlisted? You had served your time for the government to pay for college, yet if my math is right, you served for two more deployments. You could've retired after being injured but you stayed on reserves."
His eye remained on the blanket. "So many people born in this country...take the simplest things for granted. In...many countries, children play in the streets...filled with waste and filth and drink brown water. In some...countries, boys carry guns by the age of nine. In...other countries, poverty is a child's only...companion on cold, hungry nights."
Tears welled - poverty that he'd known.
Raising his gaze to her, he spoke quiet and humble. "In this country, the hungry can...be fed, the children can play on...the streets, and the poor can be educated. This...is the country where I want my children to grow up...and ask me that same question because they've...never had to know hardship. This is the...land of opportunity. I came with nothing and it gave...me everything. I did it to protect this way of...life and give my family a safe home where children can ride...a bike down the sidewalk without fear of being blown up."
Swallowing hard, she laced her fingers with his on the blanket and searched his face. Awe and humility softened her voice. "It doesn't make being in the hospital easier, but what you're bearing now is a direct result of you making this land safe again a few days ago, Jason. You showed the world that this country has no tolerance for terrorists. You showed the nation that no one can threaten us. Perhaps in a more direct way than ever before, you kept this country safe for our babies." Then she stood and kissed his smooth, hot cheek.
The poor thing was out of breath from so much conversation. After a moment, he spoke again. "What day is it?"
She glanced at her phone. "Monday." When he looked uncertain what to say, she cocked her head. Ah. Mondays he usually went to church. "Do you want me to call Father Bob?"
He shook his head. "He's figured out by now I'm not showing up today."
"No, do you want me to call and see if he will come here?" She set a hand over his. It seemed to bother him to miss Mass, but it was like he felt guilty to ask the priest to drive out. She dialed on her phone and held Jason's gaze. Hope flickered in his eye. "Hi, Father Bob. It's Emma Port...well, Jason's in the hospital...yes, would you mind? He'd like that...alright, thank you." She hung up and smiled. "He'll be here in a half hour. He sounded worried and in a rush to get here. I'll give you a bath in a bit."
When Father Bob arrived, Jason grew very solemn. Her grip tightened on his hand in concern. The poor dear didn't seem as happy to see the priest as expected.
"Jason, I'm so sorry to see you in here. Did you have complications with the scars?" Father Bob looked from Jason to her in confusion.
Jason's gaze fell to Father Bob's chest. He swallowed hard and seemed...ashamed. "In the terrorist attack a few days ago, I killed nine men...children really. Most couldn't have been older than twenty."
Oh no. Her heart plummeted. All this time he'd been upset about this and hadn't said anything. She kissed his cheek. "I'll wait outside, love." He wanted confession and didn't deserve for her to stay and feel like she judged him for his sins.
Father Bob stepped out a few minutes later, heartache on his face. "Sometimes we are put in impossible situations. God bless the men brave enough to protect us, but I would not trade places with them for the world. I told him that God knows what lies in our hearts and He will forgive those who truly repent. I also told him that it's okay for him to lean on you. Go to him, Emma. He suffers not just in body but in spirit. These wounds remind him every moment of the cause."
With a shaky breath, she nodded. "Do you think he needs to talk to a therapist?"
He shook his head. "He needs your love right now. I gave him Communion too. Would you like the same?"
She swallowed hard, a little nervous, a little self-conscious. This wouldn't have been something she'd have even thought to do a year or two ago. "And maybe a prayer for Jason to get better?"
Father Bob smiled and led her back inside. "Jason? Emma asked for a prayer that you get better."
Jason cocked his head and looked at her, as if surprised.
Her cheeks burned and heart beat faster. Jason thought her silly and -
"I've never had anyone pray for me besides him." So much awe filled his voice.
With cheeks growing hotter, she bowed her head in embarrassment. "At dinner when we pray, I always say a prayer for you."
He stared with tears welling in his eye. A simple act that took no more than a second or two each evening meant the world to him. Faith had become the core of him - perhaps because at one time, it had been all he'd had left in the entire world. "I pray every day for you too," he whispered.
"Let's join hands and bow our heads." Father Bob started the prayer.
After Father Bob left, she sat on the edge of Jason's bed and held his hand. "You can talk to me about anything. You know that, right? I won't love you any less."
