**
Prologue:
Drew Carey
An Early Retrospective
August 2001
Do you believe in fate? I never used to, but now I
think I do. I don’t necessarily believe that fate has
a hand in *everything*; free will and chance play
roles in the cosmos, too. But it just seems like
there are some things that are fated to be. No matter
how much you fight it (and I know they both did--I
doubt either really wanted the stigma), eventually
things will work out the way they’re supposed to. It
doesn’t always work unless it was *meant* to. And I
personally think this was. There’s too much
coincidence for it not to be.
This whole thing started by accident…an act of God, I
guess.
**
1.
A Phone Call…
February 10, 2000
2:30 p.m.
The phone’s handset dropped down into its cradle with
a soft bang, having been released from Drew Carey’s
numb fingers. Dazed, mind reeling, he stared vacantly
across his brightly lit office for the space of
two-dozen heartbeats. He was utterly frozen, unable
to think. In a moment, conscious thought would return
and he would move, but for the first few endless
seconds after receiving such a massive shock, his body
refused to function.
It was a sick joke: Colin and Debra Mochrie, along
with Patricia Stiles in a car wreck. Deb already
pronounced dead on the scene. Colin and Pat in
critical condition. Pat Stiles’ husband Ryan Stiles
was in the office adjoining Drew’s relaxing with a
book during a few precious hours of down time.
Drew looked slowly into Ryan’s office and sighed. The
tall, sandy-haired man didn’t know yet, and for that,
Drew envied him. Ryan didn’t know that his wife and
best friend were being treated for life-threatening
injuries. But someone had to tell him. It was this
last that finally roused Drew from his daze and got
him moving.
He was a relatively short, heavyset man with buzz-cut
brown hair and dark blue eyes, which were usually
tucked behind a pair of glasses. At the moment, the
glasses weren’t there--he didn’t need them--but when
he was on-camera, he switched to the more familiar
black horn rims. His dress was casual: blue jeans and
a gray T-shirt with Nike tennis shoes. In about an
hour, he was supposed to head on down to change into
his usual suit-and-tie look, but he was sure he wasn’t
going to need to anymore.
There was supposed to be a “Whose Line is it Anyway?”
taping tonight. That had been why Pat, Colin, and Deb
had been going to the studio in the first place. The
Stiles and Mochrie couples were friends of old, so it
really wasn’t any surprise that they’d been riding
over together.
Pat Stiles had picked up Colin and Deb. As they’d
crossed a particularly busy intersection, a semi’s
brakes had blown and it hadn’t been able to stop. It
ran square into the driver’s side of the Towncar Pat
had been driving, the side both on which she and Deb
Mochrie had been sitting. The police officer with
whom Drew had spoken had been sketchy on details and
rather harried, but told Drew that Deb had been killed
instantly. Other than that, the officer (who said he
had mountains of things to do, which was why he’d
dumped it all on Drew instead of waiting for Ryan) had
little else to say.
Drew wished mightily that he’d told the officer to
talk to Ryan as he approached the door to Ryan’s
office. He poked his head inside and glanced around.
The overhead light was off and it was quiet save the
soft hum of the air conditioning unit. It was a
standard office: an oak desk dominated the center of
the room. Two comfortable chairs sat to either side
of the front, and one larger overstuffed chair sat
behind. A filing cabinet stood indifferently in the
back corner, next to a computer desk complete with a
brand new computer. Against the left wall was a
bookcase, which was stuffed with about three hundred
different books--despite appearances, Ryan was a
voracious reader. The office, as always, was neat as
a pin.
“Ryan?” Drew murmured, softly tapping on the door.
Ryan Stiles, who was sitting back in his overstuffed
chair with his feet up and a book in one large hand,
glanced up and started to smile. He was a lanky man
at six-six, quiet, and thoughtfully intelligent.
“Hey, Drew,” he said in a soft, deep baritone. The
smile slipped slowly from his lips as he took in
Drew’s expression. “Something wrong?”
