LITMIR.BIZ

      Catherine had aged another ten years by the time her ten minutes of visitation expired. She worked up a wan smile as she greeted Stan and Josiah, but the slant of her shoulders and the way she fiddled with the hem of her jacket revealed it as counterfeit. Good intentioned, but false.

      Stan rose from the couch he’d chosen as his favorite. “How is she?”

      “Oh,” Catherine said, “I think she has a little more color.”

      Is that the best she could do? Josiah envisioned Karin’s previously flawless skin with an improved “warmer” shade of ghostly blue. “Has the doctor been in?”

      “Not while I was there. Nurses in and out. They don’t say much about her condition. I didn’t realize until now how small small talk is.” She lowered herself into a chair then popped up. “Josiah, did you eat? We should get you something to eat.”

      “Mama Catherine, you’re too much. I should be asking that of you.”

      “We had a little something while you were gone.”

      Did they think he’d been gone too long? The look on her face didn’t offer a hint of that. “Was Sandi happy to see you?”

      With true vigor, Stan shook his head from side to side, lips pressed together, brows scrunched.

      After that many years of marriage, it was no wonder Catherine picked up on his less-than-subtle signal. But something got lost in translation. Catherine slapped her hand over her heart. “Oh, dear. Did she make a mess?”

      No. Your daughter did.

      How vigorously would Stan shake his head once the truth came out?

      Chapter 8

      Take hope where you can find it. Hope isn’t stingy. But it is only visible to those who appreciate its presence.

      ~ Seedlings & Sentiments

      from the “Hope” collection

      So pale. Karin’s skin was now the color of sun-bleached bones. More color, Catherine? Where? Josiah smoothed the excessively laundered hospital gown over Karin’s shoulder. Her body twitched.

      He jerked back and sought out the attending nurse. Their eyes met. Hers registered nothing out of the ordinary. But she’d obviously noticed the movement. Why didn’t she seem excited?

      “That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

      “Mr. Chamberlain, your wife is experiencing involuntary muscle contractions.”

      “But isn’t that a sign of—”

      “Not necessarily.” She smiled that pitiful oh-the-poor-man smile that gagged him. “I wish I could tell you differently. There’s been little change. She’s a three on the Glasgow Coma Scale.”

      “Three out of ten?”

      “Three out of fifteen. There are three categories with numbered levels. The total score comes from her level in each category: stimuli, ability to communicate, and ability to move—intentionally.”

      “So, zero is the lowest in each of those categories?”

      She looked away briefly. “One.”

      Three categories. Three ones. Three can’t-get-any-worse scores. Oh, Karin.

      “But, the curiosity is that her eyes are sometimes open. That’s more indicative of DBT—deep brain trauma—than true, full-blown coma. Some rating systems—”

      Josiah stared at the now motionless spot on his wife’s shoulder. Move, Karin. Do it again. Prove this Florence Nightingale wrong.

      “—use a little different scale to determine brain function.”

      Angie, was it? He waited until she addressed the IV pump and its annoying alarm then glanced at her identification badge.

      “For instance, the Ranchos Los Amigos Scale,” she said, “uses an eight-level system based on awareness, ability to think, behavior signals, and the way the patient interacts with his or her environment.” She smiled. “And that probably sounds as if I just finished my final exam in neuropsychology, doesn’t it?”

      “A little bit.”

      “I know it’s a lot to absorb right now. It’s important. But it’s not important for you to know today, at this stage.”

      She probably meant well with her smile, but it seemed completely inappropriate in that setting. “So, Angie, you nurses work pretty long hours, don’t you?” Lame. But it qualified as conversation.

      “The hospital’s a little understaffed at the moment. Oh, don’t worry. We have your wife’s needs well-covered. But yes, it does require that we work extra-long shifts.”

      Her rubberized clogs squeaked with each step as she continued fussing with equipment and moving between the bed and the wheeled stand with its chest-high computer. Logging everything she did to his wife, Josiah assumed. Making sure the billing department knew about every needle, every change of sheets, every alcohol wipe.

      “I don’t mind.” Her voice floated to him.

      “What?”

      She stopped, fingers hovering over the keyboard, and said, “I don’t mind the extra hours. My husband and I are saving as much as we can before our baby comes. We’re going to try to live on one income.”

      She’s pregnant. He hadn’t noticed. More than a little pregnant, in fact. What was with this place? Every bloomin’ woman cradled a baby in her belly.

      Including Karin.

      You had to find someone else who could make that happen for you, huh, Karin? His eyes traced the line of her body under the thin sheet. The hollows on either side of her neck, the gentle rise of her breasts. He didn’t recognize them. They looked fuller than he remembered. And the small mound where her empty womb should be.

      Josiah cupped his hand over the mound. It just fit the curve of his palm. He rested his hand there, breathing, imagining, aching to change things so the little life could be his.

       Karin, you’ve robbed me. I can’t even ask you what I did that was so wrong, besides failing to make you a mother. When did you decide I wasn’t worth forgiving for that?

      He felt warmth growing under his palm, as if the life were responding to his touch. The baby probably would fit into his hand with hand to spare.

      God, protect this child.

      No more words came. He lifted his hand from the mound. His palm tingled. Stung. The room shook as Karin screamed.

       Josiah? What are you doing? Why are you here? Why

      won’t you talk to me? Need to talk. Need to—

      He couldn’t read too much into Karin’s involuntary muscle movements. Involuntary screams. It wasn’t a reaction to his touch. Or his prayer. She wasn’t demon-possessed. Just unfaithful. And broken.

      Deep inside, on a level beyond recognition, her body railed against the pain, the nurse explained. A positive sign, in a way, she said.

      Josiah cried the tears Karin couldn’t. He understood soul-deep pain. His own screams died in his throat as he watched

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