The sweetest words she'd ever heard had come from the man with the stethoscope: I have a pulse.
She hoped they were able to keep it going up in front. The idea that Jim would have to die to save her was nearly unbearable.
And as for Saul...he hadn't needed fast transport to the hospital. Plenty of time for him.
Good God...Saul?
He'd been all but invisible in those prayer group meetings, nothing but a quiet, balding man who had the sad-sack look of someone perpetually on the losing end of life's equation. She'd seen nothing from him to lead her to believe he was obsessed with her, but the trouble was...he was precisely the kind of man you wouldn't remember.
Thinking back to when she'd run into him at church the night before at confession, she wondered how many times she'd missed noticing him. After all, he'd been the first car to stop when she'd had that near miss in traffic after the service today. Which suggested he'd been right behind her.
How often had he followed her home? Had he come to the Iron Mask?
On a cold shiver, she wondered...had he killed those men she'd been with?
The whole thing didn't exactly make her glad for the kind of man her ex-husband had been. But she appreciated the precautions she'd taken because of Mark.
From out the front windshield, the offices of the Caldwell Courier Journal flew by and she squeezed Vin's hand. "Almost there."
His lids lifted. Those gray eyes that had first captivated her did the trick all over again: Staring into them, she felt as though she were tripping and falling and didn't have a clue where she was going to land.
Although that was no longer true, was it. She knew exactly the sort of man he was, and he was not the kind she had to look out for.
He was the man she needed in her life. Wanted in her life.
Leaning down to him, she smoothed his hair back, stroked his five-o'clock shadow, and looked into his eyes. "I love you," she said, bending down and kissing his lips. "I love you."
His hand cranked down on hers. "Love you...too."
Boy, that croaking voice lit her up from the inside. "Good. We're even then."
"We...are..."
The ambulance bumped over something in the road and everything from the machines to the medic to Vin on the gurney got tossed up. As he sucked in a vicious hiss and squeezed his eyes shut, she went back to looking out the front window again, anxious to see the ambient glow of the St. Francis Hospital complex...hoping that somehow her making visual contact with their route would speed things along.
Come on...come on...
All at once the ambulance up ahead put its red lights out and slowed down to the speed limit, and the one she and Vin were in caught up quickly...then passed its leader.
"Why did they slow down?" she demanded as the medic repositioned the EKG monitor. "Their lights are off. Why are they slowing down?
The shake of the head she got in response was not a surprise. It was a tragedy: You needed to rush only if the person were alive. Which was why no one had attended to Saul after he'd been pronounced dead.
Death left you with an eternity to deal with bodies. No hurry there.
Marie-Terese dragged in a breath, and as tears came to her eyes, she let go of the stable bar and brushed them away. The last thing she wanted was for Vin to crack his lids and see her upset. "ETA two minutes," the driver called out from in front.
The medic picked up a chart. "Ma'am, I forgot to ask you. Are you his next of kin?"
Wiping her eyes, she pulled herself together for Vin's sake and knew right off there was no way in hell she was going to risk getting sidelined when it came to his care. Acquaintances and friends got only so far when it came to ER doctors and nurses.
"I'm his wife," she said.
The woman nodded and made a note. "And your name is?" She didn't even pause. "Gretchen. Gretchen Capricio."
"You are a very lucky man."
Two hours later, those hell-yeah words were spoken to Vin as his admitting physician snapped off her bright blue surgical gloves and tossed the pair into an orange biohazard container.
She was so right. All it had taken was local anesthesia and some stitches to close up the entrance and the exit wounds. No bones busted up or tendons sliced or nerve damage. That bastard with the gun had hit nothing but meat, which was gross and a good call.
Vin had been really lucky.
Unfortunately, his response to the good news was to curl over and throw up into the pink bedpan next to his head. And the fact that he moved his torso made the pain in his shoulder go rock-star...which made the vomiting worse...which made the pain worse...and around and around he went. And yet still he had to agree with the woman in the scrubs. He was lucky. The luckiest bastard on the face of the planet.
"You cannot handle Demerol, however," she said.
Thanks for the newsflash, Vin thought. He'd been hurling since they'd given him the shot about thirty minutes ago.
After his latest bout of gagging lost its enthusiasm, he settled back against the pillow and closed his eyes. As a cool hand towel-wiped his mouth and his face, he smiled. Marie-Terese - Gretchen, actually - was still terrific with the terry cloth.
And God willing, she wouldn't have to put that skill set to use on him again anytime soon.
"I'm going to give you an antinausea injection," the doctor said, "and if the vomiting subsides, we can release you. Stitches need to be removed in ten days, but your internist can do that. We've given you a tetanus shot and I'll write you a prescription for oral antibiotics - but we have some samples here, and we've already given you one of them. Any questions?"
Vin opened his lids and looked not at the doctor, but at Gretchen. She loved him. She'd said so, in the ambulance. He'd heard the words from her very own mouth.
So nope, he didn't have any questions. As long as he knew she felt like that, he was good to go on pretty much everything else.
"Just shoot me up, Doc, so I can get the hell out of here."
The woman snapped on fresh gloves, uncapped a syringe and put the needle right into his vein. As she hit the plunger, he didn't feel a thing, which made the hurling almost worth it. "This should ease things immediately."
Vin held his breath, not really expecting -
Holy shit. The effect was lickety-split, as if his belly had been blanketed in a whole lot of whoa-nelly-easy-there-big-boy. On a shuddering breath, his entire body went loose, giving him a clear idea, as if the upchucking hadn't, of exactly how green he'd felt.
"Let's see if that holds," the doctor said, recapping the syringe and tucking it into an orange box. "Just rest here, and when I release you, we'll get you and your wife a cab."
He and his wife.
Vin brought Gretchen's hand up to his mouth and brushed her knuckles with a kiss. "Sound good to you?" he asked. "Honey?"
"Perfect." A smile lifted her lips. "As long as you're ready to go. Dear."
"I so am."
"All right, I'll be back to check on you." The doctor went over to the curtain that separated Vin's bay from the rest of the ER. "Listen, the CPD is asking to see you. I can tell them to contact you - "
"Send them in," Vin said. "No reason to wait."
"You sure?"
"What's the worst that can happen? I start throwing up again and use the guy's pockets instead of my bedpan? I'm willing to risk that."
"Okay, you got it. If it goes on too long, hit the nursing button and we'll intervene." The doctor nodded and swept the drape back. "Good luck."
As the curtain swung shut, Vin squeezed Gretchen's hand with urgency, because he didn't know how much time they had.
"I want you to tell me the truth."
"Always."
"What happened with Jim? Did he...?"
The hard swallow she took before she answered told him everything, and to spare her from having to put out the words, he kissed her hand again. "Shh, it's all right. You don't have to say it - "
"He was your friend. I'm so sorry - "
"I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to." Vin rubbed the beating pulse at her wrist with his thumb. "I'm so glad you're still here. For your son. For me. Jim did an incredibly selfless, heroic thing, and as much as I wish he hadn't died because of it, I'm very grateful for what he did."
She dropped her head and nodded, her curling hair falling forward. As he drew circles over the fine bones of her wrist, he traced the glossy waves with his eyes. Jim's final action on earth had left one hell of a legacy, namely a life to be lived...and a son who still had his mother...and a lover whose heart hadn't been shattered by loss.