Fiction

Molly Simpson looked at her reflection in the mirror as she ran cold water over the thin white washcloth she was holding. Her chubby face with large bags under her eyes and gaunt skin from too many nights of not enough sleep made her look much more than 30 years old. There were hints of grey all over her short brown hair that hadn't been there six months ago. The harsh lights in the small bathroom did nothing to help her look better.

She was exhausted and she wanted nothing more than to go home to her king-size bed and fall into a deep and dreamless sleep. Instead, she was at the hospital tending to her soon-to-be ex-husband Patrick. He'd called her at work and asked her to come see him. Molly had wanted to tell him no but couldn't come up with a better excuse than "I'm too tired" so she dropped Aileen, their six year old daughter, at his mother's house after work and headed to the hospital.

When the fabric was soaked, she turned off the tap and carefully wrung it out. Molly carried the still dripping washcloth across the white tiled linoleum floor to Patrick's hospital bed, which was reclined slightly so he was able to sit up comfortably. His balding head was resting on a pillow.

"Can you turn down the heat?" Patrick motioned in frustration to the controls on the radiator under the window. "It's too damned hot in here."

"Here, maybe this will help some," Molly offered, not wanting to get into a pointless fight over heat. She used the washcloth to mop up the sweat beading on his face then gently placed it on his forehead. He sighed as it took the edge off and he seemed to relax for the first time since she walked into the large white room.

Molly evaluated his condition and wasn't happy about what she saw-he was having trouble breathing, unable to cool down, and couldn't get comfortable. The standard-issue white and blue checked hospital gown was sticking to him all over as he sweated profusely. Molly wasn't a medical professional but she'd spent enough time around hospitals and sick people to know when things were not as they should be.

She flipped the washcloth over as she said, "I'll have the nurse bring you a new gown and sheets. These are soaked through."

"Can you get some ice chips too?" he asked as he tugged angrily on the bottom of the hospital gown. He was trying to loosen it around his legs so he could pull it up for more airflow across his legs. Molly shook her head and was grateful Patrick didn't have a roommate to see the "tighty whities" that were now on display. She wanted to ask him to cover up as no one wanted to see his underwear, especially her, but his comfort was more important than her need for propriety.

"Sure, just let me wash you up a bit and I'll wet this cloth again," Molly replied as she deftly washed his face and arms. She was reminded of bathing Aileen, which made her smile. Patrick was certainly acting more like child than a 42-year-old. Molly didn't mind mothering him though. He had earned the right after being in the hospital for more than two weeks while a team of doctors, including his cardiologist and pulmonologist, tried to figure out why he was sick and wasn't responding to his medications. If it had been her, she would be beyond bitchy.

She went back into the bathroom and moistened the washcloth again then carried it back to his bed and gently placed it on his forehead. "I'll be back in a minute," she told him and wandered out of the room. She walked to the nurse's station, which was a short distance away.

"Can we help you?" one of the nurses asked.

"My husband is in room 430. He has soaked through the gown he's wearing and the sheets. Would it be possible to get new ones for him? Oh, and he'd also like some ice," Molly said politely.

"Sure, we'll let his nurse know," the one with curly black hair and breasts that looked like they were about to burst out of her top replied and wrote the request down on a bright pink Post-Its Note.

"Thanks, I appreciate it," Molly said then wearily turned back towards Patrick's room. He was using the washcloth to wash the sweat from his face again.

"I'm dying in here," he grumbled. "It's just too damned hot."

"The nurses have told you it can't go any lower," Molly reminded him then took the washcloth and headed back to the bathroom.

"How are you doing Mr. Simpson?" the nurse asked in a thick Hispanic accent. Molly quickly squeezed the water out of the washcloth and stepped into the room. The nurse was a small Hispanic woman with long black hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was wearing white pants and a pink scrub with teddy bears on it with a pair of white clogs. In her arms, she was carrying a new gown and a fresh set of sheets. The container with ice chips was on the table next to the bed.

"I'm hot," he grumbled again.

"Eat the ice chips and we'll get you a cool shower after we give out meds," she replied as she helped Patrick get out of bed. He used the table to keep his balance as he watched her change the bed. Molly grabbed the ice chips and poured some into the large plastic cup on the table then filled it with water from the bathroom. She handed it to her husband when she returned. He drank half of it in one go.

"Don't drink so fast," the nurse scolded.

"Hello," Molly interrupted. "I'm Mrs. Simpson."

"I'm Rosa, your husband's nurse for the evening."

"Thanks for changing the sheets," Molly said. She suddenly felt self-conscious being part of his care and wondered if the nurse knew the truth about their relationship. Even though she knew he wanted her there and was legally his wife, it was still awkward for her.

Rosa pulled the curtain around Patrick then she untied his gown and pulled it off and slipped a clean one onto his body, loosely tying it around the neck. "Is there anything else I can get?" she asked when she finished.

"Just some more ice," Patrick said as Rosa helped him back into the bed.

"Will do," she replied and slipped out of the room.

The washcloth was warm again so Molly went back into the bathroom to cool it down again and refill his cup. When she returned Patrick was looking for the TV remote-it was time for Jeopardy.

