The next six weeks passed without relief. Not only didn’t Gabby stir, but she’d shown no improvement in any of her brain functions. Though he tried to ignore the obvious, the clock had moved forward, and it was now the hour of his decision.
Sometimes, during his imaginary conversations with her, he’d tried to get her to change her mind. He’d argue that the promise hadn’t been a fair one; that the only reason he’d said yes was that the prospect seemed so unlikely, he’d never believed it would come up. He confessed that had he been able to predict the future, he would have torn up the documents she’d signed in the attorney’s office, for even if she couldn’t respond, he still couldn’t imagine a life without her.
He would never be like Kenneth Baker. He felt no bitterness toward Gabby, nor would he ever. He needed her, he needed the hope he felt whenever they were together. He drew strength from visiting her. Earlier today, he’d been exhausted and lethargic; as the day wore on, his sense of commitment had only grown stronger, leaving him certain that he would have the ability to laugh with his daughters, to be the father Gabby wanted him to be. It had worked for three months, and he knew he could do it forever. What he didn’t know was how on earth he could go on knowing that Gabby was gone. As strange as it seemed, there was a comforting predictability to the new routine of his life.
Outside the window, the pigeon paced back and forth, making him think it was pondering the decision with him. There were times when he felt a strange kinship with the bird, as if it were trying to teach him something, though what, he had no idea. Once, he had brought some bread with him, but he hadn’t realized the screen would prevent him from tossing it onto the ledge. Standing before the glass, the pigeon had eyed the bread in his hand, cooing slightly. It flew away a moment later, only to return and stay the rest of the afternoon. After that, it showed no fear of him. Travis could tap the glass and the pigeon would stand in place. It was a curious situation that gave him something else to think about when sitting in the quiet room. What he wanted to ask the pigeon was this: Am I to become a killer?
This was where his thoughts inevitably led, and it was what differentiated him from others who were expected to carry out the desires outlined in living wills. They were doing the right thing; their choice was rooted in compassion. For him, however, the choice was different, if only for logical reasons. If A and B, then C. But for his commission of one mistake after the next, there would have been no car accident; had there been no accident, there would have been no coma. He was the proximate cause of her injury, but she hadn’t died. And now, with the flourish of some legal documents from his pocket, he could finish the job. He could be responsible for her death once and for all. The difference turned his stomach inside out; with every passing day, as the decision approached, he ate less and less. Sometimes it seemed not only that God wanted Gabby to die, but that He wanted Travis to know that it had been entirely his fault.
Gabby, he was certain, would deny it. The accident was just that—an accident. And she, not he, had made the decision as to how long she wanted a feeding tube. Yet he couldn’t shed the crushing weight of his responsibility, for the simple reason that no one, aside from Stephanie, knew what Gabby wanted. In the end, he alone would make the choice.
The grayish afternoon light gave the walls a melancholy cast. He still felt paralyzed. Buying time, he removed the flowers from the windowsill and brought them to the bed. As he laid them across Gabby’s chest and took his seat, Gretchen appeared in the doorway. She moved into the room slowly; as she checked Gabby’s vitals, she didn’t say a word. She jotted something in the chart and smiled briefly. A month ago, when he was doing Gabby’s exercises, Gabby had mentioned that she was pretty sure Gretchen had a crush on him.
“Is she going to be leaving us?” he heard Gretchen ask.
Travis knew she was referring to a transfer to a nursing home; in the halls, Travis had heard whispers that it would be coming soon. But there was more to her question than Gretchen could possibly understand, and he couldn’t summon the will to answer.
“I’m going to miss her,” she said. “And I’m going to miss you, too.”
Her expression was brimming with compassion.
“I mean it. I’ve worked here longer than Gabby, and you should have heard the way she used to talk about you. And the kids, too, of course. You could tell that even though she loved her job, she was always happiest when it was time to go home at the end of the day. She wasn’t like the rest of us, who were excited to be done for the day. She was excited to go home, to be reunited with her family. I really admired that about her, that she had a life like that.”
Travis didn’t know what to say.
She sighed, and Travis thought he saw the glisten of tears. “It breaks my heart to see her like this. And you, too. Do you know that every nurse in the hospital knows you sent your wife roses every anniversary? Pretty much every woman here wished that her husband or boyfriend would do things like that. And then, after the accident, the way you are with her . . . I know you’re sad and angry, but I’ve seen you do the exercises with her. I’ve heard what you say, and . . . it’s like you and she have this connection that can’t be broken. It’s heartbreaking and yet beautiful. And I feel so horrible for what you’re both going through. I’ve been praying for you both every night.”
Travis felt his throat close.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that you two make me believe that true love really exists. And that even the darkest hours can’t take that away.” She stopped, her expression revealing that she felt she’d said too much, and she turned away. A moment later, as she was about to leave the room, he felt her place a hand on his shoulder. It was warm and light and lingered for just an instant, and then it was gone, and Travis was alone with his choice once more.