His eye dragged up to her. "I shouldn't have blurted that in front of you." Then a coughing fit rattled his chest. When she pressed a hand to his chest to held absorb some of the vibrations so he wouldn't tear the cartilage, he glanced at her with a confused look. The cough passed but the look remained. "You've known so much violence. I don't...understand why I don't frighten you. If not my face, then what I have done; what I am capable of."
Leaning forward, she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his left shoulder, mindful of the bandages. "You're a good man, Jason. Sometimes you're forced to make choices to keep people safe. It is your motive and your heart that make it impossible to fear you."
His left arm wrapped around and his right held as tight as he could. Then he laid her down across his lap and stroked her hair. He gazed down and held her eyes. The illness and pain and weakness faded from the lines of his face for a moment. In it's place bloomed love, tenderness, and hope. "You're my angel, Emma." Gentle fingers brushed a lock of hair from her brow. "When things are dark, you show me the way."
She fell into his beautiful blue eye. Her heartbeat slowed, calm and serene under his love. Another wet cough wracked his body, shattering the tender, romantic moment. Sitting up, she prested a hand to his chest so it wouldn't hurt him so much. The poor man needed a bath to relax him so he'd fall asleep.
With a rag and a towel at the ready, she washed small areas of his skin at a time to keep away a chill that would drive up the fever.
"Emma, I love this." He sighed in relaxation and his eye drifted shut. "I love you too."
A smile tugged as she trailed the rag over his hard abs. "I love you."
His body relaxed as he fell asleep.
The nurse came in a bit later. "Is he sleeping?" She kept her voice down.
"He is. An hour now." She smiled and set down her phone where she sat beside the bed.
When the nurse checked his temperature, she frowned and ran it across his forehead again. "Jason." The woman shook his shoulder.
Her stomach dropped. They wanted him to sleep and wouldn't try to wake him unless something was wrong. She scooted to the edge of her seat. "What's wrong?"
"His temp is approaching one hundred six. He's not sleeping, he's unconscious." The nurse hit a button to get the team in fast.
Oh god, this whole time he'd been getting worse while she'd just been sitting there. She took his burning hot hand and pumped his hand while rubbing his cheek as the nurse flew around the room. "Jay, look at me. Open your eye, honey." His hand twitched - perhaps a reflex or maybe he was trying to wake up. "That's it. I need you awake. Look at me. Honey, open your eye." Frightened tears burned.
His eyelashes fluttered for a few seconds as she kept coaxing and he finally looked at her with a half-hooded gaze.
She choked back a cry of relief. The nurse pulled her back as the doctor and nurses poured in. "Is he gonna be alright? I thought he was sleeping." She held a hand over her mouth to control the sobs.
"You couldn't have known." The nurse sat her in a chair at the back of the room. "We can use ice and drugs to force down the fever."
"Jason, open your eye," the doctor demanded. "Jason, look at me."
Her heart stopped.
The doctor looked up. "Mrs. Port." He nodded for her to come. When she rushed to his side, he said, "Get him to respond to you. If we can control the fever with drugs and ice, it's the easiest route for his body."
She took Jason's hand again and reached to touch his face. "What's the other route?"
"Inducing a coma through hypothermia."
Her eyes flew to him in horror but he remained focused on pumping drugs in the IV line while the nurses put ice packs on his body. "Jason, I need you to open your eyes again. Look at me, honey. Jason."
His eye dragged open, and she smiled. "Stay with me, Jay. You have a high fever and I need you to stay awake for a few minutes."
"Cold."
She looked down at his chest to see if he had goosebumps that would drive up the fever. Nothing. Then she looked at him. "I know, love. You need ice so you don't get too hot." She adjusted the ice pack that slid off his neck, careful to keep it off the bandages. When his eye drifted shut, she rubbed his cheek. "No, Jay, look at me."
The poor dear forced his eye open. "Tired."
"I know, but you can't sleep yet." What had she done? If this had been caught an hour ago... The tears welled and thickened her voice. "Please, Jay. Stay awake." Two tears fell onto his arm.
His brow furrowed a bit, as if he tried to comprehend what had her so upset. His hand pulled away and he tried to reach up to touch her face, but the effort was beyond him. His hand fell to the bed. When she took it again, his fingers curled around in a weak grip. "Don't cry."
She kissed his hand and stroked his hair, a watery smile escaping that even in his state, he worried about her. That had to be a good sign.
