Chasing Wishes (35 page)

One week turns into ten days, ten into twelve, and soon I hit two weeks of being alone in this hotel. I call the hospital every day, but they never have any updates for me. Each day without seeing Terrence brings new fears to life inside me. What if the infection was worse than they told me? What if it spreads to his brain? What if he
dies?

I need to keep myself distractedelfevery or I'm going to drive myself insane with worry.

Terrence picked out an exquisite, four-star hotel for me. I've never been anywhere even close to this fancy, and it's disconcerting to have everyone treat me so... respectfully. I find myself constantly scrutinizing the front desk's tone to see if he's being sarcastic or if I'm missing veiled mockery. I seriously can't get used to this whole 'being respected' thing. It's just so
weird
.

Whether I'm paranoid or not, there's absolutely no denying the luxury of this hotel. My bedroom is so large that I could accommodate a small family in the bed and still have plenty of space for a dance recital and shuffleboard. The kitchenette has deep cherry wood cabinets and better appliances than my old apartment had, the bathroom has a massaging showerhead and a tub I could swim laps in, and the balcony looks out directly over Biscayne Bay.

The hotel brochure claims we have a private beach, but I have no desire to go anywhere near the water right now. I just want to see Terrence again.

What if the surgery failed in a way so that his eyes can never heal? What if he's going to be in pain for the rest of his life?

I turn on the enormous flat-screen television to distract myself. Eight hundred channels and the only thing even remotely interesting is 'Antiques Road Show.'

Four other remote controls sit beside the television's controller. One operates the air conditioning, another opens and closes the curtains like some sort of Broadway show, and there's even one that turns on the coffee maker. Why the hell would I ever use any of these? Do I really need to save the five steps to the coffee maker?

Just as I'm about to go completely off my rocker and scold the remote controls for being so useless, my phone rings and scares me three feet into the air.

"Hello?"

"Good afternoon. This is Debra from the Palmer Institute," says an older woman's voice across the line. "May I speak to Miss Irene Hartley?"

"You've got her."

"Hi Irene," she coos sweetly. "I just wanted to let you know that the doctors have given approval for you to visit Terrence now, if you'd like."

Never in all the history of the English language has the word 'like' been more inadequate.

"Oh... um... yes! Thank you so much! I'll be right there," I stammer into the phone as I race around the room like a whirlwind gathering my things.

I throw on my shoes, grab my purse, brush my teeth in case I get a chance to kiss him... well, might be getting a little ahead of myself there. I'm in such a hurry to see Terrence that I run straight out into the hall while still in my pajamas and have to turn around. I'm downstairs five minutes later in a pair of blue jeans and a green fall sweater far too warm for Miami's climate, wringing my hands as I wait anxiously for the taxi.

After the most agonizing fifteen-minute taxi ride ever, I check in with hospital security and hurry to Terrence's recovery suite. His doctor shows me to the window before letting me into the room, and I gasp at the sight of Terrence's face almost completely covered with bandages.

"It didn't work, did it?" I whisper as a dizzying sickness rises in my stomach.

"Give him time," the doctor responds quietly.

"How much time?" I press. "How long does he need to recover? Is he going to be okay?"

The doctor smiles comfortingly at me.

"Irene, this is one of the most complicated eye surgeries we've ever performed," he answers. "All I can promise you that, now that we've modified Terrence's design, everything is implanted exactly the way it's supposed to."

"And what about the infection?" I ask, staring in the window at Terrence. His chest rises and falls slowly as he lies in bed with an IV in his arm, and I can't tell if he's awake or asleep.

"The human eye is mostly an immune-privileged zone, Miss Hartley," says the doctor. "This means that it isn't likely to reject Terrence's implant, but it also doesn't respond well to bacteria either. It's very difficult to clear an internal eye infection when you've just performed a surgery like the one Terrence went through."

"But the infection's gone now, right?" I ask, and I let out a sigh of relief as the doctor nods.

"The only thing left to do now is to wait and see how the implant works once Terrence is healed. We're expecting another two weeks of recovery."

The doctor motions me toward the door and then leans in close before continuing.

"What you need to do more than anything else right now is to be there for him," he whispers. "Stay with him while he heals and everything is going to work out. I promise."

He smiles and holds the door open for me.

"He's been asking for you for days now," whispers the doctor as I nervously walk into the silent room. "Take good care of him."

I pull up a chair beside Terrence's bed, wincing as it scrapes along the linoleum floor, and then I gently reach out, take his hand and entwine my fingers around his. Bandages cover his face from the nose up, and I can't help but shudder as my imagination concocts all sorts of gruesome ideas of what's hiding beneath the gauze.

"Irene?" he whispers, his voice strained and sore. They've given him a painkiller drip, but it's only taking the edge off the pain for him.

"Shh..." I hush him, holding a finger to my lips. "I'm going to tell you a story."

Terrence squeezes my hand tightly as if hanging onto me for dear life. It breaks my heart to see him in this much pain, and I wipe my eyes as my tears cloud my vision.

"Once upon a time, there was a princess who lived in a great city," I nervously start. "Nobody believed she was a princess, though, and everyone treated her badly—even the queen—until one day, she met a handsome young prince living in a castle deep in the woods to the north."

Horrible things always happen to good people in fairy tales. Witches blind kind princes and cast them into the desert to wander, stepdaughters live in abject poverty, ridiculed and treated badly by all... fairy tales are painful, even
nasty
stories right up until the ending when everything works out after all.

