Grey Matters by Mark Foster

“When the lights go out, it's just the three of us: you, me and all that stuff we're so scared of . . . There's a room of shadows that gets so dark, brother, it's easy for two people to lose each other.” --from “Tunnel of Love” by Bruce Springsteen

Chapter 1 Joe's dream began as it always had, with him paddling a canoe noiselessly across a lake through a dense fog. Small eddies of clear, dark water circled from the paddle. Mist rose in ropes over the lake and parted as the canoe approached the shore. Thick brush crowded the shoreline, where an old wooden pier jutted across soggy reeds. He paddled up to the pier, tied his canoe to the moorings, and walked along the creaky boards towards the brush, which hung wetly like a canopy over the pier and then thick as a curtain. He pushed through the wet vines and caught the hint of sunlight warming the outer leaves of the corridor. And that was usually it, the point where he had awoken dozens of times—every time he had ever had this dream, from the first time ten years ago until tonight. The dream came rarely but was always intensely vivid, though by now Joe knew what to expect, and it wasn't nearly as engrossing as it used to be. Several years ago he had ceased to be frustrated by the abrupt, inconclusive end and instead just enjoyed the smooth quiet canoe ride for what it was, took some passive comfort in the serene, lush scenery. Why it recurred, he didn't know, but he didn't look for any deeper meaning anymore. 5

It was, he had concluded, only a dream, some random firing of neurons, and it meant nothing other than that somewhere in the back of his brain, during his early childhood maybe, he must have been really impressed by canoes and fog. But tonight he approached the vine curtain, and as his hand reached to spread the leaves, he could feel the warmth of the speckled sunlight. Surprisingly, he didn't awaken. He stopped. He looked at his hand, felt the sunlight, tried to see through the leafy curtain, still wasn't waking up. He briefly felt a fear of the unexpected, but his curiosity overtook his fear and he proceeded to part the vines, felt a wash of brilliant sunlight pour into the darkened, damp brush, and then took a full if slightly hesitant stride out into the unknown. He shielded his face and squinted into the vast expanse now before him. As his eyes adjusted, he caught his breath at the majesty of the scene. Mountains towered over him in every direction, capped with snow against a brilliant blue sky. Between the snow fields, the peaks were a deep purple, and an apron of dark conifers spilled down into a lush mountain valley of rolling hills and wildflowers. In the middle of the giant meadow on the top 6

of a green swell, surrounded by pine trees and aspens, was a beautiful log cabin. A silver brook spilled through the meadow by the cabin and ran towards . . . Joe turned around to see the lake behind him, but the lake, the vines, the woods, the fog had all vanished. In the unaccountable illogic of dreams, a rugged alpine valley now opened up behind him. He scanned the horizon in every direction, then looked to his feet and saw a pathway rising from the valley and cutting into the meadow grass, with soft, dark soil, and footprints behind him that stopped right where he was. He traced the path forward with his eyes and saw it meander in and around the soft low hills towards the cabin. Only a few white clouds speckled the brilliant blue sky that framed the towering mountains beyond. He felt an immense pull to walk the soft, untrodden path. He took a step towards the cabin when he became aware of the presence of someone behind him. He stopped his stride, turned around slowly then sharply when he saw a woman standing behind him in the path. She was wearing hospital scrubs, looking intently and amusedly at him. She had a fresh face and sparkling blue eyes, her blond hair pulled back simply into a loose ponytail, and she 7

had a bright smile that conveyed intelligence and humor and compassion. When he finally looked directly into her soft blue eyes, she grinned broadly and said in a familiar and friendly voice, “Hello, Joe.” Startled, Joe tried to open his mouth to speak, when a sudden shrill beeping pierced the mountain air and both Joe and the mystery woman glanced at the flashing red light emanating from the pager on his belt.

Chapter 2 Joe shot up in bed and flailed for the nightstand, sending all of its contents crashing to the floor. The shrill beeping increased in intensity and then gave two deeper tones followed by the crackle of static. He stood quickly, caught his balance and staggered through the dark to the light switch. The florescent light flickered anemically as the static crackled into a monotone computer voice that read out dispassionately, “Attention please, Code Blue, Room 474, East Wing. Repeat, Code Blue, Room 474, East Wing.” Joe groaned, smashed his fist into the nightstand, bent to pick up the crackling pager, which gave two more low-toned beeps and then turned silent. He grabbed it and the other three despised pagers that he had to carry with him at all times, another of which beeped at him as he strapped it to his belt and he spitefully struck it to shut it off. He jammed his feet into his old leather slip-on shoes and went briefly to the sink to splash cold water on his face and dark brown hair, which was crushed into his head. He threw his stethoscope around his neck, slapped his face three times, kicked over the trash can and saw the clock upside down on the floor. It was 4:40 a.m. 9

He flung open the door to the tiny call room and strode angrily out into the hospital hallway, which was darkened and serene. Fifty yards down the hall, he saw two nurses peel out briskly towards room 474. They saw him hurrying the same way, slowed briefly, and when he was in shouting range they yelled sarcastically, “Dr. Rorke to the rescue!” Joe smiled weakly at both of them as he approached and then passed them, looked at the younger one and said, “Be nice, Rhonda.” Rhonda pretended to bite her nails in fear as the other nurse struck her hand down playfully, then called out to Joe as he accelerated his long strides down the hallway, “When you're done, call me. Miss Sunshine in 233 needs a little helper pill or you may have another code on your hands.” Joe waved his hand dismissively as Rhonda shouted, “Nice hair!” He darted around a corner, bounded up a staircase and then emerged into a frantic hallway. He heard commotion, but his attention was grabbed briefly by a large framed photo on the wall that he must have seen a thousand times but couldn't really recall. He was struck by the mountain scene: blue sky, white and purple peaks, lush green meadows and colorful wildflowers. His 10

thoughts turned for a second to the vivid dream he had been having less than two minutes before, the new breakthrough into a beautiful mountain valley and the new introduction to a beautiful woman, and he made a note to himself that now he finally had proof of what he had increasingly suspected: that his countless hours in the hospital had driven him insane, and his brain was now subliminally downloading cheap mass-produced wall hangings and projecting them as fantasies into his lonely, frustrated dreams. A blue light flashed above room 474 and the commotion of an acute resuscitation redirected his focus to the task at hand. A cluster of nurses and techs crowded the doorway as Joe approached, and they eased back just enough to let him squeeze through. An ancient, emaciated man lay naked on the rumpled white bed, his pale body heaving with chest compressions from the nurse above him. Joe stepped into the room and slid around to the head of the bed, where a respiratory technician was fumbling with the oxygen mask and a second nurse was squeezing the bag-valve device. Joe said calmly but sharply, loud enough for the whole room to hear and to quiet the commotion, “Okay, guys, Dr. Rorke here. I'm running this code. Becky, you're the nurse?” 11

“Yeah, doc. Came to check 4 a.m vitals. Guy was blue but still warm, not breathing, no pulse.” “What's his name?” “Manderson. Elbert Manderson.” She was panting through the compressions. “Ninety-seven years old.” Joe pointed to another woman in scrubs, couldn't read her name tag, and said, “Can you take over compressions?” She snapped to command and slid over to relieve Becky, who brushed her curly brown hair from her eyes. “How are you, Becky?” asked Joe. She smiled at him, “Just fine, doc. Thanks.” Joe looked to the patient. “Ninety-seven, huh? And you're sure we should be doing this?” He gestured reluctantly towards the team providing CPR. “Full code, doc. At least that's what his chart says.” He turned the cardiac monitor towards him, which showed a flat orange line that jumped with each compression. “Hold compressions.” The line was flat, though after a few seconds there was a blip, then another. 12

“Hmm. PEA, then?” he asked to no one in particular. Joe's brain slipped into a familiar, standardized algorithm, which seemed comforting amid the chaos. Pulseless electrical rhythm. Virtually no survival rate. Not much to do but CPR and try a few meds. “Okay, resume compressions,” he said. He ran his fingers through his matted hair and asked, “Who's his regular physician?” “Dr. Smitts. But he's out of town this week. Dr. Agahi is on call.” She shrugged as if to indicate that she didn't know who Dr. Agahi was. “Let's get him on the phone,” he said firmly as he pointed towards another nurse standing in the doorway, who immediately stepped out towards the nurse's station. Joe turned his attention back to Becky, “Okay, so you found him blue. When was he last seen alive?” “That would have been about midnight. I checked vitals, tucked him in. He's totally demented, so he didn't respond. But he wasn't dead.” “What's he here for?” “Aspiration pneumonia,” she replied. Joe shook his head as she continued, “Couldn't swallow.” “Did he get any pain meds?” Joe asked. Becky shook her head no. 13

Joe checked for a pulse, nodded to the respiratory technician who had finished fumbling with the oxygen cords. “And you're positive he's a full code?” The tech nodded. “At ninety-seven?” She shrugged. He pointed to another nurse in the doorway, “Can we have his chart in here please?” He continued, “How many minutes since you started the code?” A woman in white scrubs was circulating the room with a clipboard, which she consulted, then announced, “Six minutes, sir.” “Six minutes. PEA. Ninety-seven and blue.” He reviewed these facts, then spoke to Becky, but loud enough for the whole room to hear. “This is going to be a quick code, folks.” He felt the room relax a bit and the tech bagging the patient slowed the rate a little. The nurse doing compressions paused, looked to the doctor, and he said, “Keep going for now. Just a few more minutes.” He looked to the respiratory tech. “Are we getting good ventilation?” The tech shrugged, “Yeah, he's getting air. Don't know it's doing him any good, though.” Joe replied, “We'll just use a bag mask for now. This won't last long.”