The hustle and bustle of the room calmed down until only a nurse and the doctor remained. Jason seemed to have to use every ounce of strength to keep his eye open. The nurse ran a thermometer across this temple again. "One hundred four point seven."
"That's good." The doctor set a hand on her shoulder. "We don't want his temp to drop too fast and shock his body, but a response of nearly a degree this soon is good." Then he looked down. "Jason, can you follow the conversation?"
His throat convulsed as he swallowed and his eye remained semi-open. "Fever dropping."
"Yes. Your body is under a great deal of stress with the wound and the pneumonia. We're losing options. I strongly suggest that we give you time to rest with hypothermia."
Her eyes flew to the surgeon. "What?"
The doctor turned to her with a solemn face. "Dropping his body temperature to about ninety degrees would allow his brain to perform only the essential functions and conserve a great deal of energy. We'd have him on a ventilator and transfer him to ICU to make sure he's monitored closely."
"No! Lowering it will compromise his immune system. The infection will get out of control - "
"Emma," the physician said in all seriousness, "we do it now in a controlled way, or we wait for the fever takes over his body and pulls him."
It hurt - the fear pounding in her chest. Her head whipped to Jason and she held his hand tighter. The doctor didn't need to say this could be dangerous. The doctor's words faded into the background as she searched Jason's eye. He would know if this was a good idea. "Jay?"
He simply held her gaze and gave her hand a weak squeeze. No protest came forth. The energy drained out of him more with each passing hour - enough that he wasn't going to resist the doctor any longer.
Her face crumpled.
"The risks - "
Shaking her head, her voice broke. "I don't want to know." The tears ran down too fast to wipe away.
She sat beside the bed holding his cold hand and stared, her voice raw from reading and talking to him. The doctor said that sometimes patients could hear during the coma. He needed to know that she hadn't left his side.
Tubes and wires came out from everywhere and machines constantly beeped. The worst noise was hearing the ventilator breathing for him. It became an agonizing, terrifying sound - Jason's life hung on that machine not malfunctioning. Each minute dragged past. It had been one thousand one hundred and ninety minutes - nearly twenty hours - since the coma had been started.
Someone set a hand on her back. Probably a nurse again to shove more food at her and try to convince her to take a nap.
"He's strong, baby. He's going to be alright."
The breath on her lips froze. That voice. She looked over her shoulder, her voice coming out as a harsh rasp. "Mama?"
Mom stood there in her coat and held out her arms.
She threw herself at her and burst into gut-wrenching sobs.
When she calmed, Mom guided her toward the couch on the other side of the bed against the wall for family to sleep on.
"No, he needs to know..." Her voice finally gave out and she dug in her heels. When Mom let go, she sat in the chair again and took his hand, looking up with pleading eyes.
Mom set a hand on Jason's arm. "Jason, the nurses said Emma hasn't slept or eaten in thirty hours. She's grated her voice raw and needs to rest. We'll sit on the sofa right here. I'll keep watch while Emma naps." Then Mom took her hand and tugged her up.
If she let go of Jason, he might slip away. She had to touch him so he'd know she hadn't left. He had to keep fighting.
But Mom pried her hand away. "He knows we're here, baby."
"I need to read to him." Her voice scratched in a terrible, scratchy whisper that hurt like sandpaper scraping flesh in her throat.
"I will read to him so he knows we're here. He might not even recognize your voice if you don't let it rest, baby." Mom took the phone out of her hand and sat on the corner of the couch, pulling her down to rest her head in Mom's lap.
Mom's soft voice read an e-book on the phone and that gentle, motherly hand stroked her hair - just like Mom had done to put her to sleep as a child after a nightmare. Nana must've told Mom she had to come. Whatever had pushed Mom to come out, all that mattered was she here. Her eyes drifted closed. Mom would keep watch over him. Just for a few minutes.
Consciousness drifted closer and Mom's voice began to penetrate. Mom? It'd all been a nightmare - the hospital and Jason's illness. But why was Mom in the bedroom and Jason not near? Heat didn't radiate from her side where Jason should've slept. She nuzzled the pillow and frowned. The clock ticked an odd sound.
Her eyes fluttered open and the world caved in. A hospital room. It hadn't been a dream. Mom sat in the chair beside the bed. Jason's vitals beeped slow and steady.
