CHAPTER ELEVEN

BE PATIENT
February 2000

Gracie was not sure what to expect.

And it was not that she had not wanted to see him. She had. She had spent every waking moment fretting over his condition. It was that she was afraid of what she might find. Of facing what she finally had to face.

Many had tried to tell her. "It's important," her brother had said, "you may never regret anything more."

But knowing and doing were two very different things.

People came to see him all the time. She knew, because they knew everyone who worked there. She heard from them constantly. "He looks really good," they would say, "he's doing very well."

But when she finally found the strength, the courage, to venture upstairs… it was terrifying in a very real way. She arrived on the tail-end of a shift, as the sunset poured beams of orange and red through the hospital windows. She wore a thin, dark grey cardigan over her requisite pink scrubs, her tennis shoes squeaking against the floor as she made her way down the hall. All she could think about was his pale, sallow skin.

It was hard to reconcile the image of a healthy man with the one that runs constantly through her head: him, laying lifeless in the trauma room, pale and bloodied. Him, whispering in her ear before he was knocked out for intubation. When she came to stand in his doorway, she tried. But there was too much emotion welling up in the base of her throat.

He was propped up in bed, in a hospital gown and pajama pants, a robe to keep him warm. He looked tired, but his eyes softened at the sight of her, as if her unannounced visit came at very long last. "Gracie," he murmured, beckoning her with one hand; come in, come closer. It was not quick enough to quell her emotion, the sob that bubbled forth in her throat as she perched on the edge of the bed and buried her face in his shoulder, but he knew. He understood. She had bottled everything up inside since the stabbing, and it was choosing now to emerge.

I love you, he had said.

"I'm sorry," Gracie stammered between her tears, and she was shushed in response, his hand snaking upward to gently stroke her hair. He tilted his head, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, the scent of her lavender shampoo filling his nostrils. "I should have come sooner… I don't know, I just—" Panicked.

But he did look good. He looked healthier and well cared for. Physical therapy was treating him well.

"Shh, it's okay. I understand why you didn't."

It took a moment for Gracie to catch her breath, to draw back and sniffle and glance him over with inexplicable eyes. He watched her quietly, reached for her, but she snatched her arm away. Her hands were trembling slightly, and suddenly her gaze was once more focused on anything but him. "I'm okay," he said quietly.

She nodded, but Carter was not positive his reassurance was getting through. "Really," he continued, almost rambling, "I should be getting out soon, I'll be back to work in a couple of weeks; and I know we haven't talked about it, but I really think that I should move in with my grandmother for the time being, and… why are you upset?"

She said nothing for the longest time. When she finally spoke, it was so soft he had to strain to hear. She said, "John, I was terrified. Terrified. I have never felt that kind of pure, unadulterated fear in my life. Not until I met you."

A pause, and she slowly peered up at him from under long eyelashes. "Not until I had the possibility of losing you."

He somehow found the voice to ask, "And that scares you?"

"More than anything."

Silence.

"You know, it's okay to be scared."

Silence. She still would not look his way, but from his view, Gracie looked exhausted. And after a moment, he simply sighed and motioned for her to join his side, permitting enough room for her to lay next to him. She acquiesced, burying herself in his chest with an arm around his waist, and they laid in perfect quietude. He ignored every little twinge of pain, for her. And much later, when she was fast asleep and a nurse came to announce the end of visiting hours, he would shoo the woman away just to keep the one sleeping peacefully at his side. For her.

"I was scared too," he whispered into her hair.


UNDER CONTROL
March 2000

He had kept true to his word. As soon as he was out of the hospital, his grandmother had sent a couple of guys over to collect Carter's things. In the span of day, it was as if he had never been in this space. Gracie understood it, truly. A life-threatening stabbing had a way of changing perspectives for people, and for all the time recently Carter had spent not talking to his grandmother, he was making good on some big life changes.

But it left Gracie with a lot to process. An entirely empty condo, with dust collecting in corners she had long forgotten. It was the first time she started considering selling it. Truth be told, she was considering a lot of things lately. She, too, was angling for some big life changes.

"Think about it," Malucci said when she joined him for coffee that morning. The two of them sat on a bench outside County, sipping from to-go cups. "We can get a place together. We'll split the rent."

"I don't know, Dave…" Gracie shook her head, sipping her hazelnut latte. "I don't really want to be privy to the girls you bring home."

"Well, that's the beauty of it. You won't have to worry about that. In fact, I bet we'll only ever see each other at work. It'll be like nothing has changed."

"Is that what you really want?"

Her brother was staring at her. "Come on, Gracie."

"No, I'm serious. You have to understand, Dave. The last I had seen of you was your back walking out the door. And let me paint you a picture: Mum was devastated. I had to deal with all of that. So forgive me if I'm having a hard time facilitating your re-entry into my life."

Malucci was quiet. He had left for college, but Gracie was not going to listen to that. "When she got sick, Dave? You want to know what she said to me? She said, 'Dave should be here. He would know what to do.' She already had faith that you were going to be a healer."

He was not looking at her, but Gracie could tell that there was wetness in his eyes.