The chart came into the room and Joe starting flipping through it, asked, “Have we pushed epinephrine yet?” “Not yet,” Becky replied. “Okay,” Joe said loudly again, “Let's do this thing by the book here, and if we don't get anywhere after two rounds, then we'll call it.” Then he added under his breath, “Poor guy.” She finished drawing up the medicine into a syringe, and Joe said, “Okay, one amp of epi.” It was adrenaline in a vial, and it was about the only thing to try. Becky pushed the drug into the IV line, and everyone in the room relaxed into the perfunctory pattern of a PEA code, all doing silent calculations of time in their heads. The doctor had said two rounds of meds with compressions. Should take about five minutes. Everyone began thinking ahead to the other work that was awaiting them. The rhythm of bagging and compressions continued unabated, robotic by now. The orange line on the monitor continued to show no regular heart beats, just random blips. Joe looked at the thin, bluish skin of the man's torso, every rib showing, saw his eyes partially open, yellowed and thick as onions, saw the wisps of gray hair protruding from his massive, droopy 15

earlobes. Nothing to do but wait a few minutes, thought Joe, and he felt his own adrenaline start to ebb as the excitement of the moment waned and his tiredness crept back in. He remembered that he had finally finished his evening rounds about 3:30 a.m and then had checked his email, tried to fall asleep only to be awakened at 3:55 by a nurse asking if she could give her patient an enema, and he remembered last looking at the clock at 4 a.m. He must have been asleep for about forty minutes, which was just long enough to fall into an REM stage of sleep. He thought tiredly back to his dream, and felt a brief thrill at the breakthrough. I've been having that dream for ten years, he thought, why go on with it tonight? But it suddenly seemed interesting again, like there might be some hidden meaning. Not really, he thought, remembering the picture in the hallway, and he ascribed the dream once again as some sort of subliminal projection. But he couldn't make it go away. It had been beautiful. She had been beautiful. But did it mean anything? He hoped and scoffed at the same time. He thought of her playful greeting, her soft blue eyes. She had seemed 16

so familiar. Did he know her? Somebody random he had met eight years ago, and his brain decided tonight was the night to bring her back? “Doc? Stay with us here.” He shook his eyes open and Becky grinned at him. “No falling asleep on the job.” “Nope, I'm okay,” Joe replied. “Just resting my eyes,” and he looked around, embarrassed, though fortunately no one else was paying attention, everyone lost in their own early morning fog. He heard a different beeping from the cardiac monitor, realized it seemed faster. He looked to see the orange line, saw it jumping. “You've got to be kidding me,” he said under his breath. Becky stopped rearranging the meds on the crash cart and looked to him, then to the monitor. “Hold compressions,” ordered Joe. The nurse held and everyone looked to the monitor as the room got quiet again. There was a distinct waveform. One hundred and five beats per minute. Joe shot his hand down to the man's wrist and felt a wispy pulsation in his thin, bony wrists. “No way,” he muttered. “He's got a pulse.” The nurse put her hands back on his chest to resume compressions. 17

Joe stopped her. “Nope, nope. He's got a pulse. Uh--” He gave an exasperated sigh, looked to the respirator, said to the respiratory tech, “Alright, let's move here. Get ready to intubate.” He turned to another nurse in the doorway, “Call the ICU, let them know we're bringing--” he grimaced “--a ninety-seven year old, status post cardiac arrest.” He shuddered to think of how Dr. Graves, the pompous intensive care doctor, would receive this news. He imagined a thorough public berating laced with profanity. But what else could he do? This poor guy was inexplicably a full code, and against all odds he had just survived a cardiopulmonary arrest. None of that was Joe's fault. But he dreaded that impending moment with Dr. Graves, and he dreaded what the next three hours would bring: stabilization in the ICU meant intubation, setting the ventilators, reviewing a flurry of labs and x-rays, speaking with nurses and specialists and family members and social workers. As he sluggishly contemplated these tasks, he felt the familiar 4 a.m. on-call pit of despair start sliding open beneath him like a trap door, a gaping abyss of total disdain for all humanity and loathing of his own pathetic life. It was the ebb of adrenaline, the pure physical fatigue, the mental drain after twenty-four hours of nonstop work and no 18

sleep and constant life-and-death stress. Add to that the moral irony of preserving this man's life in conspicuous contradiction to what would be humane, and Joe had his own personal recipe for despondence. Joe was muttering to himself, getting ready to place the laryngoscope when a nurse came back through the doorway. “Dr. Rorke,” she said importantly, “I have Dr. Agahi on the phone.” She gave him the cordless receiver. Joe indicated to the tech to keep bagging him, then grabbed the receiver and spoke, “Dr. Agahi? This is Joe Rorke, second-year resident at Loveland Memorial Hospital.” Silence. “Hello?” he asked. “Dr. Agahi?” A coarse voice with a slight accent came over the phone with an utter lack of enthusiasm. “Go on, please.” “Yes, sir. I have your patient here, Mr. Manderson, room 474. Do you know him?” Again, silence. Joe continued, “He's ninety-seven with dementia, pneumonia. Do you remember?” A voice, full of impatience, repeated, “Get on, please.” “Well, he coded.” Joe's politeness was now wearing thin. Did this 19

doctor-what's-his-name think he wanted to be making this call? But he continued, “Looked like PEA. We performed CPR and pushed epi and amazingly he's got a pulse again.” Silence. “I've already called the unit. We'll get him down there in a second. I don't know if there is any family to be notified.” He waited for a response, looked down to the skeletal frame of the man beneath him. “Honestly, I can't believe this guy is a full code, but that's what the chart says.” Still no response. “Anyway, I needed to inform you, sir. Any other orders?” Joe heard a deep, roncorous snore rattling the phone. He pulled back the receiver, stared at it, then slammed it down on the crash cart. He took the laryngoscope and hastily performed the intubation, looked to the cardiac monitor, saw a pulse rate at 110 beats per minute, and oxygen level of 96%, and he spoke gruffly to the crowded room. “Okay, folks. Let's clear some room and get him out of here.” Nurses and techs parted, and Joe thought better of his gruffness, not out of sincerity but out of sheer habit of politeness, and he offered consolatorily, “Good work, team. You brought him back--” and his voice trailed off as he thought of the futility that faced this utterly 20

incapacitated old man as he suffered and dwindled on the ventilator over the next two weeks before he would die anyway, an ironic point he wouldn't even try to defend when Dr. Graves raked him over the coals in a few hours.

Chapter 3 Mid-morning sunlight splashed intrusively through the hospital windows and Joe squinted as he looked towards Dr. Grave's silhouette, who stood over Elbert Manderson with his hand to his chin, silent for the time being. Amazingly, he hadn't offered one criticism towards Joe, other than a few muttered sarcasms about the patient's generally good quality of life as he reviewed the labs. He lifted his hand from his chin and looked to Joe. “Strong work, Dr. Rorke.” Joe looked to him uncertainly, and then Dr. Graves continued, “You've succeeded in bringing a skeleton back to life.” He then drew Nancy, the battle-hardened ICU nurse, into his monologue, who stood at the bedside. “Nurse Ramirez, I'd give this man two weeks of prime living with his lungs inflated and deflated twelve times a minute by the best machine our government's money can afford for the low low cost of two hundred thousand dollars. Unfortunately for him, he is unable to properly thank Dr. Rorke for his resuscitatory efforts because, you see, he has no brain function. Apparently, though, that is not much of a change for him.” His audience was small today, only Joe and the nurse and the ventilated patient, and Dr. Graves 22

seemed to realize this and lose his zeal for the cutting remarks, which weren't really aimed at Joe but rather at the faceless entities of government, insurance, and ethics. “What do you think, Nancy?” Nurse Ramirez didn't respond because the question wasn't asked intending a reply. Dr. Graves began to walk out of the room, and as he left, he offered this consolation to Joe, “Your heroic efforts just cost this great nation a quarter of a million dollars and bought two more weeks of suffering to a demented old man, but--” he brushed past Joe, “I don't know what else you could have done.” Joe felt too fatigued to really care a bit about what Dr. Graves was saying, but felt remotely pleased that the evisceration had been fairly benign. Dr. Graves sounded out a few lazy orders as he exited the room and moved on to the next patient. Joe stood alone with the old man, who was covered with a blanket and surrounded by blinking, beeping machines. The mechanical whooshing of air murmured through the room. Joe turned and left, stood for a moment at the nurses' station, and drowsily tried to think of what he needed to do next. It was 7:20 a.m., so he was late for the morning check out with the oncoming resident team. He ran his hands through his matted hair and shuffled towards the back staircase. 23

