Chapter 19

A disclaimer: The medical information contained in this chapter and those to follow is based solely on my naïve attempts to understand and synthesize the contents of the dozens of web sites and medical journal articles I’ve read dealing with the relevant subject. Some of this is probably wrong, but I hope it at least bears a slight resemblance to reality.

“Hey, Will, how about that one? Very nice.”

Richard’s lascivious gaze was glued to a tall, curvaceous blonde in a jogging bra and tiny running shorts who had just passed them.

“I bet she has an all-over tan. Wouldn’t mind finding out.”

William made no response, so Richard tried again.

“Oh,how I love running at the reservoir. The scenery is spectacular. And the New York cityscape isn’t bad either.”

William merely grunted in response, and Richard shook his head. William was notorious for his world-class brooding skills, but this was getting ridiculous.

“Look, I came out this morning to keep you company on your run, leaving behind a very hot brunette, I might add. The least you could do is talk to me.”

“Sorry. I just have a lot of things on my mind,” William answered in a tight, breathless voice.

They had just finished their first circuit around the reservoir in Central Park. At this point in their run, William was usually in excellent form, but not this morning. Richard shot a worried glance at his cousin.

“Are you okay, old man?”

“I’m fine,” William answered in a tone that discouraged further questions.

Richard was not that easily intimidated. “I don’t think so, cuz. You’re panting like … well, like I was last night, but I had a much better excuse. Plus, I’m not having any trouble keeping up with you this morning. When you stop and consider the energy my bad habits consume, versus the supposed health benefits of your monkish lifestyle, something’s gotta be wrong. I mean, look at us—we’re moving so slowly, that blonde with the tan and the nice ass positively zoomed past us.”

“I’m just tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” William slowed his pace to a walk, breathing hard as he wiped the sweat off his forehead.

“Lack of sleep wouldn’t affect you this much. Come to think of it, this isn’t the first time lately that you’ve had some problems during a run.”

William shrugged. “So I’ve been tired a lot lately.”

Richard hesitated. William hated being nagged about his health, but allowing him to neglect himself was another matter. “You ought to go see the doctor,” Richard said. “With your medical history, you can’t afford to take chances.”

“I have an appointment this afternoon.”

“Good. Look, maybe it’s stress. Maybe you’re trying to do too much.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m not an invalid. I’m perfectly capable of leading a normal life.”

Richard sighed. “I didn’t say you weren’t. But your life isn’t anywhere close to normal. It would be a challenge for anyone to keep up with your schedule. Maybe we need to lighten up your travel, build in more rest periods.”

“How would we do that? You know how far ahead my calendar fills up. We were just talking yesterday about booking something five years out, remember? Look, I know you’re trying to help, but I really don’t want to discuss this anymore.”

“Okay, I’ll get off your back, but I’m glad you’re seeing the doctor today. If something happened to you, I’d have no choice but to drink scotch and screw women 24 hours a day, instead of just doing it part-time like I do now.”

“That’s the whole reason I embarked on my career, you know,” William said with mock gravity. “So I could save you from your baser instincts.”

Richard grinned, relieved that William was sounding more like himself. “Oh, and speaking of baser instincts, I want to hear about your evening with the delectable Ms. Bennet. And you know which part of the evening I’m talking about. How was it?”

“Don’t be crass, Richard, if you can help it.”

“I can’t, and you know that. I like to think that it’s part of my considerable charm. But you didn’t answer my question. What time did you leave her place this morning?”

“None of your damn business.”

Richard wiped his wristband across his forehead. “Oh, lighten up. I’m just looking out for your welfare. After all, sex is the best stress reliever I know, and it would probably do you a lot of good. I don’t have any personal experience with celibacy, but I’ve heard it can be a very frustrating state.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” William muttered.

“That’s probably why you’re such a physical wreck. As the saying goes, in the gas station of love, you’ve been stuck at the self-service pump for too long.”

William stared at Richard in glacial silence.

“Seriously, old man, if you don’t find yourself a willing partner and put that thing through its paces once in a while, it might atrophy and fall off. So, did it see some action last night?”

“And I reiterate, that’s none of your business.”

