The Sick Wife Page 4

  Do I value my own life so little that I would risk putting it in his hands after I’ve seen his handiwork, after I’ve seen another heart broken and destroyed by him?

  But you know how men are.

  They say all the right things. They say and do whatever it takes at the start to get you to believe. They reassure you constantly. They tell you that this time it’s going to be different. You’re nothing like her. What he has with you is so different than what he has with her. You are special. You’re the one. You’re his soulmate.

  It sounds like bullshit, I know. It even sounds like bullshit to me, while I’m falling for it.

  But I still can’t help falling… because Gabriel makes me feel alive.

  Chapter 6

  More days pass, and I’m falling even deeper. Falling so fast.

  We’ve started saying the L-word to each other. Easily, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  Yesterday, I actually walked down to the psych ward to speak to a psychologist about all this—literally wondering if I’m going insane, or if Gabe is. I thought maybe it’s all been some kind of twisted form of grieving, and he just needs counseling. Maybe he and I are using each other to distract from all the death and darkness in the world. We can hardly ever really speak about Yvette’s situation. It’s almost too horrible to face.

  Most of the time, we need to forget about her to keep going and be happy. Maybe Gabe was just projecting all the emotion that he used to feel toward his wife on me—the closest living, breathing female. Maybe I was just a straw to grasp at during a traumatic moment. It could be some kind of evolutionary tactic—perhaps when you see your partner dying, your brain automatically latches on to the next suitable mate. Just a survival instinct, not love. Just a biological trick.

  As smart as Gabriel is, he’s only a human being. He’s only a man. And he’s overwhelmed by emotions, and the pain of loss, just like all of us. It could be a temporary lapse in judgment. I could be a temporary fascination for him, a Band-aid on the wound.

  So, as you can see, I’ve tried my best to talk myself out of this. To talk sense into myself. Gabe says I’m an overthinker, and I overthought the hell out of this, finding every possible scenario where things could go horribly wrong. There are many. Thousands and thousands. I’ve cried all night over things that haven’t even happened, and may never happen.

  But nothing changes the fact that I recognized something of myself in him. Nothing changes the fact that he makes me feel so good, whole, and happy. I didn’t realize that I had basically been on life-support myself this whole time. I might as well have been hooked up to a machine, going through the motions, mechanical and robotic, with empty eyes and an empty soul.

  He really brought me back to life. I don’t think he even realizes how much.

  And I’m grappling with the guilt. I’ve pushed him away, and told him we should stop talking, in an effort to protect us against some kind of mysterious future pain that seems imminent to me. But we can only last a few hours without speaking before one of us caves, and we have to reconcile to feel normal and okay. I feel like I can’t breathe when he doesn’t talk to me. I feel miserable.

  I think maybe he feels the same way.

  Lying here in bed still overthinking and stressing, my phone buzzes. My hands reach for it, lightning-fast. That buzz has become my favorite sound in the world. He’s my lifeline.

  Milla, is all the text message says.

  Just one word. Just my name. I smile. I hug the phone against my chest. It means he’s sleepy, maybe just woken up from some kind of dream. That’s all he can manage to type. And I’m the first thought on his mind when he wakes up.

  Gabe, I text back, not wanting to overwhelm him with words when he’s barely awake. It’s crazy that we already have some kind of routine. This closeness is insane… it came out of nowhere and hit me so hard. We already know and feel each other’s meaning from a single word.

  I had a dream about you, he types to me.

  Was I naked? I ask him teasingly.

  Not this time. Strangely. We met up and we were walking through a park and a playground. Watching the kids play. Talking about having our own children.

  A stupidly happy expression settles on my face. How many kids do you want to have?

  He responds quickly. Seven.

  I laugh softly to myself. Is he messing with me? Sounds perfect. We’ll have seven little dwarves.

  How many do you want? he types back.

  I’ve always hoped for four or five. But I guess I can try to push it to seven, especially if we have some twins. And then we can name them Sleepy, Grumpy, Happy, Sneezy… I forget the rest.

  Gabriel takes a second to text back. Are you sure about that? Why don’t we name them after Santa’s reindeer? Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid…

  I can’t help giggling. Or just the days of the week. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday?

  Perfect, Gabriel says. I bet the youngest ones, Friday and Saturday, will be real troublemakers. But Sunday Delacroix will be a good oldest sister, and help babysit them and keep them in line.

  Or Monday can help out, while Sunday is off training to be an Olympic athlete, I suggest.

  Gymnastics? Gabriel asks.

  Or figure skating, I suggest. We should let Sunday decide.

  I am sure that Sunday will win many gold medals, in whatever sport she chooses, Gabriel says. Now I should probably let you get some rest, I know you’ve been working long hours. Goodnight and have lovely dreams, sweetie.

  He can be so kind and warm. Thank you, Gabe. Have a wonderful day. I hug my pillow closer against me, wishing it was him—and trying to ignore the worries and negative voices that always threaten to creep into my head.

  Milla, he types to me again. I don’t know where we’re going, but I think we’re going there together.

  Peace washes over me at these beautiful words. I sigh happily and let sleep overtake me.