Drew walked into the comfortable office and all but
collapsed into one of the blue plush chairs in front
of the desk. He leaned forward and studied his
smallish hands as he tried to think of the best way to
say what he had to say. Finally, without looking up,
he murmured, “The taping, um, it’s been cancelled
tonight.”
The sound of Ryan’s feet coming off the desk was loud
in the stillness of the office. “What? Why?” he
asked quickly. “Did something happen?”
Nodding slowly, Drew said, “Yeah. I just…just got off
the phone with a cop.” He heard a quick intake of
breath and glanced up. “It’s bad news.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Ryan said impatiently.
“What’s
going on?”
“There was an accident,” Drew said gently. “A
semi’s
brakes blew out and it ran into the driver’s side of a
car carrying Colin, Deb, and…and Pat.” He watched
Ryan carefully for a reaction, and was startled when
there was none.
“Jesus,” Ryan said mildly. “How bad is it? Are
they
okay?”
“Deb…she’s, um, she didn’t make it. Colin and
Pat are
in critical condition right now. That’s all I know.”
Once again, Drew watched for reaction, but if Ryan was
alarmed or afraid, it didn’t show.
In a perfectly conversational voice, Ryan asked,
“Where are they? Do you know?”
“University Hospital,” Drew answered. “Um…are
you
okay?” Somehow, he didn’t trust the calm in Ryan’s
tone.
“Fine,” Ryan said, his gaze flicking over the few
objects on the desktop. After a moment, he glanced up
and sighed. “God. All right, I’ve got to get down
there. Do me a favor and let everybody know what’s
going on.”
“Yeah, okay,” Drew nodded. “I’ll, uh, come
down in a
little bit.” Fear gnawed at his gut and made his
hands tremble in his lap. He bit down viciously on
the inside of his cheek to keep the joke that had
risen to his lips from escaping. He dealt with stress
by making jokes, by laughing it away. But now was not
the time.
As Ryan stood, he said, “Thanks. Listen, get Dan or
somebody to go with you, would you? You don’t look so
good.”
Drew scrubbed his face with his hands before standing.
“I will,” he said. “Be careful.”
Something flickered deep in Ryan’s eyes just then, a
sign that maybe he wasn’t as calm as he appeared to
be. “Yeah,” he said softly before turning and walking
out the door.
**
2.
Echoes…
February 10, 2000
3:00 p.m.
Ryan Stiles was a deeply troubled man, but was also an
expert at keeping others from knowing it. He was a
master of keeping it out of his voice and off his
face. He’d been very cool, even after Drew had dumped
the information in his lap, and even after hearing
that his own wife might be dying. It wasn’t just
show; he actually *did* feel mostly in control.
Mostly.
Oh, he was worried about his wife and best friend, but
also recognized that panicking or getting worked up
was a waste of both time and energy. It wouldn’t help
or solve the problem. That was why he rarely, if
ever, allowed himself to become emotional. Keeping
calm usually enabled him to keep a clear head.
Still, as he drove, a creeper of fear gnawed at his
insides. He had faith and hope, of course, but a
small voice coupled with a bad feeling deep in the pit
of his stomach gave him the impression that things
weren’t all right. His mind went back to earlier that
morning, when he’d said goodbye to Pat. He hadn’t
wanted to let her go that morning. Something had told
him that if he let her go, he’d never see her again.
He’d been sorely tempted to listen to that voice. It
haunted him and teased him most of the way to the
hospital until he finally snarled at it to shut up.
University Hospital was an upscale, sprawling set of
buildings in south Burbank. It was one of the best
hospitals in the country. The emergency room had its
own building: a modern, massive white and red
structure with eight floors. It had its own surgical
ward and staff, trauma unit, labs, intensive care
unit, delivery ward, and NICU. The rest of the
buildings housed the oncology clinic, plastic surgery
center, a separate surgical unit (complete with its
own staff), labs, and all the other trimmings. It was
easily as big as a college campus, and it was easy to
get lost.
Ryan parked in the main lot and followed the signs
that led to the emergency room. He walked into the ER
and spoke quietly with one of the on-duty nurses, who
directed him up to the trauma unit on the third floor.