"And she died without me," Malucci finally said, hushed. Gracie's gaze was unwavering on him.

Silence. "There's a lot you've missed too, Gracie," he said, looking up at her. "Can we just focus on trying to catch up?"

Later on, she ran into Carter in the lounge, when he was just arriving for his first day back to work. He was using crutches, and he was struggling to pick them up after they had fell. He was crouching on the floor with the most excruciating wince of pain, and Gracie rushed to his side. "John, what are you doing? Let me help."

"It's okay, I'm fine—"

"John." Gracie cut him off sternly, helping him stand back up to full height and handing him his crutches. "Are you sure you're up to this?" She did not believe him. He was still clearly in a lot of pain, and having a hard time getting around.

His eyes met her. "I just want to get back to it," he said, echoing the words she had fed him over Christmas.

"Okay," she said, holding her hands in the air as if she had just caved.

"Hey," he said, catching her attention before she completely turned away. "C'mere." Their lips met, soft and quick. "It's under control, all right? There's going to be good days and bad days."

She did nothing but nod. "Meet me for lunch later?" Carter asked. Once more, she nodded, and he kissed her cheek before leaving the lounge. There was nothing else she could do.


SUCH SWEET SORROW
May 2000

"That just looks like tuberculosis waiting to happen."

The patient was a twenty-something drug addict, dirty and disheveled from the streets, sweaty and coughing with every twitch of a movement she made. Gracie found herself standing in the doorway, hands on her hips while Carter peered over her shoulder. For a moment, Gracie was almost defensive of her addict. She shot Carter a warning glance over the shoulder before stepping into the room with a bag of saline, standing by the bedside and hooking the bag up to an IV infusion machine.

"What did he say?" The girl stammered between coughs.

"Nothing," Gracie replied quickly. She continued to shoot glares over her shoulder as she hooked the IV up to her patient. She injected something into the port and increased the drip, then pulled a few plastic tabs out of her scrub pocket, setting up a nebulizer treatment. "Dr. Carter here is very eager to take care of you."

He was tired. She could see that. Those bags under his eyes had been in place for days, sleepless nights introduced by spring. She worried about him. She was not able to so easily check on him now — no longer was he right down the hall from her, a change she still could not really comprehend. He withdrew from her now. Took and gave little in return. Exercised constantly, believing he could accomplish everything, only to become progressively agitated. Gracie had no idea what to think.

"John," Gracie said sharply when Carter did not move.

He stepped forward, saying nothing to the patient, merely slipping the buds of his stethoscope into his ears and listening to her lungs. "Temp's 101.4," Gracie remarked quietly. He removed the buds and stepped back.

"Sounds like bronchitis," he said dully.

Gracie rolled her eyes and turned to their patient. "Hannah," she said, addressing the addict by name, "what are you on?"

"What?"

"What are you on, Hannah?"

"I got nothin'."

"Show him your arms."

"What!"

"Show the doctor your arms, Hannah!"

Gracie made the girl push up her sleeves, enough to reveal a large area of injection-site cellulitis around her right bicep. "It's just a little meth, is all," the girl said dismissively.

Carter blinked, handed Gracie the chart and said, "You know the drill."

"I don't like him," Hannah declared between coughs, slurping up her nebulizer treatment as Carter made a break for the door. Gracie ignored her, but followed him, jogging to catch up.

"You win more with honey then you do with vinegar, John," she told him, although not too gently.

"You're one to talk."

"Will you just stop?"

"And do what?"

"Explain this to me, explain to me what the hell's going on with you!"

Carter stopped suddenly, and she nearly plowed into him in the middle of the hall, almost like how Carol came crashing into them a second later — her things gathered, looking like she's ready to run out the door. Gracie was momentarily distracted. "Where are you going?" She called after the curly-haired nurse, as she recovered and went to continue on her way.

"I gotta go see him; I'll be in touch…"

It took a moment, while Carol was scurrying away, for Gracie to realize whom she meant. She was so caught up in the realization that Carter almost got away. "John, please!" She snatched him by the elbow, and he jerked so violently that she was stunned. She took two steps back, a look of shock on her features.

Carter suddenly looked resigned. He pulled her into the drug lockup.

"There is nothing wrong with me," he finally said, and he looked as if he were struggling to be gentle. "I'm fine."

"Don't lie to me."

"Why would I lie to you about this?"

"Look, I know you're in pain, I know it hurts, but—"

"But I'm fine!"

"What do you want me to do?" Carter looked annoyed. Gracie was fighting, trying to latch on to something resembling hope. She plead, "Do you want me to stay with you tonight? At Gamma's? Do you want me to go to therapy with you, hold you hand; what, John? What do you want? Tell me anything, and I'll do it—"

He was quiet. He stared back at her with weary eyes; he sighed, and shook his head. He stepped forward, cradling her face in his hands. His skin felt a little rough, product of one too many years of hand-washing procedures. His thumb trailed gently across her bottom lip, and she found herself briefly wondering why, after so long, they could not label this. A kiss was pressed to her forehead, long and lingering.

And then he walked away.

She found herself sliding down a cabinet to the floor, head to knees.