Joe trudged up the stairwell and then slunk into the resident's room, where three other residents, Doug, Julia and Farshad, sat in white coats around the oval conference table, along with Dr. Strumph, the plump, gruff, attending physician. Joe's sullen mood sunk lower when he saw Dr. Strumph. They didn't get along well. Flickering florescent lights washed the windowless room and sucked the color out of everyone's faces, so they all looked anemic. The humming of the furnace and the plumbing hung in the background, and a computer on a desk behind the table flashed its cynical screen-saver: Don't kill anyone. You're not that important. Doug had put that message there last week, and no one had bothered to change it yet. Doug sat at the head of the table, the senior of the three residents, chief of this month's inpatient medicine service. He and Joe were good friends, and he looked up from the printed list in his hand as Joe slid into the remaining open seat. Julia, a brand new intern, was speaking as he entered. She was visibly shaking with nerves, and stopped talking as Joe sat down and Doug looked up. Dr. Strumph continued to stare at his papers as the room grew silent except for the omnipresent mechanical humming. Doug glanced to Dr. Strumph, then looked to Joe and said, “Good 24

morning, Joe. You're a bit late.” There was frustration in his voice but understanding in his eyes that let Joe know he was forced into this acknowledgment of tardiness by his current position and by Dr. Strumph's grumpiness. “Sorry. Just finished a code and an ICU admission on this demented guy, not even our patient-” Dr. Strumph broke in with smoldering impatience, “Then you need to let us know of your situation.” He looked up from his papers and glowered at Joe. “We wasted fifteen minutes waiting for you to show up and we have a full service.” Joe was in no mood to take this right now. He started angrily, “Look--” then barely restrained himself and continued, “I had a complicated admission and I lost track of time. I'm sorry.” Dr. Strumph didn't relent, and pointed to Joe, “Dr. Rorke, this has become a pattern, and if it happens again--” Joe raised his finger himself and was about to boil over. He wanted to say, What, are you going to fire me? Why not go ahead and just kill me? 25

But Doug saved him, interjecting loudly, “Basically, Joe, you've just got to let us know where you're at. Gotta model the service appropriately to these impressionable young interns.” He gestured towards Julia and Farshad, who both looked away, uncertain of how to witness this confrontation. “Now, Julia here was just telling us about Mr. Miller, a fine drunk who had a seizure last night and was found to have a sodium level of 118, right?” He swiftly redirected focus to Julia, gestured for her to resume, and she began first describing the patient, quickly settling into a unnecessary recitation of every meaningless normal value from that morning's labs. As she droned on, Joe, Dr. Strumph and Doug settled uneasily back into their chairs. Doug shot Joe an exasperated, cautionary look. Joe just rubbed his eyes and covered his face with his hands.

Chapter 4 Five hours later, Joe staggered out of the hospital's rear entrance, feeling like a vampire as he squinted into the noon sun. He shrugged off his long white coat and stethoscope as he approached his Toyota truck. After the nearly sleepless night and the unpleasant confrontation with Dr. Strumph, he had sneaked down to the dungeon-like basement and into the cafeteria where he had joylessly ingested some eggs and sausage, crisp, unripe watermelon and pale greenish cantaloupe, all remarkable only for being completely tasteless. Then he had proceeded to the hospital floors to round on his seven inpatients, a motley crew of drunks, drug addicts, and uncontrolled diabetics. The one pleasant visit had been his last, with a young Hispanic woman who had a ruptured ovarian cyst and was now doing much better and ready to go home. She and her parents had been very appreciative, and Joe had ephemerally felt the lukewarm satisfaction of “caring for people,” a feeling that evaporated a minute later when he passed Dr. Strumph and Doug in the hallway and Joe could palpably feel Dr. Strumph bristle as they passed, both of them avoiding eye contact. Doug flashed Joe a hidden thumbs up, hiking his hand backwards subtly to indicate that Joe should get home and sleep. 27

Earlier in the morning, Joe had swung by the ICU to check on Elbert Manderson, who was stabilized and on the ventilator. Dr. Agahi was there checking on him, and Joe, perhaps feeling some uninhibited, sleep-deprived pride of ownership, had approached him to ask how the patient was doing. Dr. Agahi gave him only the briefest impatient acknowledgment prior to continuing to write in the chart while holding a phone to his ear. Joe instead found Nancy, the nurse, who informed him that the patient had not had any more events, but that she had finally contacted the man's lone surviving son, who lived across the country in Baltimore, and who had been extremely angry that the hospital had resuscitated his dad. When told that the doctor on call was only following the directives supplied by the nursing home, the man had threatened lawsuits against the doctor, nursing home, hospital, everybody, and demanded that they pull the plug right away as he wasn't going to pay the costs for this. After relating the sad account, Nancy had shrugged her shoulders to indicate who knows or cares what will happen, and Joe then shuffled off down the hallway towards his next patient. Now, hours later, Joe was heading through daylight towards his truck and then home for some desperately needed sleep, when he rounded a corner 28

and almost ran over someone, a woman in blue scrubs carrying a backpack over her shoulder. She bumped into Joe, exclaimed, “Oh, sorry!” and fell awkwardly to the pavement. Joe caught himself against the wall and also said, “Sorry!” then quickly stooped to reach a hand to help her up off the sidewalk. Half sitting, she made a quick move to stand, looked into Joe's face, then fell back onto her hands. She brushed her blond hair out of her eyes, looked curiously at Joe again, tilted her head back and laughed. She clasped Joe's outreached hand and bounced to her feet, brushed the gravel off of her shirt and reset her backpack on her shoulder, then looked at Joe. Joe was stunned speechless to see exactly, in every detail, the woman who had appeared in his dream earlier that morning, which already seemed like weeks ago. She appeared now just as she had in the mountain valley: beautiful, exuberant, friendly, blond ponytail, soft blue eyes flashing smartly and humorously before him. She gave him a look that was at first surprised, then embarrassed, then intrigued. She looked to his chest and then to his face and said with a slightly mischievous smile, “Hello, Joe.” Joe caught his breath as he remembered her greeting from the dream, then replied, “I'm so sorry. I'm just really tired. I just . . .” he gushed, then 29

paused and asked, “Are you alright?” She smiled, “Just fine. I needed to wake up myself.” She continued to brush herself off, laughing somewhat anxiously, then looked to his face again. Her blue eyes captured him. She didn't look away, and he felt compelled to stare at the wonder of her, at this incarnation of his dream. He tried to think of something to say, but his brain was still whirling in a fog of fatigue. He tried to gather himself, and then the woman, newly composed, stuck out her hand confidently and offered, “Hi, I'm Kaitlyn.” He shook her hand, and as they clasped, he felt a surge of electricity between them. The handshake lingered a few seconds longer than expected. He composed himself, too, and then brushing off his own scrubs, offered, “Hi, Kaitlyn. I'm Joe.” Then thinking of the dream and her greeting, he looked to her and questioned, “Do I know you,” then added, “I mean, how do you know my name?” She smiled at him, pointed to the name tag on his chest, and read aloud, “Hello. My name is Joe.” She paused, looked at him, and shrugged. “I read pretty well.” He looked to his shirt and saw the name tag, placed at the intern 30

orientation thirty hours before when his shift had started. He'd never thought to take it off. “Oh, yeah,” he stuttered, ripping off the badge. “I've had a long couple of days.” She eyed him sympathetically, asked, “Are you one of the residents?” “Yes, unfortunately. I'm just coming off my shift.” Then, with a tinge of both pride and disgust, he added, “A thirty hour shift.” She said, “I don't know how you all do it. Don't you get to sleep?” He thought of the brief nap that had occasioned her starring role in his dream. “Barely, but . . .” He noticed some dirt on her hip and bottom, and he pointed and she looked and briskly brushed it off. He felt mesmerized by her, wanted to know more about her, but his fatigued brain was not prepared or cooperating. He asked, “So, Kaitlyn,” then his brain froze and in the pause, he added desperately, “Do you come here often?” He gulped at the lameness of his question, but she seemed unfazed and responded with a twinkle in her eye, “Yes, Joe.” She seemed to roll his name in her mouth, trying it out like you would a new flavor of candy, then 31

repeated it with an appreciative fondness, “Joe. I’m here most days. I'm a new labor and delivery nurse. I started last week.” “Oh, great.” He was grasping for something to say, blurted out, “L & D, huh? Then I'll probably see you around.” She smiled back and said, “You bet.” Then she glanced to her watch and added, “You know, it was very nice meeting you, Joe.” She looked to the sidewalk and laughed, “Considering the circumstances.” Joe laughed, too, and continued staring at her. He wasn't sure what was happening, but he knew he didn't want to let her go yet, afraid she might dissipate like the dream where he had first seen her. She offered apologetically, “I'm running a few minutes late for my shift, so I better get going. But . . .” she pointed playfully at him, “I'm sure I'll run into you again.” Joe was a little slow, laughed uncertainly but then got the joke. Kaitlyn started towards the rear entrance, and he noticed a bit of a limp. “Are you sure you're okay?” he asked. She responded affirmatively, “I'm fine, really,” and as she turned, Joe saw she still had gravel dusted across her bottom. She saw Joe's eyes dart there, she winced embarrassedly, and reached back to dust herself off, then 32

looked back over her backpack, waved goodbye, limped around the corner and disappeared. Joe stood in a state of mental and physical paralysis for a full minute before he shook his head violently, then clenched his fists. He thought of his line, “Do you come here often?” and then muttered aloud, “You idiot,” as he turned towards his truck. But then he thought of Kaitlyn’s gentle smile and her endless blue eyes, every bit as vivid as they had been in his dream. His mind jumped tiredly to the thought that perhaps what had just happened was also part of the dream, but that thought was tempered quickly by an unusual feeling of calm. Somewhere in the foggy corners of his mind, Joe knew that something momentous had occurred.