Both Colin and Pat had gone up there. As Ryan made
his way onto a crowded elevator, he couldn’t help but
notice how frantic the pace was. All around people
were running and crying and screaming. Somehow, he
managed to hold onto his calm despite the sea of
madness.
The third floor was eerily quiet in contrast. It was
strange, given that the third floor was where the most
critical patients were taken in an emergency. This
fact didn’t escape Ryan’s notice as he made his way to
the nurses’ station. The on-duty nurse looked up at
him and asked him if she could help him.
“I was told,” Ryan said quietly, “that they
brought my
wife up here. Pat Stiles?”
“Ah…yeah,” the nurse said, glancing down at
something
in front of her. “The doctors are still working on
her, Mr. Stiles. If you’ll just, um, wait over
there,” she nodded at the relatively full waiting
area, “we’ll let you know how she’s doing as soon
as
possible.”
Ryan nodded. “Thanks.” He remembered Colin just
then. “Oh, and they brought up Colin Mochrie, too.
I’m sort of his next of kin, so could you have the
doctor keep me up on his condition, too?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks,” Ryan said shortly, and then turned toward
the waiting area. It was relatively full of shocked,
silent families, but there were several empty seats in
the back corner. He took the one furthest away from
everyone else and stared at the floor for a long
moment. ‘I should call our families,’ he thought
randomly, but never quite made it that far.
He sat without moving for over an hour, until a young
doctor--impossibly young--approached his chair. “Mr.
Stiles?” he inquired gravely.
Ryan looked up slowly, dread tugging at his stomach.
“Yeah,” he murmured to the man, who was small and
slender with dark hair and blue eyes.
“I’m Doctor Tanner,” the doctor said.
“I’d like to
talk to you privately, if I may.”
“Sure,” Ryan murmured, standing.
Dr. Tanner turned and started walking down a
spotlessly white corridor, his white-soled shoes
squeaking softly against the tile. It took no more
than a minute for them to arrive at a small conference
room. It had an oak table, a couple of gray chairs,
and no windows, which was probably why it felt stuffy
and hot. Ryan took a seat and looked at the doctor
expectantly.
“I have,” Dr. Tanner said, “some good news and
some
bad news. Which would you prefer first?”
Not liking the ominous quality of the doctor’s voice,
Ryan closed his eyes briefly before saying: “Give me
the bad news first.”
The youngish doctor looked down at the floor and
sighed deeply. “I’m afraid it’s very bad news, Mr.
Stiles, about your wife.”
“She’s dead,” Ryan said with absolute certainty.
“Isn’t she?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Dr. Tanner answered.
“Her heart
stopped at the accident scene, and although they were
able to resuscitate her there, her heart stopped again
here and we were unable to start it again despite our
best efforts. Her child died with her.”
Ryan bit down on his lower lip. Pat had been seven
months pregnant with their first child. Numbly, he
asked, “How bad was it?” There was a small catch in
his throat that made it difficult to get the words
out.
“She had severe head trauma, broken ribs, both lungs
collapsed, and a hole in her heart,” Dr. Tanner said,
running fingers through his neatly cut hair. “I
cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am for your
loss-”
“You said you had some good news,” Ryan interrupted
sharply. He was being rude, he realized, but couldn’t
seem to make himself care.
“Ah, yes. Well, I…had some good news regarding Mr.
Mochrie. The nurse told me to keep you up on his
condition.”
“He made it.”
The doctor nodded, his posture relaxing. “He’s a
little banged up, but yes, he’s just fine. He
suffered three broken ribs, two broken bones in his
right arm and two in his right leg, along with a lot
of cuts, bumps and bruises. There weren’t any serious
internal injuries, but because of the seatbelt, he
sustained a little internal bruising, although like I
said, nothing severe.”
Ryan nodded wearily. “Is he awake?”
“No. We’ve got him under a mild sedative, so he
probably won’t wake up until later tonight or early
tomorrow. We’ll be moving him up to the seventh floor
in about an hour. Once we get him up there, you’ll be
able to sit in with him, if you’d like.”