“Oh, come on,” Richard retorted cheerfully. “It’s not exactly a secret that you’ve got a serious case of the hots for this girl. Not that I blame you. I mean, besides her obvious charms, there was something in her eyes that made me think she’d be a tigress in bed. I don’t see any claw marks on you, but—”

“Stop talking about her that way.”

“Come on, Will, don’t be such a tight-ass. I’m just saying that she—”

William’s eyes blazed. “I’m serious. Stop it now, or I swear to God I’ll make you regret it.”

Richard stared at William, astonished at the ferocity in his cousin’s voice. “I’m sorry. Really. Didn’t mean to step over the line.”

William nodded coldly and began to run again. They ran in silence for a few minutes, and then Richard resumed his questioning.

“What’s the deal with the two of you, anyway? You haven’t gone and done something stupid like falling in love, have you?” Richard couldn’t resist the question. William’s behavior was certainly suspicious.

William didn’t answer right away. When he spoke, he was looking straight ahead. “You’re right—that would be stupid.”

“Glad to hear you say that. I was starting to wonder if you’d gone sentimental on me and had something serious going on with this girl.”

“No, there’s nothing serious going on. Now, can we change the subject?”

“Sure. In fact, there was something I wanted to ask you. Are you and Georgie and Chuckles still going to Pemberley next week?”

“That’s the plan.”

Richard frowned at William, concerned by his labored breathing. “Something really is wrong with you. Let’s find someplace to sit and rest for a few minutes.”

“I keep telling you, I’m fine,” William said, his breathless voice belying his statement.

Richard shook his head in surrender. No point pushing Will once he’s dug in his heels. “Okay, I’ll drop it. Anyway, about Pemberley. I was thinking I might join you for a few days. Sun and surf, gorgeous island girls in string bikinis, maybe a planter’s punch or two each afternoon. Sounds very enticing.”

William didn’t respond.

“And I’ll make it my mission to get you laid before we leave there. I’m sure I can count on Bingley’s support—”

Richard’s genial banter died in his throat as William veered away from him and stumbled toward the wrought iron fence lining the path. William gripped the fence tightly, his face ghostly white, his eyes glassy. He clutched his chest, gasping for air.

“Oh, my God, Will, what’s the matter?”

William looked at him for a moment. Then his eyes went blank and he slid along the fence to the ground as Richard looked on in horror.

Elizabeth attached a strip of packing tape to the box she had just filled and sealed it securely. Then she went to get an empty box from the dining area. She brought it into the living room and set it next to her stack of CD’s.

As she wrapped them in paper and packed them in the box, she remembered that one CD was missing from the stack. She retrieved the case for William’s jazz CD from its undignified resting place in a dusty corner on the floor, where it had landed when she threw it last night.

Elizabeth saw with regret that the case had cracked when it hit the wall. She ran her finger over the crack, almost as if she were trying to heal it, and gazed at the cover photo of a pensive William at the piano. A deep sense of shame came over her, and she stood up and went into the bedroom with a sudden sense of purpose.

She dialed quickly before she had a chance to reconsider. At first she was disappointed when Sonya’s voice delivered the voicemail greeting. But on the other hand, it might be easier to talk uninterrupted. And he’ll be checking for messages—he said he was hoping I’d call.

“Hi, William. It’s Elizabeth. I’ve been thinking about last night, and I think we need to talk. And, well, last night you said something about wanting to come over this evening. If you still want to, I’d like that. You don’t need to bother Mrs. Reynolds about making dinner for us—we could just order a pizza after you get here. Anyway, I hope to hear from you soon. Bye.”

Okay, we’ll see what happens. If he returns the call, we can talk and work things out one way or another. And if he doesn’t call back … then at least I’ll know for sure that he really wasn’t interested in anything but sex.

She returned to the living room and resumed packing the CD’s, her heart much lighter now.

“There they are!” Mrs. Reynolds exclaimed, and she and Richard stood up. Georgiana ran down the hospital hallway toward them, followed by Rose, who was moving at a brisk, but more dignified, pace.

Georgiana threw herself into Mrs. Reynolds’s arms. “Is he …?”

“Everything’s going to be fine, dear,” Mrs. Reynolds assured her. “They’re taking good care of him.”