Chapter 5 Joe awoke from a dreamless, unsatisfying sleep around six p.m., feeling sore in his muscles and on edge mentally. He tossed off his covers and slid into the shower. A long, hot shower somewhat revived him, and he headed to the small kitchen of his one-bedroom apartment to scrounge for some food. He didn't feel up to cooking, so he took a dinner out of the freezer and stuffed it in the microwave. Then he peeled an orange and sat down heavily at his wobbly table. A few minutes into his dinner, as the cobwebs started lifting from his brain, he thought for the first time again of Kaitlyn. He rummaged through his thoughts to try and remember when that encounter had happened, looked at the microwave clock, and had a hard time believing it had been only about six hours ago. He replayed the events in his mind, smiled at the thought of her blue eyes and easy laugh, though he realized he couldn't quite distinguish that actual meeting from the vivid dream he'd had. He stood up and looked out the window at the graying evening, saw someone across the courtyard moving a chair onto their balcony, and he took another drink of coffee. His 34

brain was starting to click now; he knew that meeting her had not been a dream. He wanted to see her again. Immediately, in fact, but he told his brain to calm down, as he knew that would have to wait. But he raised his eyebrows as he drank his last sip, and made a mental plan to swing by labor and delivery tomorrow. Maybe she would be working. He watched CNN for an hour, then at twilight went for a vigorous jog. Both his sister and his mother called that evening, and he recited the banal events of the week, but didn't mention Kaitlyn. That would be ridiculous, and a sure jinx on himself. He spent a few hours writing emails and surfing the internet before climbing back into bed by 11 o'clock. When he awoke at 6:20 a.m., he felt relatively normal again. He was always amazed at his underlying resilience, at how he could recuperate from a bad call night by the next morning. He jumped into the shower, threw on his scrubs, wolfed down a bowl of sugary cereal and orange juice, and was en route to the hospital by 6:45 a.m., determined to avoid another unpleasant encounter with Dr. Strumph. He walked into the call room at exactly seven, just as the other residents and Dr. Strumph were settling into their chairs. Doug offered Joe a 35

friendly greeting, and Joe reciprocated. Joe, bolstered by the relative lack of tension in the room, looked to Julia and Farshad and asked, “How are our incredible interns doing today?” Farshad responded with a simple, “Doing well.” Julia was post-call and looked bedraggled, but seemed relieved to have a pleasant word spoken to her this morning. She responded with a wellintentioned but exaggerated, “Great! Got a few hours of sleep last night. Can't complain.” Joe saw the drained mug of coffee in front of her and noted the miracle of caffeine. It was about all that fueled the poor residents. Joe said kindly to her, “Not bad for your first night. That's how they usually are.” He winked. Julia laughed and said, “Oh yeah, I'll bet!” He noticed the tremor in her hands as she tried to drain another drop from her empty coffee mug. Joe then saw that Farshad was in fresh scrubs, and asked, “You on call tonight?” Farshad replied with a subdued seriousness, “Yes. First time. Let's hope I do okay.” 36

Doug broke in with, “You'll do great. You'll have the world's best chief with you.” Joe played along, “And that would be . . . ?” “Me, of course.” “Of course,” replied Joe, then whispered loudly to the interns, “If you haven't figured it out, he's a bit full of himself.” Doug started to respond when Dr. Strumph interrupted the morning banter. “Folks, we have a full service and we're running late. Let's get started, Doug.” Gazes around the room shifted back to the table, and Doug guided Julia through a caffeine-fueled discussion of all fifteen inpatients on the service. It was a dizzying, overwhelming, warp-speed tour through a medically and socially complicated set of patients. Most were the uninsured poor or substance abusers. One man was a thirty-seven-year old homeless schizophrenic who had been found unconscious near a dumpster with a blood sugar of 1,100 and in a diabetic coma. He had come in through the emergency department and 37

been stabilized in the ICU, was now conscious again, but hearing voices telling him to chew off his fingers, and so he had to be restrained and heavily sedated. He had been admitted to the hospital twice in the past six months for related medical problems, had been prescribed a number of medicines and follow-up care, but of course he didn’t take any of it or show up for his appointments. Joe remembered him from his last admission three months ago during a period of sustained psychosis, when after stabilization, the man had been transferred to a psychiatric facility. Joe shared this story with the resident team, finishing with, “And the funny thing was that, in his psychosis, he thought all of the residents with their white coats were Jesus.” He paused, then said, “I think Doug believed him.” The residents around the table broke with laughter, and Joe thought he even saw a chuckle out of Dr. Strumph's shoulders, though he was still looking down at the table. The mood stayed relatively buoyant for the rest of the morning. They broke from the room about 7:45 a.m., and Joe rounded on half of the service while the interns split the other half. Doug and Dr. Strumph would work their way through the hospital later in the morning to supervise or alter whatever the junior residents had done. 38

Joe was so involved in the morning that he hadn't thought of Kaitlyn, but as he wound things down he found himself close to the labor and delivery floor. It was an intensely familiar place to Joe, and he much preferred to work there than on the medical wards. But the way the residency worked, you either worked on one or the other for a month or two at a time. He had basically finished his rounding, and so he punched in the code on the back entrance and stepped into the otherworld of labor and delivery. The first thing he always noticed was the smell, a slightly pungent mixture of blood, amniotic fluid, sweat, and other bodily fluids. He heard a low groan coming down the hallway, and from further down, a series of sharp yelps. He scanned the hallways for a sign of Kaitlyn, suddenly felt quite embarrassed and unsure of himself. Marge, an old warhorse nurse who was the L&D nursing supervisor, called out loudly to him, “Dr. Rorke, you look lost. Who ya looking for?” Joe suddenly realized he didn't want in any way for his second encounter with Kaitlyn to be a public event, so he stammered a second, “Uh,” then thought of an ulterior motive. “I was looking for Dr. Johnston. Is he around?” 39

He heard Dr. Johnston's voice from across the nurse's station, where he was seated at a computer terminal behind some shelving, “Over here, Dr. Rorke.” Oh great, thought Joe. He hadn't expected him to be here. Marge and the other nurses returned to their business, and Joe strode over to Dr. Johnston, keeping an eye out for Kaitlyn. “Hey, Dave. How's it going?” Joe got along well with Dr. Dave Johnston, who was another of the ten full-time attending physicians at the residency, though he was cut from an entirely different mold than prickly Dr. Strumph. He was the opposite: relentlessly pleasant and positive. He always wore a bright polka-dot bowtie, and Joe had latched on to him as a mentor, the type of physician he hoped to become. They had become golfing buddies on the rare days when their different schedules allowed. Dave stuck out his hand to Joe as he approached. Still no sign of Kaitlyn, Joe thought, but he looked to the white board and saw her name written next to Room Number 5, from where all of the yelping was coming. She must be assisting with a delivery, Joe surmised. He shook Dave's hand, who replied, “It's going great, Joe. Just great.” It was always going great for 40

Dr. Johnston, who explained, “Sam's in room 5 supervising Sophia's first delivery, but they've got a ways to go, so I'm just hanging out.” Sam was a third-year resident, Sophia was another brand new intern. Joe made a mental note and guessed that Kaitlyn wouldn't be coming out for at least another hour. Dave continued, “How can I help you, young doctor?” Joe offered quickly, “Well, just seeing when we'd be hitting the links again.” Dave sat back, looking very pleased to be pondering the question of golf, and Joe continued. “I have this Friday afternoon off, if you're available.” Dave had just started to respond when the overhead intercom crackled and a page called out, “Dr. Rorke, please call extension 422.” Dave motioned for Joe to use the phone next to him. Joe held up his hand to indicate one minute, and then dialed. A deep, gravely baritone picked up at the other end as Joe said, “This is Dr. Rorke.” “Dr. Rorke? This is Dr. Cutler. How are you?” Dr. Richard Cutler was not a medical doctor, but rather had a Ph.D. in philosophy and was the chairman of the medical ethics committee. For a resident, Joe had been an 41

unusually active participant on this committee and had come to be good friends with Dr. Cutler, who was a smaller, somewhat crumpled, older man who walked with a cane. Joe could imagine him with a tweed jacket and smoking a pipe on a university campus. He was partly retired but did in fact teach a few courses at the community college in addition to his generally light duties with the medical ethics committee. Joe responded, “I'm just fine, Richard. How are you?” “Doing well, thank you.” Dr. Cutler's voice was commanding and authoritative, so that he could say something like, “Doing well, thank you,” and have it seem to carry several layers of meaning. “Say, Joe. We are convening an emergency ethics committee meeting over lunch. Seems an end-of-life crisis has arisen on a patient, and we've been asked to give our opinion on the case.” Joe was used to being asked to participate in a generic sort of way at these meetings, but Dr. Cutler continued, “I saw that you were directly involved in this case, and so I thought we would benefit from your presence.” Joe thought back to Elbert Manderson's resuscitation, and shook his head. “Really? Is this the 97 year old that I resuscitated two nights ago?” 42

“Yes, and it now appears there is considerable discord amongst the physicians and family as to the withdrawal of life support,” Dr. Cutler added. Joe felt the sense of dread opening up, protesting slightly, “You know, I was just doing what his directive stated . . .” “Yes, yes. I understand. But your contribution to this discussion would be most useful. Could you meet me in 15 minutes outside the conference room just prior to the meeting?” Joe shook his head again, but said confidently, “Sure. I'll see you there.” He hung up the phone, and stood at the counter, looking down. Dr. Johnston, sitting below him, asked, “Got to go?” “Yes,” Joe sighed. “There's an emergency ethics meeting about this ninety-seven-year old end-stage dementia patient I resuscitated two nights ago. Apparently, the family wanted him to be a 'no code' and now they are demanding to withdraw support under threat of a lawsuit.” “Hmm. Sounds fun,” said Dave as Joe turned to go, then continued with a smile, “Golf on Friday might work. I'll ask my boss and then let you 43

know.” Joe smiled in return, as Dave always referred to his wife as “my boss.” As Joe turned to walk away, he looked for Kaitlyn one last time. He walked right past room 5, conscious of the thrill he felt in his chest just knowing that she was on the other side of the door. He heard a low moan and two residents counting out pushes as he turned to head towards the conference room. At least there will be a free lunch, Joe thought.