“All right. So I guess he doesn’t know about his
wife, does he?”
“No,” Dr. Tanner said. “We didn’t have a
chance to
tell him. We can, if you want, but usually it’s
easier if this kind of news comes from a friend.”
“Yeah,” Ryan sighed. “You’re probably
right.” He was
suddenly absolutely exhausted. This was starting to
take on the unreal quality of a bad dream. He felt
too calm. Shouldn’t he be crying and carrying on?
His wife and child had died. Why wasn’t he mourning?
No tears came to his eyes; instead, there was an empty
burning.
“Will you be in the waiting room?”
The question barely registered. Ryan grunted
something that might have been yes, but he didn’t
really notice. The doctor said something else and
then disappeared quietly from the room. Feeling about
a hundred years older, Ryan got creakily to his feet
and shuffled out of the room with his head down and
that tired ache in his eyes.
When he reached the waiting area, he saw that Drew,
Dan, Wayne, and Greg had all shown up and were all
huddled into the same corner he had occupied a scant
ten minutes before. ‘Before I knew my wife was dead,’
he thought bitterly and stuffed his hands deep into
his pockets. They were trembling.
Drew saw him first and bounded to his feet. “Ryan,
there you are. Nobody would tell us anything. What’s
going on?”
Ryan glanced around the room and saw several curious
glances from the people around them. It probably
wasn’t that common to see a guy like Drew Carey
hanging out in an ER waiting room, he figured
absently. “Guys,” he said quietly to the four of
them, “uh, look, I’d rather not talk about this here,
okay? Let’s go outside and I’ll fill you in.”
Greg was the first to break the tense silence once
they’d reached a more private area outside. “Drew
told us about Deb,” he told Ryan, leaning back against
a wall. “What about Pat and Colin?”
“Colin’s okay,” Ryan answered. He folded his arms
across his chest and leaned against the wall next to
Greg. “Just pretty banged up--broken arm, leg, couple
of ribs, lots of bruises, nothing life threatening.
Pat,” he hesitated, struggling to force the words out.
“Pat, um, didn’t make it. Neither did the baby.”
Wayne, Greg, and Drew exchanged glances, but said
nothing. Dan, however, said, “I’m so sorry, Ryan.
Are you all right?”
“I’m okay,” Ryan answered truthfully.
“It’s just…it
hasn’t quite hit me yet. I mean, Deb was one of my
best friends. And Pat…well, you know how we were.”
He realized with bemused horror that he was already
referring to his wife and friend in the past tense.
It was amazing how easily it came to his tongue. He
managed a wan smile.
“Have you seen Colin yet?” Drew asked.
Ryan shook his head. “No. He’s, um, he’s still
out.
I guess they’re going to move him here shortly and
I--we--can see him then.” After a brief pause, he
added, “He doesn’t know about Deb yet. I
guess…I’m
going to tell him when he wakes up.”
“Or one of us could do it,” Drew said, frowning.
“You
don’t have to.”
“I think I should,” Ryan said quietly. “It’d
just be
easier that way.” When nobody protested further, he
nodded and quickly scrubbed his eyes with one hand.
“Strange fucking day,” he muttered.
“You sure you’re okay?” Wayne asked. “You
seem kind
of…out of it.”
‘You would be too, Wayne, if you found out your wife
was run over by a fucking semi.’ Ryan grimaced and
impatiently waved both the rude thought and Wayne’s
comment away. “I’m *fine*,” he said, just barely
managing to keep the exasperation out of his voice.
God, this was going to get old in a hurry…but there
was no sense in being an asshole. “But thanks
anyway.”
An uncomfortable silence fell between them, broken
only by the sound of Greg lighting a cigarette and
shuffling feet. Nobody seemed to be in too big a
hurry to head back into the hospital. It was quiet
out here. They may as well have been the only living
creatures out there. No birds chirped, no bugs flew
nearby, and no other human being appeared.