"Your text came in late. I called Stevens and he had your plane sent out as soon as possible, just like you said. I know I should've come sooner. It broke my heart when you texted what she'd told Nana." Mom's words warbled with tears. "I called the jeweler and told him to replicate her engagement and wedding rings. You were right - he had the prints still. They should be ready in a couple weeks."
She looked around. No one else was in the room. Mom spoke to Jason. He must've texted Mom that night he'd been up late.
"I'm glad you told me to come. Emma looks exhausted and so stressed. Her cheeks are a bit thin like she's lost weight too. I'll stay here as long as you both need me."
Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes.
"Morning, baby." Mom smiled.
"Morning?" She pulled the blinds aside and looked out the window. The sun had just started to rise.
"You slept all afternoon and through the night." Then Mom leaned closer to Jason, her hand resting on his arm. "She looks a thousand times better." Mom nodded toward a steaming mug on the bed tray. "Honey and lemon for your throat, baby. Your husband will want to hear your pretty voice rather than a frog in a few hours."
She frowned. "A few hours?"
A massive grin brightened Mom's face. "The doctor came in last night and started reversing the hypothermia. He said it must be done slow over twelve hours. We have about four to go."
She sat up and stared in dumbfounded silence.
A nurse walked in with a smile. "Good morning, Mrs. Port. I see your mama got you to finally rest. What a shame it'd be for your husband to wake up and find you in a hospital bed. Mm hm." The woman checked Jason's vitals and adjusted some of the machines. "He's doing well. Becky, any twitching or anything?"
Mom shook her head and smiled. "He's been still as a lamb. No goosebumps or anything, like you said, Paula."
"Of course it's like I said! I know what I'm doing, mm hm." Then the nurse put on a mask, gloved, and began changing the bandages on his shoulder with a glance up. "Stop catching flies, honey, and come help me. You were gun-ho yesterday to be the one to moisturize his shoulder while I do his face."
The sun shined into the room as hopeful as her heart. She bounced up and scrubbed in the bathroom before putting on a mask and gloves to apply cream to his shoulder. The scars and bullet wound had paused in their healing since the hypothermia treatment.
"Lordy, his face is gonna do fine." The nurse peeled away the bandage.
Standing on her toes to lean over him, she frowned. His face seemed worse from the vasocontriction regressing healing rather than improving it. She looked at the nurse.
"I worked in an academic hospital in plastic surgery for ten years. Saw my share of burn victims. It's takin' it's time, but it's coming along. Mm hm. Gonna be a fine handsome man in a few weeks."
She bit her lip and continued working the cream around the cardiac electrodes on his chest and into the dry shoulder burn. "He's worried about how much worse the scarring will be."
"It's only as bad as you say it is, honey. A man don't care much what people think if his wife don't mind him."
Huh. Maybe there was truth to that. His first reaction he'd ever had to his burn was Carolyn, who'd been his future wife at the time...the bitch. Goodness, she should watch her tongue lest that slip out one day in Jason's presence. He'd cared for Carolyn enough to propose and she shouldn't make him feel worse about the woman. Maybe this time, he'd accept the scars better because he already saw her not shying away.
She held Jason's hand on one side and Mom's on the other as the doctor and respiratory therapist delayed the ventilator to see if Jason's body would wean off.
His chest didn't rise. One second, two, three... He wasn't breathing.
"Turn it on." Her heart raced and she stepped forward.
"Give him a few more seconds. It'll take his brain a moment to register that it needs to take over. He can be without air for at least a minute without harm. The machine will kick in if you don't do it yourself, Jason." The physician didn't seem panicked.
She held her breath and prayed.
His chest moved a hair. Then the ventilator kicked in. "That's alright," the doctor promised. "It'll take a bit for his body to catch on. Plus we've been giving sedatives and drugs to keep him from shivering so his body can rest."
Again they waited. His chest did a half breath. The ventilator kicked in another few seconds later. On the third try, his chest rose and fell on it's own.
She gasped in hope and squeezed Mom's hand. The ventilator kicked in for the next breath.
The two-hour process of weaning seemed to go on and on forever. The final step would be Jason conscious enough to breathe on his own, although he took more and more breaths without the machine.
His abdomen started convulsing and then his chest.
"He's bucking the ventilator. Jason, it's alright." The respiratory therapist readjusted the gas levels.
Jason's hand tightened in hers.
"Bag him." The doctor and nurse grabbed supplies.
"Jason, relax. It's helping you breathe." Her hands shook as he rubbed his leg and clutched his hand.
