"Hey kid," Leo's gravelly voice answered on the third ring.
"Hey Leo," Josh tried to stay calm but couldn't keep his voice from shaking slightly.
"What's wrong?"
"What do you mean?" Josh asked, clearing his throat. Maybe he could just pass it off as exhaustion and jet lag and . . .
"Come on. Who do you think you're talking to? How long have I known you? I can tell when something's wrong." Leo said with his usual snarkiness. But then the snarkiness fell away and he added more seriously, "Is it Donna?"
"Yeah," Josh found his voice becoming choked with emotion. He cleared his throat again and swallowed hard. "Uh, the doctor said there were some complications. They had to call in another surgeon to fix something and she had to have a couple of blood transfusions and she was out for a long time and . . . Leo, they're talking about brain damage."
There was a long pause. And then, "Okay. When will they know more?"
"Hours, probably," Josh answered. "She's still unconscious. They want to do an MRI when . . . uh . . . when she wakes up."
"And when she wakes up, you'll keep us posted?" Leo reaffirmed, confident and optimistic as ever.
"Yeah."
"Middle of the night or whenever," Leo added.
"Yeah," Josh said again.
"How are you holding up?" Leo asked, changing the subject.
"Me? I'm good. Just, you know . . . tired," Josh didn't want to admit that he was barely keeping it together. He wasn't sure if the queasiness was robbing him of his appetite or if his empty stomach was causing his nausea. He was exhausted and dizzy and sweaty. And he wasn't about to admit any of that to his boss. But Leo must have guessed anyway.
"You should try to get some sleep," Leo suggested. "Go grab a bite to eat and check yourself into a hotel for a few hours. They'll call you if anything changes."
"Yeah, maybe I'll do that," Josh said, already knowing he wouldn't.
"I'm serious, Josh," Leo said. "You should get away from the hospital. It would do you good to be away from the chaos and—"
"So how's the President doing with this whole retaliation thing?" Josh interrupted, changing the subject.
Leo filled Josh in on Admiral Fitzwallace's funeral and the tension brewing in the Oval Office and the President's insistence that there must be a way to avoid bombing Palestine—what little he could share on an unsecure line. But it still provided the distraction Josh was looking for.
"Listen, kid, I gotta go brief the President. But if you need anything . . ." Leo said, as their conversation wound down.
"I know," Josh said, watching the sky starting to get light on the horizon though the hospital windows. "I'll let you know if anything changes."
"And think about what I said," Leo added. "A couple hours away from the hospital wouldn't kill you. And a shower probably wouldn't hurt, either."
"Bye Leo," Josh said, smiling to himself as he hung up.
Josh looked at his watch as he dropped his cell back in his pocket. He would need to be to the airport in a couple of hours to pick up Donna's mom.
Slipping into the men's room he turned on the tap and let the cold water run over his hands for a moment before splashing his face two or three times to wake himself up. The thin white scars on his right palm stood out as the cold water turned his hands red. He barely noticed them anymore, but for some reason they were bothering him right now. It seemed like so long ago that he had put his hand through that window in his apartment at the height of his PTSD.
You wrapped that yourself, right? Donna's gonna take you to the emergency room.
She knows?
She was the one who guessed.
It wasn't until later that night that Donna admitted to him she had actually guessed wrong. She'd seen the bandage and assumed he'd slit his own wrist. She thought it was a suicide attempt and she'd been so relieved to find out the truth—even though the truth had only been slightly less terrifying—that she'd dissolved into tears. Josh remembered how her body shook with sobs while he held her in a tight embrace and apologized over and over for worrying her, rubbing her back with his uninjured hand.
At the time he thought it was a bit of an overreaction. Donna being Donna. Afterall, he was fine other than a cut up hand. But now he wondered if this was what she had felt like. Had she experienced this worry and guilt and fear? If so, he owed her a better apology. Because sitting here in the hospital wondering if he was about to lose her forever . . . this was hell.
Exiting the restroom he nearly collided with Colin.
"They've moved her to the ICU," the Irishman said. "Give them a moment to get her settled in and then we can go back."
"Okay," Josh said.
But Josh didn't bother waiting. And by the time he had located the ICU and found Donna's room, the nurses were just leaving.
"Good morning, Mr. Lyman," one of Donna's nurses greeted Josh warmly.
"Can I see her?" Josh asked.
"Of course. But she's still asleep and probably will be for most of the day," the nurse responded.
"That's normal, though, right?" Josh hoped he didn't sound as worried as he felt.
"She's just had a major surgery. Her body's been through a lot," she answered, making a note on Donna's chart.
"Yeah, but—" Josh began.
"It's nothing to worry about," the nurse reassured him. "We're keeping and eye on her stats and giving her a healthy dose of morphine to help with the pain. Other than that, all we can do is wait."
Josh thanked the nurse and walked into Donna's room. She was paler than she had been last time Josh had seen her, and the dark circles under her eyes were more pronounced, but other than that she looked the same.
He sat down next to her bed and hesitantly reached out to touch her hand. Half afraid that her hand would feel as dead as she looked, he was relieved to find that it was soft and warm. He thought he felt her hand react to his touch, but that might have been his imagination.
Suddenly Josh was overcome with exhaustion. Still holding Donna's hand, he slumped down in his chair as sleep finally overtook him.