It was time. Looking at the clock, he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. The others were waiting for him. He crossed the room to shut the blinds. Habit led him to turn on the television. Though he knew the nurses would turn it off later, he didn’t want Gabby to lie alone in a room more silent than a tomb.
He’d often imagined himself trying to explain how it happened. He could see himself shaking his head in disbelief while sitting at the kitchen table with his parents. “I don’t know why she woke up,” he heard himself saying. “As far as I can tell, there is no magical answer. It was just like every other time I visited . . . except that she opened her eyes.” He could imagine his mother crying tears of joy, he could picture himself making the call to Gabby’s parents. Sometimes it was as clear to him as if it had actually happened, and he would hold his breath, living and experiencing the feeling of wonder.
But now he doubted that it would ever be possible, and from across the room, he stared at her. Who were they, Gabby and he? Why had it all turned out this way? There had been a time when he would have had reasonable answers to those questions, but that time was long past. These days, he understood nothing. Above her, the fluorescent light hummed, and he wondered what he was going to do. He still didn’t know. What he knew was this: She was still alive, and where there was life, there was always hope. He focused on her, wondering how someone so close and so present could remain so remote.
Today, he had to make his choice. To tell the truth meant Gabby would die; to tell a lie meant that Gabby’s wish would be denied. He wanted her to tell him what to do, and from somewhere far away, he could imagine her answer.
I already have, sweetheart. You know what you have to do.
But the choice, he wanted to plead, had been based on faulty assumptions. If he could go back in time, he would never have made that promise, and he wondered whether she would have even asked him to. Would she have made the same decision if she’d known that he would cause her coma in the first place? Or if she’d known that pulling the feeding tube and watching her slowly starve to death would certainly kill a part of him? Or if he told her that he believed he could be a better father if she remained alive, even if she never recovered
at all?
It was more than he could bear, and he felt his mind begin to scream: Please wake up! The echo seemed to shake the very atoms of his being. Please, sweetheart. Do it for me. For our daughters. They need you. I need you. Open your eyes before I go, while there’s still time. . . .
And for a moment, he thought he saw a twitch, he would swear he saw her stir. He was too choked up to speak, but as always, reality reasserted itself, and he knew it had been an illusion. In the bed, she hadn’t moved at all, and watching her through his tears, he felt his soul begin to die.
He had to go, but there was one more thing he had to do. Like everyone, he knew the story of Snow White, of the kiss from the Prince that broke the evil spell. That’s what he thought of every time he left Gabby for the day, but now the notion struck him as imperative. This was it, his very last chance. Despite himself, he felt a tiny swell of hope at the thought that somehow, this time would be different. While his love for her had always been there, the finality had not, and maybe the combination constituted the magical formula that he’d been missing. He steadied himself and moved toward the bed, trying to convince himself that this time it would work. This kiss, unlike all the others, would fill her lungs with life. She would moan in momentary confusion, but then she would realize what he was doing. She would feel his life pouring into hers. She would sense the fullness of his love for her, and with a passion that surprised him, she would begin to kiss him in return.
He leaned closer, their faces drawing near, and he could feel the heat of her breath mingling with his. He closed his eyes against the memory of a thousand other kisses and touched his lips to hers. He felt a kind of spark, and all at once he felt her slowly coming back to him. She was the arm that held him close in times of trouble, she was the whisper on the pillow beside him at night. It was working, he thought, it was really working . . . and as his heart began to race in his chest, it finally dawned on him that nothing had changed at all.
Pulling back, all he could do was lightly trace her cheek with his finger. His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
“Good-bye, sweetheart.”
Twenty-two
How far should a person go in the name of love?
Travis was still turning this question over in his mind when he pulled into the drive, even though he’d already made his decision. Stephanie’s car was parked out front, but except for the living room, the rest of the house was dark. An empty house would have been too much to bear.
The chill was biting as he stepped out of his car, and he pulled his jacket tighter. The moon had yet to rise, and the stars glittered overhead; if he concentrated, he knew he could still remember the names of the constellations that Gabby had once traced for him. He smiled briefly, thinking back on that evening. The memory was as clear as the sky above, but he forced it away, knowing he didn’t have the strength to let it linger. Not tonight.
The lawn was shiny with moisture, promising a heavy frost overnight. He reminded himself to put out the girls’ mittens and scarves so he wouldn’t have to rush around in the morning. They would be home soon, and despite his fatigue, he missed them. Tucking his hands in his pockets, he made his way up the front steps.
Stephanie turned when she heard him enter. He could feel her trying to read his expression. She started toward him.
“Travis,” she said.
“Hey, Steph.” He removed his jacket, realizing he couldn’t remember the drive back home.
“Are you okay?”