There was no point in even attempting sleep. Each time she closed her eyes, the images from the night before replayed in her mind. The shot, Woody's collapse, the pool of blood widening beneath him all unraveled in slow motion.
Dawn crept in after a few hours. A new shift of nurses streamed in and out, changing his IV bags, checking his wound. Each time they called her "Mrs. Hoyt" she squirmed uncomfortably.
"It's Jordan," she would always say, and they would nod and whisk out of the room, giving her a smile that was a blend of detached pity and sympathy. It was common in the medical field; she knew it all too well.
She had managed to lose her bloody dancing shoes somewhere along the way, and one of the nurses loaned her a pair of sneakers. They were two sizes too big and felt like clown shoes, but she was grateful for them as she headed wearily down to the cafeteria.
There were phone calls to make. She sat in front of her uneaten tray of pancakes with her cell phone, staring blankly at the the cell number for Cal that she had found in Woody's wallet. How could she possibly find the words to tell him what had happened to his brother?
She dialed, but there was no answer. She ended up leaving a message in urgent tones that Woody was in the hospital, and he needed to call her right away. It hardly seemed the kind of thing he should hear in voicemail, but she had no other choice. She only hoped Cal had his cell phone with him wherever he was.
She called the precinct to let them know what had happened, but they had already heard, of course. She needed to talk to someone, anyone, and she found herself dialing Lily's number. Lily immediately began to cry, and Jordan felt tears begin to pool in her own eyes.
"Stop, Lily. Stop. He's going to be fine, okay?" She sat, shaken, for a full ten minutes after she hung up, staring through tears into the blurred mess of her breakfast. There would be no more phone calls. She trusted Lily would get the word out for her.
She glanced down at her watch. It had been 45 minutes. Too long. What if Woody awoke? What if something happened while she was gone? She threw away her untouched plate and hurried back upstairs.
She wondered who else she would have to lie to today. It was a bitter irony: she had convinced the hospital staff that they were married, when the truth was that there was very little of their relationship left after they way she had hurt him.
Woody was still unconscious when she re-entered his room. She was unused to seeing him like this, and it took her breath for a moment. She took her place back in the armchair and tried, without much success, to distract herself with a discarded newspaper she'd picked up in the cafeteria.
Then, there was a small movement. She looked up just as Woody's eyelids fluttered open. She leaned forward in her chair hopefully.
"Woody? Can you hear me? It's Jordan." There was a small noise. He blinked his eyes to adjust to the light.
"Jordan..." he muttered groggily. His eyes scanned the room in confusion.
"I'm here." She took his hand.
He focused on her then, and his eyes narrowed. "You're here," he said flatly.
She smiled at him and gave his hand a squeeze. "Are you in much pain?"
"I was shot in the gut, Jordan." He closed his eyes shut tight, and his body seemed to stiffen.
"It's okay, I'll get the nurse. Hang in there."
She dashed into the hall and ran down to the desk. There was a sudden whirl of activity, nurses whisked into his room, the doctor appeared. She was dismissed when they opened his bandage.
She wanted to tell them that there was nothing that could happen to the human body that she hadn't already seen, but she obediently went out into the hallway to wait.
He's awake. She smiled to herself. He's awake. She let out a small ripple of a laugh. He's awake.
She knew, of course, that he wasn't out of the woods yet, but it didn't matter. He was awake, and it seemed to her a small miracle.
Then the initial relief began to fade. It was the way he had looked at her, the way his jaw had tightened when he realized she was there.
You're here...
There seemed something cold and flat in his voice, as if her presence in his room was not an altogether welcome surprise. It was just the pain, she convinced herself. Everything would be fine, just fine, and they would start again as if the night before had never happened.
The doctor came out then, and spoke to her briefly. She nodded as if she had heard and then walked numbly back into Woody's room. He did not turn to her, but lay staring blankly up at the ceiling.
"Hey," she whispered. "How are you feeling?"
There was a pause. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. "How do you think?"
"The doctor says you're doing much better," she said as chirpily as she could manage. He did not respond. "Hey, listen..." she leaned into him conspiratorially. "They wouldn't let me up here unless I was family. Don't blow my cover, but I told them I was your wife." She managed a small, forced laugh.