It was Dan who broke the long silence. He cleared his
throat and stepped off the wall. “Uhm, you know,
there’s really no sense in all of us sticking around
here. Colin’s probably not going to want all five of
us in there with him. Don’t you think it’d be better
if we gave him a few days?” Glancing significantly at
Ryan, he added, “Maybe somebody could tell him we
stopped by?”
“Or maybe some of us could stay,” Drew said.
“I’d
really rather be here when he wakes up.”
“Me too,” Greg said, sounding troubled. He cleared
his throat and adjusted his glasses absently with one
hand. “On the other hand, Dan’s right. The last
thing he needs is all of us hovering over him. I
think we should all go--except Ryan, I guess.”
Wayne appeared reluctant but agreed, and together, the
three of them managed to persuade Drew. “All right,
all right,” the stocky man finally sighed. “But,”
he
told Ryan, “if you need anything at all, you call one
of us. All right?”
Ryan sighed and stretched his back a little before
nodding and smiling tiredly. “Okay, Drew.”
“Promise?”
Grinding his teeth together, Ryan barely managed to
avoid tearing Drew’s head off. ‘Calm down,’ he
told
himself. ‘This is not the time.’ “Yes,” he
said
forcefully. “If I need anything, I will call you.
You have my word.”
“Hey,” Greg interposed, “Ryan, could you call me
when
you find out what room he’s going to be staying in?”
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “You can let everybody else
know.”
Speaking of that…didn’t he have a few phone calls to
make? Wonderful. As if the day couldn’t get any
better. “Well, if you’re all just going to go, I
think I’m going to head back in, if that’s okay with
you guys.”
Drew nodded. “Go on,” he said gruffly, as he reached
out to pat Ryan on the back. “I’m sorry, man.”
The others echoed the sentiment, if not the gesture,
before departing. Ryan watched them leave and only
when they were gone did he allow his shoulders to
slump a little. He felt ten years older all of a
sudden, and walked with slow, shuffling steps back to
the third floor waiting room. After no more than a
minute, however, he stood up and headed outside.
Once back in the private area, he took out his cell
phone, leaned against the wall, and began the
difficult process of informing family members. Over
the course of the next half an hour, he came to
discover something: there was no such thing as a
gentle way to break this kind of news. No matter how
many flowery words you used, the grief was just as
real and the pain just as tremendous.
He got in touch with Colin’s mother and Deb’s sister,
both of whom agreed to contact other family members
for him. Afterward, he got in touch with his own
mother, who was shaken but sympathetic and said she’d
be on the next flight down as soon as she contacted
Ryan’s brothers and sister. And finally, when he
could put it off no longer, he called Pat’s father.
That was the most difficult call of the evening, and
the one that left Ryan vibrating like a harp string.
Pat’s mother had only recently died, and now, for this
to happen…
The old man had been absolutely devastated, of course.
Ryan talked to him for a solid twenty minutes before
letting him go. Not surprisingly, Ryan’s hands were
shaking when he put the phone back into his pocket.
He covered his eyes for a moment and willed himself to
cry--to feel *something* besides the empty numbness
that surrounded his heart. His eyes burned and ached,
and yet there were still no tears.
A quiet voice startled him so much that he jumped.
“Mr. Stiles?”
Ryan turned quickly and felt the mask of composure
slip over his face again. It was the duty-nurse he’d
spoken to earlier. “Yes?”
The young woman smiled disarmingly. “I didn’t mean to
startle you. Dr. Tanner asked me to let you know when
we were moving Mr. Mochrie.”
“Is he awake?”
“Not yet. It’ll probably be a few hours, but you can
go up and see him now if you’d like. He’s in room
745.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Ryan followed the nurse back into
the building and headed for the elevators. Two
minutes later, he arrived at the doorway to Colin’s
room. Another nurse was adjusting the IV attached to
his uninjured left arm. She glanced up with a small
smile and motioned for Ryan to come in.
“He’ll be out for two or three more hours,” she
said
as Ryan pulled up a chair. “When he wakes up, he’s
going to be a little disoriented, but that should only
last for fifteen or twenty minutes. I’ll be in and
out checking up on him, and Dr. Tanner will be coming
by later tonight. Visiting hours end at ten p.m.”