“What happened?” Rose asked.

“We were running in the park,” Richard explained, his face a taut mask of worry. “He was having trouble catching his breath. We walked for a while and he seemed better, but then he started running again, and with almost no warning he passed out. I called 911, and then contacted Sonya, and she called his doctor to let her know what had happened.”

“And where is Sonya?”

“She’s with the Admitting people, taking care of the paperwork,” Mrs. Reynolds said.

“Is Dr. Rosemont here?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Reynolds replied. “The nurse just told us that she had arrived. She’s with William.”

“How soon can we see him?” Georgiana asked, clutching Mrs. Reynolds’s hand.

“They’re examining him, dear,” Mrs. Reynolds answered, patting her hand. “They can do a better job of helping William if we stay out of their way for now.”

“Has anyone given you any idea what’s wrong? I assume it’s related to his heart.” Rose’s voice was calm, but anxiety showed in the tight lines around her eyes.

Richard, fidgeting with a loose thread on the sleeve of his sweat-stained Yale tee shirt, shook his head. “They don’t want to speculate till they run some tests.”

“Gran, why would you think it’s his heart?” Georgiana asked with a worried frown.

Mrs. Reynolds smiled reassuringly. “Don’t let it worry you, dear. He’s going to be just fine.” She turned to Rose. “Mrs. Darcy, why don’t you sit down? We could be waiting for a while.”

Rose allowed Mrs. Reynolds to lead her to a chair. The waiting area was by no means plush—it was furnished solely with a few tables, a motley collection of chairs and sofas, and a wall-mounted television—but it was spacious and, at the moment, relatively empty.

“Is Allen coming in?” Mrs. Reynolds asked Georgie.

“Yes—he’s parking the car. Oh, Gran, I wish we’d been home when this happened so we could have been here sooner!”

Allen had gone to fetch Rose from a volunteer board meeting, and Georgie from a friend’s house where she had spent the night, while Sonya and Mrs. Reynolds made the short trip to the hospital in a cab. Richard had also arrived by cab, following closely behind the ambulance.

“Georgie, there’s nothing you could have done if you’d gotten here earlier. We haven’t seen him yet,” Mrs. Reynolds explained. “Come and sit next to me, dear.”

Georgie took Mrs. Reynolds’s suggestion, resting her head on the older woman’s shoulder.

“Did he regain consciousness while you were with him?” Rose asked Richard.

“Yes. He actually came to pretty quickly—I was on the phone with 911 when he opened his eyes. He tried to convince me to cancel the call, that he was fine, and he was pretty annoyed when I wouldn’t, but he was still struggling to breathe.”

“You did the right thing,” Rose told him. “Though I wish you could have convinced him to stop running before this happened.”

“I tried, Gran, but you know how stubborn he can be.”

“Yes, I do. I’m not blaming you, Richard. You handled things as well as anyone could, I’m sure.”

Silence fell over the group as they sat together, helpless to do anything but wait.

“How are you feeling?” Dr. Rosemont asked William. She was standing beside his bed in the emergency room inspecting an EKG read-out.

William was too frightened to conceal the truth. “I’m having trouble catching … my breath and it’s …” He had been given an oxygen mask in the ambulance. It was helping him somewhat, but his chest was still heaving.

“I’m sorry—I know it’s a very unpleasant sensation. I just ordered some medication that should help; it’ll be here soon.”

“Why is … this happening?”

“From the EKG, you appear to be in the early stages of congestive heart failure.”

Fear gripped William’s insides. I knew it. “It’s my defective … heart valve, isn’t it?”

Dr. Rosemont raised her eyebrows. “Is that what you think?”

“I’ve suspected it for … a while. I need surgery, don’t I?”

“It could be the valve,” Dr. Rosemont said, her expression thoughtful, “but there are some other possibilities. I know they asked you some of this already, and I’m sorry to make you talk when you’re out of breath, but I need to verify your symptoms. I’ll use yes or no questions as much as I can. Have you been having frequent headaches?”

“Yes.”

“Do they feel like something pounding in your head?”

“Usually.”

“How long ago did they start?”

“About three months.”