  It’s just not fair. He’s a romantic French writer and philosopher.

  How could I not be swept away by his charm?

  Chapter 7

  Night after night, I sit with Yvette’s comatose body and talk to her.

  Every chance I get, when the hospital is quiet and there’s a small break in the traffic, or when I’m able to take fifteen minutes to relax… I always find myself going to her room. And despite the fact that I’m falling in love with her husband—I still pray for her recovery.

  I pray for her all the time.

  Yes, I know it seems counterintuitive. I should be sitting here thinking about creative ways to make sure that she never wakes up so that I can properly steal her man. If this were a movie, I would be trying to inject something nasty into her IV or accidentally making her ventilator malfunction. Remove all obstacles in the way of my happiness. But that is just not me, and it never will be. I’m a nurse, and I’m here to protect her and make her healthy again. Even if I have no control over the situation.

  Besides, I like Yvette.

  I want her to be okay. And if Gabriel chooses me, I want it to be because he actually chooses me. Not because I gave him no other choice, or because I forced him into something or tricked him. How would I live with myself if I did that? How would I ever know it’s real between us? That’s not love—to build a future based on a lie.

  So, instead, to assuage my guilt, I give Yvette nightly spa treatments.

  Yep, you heard that right.

  Tonight, I’m polishing her toenails.

  Let’s play a drinking game. Have you ever sat with your patient in the middle of the night, giving her a pedicure because you felt super guilty about having tons of phone sex with her hot husband? No? Welcome to my life. Also, have a drink. (It doesn’t have to be alcoholic.)

  I also like being close to her, because it makes me feel close to Gabriel. Being beside someone who knows him, someone who’s touched him. It’s difficult being in a relationship with someone on the other side of the planet. Espec
ially when I work the night shift—midnight in Paris is 6 p.m. here, so Gabriel usually needs to go to sleep before I wake up. Sometimes the scheduling conflicts mean that we can barely speak to each other unless we both lose a lot of sleep. So, we have—we both barely slept lately, so that we can spend more time together. But it’s been hurting both of our health and work.

  I insisted we both sleep and try to be responsible. And instead of speaking to him, I speak to his unconscious wife.

  I ask her questions about him. I tell her about what he’s doing lately, and his work. I laugh about the latest book he’s writing, which sounds just as ridiculous as all the other ones. If he’s annoyed me, I complain to her about him, figuring that she will understand more than anyone. I also apologize to her. A lot.

  “I’m so sorry, Evie. When you told me to handle him, I am pretty sure this isn’t what you meant.” Sighing, I finish painting her baby toe. “But that little birthmark on his hip is so cute, isn’t it? And how does he have such a nice stomach from being a professor? And writing books? He should have a potbelly or something, it’s not fair that he’s so fit.”

  Silence then. She can’t exactly respond. But I imagine her response.

  “I know, I know. It’s terrible of me. But you haven’t seen him in a year, and he’s been a bit lonely, okay? And I’m lonely too. Besides, you have your Sexy Babe. I saw those photos on your phone. That man is really nicely endowed—probably even a bit bigger than Gabe. And when you wake up, you can see him almost immediately, because your toes look cute. See? This color looks great on you. Although… your legs are getting a bit hairy, and we might have to do something about that.”

  I am aware that she didn’t ask me to call her Sexy Babe when she thought she was dying. She asked me to call Gabe. But part of me still hopes that she has something significant with her boy toy. Sometimes I think about texting him and asking him to come and check on her.

  Even if she never wakes up… maybe it would do her some good to have someone else here who knows her and cares about her. Someone other than me, the husband stealer. But she had a life, and for the first time in so long… I have a life, too. Yes, he’s still on the other side of the ocean, but when we talk he feels so close, and it feels as real as if he was right there beside me.

  I am resting my elbows on her hospital bed and dreaming about Gabriel when the door to her room opens.

  “What are you doing?” asks a man’s voice.

  I jump slightly. It’s Doctor Mike.

  “Oh, nothing. Just talking to the patient,” I tell him, straightening my posture and trying to act professional.

  “Is that… nail polish?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

  “Just trying to do something nice for her,” I explain. “Something to cheer her up when she wakes up.”

  “She’s not going to wake up,” Mike says, moving over to check her chart and glance at the machines. “She’s never going to be strong enough to get off the ventilator.”

  My heart sinks. “What? Why do you say that?”

  “Haven’t you been paying attention to her condition?” Mike asks. “Her lungs are getting so stiff, they’re like bricks… we’re forcing so much oxygen into them, but her body is just failing. Her heart is so weak. I think you’re in denial, Milla—you can see how bad it is.”

  “We can’t be sure, can we?” I ask, feeling sick to my stomach. “Why don’t we just try to be positive?”

  Mike groans. “I am always positive about my patients. But the facts are the facts. You know that. I’m usually not wrong.”

  “That’s true,” I say softly.

  “So you can stop wasting time with the nail polish,” he tells me as he heads for the door.

  I don’t know why, but the harshness in his voice causes tears to spring to my eyes. It’s an impossible situation. As a woman, I know that she could take everything away from me if she ever breathes a single breath on her own again. But as a human being, I just want her to be okay.