Chapter 6 Joe met up with Dr. Cutler prior to the meeting, and they discussed some of the details of the case. Joe told him as best as he could remember the events of that night, the seeming clarity of the advanced directive as it appeared on the chart, his own conflicted feelings about successfully resuscitating a severely demented man, and the snoring phone call with Dr. Agahi. There was no free lunch, after all. Joe was disappointed as he and Dr. Cutler grabbed food from the cafeteria and headed to the conference room. By 12:15, the large conference table was surrounded by ten others of the committee regulars as well as Dr. Agahi, Nancy, the ICU nurse, and the director of Elbert Manderson's nursing home. The regulars included two other physicians, two lawyers from the legal department, two interested community members, as well as the hospital vice president, the social worker, the chaplain, and the chief nursing officer. They represented a broad spectrum of interests and experience, and though there was typically frank discussion and spirited disagreement, it always remained cordial. Usually, no matter the details of the ethical dilemma before them, some form of 45

consensus could be reached that allowed the committee to recommend a course of action, although the committee had no real authority to make decisions. What a group of trained, intelligent, experienced people agreed upon was one thing. But the attending physician, in this case Dr. Agahi, was still the decision maker and was not bound to follow their advice. Once seated, Dr. Cutler convened the meeting by welcoming everyone, making introductions for the newcomers, and then reminding them of the strictly confidential and consultative nature of the meeting. Then his resonant voice drolled, “Ladies and Gentleman, we have a real ethical crisis that is unfolding two stories above us as we speak. Let me explain.” He then proceeded to give the details of the case, and Joe noted how Dr. Cutler had a way of storytelling, masterful and captivating, and Joe sensed that he enjoyed the human drama of these cases as much as any ethical clarity that resulted from the discussion. In fact, Joe had gradually come to understand that medical ethics, instead of providing crisp moral clarity, usually seemed to muddy the waters of what was right and wrong. There were seldom areas of stark black and white, but rather various shades of gray. Yet dwelling within the gray areas lay some of the fundamental issues of what it meant to be 46

human, issues of life and death, choice and accountability, compassion and justice. The grayness of medical ethics had deeply challenged Joe's personal world-view, as he had learned that sometimes what his own gut initially told him might not be, on critical examination, the most ethically justifiable decision. Dr. Cutler continued to describe the relevant details of the case. He was particularly gracious in describing Joe's resuscitation efforts, which he cast in heroic tones. As he wound down, he described the son's demand to remove life support, but with the added twist that this son had not visited his father in over four years and was under federal investigation for misappropriation of his father's estate, and that the social worker from the nursing home was currently seeking court guardianship. Thus, his advanced directive had been changed only recently from “Do Not Resuscitate” to “Full Code,” which was customary while awaiting intervention from the court. Dr. Cutler finished by indicating that Dr. Agahi, the attending physician, who through call sharing and scheduling changes had never met the patient or family prior to this event, did not feel that withdrawing support in this case was ethical based on the son's potential ulterior motives. 47

Dr. Cutler initiated the debate by boiling down the case into the primary question. “My friends,” he intoned, “this patient is unable to communicate his wishes. Are we justified in continuing to maintain his life artificially, or should we withdraw support and let nature take its course?” He opened the floor to discussion, and Dr. Agahi was the first to speak in his light middle-eastern accent. “I appreciate all of you being here,” he began. “I should start by saying that I am not enthused about the prospect of indefinitely continuing life support for this poor gentleman. It would be nice if there were a way to turn back the clock a few days, to clarify things before we reached this crisis. I had never met this patient or the family before the incident. Neither had the young resident, who did an excellent job of following the guidelines in the resuscitation,” he motioned towards Joe, who nodded silently, “though, frankly, it is somewhat of a miracle that the man came back. But here we are. We cannot go back in time. We acted, we revived, and now we have a man who, no matter what we think of the quality of his life, is still alive. For the time being, he is stable on the level of support we are giving him. He does not appear to be suffering. Given the questions about the son's motives, I do not feel comfortable withdrawing 48

support and thus hastening his demise, unless the court determines that should be the case.” Dr. Agahi concluded, and the committee pondered his words for few seconds before the chaplain asked a rhetorical question. “What can you say about the quality of the patient's life at this point?” Dr. Agahi responded, “I don't believe he has any quality of life right now, thought it appears he had none prior to his respiratory arrest either. But he does not appear to be suffering, as I said.” Dr. Cutler interjected, “Judging quality of life is notoriously difficult. How can we say whether this man's life, in his debilitated, demented state, is worth living? If we say that it is not,” he paused dramatically, “then could we not also say that a severely mentally retarded child's is of similar poor quality, and thus recommend euthanasia?” It was never quite clear if Dr. Cutler backed his own statements, or if he was simply playing devil's advocate, agitating the waters. One of the other physicians jumped in. “But this is a totally different scenario, Richard,” said Dr. Kennedy, an internist. “This man has a progressive, incurable underlying medical condition. He died, which is the 49

natural progression of his disease. But he was mistakingly revived, and now his life is being maintained artificially. If support were withdrawn, then nature would take its course, and he would succumb within hours, if not seconds, and die.” The air in the room shifted at this countervailing opinion, and the doctor finished, “I think if we're honest, each of us feels that the right thing to do is to withdraw support. But that is a risky proposition, legally. Am I right?” He motioned to the lawyers and the hospital administrator, who shifted uncomfortably. After a few moments, one of the lawyers, Robert Nathanson, began to speak cautiously. “It is true that the least risky move, from a legal standpoint, would be to continue with his current level of care. This is because the state is very particular about how it judges the provision of end-of-life care to those who are under state guardianship. The state, largely for political reasons, is concerned about how it would be viewed should it withdraw support from a patient. As for the hospital, we could be heavily fined should this case be audited. This could affect our future reimbursement for Medicaid and Medicare.” Dr. Kennedy tersely interjected again, “So, even though real people 50

like us--” he gestured to the room, “might be in agreement that the most humane course of action would be--not to kill him--but to remove artificial support and let the natural progression of his disease take his life, we will once again flog this poor man against all reason. Why? For fear of a lawsuit.” Dr. Agahi now spoke up. “I understand your point, Dr. Kennedy. But please understand mine. Once the support is withdrawn, there is no going back. And as long as there is any doubt, then I believe we are bound to err on the side of life.” Dr. Kennedy hotly contested, “No, Doctor. What you have stated is that you are erring on the side of fear. Fear of litigation. You yourself just spoke that he has no quality of life.” Dr. Cutler, sensing the tension in the room, tried to steer the debate towards a more esoteric discussion of the ethical principles involved. “Consider this . . .” he began, invoking “Do No Harm”as contrasting in this case with “Do Good.” He solemnly addressed the sacrosanct principle of “Autonomy,” a human being's inviolate right to govern their own affairs. As the meeting progressed, most of the committee members voiced their 51

opinions, expressing their conflicted feelings about the case. Joe, who was typically vocal in these meetings, sat quietly without saying anything, thinking back to his moment of decision at the point of resuscitation. If he had followed his gut and run a less aggressive code, then they wouldn't be having this discussion. The man would have died a natural death, the son wouldn't have been angry, nobody would have been second-guessed. Now, two days and a hundred thousand dollars later, the committee members all sat around this table arguing about this man's non-existent quality of life as he lay vegetatively two stories above them. But truthfully, cautiously, Joe understood Dr. Agahi's trepidation. If we could turn back the clock and foresee these events, we could have taken measures to prevent them. But, things being as they were, the most ethical course of action would seem to be to respect the man's autonomy as expressed through his proxy decision maker, which in this case, like it or not, had become the politically cautious bureaucracy of the state of Colorado. It seemed that the main issue came down to what was legal, not necessarily what was ethical. For the physicians, it meant accepting their role in the dilemma, which was to carry out the will of the patient or, failing his ability 52

to make his wishes known, that of his proxy decision makers. As the meeting wound down, Dr. Cutler reached out to Joe and sought his opinion. Joe sat up, thought for a moment, and then articulated his emerging thoughts that, although he agreed with Dr. Kennedy on the essential futility of prolonging this man's suffering, like Dr. Agahi, he felt that in the absence of direct decision making by the patient, “We are bound to respect the decision of the state.” He said it well, and it served as a kind of end punctuation to the meeting. Heads nodded as the members dispersed. But Joe couldn't shake the nagging feeling that the whole debate was a cop-out. What had been decided? Who would ultimately benefit? Not the patient, unless you consider futilely maintaining artificial respirations beneficial. The hospital and the physicians would be the beneficiaries through their assumption of decreased risk in the case. As they left, Dr. Cutler grabbed Joe's arm and said, “Thank you, Joe. You were quiet today, but you summarized the meeting well.” Joe shook his head and spoke softly, “Maybe. But it still doesn't sit right.” He noted Dr. Cutler's demeanor, which suggested he was interested in what Joe would say next. “It seems like with these meetings, we always end 53