Dr. Rosemont’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t comment. “What about dizzy spells?”

“Yes.”

“Starting around the same time?”

William nodded.

“Any nosebleeds?”

“A few.”

“And the breathlessness? Is it mostly while exercising?”

“Mostly, until now.”

“When did that start?”

“Maybe six … weeks ago.”

“Any leg cramps?”

William shook his head. “Not that I can … recall.”

“Okay. Let’s get your pulse and blood pressure.”

Dr. Rosemont checked his pulse at his neck, wrist, and upper thigh and took multiple blood pressure readings as well. She finished these tests and then nodded to herself. “That’s what I thought. A large pressure gradient, plus a weak lower-body pulse.”

William raised his eyebrows in a silent question, mystified by her comment.

“I think I know what the problem is,” Dr. Rosemont said. She fastened her eyes on William. “Your coarctation. I think it’s recurred.”

William stared at her in astonishment. “But I thought that almost … never happens.”

“It’s rare, but it happens occasionally. I’ll order some tests to confirm it. I don’t suppose you’d like to put $20 on it—your diagnosis versus mine?”

“I know better … than that.”

“Smart fellow.” She smiled at him, a mix of amusement, sympathy, and reassurance in her eyes.

William’s fear diminished under the influence of her relaxed demeanor, and he did his best to smile back behind the barrier of the oxygen mask. Despite the dislike and fear of doctors he had developed during his extensive childhood experience with the medical profession, he had formed a solid doctor-patient relationship with Dr. Teresa Rosemont over their twelve-year association. Her cheerful, no-nonsense style suited him, and he trusted her advice on medical matters, even if he sometimes failed to follow it. In addition, when they had encountered one another occasionally at social functions, William had found both Dr. Rosemont and her husband to be interesting, congenial company.

“Will I need surgery?” he asked, surprised by how calmly he asked the question.

“Probably not. There have been significant medical advances since you last had this problem. But let’s get the test results first, and then we’ll discuss treatment options.”

A nurse came in carrying three tiny bottles and some syringes. Dr. Rosemont spoke briefly to the nurse and then turned to William. “The nurse is going to give you the meds I ordered. They should help your breathing, and also lower your blood pressure.”

William frowned. “I took my blood pressure … medication this morning.”

Dr. Rosemont nodded. “You need something stronger right now. I’ve also included a sedative to relax you, so you may start feeling tired and a bit weak. It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

The nurse injected the medications into William’s IV line and left the room. Dr. Rosemont touched William’s arm in a comforting gesture. “I’m going to go order the tests and arrange to have you admitted to the CCU. And don’t worry—we’re going to fix you right up.”

“Promise?” He had intended it as a joke, but he found himself waiting for her answer.

“Absolutely. You still haven’t recorded that Khachaturian piece I’ve been bugging you about for years, and I have no intention of letting you get out of doing that.”

William’s eyes followed Dr. Rosemont as she stopped in the hall outside his door, conferring with the nurse and making some notations on his chart. He settled back against the pillows and did his best to relax.

Later that afternoon, William was resting in his private room in the hospital’s Cardiac Care Unit, his breathing improved substantially. The oxygen mask had been replaced by a slender tube attached to his nostrils. The nurse had told him that it was called an oxygen cannula. At least, he thought that was what she had said. At first it had sounded a bit like “canneloni.” Mamma loved canneloni, didn’t she? I should ask Mrs. Reynolds to make some.

It had been like this since the medications took effect. He had been drifting in and out of awareness, finding it difficult to concentrate when people spoke to him, and not making much sense, even to himself. Now he could feel the sedative beginning to wear off, and he was grateful. There was something he needed to do—something that had been flitting through his consciousness but vanishing before he could grab hold of it, leaving behind a sense of unease. Perhaps now he could focus and find out what it was.

He looked over at Gran and Sonya, who were with him now while Georgie, Richard, and the Reynoldses sat together in the waiting room down the hall. The nurses had been willing to waive the usual two-visitor limit as long as the group stayed quiet, but Mrs. Reynolds, who had been in William’s room at the time this offer was made, had protested vehemently.

