It had rained that afternoon, as it so often did in Portland, but the rain had stopped for a while, leaving the air cool and slightly damp against her cheeks. Her jogging suit was warm enough, but just barely, the breeze seeping through the knit fabric. Her gray tennis shoes squeaked a little in the shallow pools of water left on the narrow walkways.
Bordered by the walls of the hospital wings, the garden was quiet, almost empty this late on a Friday afternoon. A few smokers gathered around an ash can in a nook specified for that purpose at the far end of the garden, but they were far enough away that Laurel could almost feel as if she and Jackson were the only ones around, if she ignored the diners in the cafeteria on the other side of the glass wall.
She breathed deeply of the rain-washed air, realizing for the first time how cooped up she’d been during the past few days. Even when working, she spent little time in her office, since she often visited prospective adoptive parents in their homes. She hadn’t read a newspaper or watched television since Tyler was hospitalized, so she had no idea if there were any important events going on in the world. But, then, nothing else really mattered to her now except her child’s health.
Because she and Jackson had spent the day in Tyler’s unit, she hadn’t met any of the other family members currently sitting vigil in the hospital, but she was no more in the mood for socializing than she was for current events briefings. She just wanted to go home—and she wanted to take Tyler with her.
“Mom said Beverly stopped by again this afternoon. She’s eager to see Tyler,” Jackson said after they had walked in silence for several minutes.
“Surely she knows that only family members are allowed in ICU.”
“I think they’d let her come in for a few minutes tomorrow if we say it’s okay.”
Laurel hesitated, then shook her head. “I know she’s fond of Tyler and I really am very grateful to her for noticing the signs of his illness. But does it sound much too selfish of me to say that I wish she would wait a little while before visiting again? I’d rather just keep it family for now.”
“So would I,” he admitted. “Beverly’s a nice woman, but I’ve always seen her as an employee, not a member of our family.”
And not an employee he had wanted to hire, she added silently. To Jackson, Beverly had always represented the biggest source of conflict between them—Laurel’s decision to return to work.
“I’ve taken an indefinite leave of absence from work,” Laurel reminded him. “I’ll be with Tyler during his full recovery. Since we can’t afford to pay Beverly while I’m on leave, she’ll probably need to look for another position. When he’s well again and I feel comfortable about returning to work, we can talk about rehiring her if she’s available, or someone else if she’s not.”
Jackson paused to study a small bush that was drooping beneath the weight of the raindrops that still clung to its early-spring leaves. “So you think you will want to return to work soon?”
“Right now, I can’t think of anything except getting Tyler well,” she said candidly. “But I don’t want to close any doors for the future, either.”
Jackson didn’t say anything in response to that, though she suspected there were plenty of things he would have liked to have said.
A large fountain stood in the very center of the garden. Water cascaded six feet down tiers of stone, splashing merrily against the smooth river rocks at the base. Later in the summer, mounds of flowers would add color to the greenery planted around the fountain. Laurel paused to listen to the falling water, realizing as she did so that the spot where she and Jackson stood now was blocked from the view of both the diners and the smokers, offering a little area of seclusion in this place where privacy was in short supply.
As if deliberately changing the subject, Jackson said, “Mom and Dad will probably be back soon. Sure wish I knew what’s going on with Mom. Whether it’s just the stress of Tyler’s surgery or something more.”
“I’m sure she’ll tell you if there’s anything bothering her. You and your mother have always been able to talk.” Too much so, if they’d been talking about her, Laurel would have liked to add.
“Yeah, I guess. So, what are you going to do tonight?” he asked, abruptly changing the topic again. “They won’t let you sleep in Tyler’s room, will they?”
“No, not in ICU, although they said we could go in to see him whenever we like. I suppose I’ll sleep in the ICU waiting room with the other parents. What about you?”
“Yeah, I’ll stay, too. Actually, you could go on home and get some rest. I’ll call you if—”
“No.” She shook her head forcefully to emphasize the refusal. “I want to stay. Especially tonight. He might need me.”
Jackson didn’t push it, probably because he knew it wouldn’t have made any difference. Laurel would sleep in the waiting room, reluctantly, but she had no intention of leaving the hospital tonight.
A cool, damp breeze teased the hair on the back of her neck that had escaped the loose ponytail she’d worn for convenience. Her resulting shiver made Jackson wrap his right arm around her shoulders. “Getting too cool?”
“A little. Maybe we should go back in. They could have Tyler ready for us by now.”
Jackson glanced at his watch. “The nurse said we should give them half an hour. It’s only been fifteen minutes.”
“Maybe they’ll finish early.”
“Let’s wait just another couple of minutes.”
She heard him draw a deep breath, and she knew it was even harder for him to be cooped up indoors all day than it was for her. Especially when there was so little he could do to make himself feel useful. “Maybe you should go home tonight. Get some sleep.”
“No. Not tonight. I want to be here in case— Well, I just want to be here tonight.”
In case anything bad happened. He didn’t have to finish the sentence for her to understand what he meant. Both of them knew that the first twenty-four hours after surgery were the most critical in the recovery process. Although they had been repeatedly assured that Tyler’s recuperation was progressing as expected, they had been warned of all the potential, if unlikely, things that could go wrong.