up making the cautious decision that decreases the risks to other entities at the sacrifice of what is truly in the patient's best interests.” Dr. Cutler waited, and Joe finished, “Truthfully, I wish I had shown a little more guts at the point of decision in the resuscitation, and just called it off.” Dr. Cutler took a half-step back in a slightly mocking way, then stated firmly, “Dr. Rorke, you know you have my respect. But I must warn you to examine closely what you have just said. It smacks of paternalism. Some might call that a God complex.” Joe looked down, slightly embarrassed at this reprimand from a mentor, but also feeling that what he had said was not wrong, merely honest. Dr. Cutler continued, with more compassion, “You're young. But you must resist the temptation to impose your personal feelings upon the autonomous rights of others, even if it doesn't seem correct to you.” He grabbed Joe's gaze and finished firmly, “Just because you are a doctor does not mean that you can control everything.” He patted his arm and turned to go. “Thank you again for coming. We will meet again in two weeks at our regularly scheduled time. See you then.” Joe turned to head back towards the call room, his mind cluttered with dysphoric thoughts. As much as he appreciated Dr. Cutler's mentorship, and 54

as much as he had learned to appreciate the subtleties of medical ethics, he also resented that in his own way, Dr. Cutler was trying to impose his values on him and on the committee. It was all a big mess, and Joe didn't want to think about it anymore. He looked up from walking, and was surprised to see Kaitlyn briskly striding straight towards him, eyes beaming curiously as she caught sight of him at the same moment. She laughed as they approached in the crowded hallway, “Better watch out, Joe! I'm on the move!” He slowed and said, “Hello, Kaitlyn” and she waved to him goodnaturedly in passing, exaggerating her effort to avoid yet another collision, and then she continued speedily down the hallway, apparently unaware that Joe had stopped to talk to her. She seemed in a hurry. Joe watched her smooth gait, tried to think of something charming to call out after her, looked to the ground, and then, as she disappeared down the hallway, he turned and hustled after her.

Chapter 7 He caught up with Kaitlyn in the cafeteria as she was grabbing a squishy, bruised apple out of the fruit basket to add to the bagel on her tray. The cafeteria was packed, and he disappointedly saw that two other residents from his class, Travis and Malia, were also in the vicinity. Not that he didn't like them, but that if they saw him trying to converse with the cute new L&D nurse, he would be hearing about it for weeks. But he voraciously wanted to hear her voice again, to see her eyes and her smile, to have a conversation with her beyond an awkward greeting, to find out how in the world she had shown up in his dream, and to know if that was something incredibly significant or completely random. He came up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder, and as she looked up, he remarked flirtatiously, “Apples are good for you, but--” he plucked it off her tray, “you may not want to take a chance on this one.” She looked up with surprise, then grinned and replied smartly, “But they do keep doctors away.” Joe laughed, not sure how to take that, and she quickly realized her meaning could have been misconstrued, and she added, “I mean, maybe it would keep me from being run over by them.” She again 56

caught herself, “Not that that is always a bad thing . . .” Joe saved her, said loudly enough so that she could hear through the din of the cafeteria, “Hey, I was glad to have met you, even in a high speed collision.” He helped shepherd her towards the checkout line. “I hope you weren't hurt. I saw you limping.” “Oh, yeah. It was nothing. Just a scrape.” “Well, good. Glad it wasn't something worse. It was my fault. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going.” “Oh no, I was off a dream world,” and she demured into her own thoughts briefly. “So it was quite a surprise to run into you just then. My fault.” She then looked at him coyly, said, “Almost ran into you again just now, though. I thought you were headed the other direction.” “A little change in plans,” he replied, eyeing the apple again. “Had a bad feeling about you and this apple here. You sure you want to eat that? I can find you something better.” “It's okay. I actually have to just grab something and go. My patient delivered about thirty minutes ago and I have to get back right away,” she 57

said as she ran her card through the cash register. “But--” she looked at him encouragingly, “if you're really that concerned about my fruit selection, I wouldn't mind consulting with you later on the subject.” Joe swallowed hard as her blue eyes twinkled at him, and he couldn't remember ever seeing such a beautiful face. His awkwardness crept back in, but he plowed through it, “Uh, you bet. Name the time and place.” She gripped her food in her hands as they herded out the back entrance to the cafeteria, and when they finally got a little breathing space, she looked to him confidently and sweetly, said declaratively, “Dr. Joe Rorke.” She then paused and looked to the side, where the other two residents in their white coats were moving towards them, and she said, “I think these are your buddies.” Joe shrugged, ignoring their approach as she continued quickly, conspiratorially, “I should be done with my shift at 5:30. Could you meet by the parking lot around then? Same spot?” She laughed, and finished, “But standing up.” He responded, “Definitely,” just as Travis Solomon, a large, secondyear resident lumbered up and slapped him on the back. He grabbed Joe's neck and said, “Nurse Kaitlyn, is this man bothering you?” 58

“Not at all, Dr. Solomon,” she said. “Dr. Rorke is just very conscientious about fruit selection, that's all,” and she winked surreptitiously to reassure Joe. Joe joined in a counterattack, feeling encouraged by her efforts to include him, and he spoke to Kaitlyn, “Dr. Solomon here doesn't believe in eating fruit, you know.” Travis tried to say something but Joe continued over him, “It's not one of his basic four food groups, which would be, let's see . . . chips, coffee, Coke and beer.” Malia, a third-year resident, laughed at Joe's joke at the expense of Travis, who reset his grip on the back of his neck and said to Kaitlyn, “See how cruel he can be? He is a very lonely, frustrated man.” Joe elbowed him in the ribs and Travis released his grip. Kaitlyn rolled her eyes and said politely, “Doctors, sorry to cut this short, but I've got to get back to my patient,” and she turned to go, but left one last fleeting look to Joe that told him she would look forward to seeing him again in a few hours. Alone. Travis, rubbing his ribcage, called out after her, “If he bothers you, you just let me know.” Kaitlyn was already well down the hallway and didn't 59

acknowledge this final jab. Joe looked up at Travis and said, “You're an idiot.” Travis took the rebuke for what it was, and said defensively, “What? Just checking up on you, dude. Haven't seen you make a move. Like ever.” Malia then said, “She's cute, Joe. Very sweet, and a good nurse. I worked with her on a delivery last week. Are you two dating?” “Dating?” he answered. “That was only the second time we've met, for a total of about three minutes.” He scoffed, “The last of which was so kindly interrupted by this buffoon.” Travis backed away, and Malia continued, “Really? It seemed that you two knew each other.” “No.” Joe's thoughts drifted back towards Kaitlyn's mysterious appearance in his dream. “We don't really know each other at all.” He looked down the hall to where she had disappeared, and concluded quietly, “I don't think.”

Chapter 8 Joe thought about what Malia had said all afternoon, and he thought he agreed. Against all logic, he felt amazingly comfortable and natural around Kaitlyn, as though he already knew her. In spite of how dumbstruck he had felt around her, in spite of the fact that the sum total of their two encounters had equaled less than five minutes, in spite of the fact that he didn't even know her last name or her age or anything specific about her, he had a very peculiar feeling, as if they had known each other for ages and were just re-acquainting themselves. And what made that particular sentiment even more powerful was the sense of trust and comfort that he saw in her eyes during the few very brief interactions they had had. Sure, she had seemed slightly embarrassed at the collision, slightly distracted in the cafeteria, but he could sense in her reassuring smile and gentle gaze that she knew him, understood him . . . even loved him? His mind lurched to a stop at the word love, and he chided himself for acting like a teenager in heat. He reversed course and spent a good while convincing himself that all of this was must be an illusion of his mind. How else to explain the dream, this sudden intense infatuation? Psychology, 61

hormones, pheromones . . . these could explain it all, and then there wasn't much left for love-at-first-sight. Which didn't mean that something beautiful couldn't develop, but it disposed with the supernatural aspect. In the midst of such conflicting thoughts, Joe was glad when he received a page from the emergency department about a patient. It would be something to distract him, to bring him back to reality. And it was a sad reality, a complicated pediatric patient, a profoundly retarded seventeen-year-old girl with an intractable seizure disorder. He had admitted her multiple times previously, and was familiar with her and her mother. The patient, though seventeen, had the mental capacity of a sixmonth old, a direct consequence of fetal alcohol syndrome, caused by her alcoholic mother's excessive use during her pregnancy seventeen years ago. The mother had been stripped of custody for the first five years of her daughter's life, but had retained visiting rights, and eventually, after rehab and counseling, convinced the judge that she should have legal guardianship, though her daughter's condition was so grave and her needs so overwhelming that she kept her at a permanent state-run nursing facility. She visited her daughter briefly a few times a week and provided very little actual care or 62