“William needs peace and quiet, not the bunch of us stumbling over one another and making too much noise. We’ll take turns.”

The law having been laid down, Mrs. Reynolds had enforced it with the enthusiasm of a general on the battlefield. Each time William opened his eyes after a short nap, two different people were sitting in the visitor chairs with strained smiles on their faces. Unfortunately, the face he most wanted to see, the one that had begun to appear in his confused dreams, was never there.

Elizabeth. At last, the elusive source of his unease crystallized in his mind. The fight last night. What if she decided to call me? It’s still Thursday, isn’t it? I don’t have my cell phone … do I? I think it’s … He couldn’t remember.

“Sonya,” he said, his hoarse voice seeming to come out in slow motion as he labored to pull together the scattered threads of his conscious mind.

“Yes?”

“I need you to do something for me. My cell phone.”

“What about it?”

“Bring it to me.”

“Why? You hate that thing. I usually have to beg you to leave it turned on.”

William lacked the energy for explanations, and in any case it was too embarrassing. “I need it.”

“But there’s a phone here in the room. Besides, if you have any calls you need to make, just tell me and I’ll handle them for you. And if it’s about your appearances at Tanglewood this weekend, don’t worry, it’s all taken care of. Maestro Ozawa sends you his best wishes for a speedy recovery.”

“No, that’s not it.” Tanglewood? Ozawa? Oh, I was supposed to go to Boston on Friday, wasn’t I? Yes, that’s right, on Friday, after Lizzy is gone. No, after Elizabeth is gone. She doesn’t want me to call her Lizzy.

“Were you expecting a call? Because if you need me to check your messages—”

“No. Absolutely not.” Sonya’s suggestion snapped William into full consciousness. The last thing he needed was to have her hear an angry, accusing message from Elizabeth. He considered it entirely possible that Elizabeth might call him, not to make peace, but to berate him further.

“Then I don’t understand.”

“Just bring it,” William murmured, rubbing his bleary eyes. “I need my cell phone.”

“I’m afraid cell phones aren’t permitted in the CCU.” William and his visitors looked up to see Dr. Rosemont standing in the doorway.

“They make too much noise, and they interfere with some of the equipment,” she continued. “I think all the different ICU’s in the hospital have that rule, and some of the regular wards too. Up here they enforce it very seriously.” She stepped into the room, glancing at the monitor above William’s bed, which displayed his vital signs. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” William sighed, struggling to stay alert. “Are the test results in?”

“Yes, and it’s as I expected. Would you like the whole family to hear this?”

He nodded. “Sonya, would you go get the others?”

“Even Georgie?”

He hesitated for a minute, hating the thought of upsetting Georgiana, but then nodded. “I think it would be more frightening for her to sense that we were hiding something from her.”

While they waited, Dr. Rosemont asked Rose, “Has Dr. Tolliver spoken to you?”

“Yes, he stopped by the waiting room not long after I arrived.”

“He came in here a while ago too,” William said.

Dr. Rosemont snickered. “I figured he would. He keeps calling me to ask for the latest information on your case. This is a big deal for him—it’s not every day we have a patient belonging to the family that endows his position at the medical school. I think you can expect red-carpet treatment while you’re here.” She looked at Rose. “Your family made that endowment some time ago, didn’t you?”

“It was soon after William’s surgery, so … almost 28 years ago, I suppose,” Rose replied.

Sonya returned with Richard, Georgiana, and the Reynoldses trailing close behind. Georgie walked up to the bed, grasping William’s hand firmly and giving him a tremulous smile.

He smiled at her sympathetically. “How are you doing, Georgie? I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through this.”

“I’m okay,” she insisted. “You just worry about geting better.”

“Your brother is going to be fine,” Dr. Rosemont assured her. She looked around the room. “I assume everyone here is familiar with William’s medical history?”

Rose shook her head. “Georgiana isn’t.”

Dr. Rosemont turned to William. “Should I …?”

William looked into his sister’s eyes. “Georgie, I was sick for a while when I was very young.” He stopped and drew a deep breath. “I never saw a need to tell you before, but now …” He looked at Dr. Rosemont. “Go ahead.”