Ryan barely heard what she was saying, but nodded
dutifully. His eyes were drawn to the figure on the
bed. Casts encased Colin’s right arm and leg, and
bandages covered a good portion of his left arm and
face. There was a wicked-looking bruise that ran from
his left temple, halfway across his forehead, and down
below his eye socket. In short, he looked like a man
who had been in a very serious accident and had been
lucky enough to survive.
A semi’s brakes had blown out. Wasn’t that what Drew
had said? Had the driver survived? How fast was it
going? Why had the cops called Drew? A million
questions raced through his mind, and he knew he
wasn’t going to be able to sleep until he had some
answers.
Three phone calls and almost forty minutes later, he
had an answer. The semi had been doing thirty-five
and Pat had been stopped in the intersection, since
she was going to make a left-hand turn. For some
reason, the semi’s brakes gave out and hit the
driver’s side just behind the driver’s door. The
force of the semi knocked the Towncar into a third
car, which, fortunately, had only minor damage and no
one hurt. The third car acted something like a
fulcrum: Pat’s car got turned enough so that the
driver of the semi was able to get around it without
doing too much more damage. The driver had been
pretty bruised but had walked away. There was no
criminal liability--the blowout had been a freak
accident.
‘So much for that,’ Ryan thought as he resumed his
place by Colin’s bedside. He closed his eyes and
slowly massaged his temples. Knowledge did not make
the pain go away. Not even close. The fact that it
*had* been a freak accident made it even more
difficult to understand. How was he going to tell
Colin? That was what bothered him the most.
It wasn’t until nine o’clock or so that Colin began
stirring. He shifted a little in the bed, groaned
softly, and then his eyelids fluttered open--although
the left eye only opened halfway. Those normally warm
brown eyes were glazed and dull as he looked around
the room. Focusing on Ryan, he frowned. “Ryan?” he
asked fuzzily. “Wha-? Where ’m I?”
“The hospital,” Ryan answered quietly, leaning closer.
“How do you feel?”
“I hurt,” Colin said after a moment.
“Everywhere.”
“You were in an accident,” Ryan said carefully.
“You’re pretty banged up.”
Colin nodded slowly. “That would explain it,” he
said, blinking rapidly. “Long have I been out?”
“About eight hours or so, I guess.”
“Oh. I’m tired.” Silence fell heavily between
them.
Colin closed his eyes after a minute and appeared to
fall back asleep. His breathing slowed and evened out
again. Just when Ryan was sure that he’d gone to
sleep, however, Colin’s eyes popped open. This time,
they were far more alert. “Have you been here all
that time?”
“Most of it, yeah,” Ryan said. “I’ve, uh,
been in and
out making phone calls and stuff, but otherwise…”
Apparently, Colin saw something he didn’t like in
Ryan’s eyes. “What is it?” he asked quietly, a
strong
current of worry in his voice. “What’s wrong?”
Ryan desperately tried to think of something to say to
divert from the situation, but when he couldn’t think
of anything, he gave up. “Bad news, I guess,” he
said. “Deb…she, um, she didn’t make it, buddy.
I’m
so sorry.”
For a moment, Colin simply stared as if he didn’t
understand. “She…? No. There’s…no. No, that
can’t
be right.” Shaking his head, he turned his face away
and began to weep silently, raising a shaking left
hand to cover his eyes. Ryan moved to offer what
comfort he could, gently reaching out to place a hand
on Colin’s shoulder. Like a drowning man grasping for
a lifesaver, Colin took Ryan’s hand.
It seemed like they sat that way for hours, but in
reality, it was only a matter of moments. Colin
looked up at the ceiling through wounded, exhausted
eyes and asked the question that was foremost on
Ryan’s own mind: “Why now, God?”
Since he had no answer, Ryan sat quietly and studied
the floor. Why now, indeed, he wondered bitterly.
His and Pat’s child had been a boy. They hadn’t
chosen a name yet, but they’d figured on having two
more months to pick one out. It didn’t matter now.
In one pointless moment, everything had been erased.