Molly placed the washcloth on his forehead. She pulled the green vinyl chair closer to the bed. They raced against each other and the contestants to come up with the right answers. Patrick was the king of trivia so it was virtually impossible for her to beat him but now and again a category came along where she could reign supreme. Today was not one of those days and Patrick trounced her.

During the commercials, she talked about Aileen and told him how she was doing in school and cute things she'd done or said. You didn't have to be a mind reader to see how much he missed her. Because of Aileen's age, she wasn't allowed to visit him. The only exception had been Father's Day, which had been a week ago, and they allowed children of any age in to visit. Aileen had bought him a beanbag frog and a card that she had signed it with a heart and her name in big block letters with a red crayon. On the blank side, she wrote, "I love you Daddy!" He had both on display where he could easily see them.

When the show ended, Patrick turned off the TV and they continued talking about Aileen, the only topic that didn't cause a fight. They'd spent nearly every day of the last two years fighting over anything, no matter how important or inconsequential. When Molly turned 30 the previous November, she realized how unhappy she was and tired of being miserable. After much talking and fighting, they had agreed to end the marriage by mid-December. The decision had relieved much of the tension in their relationship and they realized they were much happier as friends than as lovers.

A month later, he'd had a mild heart attack, which required Molly to sign paperwork and make medical decisions. As his wife, she was the only one with the legal authority to do the things and he agreed it should be her. She gladly did it; he was still her daughter's father and a good friend. When he didn't seem to be showing any signs of improvement, Molly had accompanied him to an appointment with his heart doctor. She told the doctor what she saw and he ordered a litany of tests then hospitalized him. He came home a week later but still didn't seem to be doing well but they couldn't identify a cause for it. Then two weeks ago during a routine visit to the gastroenterologist, he passed out and was rushed to the hospital.

It was a few minutes before the end of visiting hours and Molly stood up. "Well, I guess I should go before they kick me out."

"You know, I'm not sure I'm going to be leaving here," Patrick said matter-of-factly as she picked up her purse. She stopped and looked at him; he met her eyes. She wasn't sure how she knew, but something about the way he spoke and his condition made her feel like he was right.

"I don't think you are either," Molly said then took his hand. There was something reassuring in acknowledging aloud what they both felt.

"I have always loved you," she told him as tears formed in her eyes.

"I know," he replied. "I love you, too."

Molly kissed his cheek then pulled away, clearing her throat. "I have to work late tomorrow so I probably won't be visiting, but I'll call to see how you're doing. Aileen is at your mom's if you want to call her before she heads to bed."

"Okay," Patrick replied.

She was crossing the room towards the door when Rosa came in. "We're a bit short staffed tonight so we're going to be sending Mr. Simpson down to the ICU."

"Oh, okay," Molly said. The decision to move him caught her off guard and made Patrick's statement to her all that much more real. "Are you going to move him now?"

"Not yet. We'll do it closer to shift change," Rosa answered. "You need to take home his laptop and other personal things. We don't have a secure place to keep them."

Molly glanced at Patrick with a confused look. He shrugged his shoulders, wordlessly telling her it was the first time he was hearing about it. She quickly collected the frog, card and his books, then opened the laptop and set it to shut down. Molly put the other stuff in the front of the laptop bag and tapped her foot as she impatiently waited for the computer to shut down. Rosa checked Patrick's vitals and gave him some medication.

"Do you need your inhaler?" Rosa asked suddenly.

Molly looked up and Patrick was sweating more and gasping for air. He nodded his head, unable to speak. Rosa opened the table next to his bed and pulled out the inhaler, then handed it to him. Patrick shook it then took two long puffs.

It wasn't like him to have an asthma attack while he was just sitting still. Molly watched apprehensively then sighed with relief when Patrick's breathing returned to normal. His words echoed in her head and brow furrowed with concern.

"Can I keep my daughter's picture?" he asked as he picked up Aileen's school picture off the table.

"I guess there's no harm in that," Rosa said and Patrick visibly relaxed.

Molly closed the laptop and put it in the bag with the charger. She hoisted it on her shoulder and gave Patrick a kiss on the cheek before leaving the room.

Rosa followed behind her. When they were out of earshot, the nurse spoke to her. "He is having more difficulty with his breathing and heart rate than we can handle monitoring with a light staff."

She didn't like the sound of that and the look of concern on her face deepened. "I noticed he seemed worse today. Do the doctors anticipate anything bad happening?"

"I don't think so. We just have less staff and they can watch him more carefully downstairs."

"Okay, thank you Rosa. If anything changes, I will be at the home number tonight. Have a good night," Molly replied.

She wearily made her way out of the hospital and across the street to the parking lot. The sun was setting over the skyline and it was still hot but the humidity had subsided. Molly unlocked the door and slid the laptop bag off her shoulder, tossing it onto the passenger seat. She slid behind the wheel of the teal green Saturn station wagon and pulled the door closed.

Molly rested her forehead on the steering wheel and closed her eyes as they filled with tears again. He can't be dying, he can't be. Maybe we're wrong; maybe we're just thinking the worst.