direction, except when something went wrong, and then she became belligerent and demanding. And things went wrong often. Over the past year, Joe had helped care for the girl a half dozen times for a myriad of severe conditions, including pneumonia, kidney infections, infected bedsores, and seizures. It was amazing that she was still alive. She typically had major tonic-clonic seizures every few hours, her whole body convulsing and her breathing compromised, but they usually lasted only five to ten minutes. These were partially mitigated by four different anti-seizure medications, all of which had significant side effects and kept her heavily sedated. The poor girl was diminutive and misshapen, incapable of turning over in bed, incapable of speech, incapable of even swallowing and thus had to be fed and medicated via a tube permanently inserted through her abdomen into her stomach. At times she did smile, though it was never clear if it was responsive or just reflexive. As Joe dealt with her, he couldn't help but question how she experienced life, if there was any quality of it that she could appreciate, and if not, then what was the purpose of medicating her or feeding her or even of ventilating her? He questioned whether he was doing 63

her any good by keeping her alive through yet another crisis, or whether the greater good would be in letting the natural progression of her total mental and physical debilitation take her life. On this day, the nursing home had called the ambulance when the patient had begun seizing non-stop for over thirty minutes and the typical emergency medicines had failed to work. By the time Joe saw her in the emergency department, she had been started on an IV and delivered massive doses of anti-seizure medicines without success. She finally had to be paralyzed, intubated and placed on the ventilator. Then the seizures seemed to break, though it was hard to tell with the heavy paralytic and sedative medications on board. The ER doctors had a difficult time dealing with the hysterical mother, who wanted to know why her daughter wasn't getting better and demanding to see the “best doctor in the hospital,” which wasn't Joe, but when he arrived, his familiarity with her helped calm her down. Joe had learned from previous hospitalizations that most of her hysterics were simply demonstrative, a sort of acting out. It seemed to Joe that she subconsciously had to act out aggressively in order to deflect the overwhelming guilt she felt 64

for her daughter's condition. During another recent stay, the mother's behavior had prompted a social worker to re-evaluate her fitness for decision making. No changes had been made legally, but a file was being built. Joe wondered how that would progress through this stay. Joe had assessed the patient, spoken with the ER doctors, and gone to work writing orders, coordinating with the attending physicians, the pediatrician, the neurologist and the intensivist on call, as well as communicating with and calming the mother. The plan was to keep the patient in an induced coma for a short while on the ventilator and then reassess the situation, both medically and socially, over the next few days. Joe alerted the social worker as well. There wasn't much else that could be done. While in the ICU, he stopped by to check up on Elbert Manderson. Joe reflected briefly on the similarity to the girl, at least in the futility of preserving a life without objective quality. And he thought of the hundreds of thousands of dollars currently being spent on their care, and how there must be better ways to allocate those expenditures to patients who would actually benefit. One statistic claimed that over eighty percent of a hospital's direct 65

patient care expenditures were spent on patients in the last two weeks of life, and Joe didn't doubt that it was true. Providing futile care seemed to be a hospital specialty. Flailing at death's door, as he cynically called it. He got Nancy's attention, and spoke briefly with her about Elbert's care. She expressed her frustrations with the how the ethics committee meeting had gone. She wanted to know what was ethical about keeping a brain-dead man alive against his family's wishes. Joe politely disagreed, towing the party line concerning the legal requirements of the case, but it was a half-hearted argument that echoed hollowly in his own mind, and did nothing to appease her frustrations. Joe was finishing up his notes on the girl's chart when he looked to the clock and saw that it was nearly 5:30 p.m. As soon as he was done, his shift would be over. He took a deep breath and thought of Kaitlyn for the first time in a couple of hours. He felt a rush of excitement, the urge to get out of the hospital immediately. He quickly finished, trotted to the back stairwell, took off his white coat and paused. He ran his fingers through his hair, gathered himself, and realized that although he felt anxious to see her, he also felt certain that no matter what was about to happen, things would go 66

well. He marveled to himself that he could feel so excited and yet so calm, especially when something about this whole dream-Kaitlyn business seemed slightly ridiculous and out of control. It wasn't like him. In fact, in a moment of contemplation earlier in the afternoon, he had decided that for now he would forget about the dream. First, he didn't want to be too weird and scare her off. But mostly, the last two days had been such a whirl that he wasn't even sure anymore that the dream had been real, or if it was, that Kaitlyn was actually the woman he had seen. He thought it was more likely that he'd had a totally random dream, just neuronal misfirings, and when he had by chance run into a very pretty woman that same day, his conscious mind had pulled a switch on him and projected her into his memory of the dream. He felt good about that mental resolution for now. Forget the fantasy, focus on reality, and see what happens. At that thought, he took a deep breath and with his coat over his shoulder, he strode coolly out into the parking lot. As he approached the corner, he saw Kaitlyn poke her head out, open her eyes wide and smile, and then disappear again. A moment later, she ambled casually around the corner, and said comfortably, “Saw you coming this 67

time.” Joe laughed with her, and then said extra-smoothly, “So, you do come here often. I see.” She ginned, looking Joe directly in the eyes, unafraid, and she said, “You look a little less tired today, Joe.” “Thank you. I actually feel pretty good. Slept well last night. How about you?” “Three deliveries today, which is a lot for me, so I'm pretty tired. But, I've been looking forward to talking with you.” She continued, “Hey, thanks for warning me about my fruit selection. When I saw you in the hall, I wanted to stop, but I really was in a hurry, just so you know. I didn't know if you'd remember the girl who ran you over.” Joe put his palms up to indicate that it was no big deal, and she finished, “You know, you were right, by the way.” “About what?” “About the apple. It was awful.” Joe laughed, and she continued, “And my bagel was hard as a rock. Is this cafeteria always this bad? I'm 68

going to have to start bringing my lunch.” “Oh, just give it some more time,” Joe said. “Before too long, your taste buds will be numb and you won't care about the taste. Or lack of it.” He looked at his watch, had a bold thought, but surprised himself at feeling perfectly comfortable in asking it. “So, you must be hungry, then. What are you doing for dinner?” “Hmmm . . .” She mulled over the implied proposition, then looked at him and said, “I was just thinking about having it . . . with you.” Joe nodded affirmatively, and she asked, “If you're up for it, that is.” They stood comfortably at the corner. This is so easy, Joe thought. The afternoon sun had disappeared behind the hospital and cool shadows now covered them. An intermittent stream of other hospital workers and employees straggled past them towards their cars. Construction noises emanating from the hospital's new east wing reverberated out over the grounds, and the loud mechanical hum of the hospital air conditioners saturated the air. A slight summer breeze carried the scent of flowers from the flower garden, which mingled with the dusty air of late summer. But Joe was oblivious to it all, his senses entirely engaged in the beautiful, luminous, 69

familiar person before him. He gathered himself, and said, “I'm all for it. Glad you asked.” He looked to the ground and then back to her face, “You're new here, right? So someone should show you some of the better restaurants. There aren’t many.” Kaitlyn grinned, and Joe continued, “But if we're doing dinner, then I should properly introduce myself first. Joe Rorke, second-year resident at Loveland Memorial Hospital.” “Yes, Joe. Even without a name tag, I remember you. Pleased to meet you. Again.” “Likewise,” Joe responded. “Now, maybe you could tell me a little more about yourself. Like your last name, for instance.” “Yes,” she answered with exaggerated seriousness. “I'm Kaitlyn Sullivan, second-week nurse at Loveland Memorial.” “And where exactly are you from, Ms. Kaitlyn?” “From all over. Most recently from Albuquerque.” “Excellent. And why Colorado now?” “Hmmm . . .” She bit her lip, as if she read more into that question 70

than he intended. She put her finger to her mouth and replied, “That's a loaded question. Do you want to know the truth?” “All of it.” “Alright. But what do you say we discuss that over dinner?” She stood straight and said brightly, “If you're taking requests, then I'm dying for some good Mexican food.” “I know the place. La Casa Azul, just down the street a ways.” “I've seen the sign. As long as they've got good chimichangas.” “They do.” “Wonderful. Should we just meet there?” “Well, I think it would only be proper if I picked you up.” She smiled coyly at him, and she gave him her address and phone number, which he punched into his phone. “That's sounds great. My apartment's just a half mile away, next to the park and the lake.” She brushed her hair back behind her ear, then said, “Okay, Joe. See you at seven then?” “Seven it is,” he replied, then thought to add, “Just casual.” He looked at her, paused, and then finished, “See you soon, Kaitlyn.” She smiled 71

curiously as she turned to go, and her name hung gently on his lips as he watched her walk away through the deepening shadows.