Dr. Rosemont turned to Georgiana. “William was born with a congenital heart defect called coarctation of the aorta. I assume you know what the aorta is?”

Georgiana nodded eagerly. “It’s the major artery that leaves the heart. We studied the circulatory system in biology last fall.”

“That’s right. The aorta is a very large vessel, but William was born with an aorta that had a constricted section where it was very narrow. Sometimes, when the constriction is really severe, we find this problem as soon as a baby is born. In William’s case, the trouble didn’t show up till … how old were you?”

“He was two,” Rose interjected. “He started having a variety of health problems. It took several months before the doctors identified the cause.”

“Diagnostic techniques weren’t as good then as they are today,” Dr. Rosemont said. “At any rate, coarctation creates all sorts of problems, because the heart has a hard time pumping blood to the rest of the body.”

“He was a very sick little boy for quite a while, the poor dear,” Mrs. Reynolds remarked.

Dr. Rosemont nodded and then continued. “So William had surgery to correct the problem. Now, once coarctation is repaired, it’s usually gone for good. But occasionally the problem recurs, and that’s what has happened in this case.”

Georgiana looked at William with huge, frightened eyes. “You mean you have to have surgery again?”

“That’s what the doctor is going to tell us,” Sonya said, as seven anxious pairs of eyes stared at Dr. Rosemont.

“As a matter of fact, probably not. A procedure called aortoplasty has a high success rate in the treatment of recurring coarctation. We thread a very small tube through the circulatory system, starting in a large vessel in the groin area, with a tiny balloon attached. Once it arrives at the site of the constriction, we inflate the balloon to open the vessel. Then one or more tiny mesh tubes called stents are often placed in the aorta to keep it open. But that decision will be up to the doctor who performs the procedure.”

“You’re not going to do it?” William asked, displeased at this news.

“No. That’s a sub-specialty called interventional cardiology. I’ve spoken to a colleague who’s one of the very best, and I’m hoping she can do the procedure first thing in the morning. It usually takes three or four hours. You’ll be sedated, so you shouldn’t experience any discomfort. If all goes well, you may be able to go home as early as Saturday, with nothing more than a band-aid over a small puncture wound at the entry point.”

“It fixes the problem that fast?” Richard asked.

“Yes. The results are usually very dramatic. But I may want to keep William here for an extra day or two for some additional tests. This problem has been building for a while, and it would be wise to make sure there hasn’t been any permanent damage to his heart or kidneys, both of which are at risk from this condition.”

“What about my defective heart valve?” William asked.

Georgiana shot him a frightened look. “You have a defective heart valve too?”

Dr. Rosemont nodded. “William has a malformed valve in his heart. Individuals born with aortic coarctation often have this condition as well. The valve functions more or less correctly, but because it’s malformed it tends to wear out more quickly than a normal valve. There’s a fairly high probability that some day he’ll need to have it replaced. But it’s a relatively common surgery these days, and anyway, the valve doesn’t appear to be causing any problems at present.”

Silence fell over the room. Dr. Rosemont looked around. “Any other questions?” She paused, but no one spoke. “Well, if you think of anything, don’t hesitate to ask William’s nurse to get in touch with me. I need to go back to the office, but I’ll stop by this evening, and I should know by then when the procedure is going to take place.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Rose said, and the others joined in the chorus.

Dr. Rosemont nodded. “You’re welcome. Get some rest, William. That’s the best thing you can do right now.”

Elizabeth looked up from the box of clothing she was packing and checked the time. According to her alarm clock, it was after 4:30. To her surprise, William hadn’t returned her phone call yet.

Of course, he told me once that he hates cell phones, so maybe he only checks messages once a day. Except he said he was hoping I’d call, so wouldn’t he be watching for a message? Unless he’s changed his mind about me. Trying to avoid the shrieking psycho who attacked him last night.

She decided to call him again. Just once more, that’s all. In case the first message got lost somehow. She dialed his number, and as before she heard Sonya’s voicemail greeting.

“William? It’s Elizabeth again. I don’t mean to bother you … I just wasn’t sure if you’d gotten my first message. I’d really like to talk to you. I know I suggested earlier that you could come over, but if you’d rather not, it’s okay. Maybe we could just talk on the phone quickly. So, anyway, please call me. Bye.”