In her heart, though, Molly knew they weren't wrong. She thought about Aileen-she would be devastated if her father died; she loved him so much. Molly's body heaved as she began to sob uncontrollably. The stress of the last six months poured out of her with each tear she shed.

When her crying slowed, she found her cell phone and called Charlie, her boyfriend. "He doesn't think he is leaving there alive," she told him.

"Oh man, I'm sorry," Charlie replied sincerely. He and Patrick had been friends for years, which is how Molly had met him. They hadn't connect romantically until a few months after she and Patrick had agreed to divorce. Patrick wasn't happy about it, but told her if she was going to be in a relationship with anyone it was better it was with someone like Charlie whom he knew and trusted.

"I don't know what to do. Should I tell his family?" she asked as her eyes teared up again.

"Did the doctors tell you he was near the end?"

"No, just Patrick. But after seeing him tonight, I'm inclined to agree with him."

"Wait until tomorrow morning and see how things are going. Besides, there's nothing they can do tonight anyway."

"You're right. Thank you darling," she replied. Charlie was always so sensible and levelheaded about things like this; it nicely balanced out her overly emotional responses to most situations. "I love you."

"I love you too. Call me if anything changes or you just need to talk," he said and they hung up.

Molly took several deep breaths then blew her nose. She called her mother-in-law to give her an update, telling her what she'd seen and that he was being moved to the ICU. She didn't tell her what Patrick had said before she left, as Charlie suggested. Then she listened to her daughter prattle on for several minutes about what she'd done at school and with her grandmother. Molly said good night and promised to pick her up after dinner the next day, then hung up.

She turned the key and the car slowly roared to life, then she pulled out of the parking spot and headed home. When Molly got home, she grabbed the stuff from the hospital and her purse then climbed the few stairs their half of the two-family home. The guinea pigs squeaked their "hello" as she opened the door and she stopped at their cage to pet them. She kicked off her sandals and dropped her purse, keys and the laptop bag in a pile next to them.

Molly poured herself a large glass of vodka and Coca-Cola then curled up in Patrick's recliner as she sipped the relaxing elixir. By the time it was gone, she was feeling much more mellow and ready for bed. Molly climbed the stairs and fell into bed without undressing. She closed her eyes and lulled herself to sleep knowing that if she made it until morning without a phone call from the hospital that everything was going to be okay.

The phone woke her at 6 a.m. "Mrs. Simpson?"

"Yes?" she asked sleepily.

"It's Gloria from the hospital. Your husband has gone into cardiac arrest. You need to get here as quickly as you can."

"Okay, I am leaving now," Molly replied. She made her way to the bathroom then quickly ran a brush through her hair as she rushed down the stairs, muttering, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

She picked up her purse and keys then slipped on her sandals. Molly ran out to the car and took off towards the hospital. She was thankful it was too early for any rush hour traffic.

On her way to the hospital, she called Charlie. "He's in cardiac arrest."

"Damn."

"I'm on my way to the hospital. I'll call as soon as I have an update."

"Do you need me there?"

"Yes," she replied tearfully. It was probably in bad taste to have her husband's replacement by her side but she couldn't face this alone.

"Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can," he replied and they hung up.

She made it to the hospital in record time and parked in the emergency room parking lot.

"Where's the ICU?" she asked the woman at the registration desk.

"Go down this hall then make a left. You'll see signs."

"Thank you," Molly called over her shoulder as she jogged in the direction given.

When she got to his room, they were still working on Patrick and she watched helplessly from the hall. A few minutes later, the nurses started cleaning up and the doctor came out. "I'm so sorry Mrs. Simpson. We couldn't save him."

Molly burst into tears as she stared past the doctor and tried to focus on Patrick's face. His eyes were closed and he looked at peace. She finally asked, "What happened?"

"We're not sure. The nurses said he had a quiet night and was breathing normally then suddenly he went into cardiac arrest just before they called you."

Molly felt faint and the color rushed from her face as she fully realized what the doctor was telling her. "I … I need to sit down," she said and grasped for the doctor's arm. He guided her to a chair in the waiting room and motioned for an aide to come over.

"Please sit with Mrs. Simpson and make sure she is okay," the doctor directed. Molly watched the nurses and doctors go in and out of Patrick's room. She barely noticed when Charlie arrived.

"How is he?" he asked after he sat down next to her.

"He's gone," she answered then threw her arms around him and started to sob.

"I'm so sorry Molly," he replied and wrapped his arms around her. Her body shook with each heaving sob and she cried for several minutes.

"Would you like to go in?" the doctor asked. Molly nodded her head then blew her nose before they walked into the room. It was so quiet without the hum and beeping of the monitors. The nurses were done cleaning and left them alone in the room.

She started crying again as they looked down at his unmoving body. "This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to die," she said softly. Charlie pulled her close and silently held her as she sobbed against his chest for several minutes.

After about 10 minutes, the nurses asked them to come out and sign off on the paperwork. Thus began the most difficult week of her life. It wasn't until it was all over that Molly thought about Patrick and their last night together. She realized how lucky she'd been to have the opportunity to spend a pleasant evening with him and be able to say good-bye; it was a gift she would never forget.