The story of Isaac and Nina is a long fairy tale and Terrence has missed a full nine years of it. Two more weeks of recovery should be just long enough to get to the Happily Ever After.

T
he midnight October sky is clear and full of stars as I sit out on balcony. The moon hangs low against the southern horizon, lighting up the Mystic River in sparkling silver as theovethber s breeze ripples the waters. God, it's beautiful tonight. I missed seeing the stars.

The French doors open behind me, signaling that my wife has finally returned from New York. She was in the city today for a contract signing with her agent. She's going to be narrating a children's book series—something about a ballerina pig. It's a very popular series, apparently.

She's had three small voice gigs since we got married, but this is her first big one. I'm excited that she's finally getting her first major voice-acting role, and I don't think I've ever been happier—well, short of our wedding day, of course—than when I watched her dance around the house in delight at the contract offer, smiling so brightly that she almost glowed in the dark.

"Sorry I'm so late," says Irene, closing the door behind her and then sitting beside me on the cold marble bench by the railing. "The train was delayed for three hours in New Haven."

"You could've called, you know. I'd have sent the chauffeur to pick you up."

"I've been waiting on slow buses and delayed trains my whole life," she says, smiling softly. "Old habits die hard."

No kidding
, I think. We've been married for a full year now and she still acts as if she's barely above the poverty line. I understand it, knowing how she grew up and all, but I still can't help but laugh when I catch her diluting the orange juice to make it last longer. Truth be told, it wouldn't hurt me to follow her example occasionally. I shouldn't spend as much as I do on pointless crap whether we're sitting on thirty-five million or not.

One year... wow.

It's hard to believe it's our one-year anniversary already. If this was a romance novel, we'd be living happily ever after with two kids and a dog by now, but... well, we've at least got the dog, right?

Columbus scratches at the door, whining for us to let him out onto the balcony. Sorry buddy... not tonight. I have secret anniversary plans, and you're not invited.

"I'm not too late for the meteor shower, am I?" asks Irene as she snuggles up close to me. Her touch is warm and comforting, and I wrap my arms around her to fend off the cold wind blowing in from the river.

"Nope – we're still a good twenty minutes off," I answer, and she giggles as I kiss her softly on the curve of her neck.

"Oh good—I was worried I was going to miss it!"

Irene shivers in the cold and then groans as I squeeze her tightly. I've never met a woman as beautiful as her in my entire life. She's everything I remember from back in high school—slender with piercing brown eyes and delicate, almost elflike features—but she's grown more gorgeous over the years than even my imagination could guess back when I was blind. She grew into her body once she was no longer fending off starvation, and she's beautiful beyond any comparison now. She has full, red lips, perfectly proportioned and downright tantalizing curves, and the most delightfully kissable neckline. I could go on and on, but I'd just get myself all excited and it's not time for that sort of thing. Not yet, at least.

"I have a little surprise for you tonight," I whisper in her ear.

"Didn't we agree on not getting each other presents? What happened to volunteering at the New London soup kitchen with me instead?" she asks. She raises an eyebrow disapprovingly at me, but her wide, beautiful brown eyes glow with excitement all the same.

"Don't you worry—I'm still up for it this weekend," I answer, kissing her on the cheek. The breeze catches a wisp of her long brown hair, and I watch, enthralled, as it floats along on the wind. My eyes follow the sharp contour of her hair as it flies, gleaming in the moonlight against the darkened sky. Everything feels new and amazing to me after five years of blindness. I could just stare at her all night long and be perfectly content.

"Well, what's the surprise?" she asks, leaning in closer. Her voice is low and soft, and I feel my face flush as her large, loving eyes dominate my vision and draw me into them.

"Well, it's out here... but it's not on the balcony," I answer, and then with a wink and a grin, I add, "It's at the top of the ladder right behind you, so if you want to see it, you'll have to climb up there with me."

She looks back over her shoulder at the ladder propped up against the stone façade and I take the opportunity to wrap my arms tightly around her and pepper a line of kisses along her exposed neck. She laughs and squirms out of my arms, leaping up from the bench to escape my affection. Cheeky.

"So your big surprise is up on the roof?" she asks, standing at the base of the ladder and looking up apprehensively. She's wearing black jeans and an emerald-green top tailored so perfectly to accentuate her bust that, in a backward sort of logic, it makes me want to rip the shirt off of her. It's funny how that works.

"Yep!" I answer with a grin as I join her at the base of the ladder.

"Then what are we waiting for?" she exclaims brightly, matching my lunatic grin with one of her own. "To the rooftop!"

I climb behind her up the ladder and then, hand in hand, we slowly scale the steep slate roof. We climb higher and higher, bracing ourselves against the wind as we make our way slowly up toward the ridge.

This
is why we can't have kids yet—because we're not done being absolute idiots and risking our necks climbing dangerous slate roofs. No, the real reason we don't have kids is that we're simply not ready yet. We have too much lost time to make up for—too many moments missed out on while searching for each other—and there's a whole lot of 'us' left to explore before it's time for children.

As for where the rooftop comes into this... well, I still owe Irene something.

We reach the ridge and carefully make our way toward the chimney at the far end, and Irene gasps and takes a half step back as she sees my surprise. Up ahead on a ledge sheltered from the wind by the chimney, a folded checkered quilt and two cups of steaming hot cocoa wait for us. I promised her cocoa eleven years ago when we last watched the stars together—the last time we saw each other as Isaac and Nina up on my mother's roof—and I've wanted to make good on that promise ever since.