She hung up the phone. As the song goes, isn’t it ironic? I threw him out, told him I never wanted to see him again, and now I’m the one trying to get his attention.

Elizabeth heard voices in the living room. Sally was apparently home, and from the sound of things she had company. Before Elizabeth had a chance to investigate, Sally entered the bedroom.

“Ah, here you are,” Sally said. “How’s the packing going?”

“Not bad.”

“Well, Jon’s here too, and we thought we’d give you a hand until we have to go to work.”

Jon poked his head through the doorway. “Okay if I come in?”

“Like it would stop you if I said no,” Elizabeth teased.

“Good point.” Jon strolled into the bedroom. “How’s it going, sweetie?”

Elizabeth forced herself to smile. “Just great.”

“And how was last night?” Jon gave her a knowing smile. “Did the earth move?”

“No, there was no activity on the Richter scale,” Elizabeth retorted. “Get your mind out of the gutter. William stayed for a little less than an hour and then he went home.”

Sally turned to Jon. “See? Told you she’d send him home. You owe me ten bucks.”

“And how was your ‘audition’?” Elizabeth asked with a smirk.

Sally sighed. “I’m sorry. That crazy story was Jon’s idea. He thought if I cleared out, maybe you and William would be … what was your word, Jon?”

“Inspired.” Jon looked at himself in the mirror above the dresser, smoothing his hair. “But evidently it was all in vain.”

“Everything was okay last night, though, right, Lizzy?” Sally asked.

“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?” Elizabeth stared down into the box, busily neatening the stack of clothing she had already packed.

“It’s just … well, Alice from next door stopped me on the way down the hall and started griping at me. You know the way she is. She said she heard loud voices coming from our apartment in the middle of the night. It woke the baby, I guess, so she was annoyed.”

“I asked her if the voices were screaming something along the lines of, ‘Oh, God, oh, God, don’t stop, don’t stop!’” Jon said with a gleeful smile. “But she said she couldn’t make out the words.”

“Shut up, Jon,” Sally snapped, eyeing Elizabeth closely.

“I have no idea what Alice is talking about,” Elizabeth said, staring into the packing box and hoping that her reddening cheeks would escape detection.

“Well, don’t worry about it. Maybe it was coming from another apartment. So, can we help you with some packing?”

“Thanks, that would be terrific. Go get one of those empty boxes in the dining room, if you don’t mind.”

Sally nodded and left the room.

“Do I get to do your underwear drawer?” Jon leered.

“Oh, like you’d care about that,” Elizabeth retorted, glad the subject had veered away from William and last night.

“Of course I would—I love pretty, lacy things.”

“You mean to try on.” Elizabeth stood up and opened another drawer, inspecting its contents.

“Hardly. I’m not that kind of girl,” he pouted. “I’m much too studly to look good in lace.”

Elizabeth laughed softly. Jon had a talent for lifting her spirits. “I’m going to miss you,” she said quietly.

“Me too, sweetie. You know I love you, right?”

Elizabeth fought back the tears stinging her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered in a choked voice.

“Aw, now don’t cry, or you’re going to make me cry too,” Jon cajoled, wrapping her in his muscular arms.

Elizabeth clung to him tightly, a few tears rolling down her cheeks before she was able to regain control of herself. “I love you too,” she sniffled.

Sally returned to the room. “Is it time for a group hug?” she asked, approaching them.

Elizabeth laughed through her tears. “Sounds good to me.”

Dinnertime had come and gone, and William’s remaining visitors were preparing to leave. William had sent Georgiana home over her tearful objections two hours ago, and Richard had gone with her to keep her company at the house until the others returned. Dr. Rosemont had stopped by a short time ago, confirming that William’s aortoplasty would be done early the next morning.

The sleeping pill Dr. Rosemont had ordered was starting to take effect. William could feel himself gradually drifting away from his family toward a peaceful, distant place. But one nagging thought kept him awake.

“You never brought me my cell phone,” he mumbled thickly, trying without success to open his heavy eyelids.