They shut down the vent and the therapist connected a bag to pump air.
He seemed to calm, but his eye still didn't open.
"Emma's here waiting for you. Can you open your eye, Jason?" Paula checked his temperature for the thousandth time. "Ninety eight point three. Almost there."
His grip this time was weak but unmistakably intentional. "He's waking up." Her heart raced. He'd be alright. It had to be downhill from here.
"It might take him a bit to fully awaken." The respiratory therapist pulled the bag off. "There's less resistance."
Jason's chest rose and fell, his breaths echoing through the tube.
Everyone watched the monitor. His oxygen level remained up and his heartbeat continued steady and strong.
The doctor's pager beeped. He shut it off. "I have to go check on a patient. He's doing well. I'll be back in a few minutes."
In those few minutes, Jason's eye fluttered open but he looked out of it, pale, and ill.
"What's your blood sugar doing, sweetie?" The nurse got a glucometer and pricked his finger. "Mmm hmm. You need a little insulin."
She didn't dare breathe. Some catastrophic complication would spring up - maybe this was it. Maybe he had organ damage from it or brain damage. "Why is his blood sugar up?"
"Cuz we just froze him, honey. It's not uncommon." Paula paged for a nurse, who came in a flash. "Get the doc to order him some insulin. The poor thing is right ready to pass out." When the nurse left, Paula listened to his chest. "You go and give your wife a scare like that - if you be my husband, I'd right smack you, doll." Then she flashed a light in his eye to check reflexes.
He squinted, finally reacting to something.
"There ya are, honey. You're in the hospital. We have a tube down your throat to help you to breathe, doll."
"I think he's ready to extubate." The respiratory therapist lowered the bed and the nurse took Jason's hands.
She looked at Mom with wide eyes and held her hand tight as the nurse and therapist talked to him more and did some more reassessment.
"Here we go, sweetie. You're gonna gag good and strong. You show your wife how much better you're getting. Hold my hands tight now and don't help him pull out the tube."
Jason gagged and coughed for a moment as the nurse held down his hands.
"Good, honey. All done. That's the worst of it." Paula let go of his hands.
The nurse returned with a syringe of insulin and injected his forearm on the opposite side of the bed.
Paula continued to check him without raising the bed. "You feelin' better? That insulin will do you a world of good. Your throat is gonna be a bit sore for a few days. Do you know where ya are, honey?"
"Emma." His voice came out a bit raspy and drugged, but stronger than a couple days ago like he could breathe better.
"Emma's right here. Jason, tell me where you are."
"Hospital. Emma."
His worry pulled at her heartstrings and she sidled closer but still couldn't see around the nurse. "I'm here, Jay." She squeezed his hand.
He pulled his hand away. "Emma." The word filled with tears.
"Your voice is still hoarse, baby. He doesn't recognize you." Mom pushed her closer, practically against the nurse's back.
"Here's Emma." The nurse pressed against the bed to make room while still checking Jason. "There now, your color is coming back. That insulin is kicking in." She pricked his finger again to check his levels.
She leaned over the bed and the tears fell as she stroked his hair. "Hi, honey." Her lip quivered when he looked at her. He looked like absolute hell and never more precious.
But he didn't smile. A line creased his brow and his dilated eye darted around the room, an anxious expression spreading across his face. "Emma?"
The blood drained to her feet and the room spun. He didn't recognize her.
"Can you see?" The nurse flashed a light in his eye again. "Everything's all blurry yet, isn't it, doll?"
"Where's Emma?"
"Emma's right here. She lost her voice reading to you so much." The nurse took her hand and pressed it into Jason's. "See? That feels like Emma." Then Paula dropped her volume. "Sit and let him touch your face. He's disoriented and nervous. Not being able to see and your voice being hoarse are making him worried we're tricking him."
So she sat and guided his hand to cup her cheek. "It's me, Jay. I'm right here."
His face crumpled and he reached up with his right arm, the pain from the bullet wound making him grunt but it didn't slow him. With heartbreaking tenderness, he held her face in his hands and his fingers explored every curve. Tears fell from the corner of his eye and rolled down onto the pillow. And then he smiled - a beautiful smile straight from his soul. "It's you. Emma." His lips quivered. "I remember hearing you. You didn't leave."
She burst into tears and wept on his chest, her heart never overflowing so much before with love.