  I almost wouldn’t mind losing Gabe… if it means that she will be okay.

  I want her to be okay so badly.

  Deep down in my soul, I know that I would lose him. It’s not that I’m insecure about Gabriel’s love for me. He’s said so many things that really do make me feel like I have a special place in his heart. He’s said that he still loves Yvette, but not like one should love a wife. Whatever that means. He said he loves her like family.

  I don’t understand, but I’m just trying to hold onto some hope that I’m important to him. After so little time, and never even meeting him or touching him—it’s hard. They have so much history.

  But he’s said that he’s never felt about anyone the way he feels about me. Is it real? Is it bullshit? I don’t know, but I choose to believe him.

  Still, I know that he also has a strong sense of duty, and that he would never abandon his sick wife waking up from a coma. And I wouldn’t want him to. I know that he’s a wonderfully kind and caring man, and that’s why I grew to love him so much, so fast. That’s why I think he would make an amazing father to our seven little dwarves, or seven days of the week.

  I smile through my tears.

  “Hey,” Mike says softly from the door, noticing how emotional I’ve gotten. “I’m sorry to be so cold about it, Milla. You know how doctors are, we just look at the numbers and the data instead of the people sometimes. I’ve never had great bedside manner.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell him softly.

  Mike moves back over to me, and places a hand on my shoulder. The touch surprises me. It’s the first time he’s ever been comforting toward me. “Look, I know you were doing a nice thing,” he says. “With the nail polish. It’s a kind gesture, Milla. You’re a good person.”

  “Thank you,” I say quietly. But I don’t feel like a good person. He wouldn’t say that if he knew the whole story.

  “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up,” Mike explains.

  “I understand.”

  “You’re doing a great job of keeping her pretty. Just save some work for the mortician.”

  “Mike!” I say with annoyance.

  “Sorry, sorry. It’s a bad doctor joke. I have zero sense of humor. That’s probably why my wife left me. Forgive me, Milla.”

  I am so pissed at him. I turn to fix him with a death glare.

  “I won’t give up on Yvette,” he promises me. “I’ll keep trying to do all I can to make her better. Did you know that she’s rich or something?”

  “Oh, yeah?” I ask.

  The doctor shrugs. “Her husband offered to send a private plane to take her to France to be cared for by a private doctor. That’s some rich people stuff. I looked him up, it seems like he wrote some books or something.”

  A pang of pain shoots through my chest.

  Gabriel never told me about any plane. I wince a little. I hate to not know something like that, but it’s a sharp stab-in-the-gut reminder that I’m not his wife, and she is. And she’s still alive.

  “Why don’t you let him airlift her to France?” I ask Mike.

  “Because I don’t think she’s stable enough to move. I want her here where I can keep an eye on her and help her recover. I think that if we were to try to transport her, she would die in transit. The stress of being moved around and flying is too much for her system. If she has any chance of recovery… she needs a peaceful, stable environment.”

  “You know best,” I tell him, confident in his opinion.

  “I promise I’ll keep trying,” Doctor Mike says. “If anyone can save her, we can.” He winks at me, before turning to leave. “Just pick a better nail polish color next time. That looks trashy.”

  I sigh, wishing I could throw something at him. When he leaves and closes the door, I lean over the beautiful woman and squeeze her hand, whispering, “Screw him, Evie. You’re going to be fine. Just hang on. Tomorrow, we’re going to do your eyebrows.”

  Chapter 8

  Sitting in the hospital break room, I exch
ange a few frustrated texts with Gabriel, who has just woken up. I couldn’t wait to ask why he didn’t tell me about trying to move Yvette to France.

  You know I’m taking care of her, why wouldn’t you discuss that with me?

  He takes a few seconds to respond. Sorry, Milla. It wasn’t my decision, her parents were asking me to fly her home. They figure that if she’s going to be unconscious anyway, they would rather have it be close to them, so they can see her.

  Oh, I understand. I text back, staring into space thoughtfully. That would probably be good for her. I try to spend time with her and talk to her, but I bet it would help her a lot more to be around her family.

  But we were all really disappointed to learn that the hospital wouldn’t let her leave, Gabriel responds.

  That was probably Doctor Mike. He says that he thinks it will kill her to be moved.

  Then it’s better that we don’t move her. I trust her in your hands.

  I’m trying my best, I text him.

  This pandemic has really done a great job of keeping people separated from their families and loved ones, Gabriel writes. I’ve been searching for a way that I can get into the country to visit you… or a way that you can get into France to visit me. It’s nearly impossible.

  I know, I text back. I want to be with you, Gabe. I don’t know how much longer I can wait. It’s driving me crazy. I just want to be beside you.

  We will make it happen soon, Milla. The borders won’t remain closed forever. Just a few more months… and I’m sure that restrictions will ease up once everyone becomes vaccinated.

  I hope so.

  I am frowning hard when Veronica walks in on me.

  “Hey girl,” she says, suspiciously. “I like your new cell phone case! I’ve been telling you for years that you need to get something cute.”