“Now, dear, don’t you remember? The doctor told you you’re not allowed to use your cell phone in the CCU,” Mrs. Reynolds told him in a soothing voice, squeezing his hand. “And anyway, you need to sleep, not be making calls. Whatever it is, it can wait till tomorrow.”

“No, no, I need to find out if …” William struggled to stay awake, but his beleaguered body was no match for the sedative. Conscious thought was finally extinguished as sleep overtook him.

Mrs. Reynolds smiled tenderly. “The poor dear boy. Sleep will do him good. But I can’t imagine why he keeps worrying about that cell phone at a time like this.” Shrugging, she kissed his forehead. “Sleep well, William.”

Sonya shrugged. “I offered to check his messages earlier, in case he was expecting a call, but he told me not to. Very strange. I wonder if …” She frowned, one eyebrow cocked in curiosity.

Rose, who stood on the other side of William’s bed, touched her grandson’s hand tentatively, her eyes fastened steadfastly on his face. Finally, with a sigh, she turned to Sonya. “Shall we go?”

An uneasy peace reigns over hospitals late at night. The atmosphere cannot truly be described as quiet, with monitors beeping and nurses moving from room to room, checking on their patients. Yet compared to the daytime bustle of doctors making rounds, orderlies with meal carts, patient-room televisions blaring, and visitors wandering the halls, a peculiar hush descends over the rooms and hallways in the hours before dawn.

On this night, things were noisier than usual in the Cardiac Care Unit. A tall, rotund maintenance employee in green scrubs and paper booties was cleaning and polishing the floor in the hallway. The polisher whirred as he pushed it in circles across the floor, adding the sharp, chemical smell of floor polish to the bouquet of odors instantly recognizable as the smell of a hospital.

William, still under the influence of the sleeping pill, was oblivious to these late-night sounds and scents, his mind more agreeably engaged by a soothing dream.

He heard a noise and opened his eyes. Elizabeth was standing in the doorway to his room.

“William?” she said in an anxious tone, her face etched with worry.

Joy exploded in his chest as she hurried across the room. She stopped at his bedside, grasping his hand tightly. With her other hand, she caressed his cheek. “William, I came as soon as I heard. I was so scared.”

He wondered how she had heard the news, but decided he didn’t care. She was here, and that was all that mattered. “I’m so sorry about last night,” he whispered.

“No, don’t even think about it. I misjudged you; I know that now. I just want you to get better so that we can be together.”

“I’m going to be fine, now that you’re here. I love you so much, Lizzy.”

She smiled in tremulous joy and leaned over, kissing him gently, careful not to disturb the slender oxygen tube beneath his nose.

He reached up and stroked her face. “I wish I could hold you,” he whispered.

Elizabeth smiled, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. She tiptoed around to the other side of the bed, away from the IV and the oxygen line, and began to fiddle with the bed rail, finally lowering it. William slid over to make room and she climbed into the bed, curling up beside him and drawing him into her arms. With a contented sigh, he rested his head on her shoulder.

“Now, go back to sleep,” Elizabeth murmured, stroking his hair. “I’m here, and we’ll get through this together. You’re not alone anymore.”

William awoke, hearing a rustling noise beside his bed. “Lizzy?” he murmured.

“It’s Kathy, your night nurse, Mr. Darcy. I didn’t mean to disturb you—I’m just checking your IV.”

She bustled around the room, hanging a new bottle of IV fluid on the pole beside William’s bed. “Are you all right, Mr. Darcy? Is there anything you need?”

William shook his head. “No, thank you.” At least, nothing you, or anyone else, can get for me.

“Well, try to get back to sleep. If you have trouble, let me know—Dr. Rosemont left an order for another dose of the sedative, in case you needed it.”

Kathy turned off the light and departed, leaving William with no company but the steady beep of his heart monitor. He longed to re-immerse himself in his dream of Elizabeth, but sleep had forsaken him. He lay alone in the dark listening to the distant sound of the floor polisher and the quiet footsteps in the hallway, Frank Sinatra’s voice echoing in his head:

In the wee, small hours of the morning,
That’s the time you miss her most of all.*

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*—“In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning,” (D. Mann/B. Hilliard).

Copyright © 2006 by the author Last updated August 30, 2006