One corner of his lip curled up. "Imagine. You, my wife." He turned his head away from her and shut his eyes. Whatever fantasies she had harbored about a neat and tidy reunion had evaporated.
"Well. I guess I'll let you get some rest. I'll check on you later." she said with artificial cheerfulness and tried to hurry out the door.
"I remember everything, Jordan," he said in a small, weakened voice. She stopped in the doorway and turned. "I remember walking in the store and seeing you with your hands in the air. I remember seeing the gun pointed at me and hearing the shot. I remember lying there on the floor. I thought I was going to die, but I remember you there holding my hand and telling me to hang in there." He looked at her for a long moment, and it seemed that the warmth had returned to his eyes. She smiled at him and blinked back tears. Then his face clouded over. He turned his head from her again and spoke in empty, indifferent tones. "I remember the club, too."
Her heart sank and she ran from the room, heading blindly down the hallway. She was aware of a figure coming toward her with open arms. Lily. She had never felt particularly close to her, but she did not resist when Lily pulled Jordan to her and comforted her as she cried a fresh shower of ragged sobs.
"How is he, Jordan?" Lily finally asked with concern.
"Well, he's awake." She paused to take the kleenex that Lily passed to her. "I've really made a mess of things."
Lily looked at her quizzically. "I don't understand...how did you make a mess of things?"
"Last night, before the shooting, he accused me of leading him on. I've never seen him so angry. And it's my fault we were at that convenience store." Her voice broke again.
"Jordan, ssssh. Don't kick yourself. I don't think it works like that. You didn't make it happen."
Jordan shook her head slowly. "He hates me, Lily." Jordan sank down in a chair, elbows on knees. "God, I sound so selfish."
Lily sat down next to her and placed a hand on Jordan's back. She spoke as gently as she could manage. "Well...yeah. You do."
Jordan looked up at her and snorted humorlessly. Lily continued. "Jordan, he's just now beginning to process the fact that he almost died. Your relationship is the furthest thing from his mind right now. Give him some time. He cares about you. You know that."
No. Not anymore, she wanted to say, but they both sat in silence. Lily handed her the large shopping bag she had brought in. "Here. I thought you could use this."
Jordan peeked inside. Toothbrush, toothpaste, a change of clothes. Jordan smiled weakly. "Thanks, Lily."
"You're very welcome."
There was a pause while Jordan rummaged through the bag, but she found her mind wandering back to the night before and the car ride from the club.
"He's right," she began in a small voice. "I led him on for years. I let him think he had a chance." She shook her head and brushed at stinging tears with her thumb. "Why wasn't I honest with him? Why couldn't I tell him what I really felt?"
Lily reached out and touched her hand. "And how do you really feel, Jordan?"
Jordan lifted her head and looked at Lily. She opened her mouth to say that she thought of Woody as a friend. She was flattered by his attention and enjoyed his company, but nothing more. She opened her mouth to speak but found the words would not come.
And then it suddenly occurred to her in a blinding, overwhelming flash of clarity that none of it was true.
"Oh, God..." she started in sudden, stunned realization, but then she was aware of movement at the end of the hall, figures running into one of the rooms. Woody's room.
She rose and stumbled back toward the nurse's station. A nurse dashed from Woody's room to the desk and picked up the phone there. "Code Blue, ICU Room 12A."
"What's happening? What's going on?" The nurse did not answer but rushed back into the room. An attending appeared and brushed past Jordan. She stood frozen in the doorway of his room looking at Woody's still form as the monitors beeped wildly.
She was aware then that her cell phone was vibrating. She ignored its insistent buzz until she remembered. Cal.
She pulled the phone from her pocket and answered it with an unsteady hand.
"Jordan? It's Cal. How is he?"
"You need to get here." Her voice was frantic. "You need to get here, Cal."
"I'm losing battery here, Jordan. Ahhh, God." There was a staticky silence. "I'm in the middle of nowhere, but I'll get there as soon as I can. Just...tell him to hang on."
"I will." She turned back to the room. "But, Cal? Hurry."