And it still didn’t quite seem real.
“This is so unfair,” Colin said softly. “We had
everything together, and…and we were going to start a
family…a-and now it’s all gone.”
“Yeah,” Ryan muttered, turning his gaze to the window.
It was raining outside. “Just like that. Pat and
the baby died, too.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Colin said mildly. “When it rains, it
pours, doesn’t it? I’m sorry.”
“Did I ever tell you that it was a boy? The baby?”
“No…”
“We didn’t have a name for him yet, but we
thought…we,
well, you know.” Ryan sighed and rubbed his eyes
tiredly. “Now they’re both gone. They’re all
gone.”
Clearing his throat, he changed the subject. “I went
ahead and called everybody--my parents, your parents,
Pat’s and Deb’s, so they already know. They’re
going
to get hold of everybody else for us.”
“Thank you,” Colin said. “Does Drew know
yet?”
“Yeah. He stopped by with Dan, Wayne, and Greg this
afternoon. They all said to say hi and that they’re
pulling for you.” That reminded him--he still had to
call Greg. Well, he supposed that could wait until he
got home-
Home. The mere thought of going back to the house
sent a chill down his spine. Facing all those empty
rooms…even as numb as he was…there was no way he could
do it alone. Not tonight. ‘Maybe Drew or somebody
will let me stay with them tonight,’ he thought almost
desperately.
Just then, a nurse walked briskly into the room. She
was a tall woman in her early fifties, with curly,
graying brown hair and hard blue eyes. Ryan, who had
already met her, knew her personality was just as
brittle. “So, we’re awake, I see,” she said to
Colin.
“Have been,” Colin replied shortly.
“I’m Debbie, your nurse. Dr. Tanner said you’d
probably be feeling okay for a while, but you’ll have
a lot of pain tonight.” She motioned to the IV tree
and a box attached to a tube that ran to Colin’s ribs.
“This is a morphine drip. You can press that
button,” she indicated a button attached to the tube,
“and it’ll release a little. We’ve got you set so
that you can use it once an hour, but if the pain gets
especially bad, we can give you a little more.”
“Okay,” Colin said quietly.
“One of the other nurses will be in to check your
vitals in about half an hour. You can’t have anything
solid to eat yet, but if you’re thirsty, you can have
water.”
“I am, actually.”
“All right,” Debbie said, nodding briskly. “Do you
have any questions?”
“How long am I going to have to be here?”
“Doctor Tanner will be up tomorrow to talk to you
about that,” Debbie answered. “I can tell you that
he’s thinking at least a week to make sure you don’t
do anything more serious to your ribs.” She glanced
at Ryan out of the corner of her eyes. “Visiting
hours are up in half an hour, just so you’re not
surprised when I kick you out.”
A puzzled frown furrowed Colin’s brow. “Can’t he
stay
here with me tonight?” he asked the nurse pleadingly.
For a moment, the homely woman’s gaze softened and she
pressed her lips together with a sigh. She looked at
Ryan and said, “Well, I’m not supposed to, but seeing
as how you’ve been quiet and kept out of the way, I
guess it’s all right.”
“Thank you,” Ryan said quietly. “I won’t be
any
trouble.” His heart settled back into his chest and
the panicky little bird that had begun fluttering in
his stomach subsided.
“Is there anything else?” Debbie asked Colin.
“No,” Colin replied. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be back later, then,” she said, turning on
her
heel.
“Nice lady,” Ryan said to no one in particular.
“Do you mind staying?” Colin asked abruptly. “I
don’t
mean to impose, but…I’d feel better…”
Ryan raised a hand and shook his head. “Don’t worry
about it. I don’t want to go home anyway. Not…not
yet.”
“I didn’t think so.” The Canadian closed his eyes
and
once again appeared to fall asleep. A thin snore told
Ryan that it was for real this time. When another
nurse appeared, she woke him long enough to get his
temperature and read his statistics from the heart
monitor. After that, she left the room and Colin fell
almost instantly back to sleep.
Somehow, Ryan got the feeling that it was going to be
a long night.