A tall, dark haired doctor, complete with lab coat, moved in and out of the rooms spending a few minutes with each patient, reviewing the chart and speaking to those that were coherent. The graying temples and slight paunch led Jeremy to believe that he must be about 50. Once he had spent a few minutes with his father, the surgeon greeted Beverly and Jeremy just outside the curtained room. “He’s stable. Vitals are good. Not much more we can do now but give it some time.”
“What are his chances?” the younger Marshall asked and followed up with, “If he does survive will he still be himself?”
“He’s suffered not one, but two, very serious MI’s in the past two days. He’s incredibly strong, a lesser man would be dead already. I can’t predict the outcome but in my experience he’s got a 50/50 chance of coming out of this okay,” the doctor carefully phrased his reply, looking at his watch before excusing himself and moving to the next patient.
“50/50? Could be worse,” Bev said.
“Yeah, I guess, wish there was something we could do other than wait. I feel so helpless.”
“You should get some sleep. I’ve got a room across the street at the hotel. Take my key and sleep for a couple hours, I’ll monitor things from here until you feel up to it.” She pulled a passkey from her wallet and handed it to him. “Take your time; I’ll phone if anything happens. Your phone on now?”
“Yup, I’ll take you up on that but I won’t be long,” a very tired Jeremy said, every ounce of energy he possessed zapped from his body.
He walked the short distance to the hotel, made it to the room but had a hard time remembering how he actually got there. He toppled over on the freshly made bed and was out before his head hit the pillow.
Five hours later the vibration, and then the sound of his cell phone ringing could be heard as it shifted about on the countertop, waking him up. “Hello, what’s up? Anything happened?” he managed to get out, his mind still very fuzzy.
“Jeremy, get back over here, we’ve run into a problem!”
He was suddenly very awake. “What kind of a problem? What’s going on Bev?”
“Just get over here as quickly as you can.” He could hear the sounds of nurses talking in the background and a doctor issuing orders.
“Okay, I’m on my way! I’m coming!” he said into the phone, already moving down the hall and running toward the hospital and his father.
The look on Beverly Marshall’s face was grim. A collection of nurses and doctors were huddled around the monitors, each taking notes, commenting to one another and the doctors whispering in distinctly subdued tones.
“What’s happened?” Jeremy said, not specifically to anyone but to all those present. Beverly took him by the elbow and pulled him aside.
“They’re not sure, but your father has started to run a fever and is having mini-seizures,” she said, trying to keep her composure.
“But what does that mean? What do they think is causing it?” Jeremy spoke loud enough for all to hear, which was his intent.
“I wish I knew,” Bev said and then again more quietly, “I truly wish I knew.”
The doctor that they had spoken with earlier, with the graying temples approached the two with a look of grave concern on his face. “Mrs. Marshall, Mr. Marshall, I’m afraid we have some rather distressing news for you. It appears that Mr. Marshall has, and is experiencing, a number of small but devastating strokes. We’ve intervened with some medication to expand the vessels that feed his brain but we don’t know, and won’t know for a time, how much damage has already been done. His heart is still pumping arteriole blood throughout his system but it’s just getting by.”
Jeremy spoke first, “What are you saying? That he won’t be able to recover from this or if he does he’ll be a vegetable?” He hated to use that phrase but couldn’t think of any other way of putting it, and he had to know.
Bev jumped in before the doctor could respond, “How long could he stay like this?”
“Could be minutes, hours or days, we just can’t predict it, but if we take him off the life support that is sustaining him at the present time, he’ll pass fairly quickly. His heart just can’t cope and his brain is showing less function even as we’re speaking.”
“Do you think you could give us a minute doctor?” Bev asked, nodding at Jeremy.
“Sure, take a minute, but we need to know how you’d like to proceed,” he said.
“Well Jeremy, I don’t know about you but I know your dad, and I don’t think life to him would be worth living if he had to be in a home surrounded with machines keeping him alive. We’ve got the money to do that if you think that’s best, but I just don’t see that as what he’d want. What do you think?”
The son looked at his shoes, both hands in his pockets, trying desperately to make the right decision based on what was best for his dad and not what was best for him. “I think you’re right. He loved life too much to want this as his ending. I know he believed in an afterlife, I’ve heard him say what a wonderful reunion it would be with grandma and grandpa when he joined them. If it’s his time, I think he’d want to go, as hard as that will be on us, I think that is what he would want.”
United in their decision, they shared a more compassionate hug than they had earlier in the day. “Doctor, we need some time to say our goodbyes, would you please turn off the equipment and let him pass naturally,” Beverly requested, tears staining her blouse as she heard her own words issue the death of her husband.
Beverly leaned over the heavily sedated Marshall in the hospital bed, she held him, his head in her bosom as she rocked back and forth, her tears spilling and running down his face. Jeremy stood away in the shadows of the curtains giving her some time alone with his father. He could hear her gently speaking to him, offering words of comfort and enduring love. The nurses had done as requested and disconnected all the tubes and machines, except for a lone heart monitor, that beeped out the rhythm of his weakening heart. Ten minutes after his stepmother entered, she exited, running past him and into the nearest bathroom.
Jeremy took a deep breath and entered the confined space of the intensive care room, closing the curtain behind him. He knelt by his father’s side took his hand in his and held it firmly. There was no response. “Dad, I’m here, it’s Jeremy. I don’t know if you can hear me but I had to tell you I’m sorry for all the stupid things I’ve done. I wish I could turn back the hands of time and spend the past two years with you, but I can’t, and now here we are. You can’t imagine how I’ve missed you. I guess you raised a son just as bull-headed and stubborn as yourself. I’ll never forget you dad, the times we spent together I’ll one day tell my own son, and your memory will live on.”
A beep on the monitor alerted Jeremy that something had changed; he looked up to see the bps signal dropping, now only registering 36. This is happening too fast, he’s slipping away faster than…. “Dad, I need you to know that I love you. I always have and I always will.” At that moment a miraculous thing happened, Jeremy didn’t know if it was his father speaking back to him in the only way he could, or just the muscles reacting to death as one finally gives in, but there was a very distinct, knowing squeeze of Jeremy’s hand, the assurance that a son needs to carry on, and then he was gone. The blue signal on the monitor flat-lined, and a steady beep sounded the end of a remarkable life.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lester bolted upright, sweat dripping from his nose and chin, his hands clenched together in a balled up fist, a cluster of bedding squeezed tightly between them. Drawn from his murderous dream too quickly, he’d literally held the fate of Virginia May in his hands, and now it was lost. His nights, over the many years since she’d left him, were filled with such dreams, but they teased him, never completing the act whether malicious or sexual. He kicked the covers off and lay back on the cool sheets, letting his heart rate return to normal as he thought of the things that he needed to accomplish before he returned to his bed. The phone call he’d had with Felix the day before still troubled him.
“What an arrogant jerk,” he thought. “I’m done with the whole damn thing if that five grand isn’t in the mailbox this morning!”
The thought of which gave him the energy to rise from the comfortable bed and throw on some shorts so he could check for the money. The walk down the path to the mailbox was a beautiful one this time of the morning.