Chapter 9 Joe rushed home to his apartment with great enthusiasm. He had time for a twenty-minute jog, so he changed quickly, hit the run hard, then showered, dressed in khaki pants and a casual blue golf shirt, and then headed out to pick up Kaitlyn, feverishly cleaning the accumulated junk out of his truck and throwing it into a trashbag just before he left. He arrived early, so he drove around for an extra ten minutes, listening to Sting songs in his pick-up, feeling excited and not the least bit unnatural about how rapidly things had been progressing. He pleasantly revisited their easy, playful conversation in the parking lot. His mind felt remarkably sharp, and for the first time in a few years, he felt wholly alive and in the moment. He pulled around the corner to her apartment complex and parked as the clock switched over to 7:00. The sun was just setting, and when he got out of his truck, as if on cue, the streetlamps flickered on. He looked for Kaitlyn, didn't see her, and so moved towards her building when he heard a door close and then footsteps. She emerged out of a corridor and onto the lower flight of the stairwell, and Joe caught his breath when he saw her. As she stepped out of the shadows and into the developing twilight, she looked 73

absolutely radiant. Her blond hair was no longer in a ponytail, but spilled in loose curls down to her neck, and she seemed to glow with the final colors of sunset. She wore a modest, peach-colored summer dress with a flower print, short heels, and simple pearl earrings and necklace. Joe was stunned speechless as he admired her slender, athletic figure. Her legs were toned and sleek, and her hair accentuated the gentle slope of her neck and shoulders. Her skin appeared incandescent in the twilight. He had thought she was gorgeous in the hospital parking lot in scrubs, but he had no idea. “Hello, Joe,” she said as she approached him down the stairs. She became aware, then slightly embarrassed, at Joe's obvious appraisal of her, and she felt to explain, “I had a little extra time, so I thought I'd do my hair.” “Yes,” Joe approved. “It looks fantastic.” He then felt inspired to say, “You look fantastic.” She demurred and said graciously, “Aw, Joe. Thanks.” She looked at him and said, “You're looking pretty sharp yourself.” Joe came to his senses and tried to think of something witty to say as he indicated towards his pick-up and tugged at the shoulder of his shirt, “Well, I clean up every once in awhile. Tonight seemed like a good 74

occasion.” “Well, you look great,” she said politely. “Isn't it nice just to not be in scrubs once in a while?” He agreed, and as they got into the car, Joe looked at her and said, “I hope you're hungry, because I know I am.” “Oh, yes. Starving. I might eat the whole restaurant, the whole enchilada. Or chimichanga.” She chuckled to herself, then looked at him as he started the ignition. She appeared about to say something else, and Joe looked at her expectantly. But she just smiled mysteriously, then reached out and patted the back of his hand, which rested on the clutch. She smiled with contentment and said, “Thanks, Joe,” gazing contemplatively back out the front window while he pulled onto the street. It was a strikingly natural gesture, and Joe was amazed at her ease in doing it. It was something couples who had been married for twenty years did, a simple non-verbal communication that, in his limited experience, never happened in the first minute of a first date. But surprisingly, it did not feel out of place. She put her hand back in her lap, and Joe looked back to her face. He asked, “You're welcome, but for what?” 75

She looked to him as though surprised that he didn't understand, but offered, “Just thanks. For this.” She smiled at him and said, “Thanks for being friendly and easy to talk to. It's tough being new in town, not knowing anybody.” “I understand,” he replied. “I'm looking forward to hearing about how you wound up in Loveland, Colorado, by the way.” She smiled appreciatively but didn't reply. On the short drive to the restaurant, they began to speak more casually about the hospital, about the town, about the weather. It was unforced conversation. Joe felt encouraged as it became increasingly apparent that their natural ease together was not a fluke or a transient phenomenon, but something mutually felt and appreciated. As they walked to the front doors, the delicious aroma of Mexican spices and the sensuous riffs of Latin guitar music created a lush Spanish colonial ambience. In the entrance, the muted lighting played softly off the vibrant décor, and the atmosphere in the restaurant was relatively subdued. Probably because it's a Wednesday night, Joe thought. They requested a booth and were seated, ordered mango and strawberry lemonades and both 76

settled into devouring the chips and salsa before them as they perused the menu. They bantered playfully about their food choices, then ordered at the first opportunity. Joe requested his typical chicken flautas and shredded beef tacos, and Kaitlyn enthusiastically ordered the beef chimichanga. After the waiter left, with both of them having settled easily into the freshness and yet vague familiarity of each other's company and conversation, Kaitlyn looked up softly at Joe and changed the course of the discussion. “So, Joe,” she started, “this is really nice. The restaurant, I mean, but even more, your company. I know we've barely met, but I've got to tell you, I feel very secure with you, very comfortable.” “Likewise,” said Joe. “And I've been around enough to know how rare that is,” she said, held Joe's gaze and probed, “Do you have any idea why this so familiar?” He didn't know exactly how to reply. After a pause she added somewhat awkwardly, “Sorry if I'm being too forward.” Joe immediately wanted to ease her discomfort, and said, “No, no. 77

You're not being too forward, or too anything.” She looked to him, and he continued, “I happen to agree completely with you, that this seems so perfectly easy. Like we've known each other for some time.” She was encouraged by his agreement, and said with a sigh, “You know, I'm usually not so introspective about things like this. I don't want you to think I'm weird, but at the same time . . . ” She trailed off and looked to the table and then back and laughed, “Don't you love having metarelationship discussions on a first date? ” “Can't say I ever have before,” he said. “But I'm enjoying this one.” She looked at him with keen interest asked, “Will you tell me more about yourself?” “Where should I start?” “Just start somewhere. I'd love to hear anything. Everything, if you don't mind.” Joe was uncertain how to begin, as he never much liked talking about himself. He mentioned he was from Denver, had gone to college in California and medical school in Arizona, was now in his second year of 78

residency. He continued to recite these and other biographical details, and when he seemed to stumble over what else to say, Kaitlyn politely requested that he tell her about his interests and his family. He started by describing what he liked to do. He loved sports and skiing, loved the outdoors, loved reading and good music. He described his love for Sting's music, for the Denver Broncos. With every new interest he divulged, Kaitlyn nodded as if genuinely intrigued. He mentioned that he had lived in Guatemala for a year on a study abroad and spoke fluent Spanish. He had been scuba diving once, and wanted to go again. He was encouraged by her obvious interest in all of these details, and eventually he became aware that he had been gushing. “Sorry, I'm kind of rambling,” he said. “Not at all, Joe. You have quite a range of interests! Very eclectic, you know.” He reluctantly agreed with that assessment as she continued, “But I didn't hear you mention anything about medicine, or being a doctor.” He grimaced a bit and sat back. Wow, he thought, she picked up on that right away. He said honestly, “You know, for something that consumes most of my life right now, I don't particularly enjoy it.” Then, he 79

reformulated his thoughts and said, “Honestly, most days I hate it.” Her eyes filled with sympathy. “That's too bad,” she responded. “But I understand. How could you not burn out emotionally when you're working such terrible hours?” “Yes, but it's more than just the hours. I've always felt like I had a fairly high capacity for empathy and caring. I wanted to make a difference in people's lives. I know it sounds like every medical school applicant's entry essay, but those really were my primary reasons for going into medicine, at least consciously.” He paused for a second while pondering how easy it was for our minds to fool us, to think one thing or rationalize something else, when the real reasons for our actions were often much more primal, or covertly selfish. As he progressed in his young medical career, he didn't really trust what his initial impulses had been for going into medicine. On bad days, he grudgingly admitted to himself that, no matter what he had thought at the time, he had chosen to be doctor, not for the people, but for the power and prestige, for the illusion of control over life that the profession allowed. Sometimes he found those darker, egotistical corners of himself to be scary places to explore. He shook his head almost 80

imperceptibly, as if to rid himself of these thoughts. They didn't seem to belong in this conversation with Kaitlyn. He had lost his train of thought, and Kaitlyn looked at him somewhat amused as he recovered. Joe said, “Sorry, I got distracted by my own thoughts. What priceless truth was I elaborating on?” She smiled, didn't pry into whatever had distracted him, and said, “You were mentioning your incredible capacity for empathy.” “Oh, yeah. Incredible.” She was smiling at him playfully, and he continued, “Well, when you deal with so many hopeless cases, and when the whole system seems set up to antagonize your best efforts, then . . . I guess my reservoir of compassion has run dry pretty quickly, with no replenishment in sight. I do what's expected of me, but out of duty, not love. I feel like part of me is on autopilot, like I'm dredging a lake half the time.” She continued to listen intently, and he finished, “I think I need a couple of months in Hawaii.” She laughed understandingly, asked, “Well, what would you like to do? If you could choose, I mean. Other than medicine.” He pondered that for a few seconds, then said, “Well, for starters, I 81

can't do anything but survive for the next two years. I have too much school debt to be able to pull out now. I'm sort of trapped. I just hope that enough of me, whoever that is, is still alive enough in two years to be worth something.” He tapped his glass with his fork and continued, “But if I could choose? Honestly, I don't know at this point. I doubt I would stay in medicine.” He paused, then repeated cynically, “Hawaii. That's what I'd do.” She smiled at him, but didn’t change the subject, “But you're good at it, aren't you? At being a doctor?” He shrugged in self-deprecation, but she continued, “I can tell you are. And I know your resident colleagues respect you.” He looked to her with a question, and she continued, blushing slightly, “Sorry. I asked around a little bit about you this afternoon. Wanted to make sure you seemed as safe as I guessed.” She shook her head slightly and said, “But it's true. Dr. Johnston and Scofield told me what a great doctor you are.” “Really?” Joe questioned. But he knew that his friends probably would have said all manner of falsehoods to the cute new nurse, just to try and impress her with him. “You can't trust them, you know,” he said. “The whole residency has made it their pet project to get me to date someone.” 82

She laughed, and he said, “You saw Travis and Malia in the cafeteria.” She rolled her eyes, and he continued, “Sorry about that. Travis is not a bad guy, just a bit overbearing, especially around women. Trying to be the alpha male, or something, and I think he was a bit jealous.” “Well, I wasn't too impressed,” she said dismissively. “But I do think it's a good sign that your friends want what's best for you,” she said, then clarified, “Or what they think is best for you, at least.” “Yeah, but. . .” Joe thought of what to say, wanted to shift the focus away from him, and to find out more about her. “Now it's your turn,” he stated. “Nope,” she replied. “Not yet. You haven't told me about your family.” Just then their meals came, and both of them were distracted for a few minutes as they dug into their first cheesy, spicy bites. Katlin sighed appreciatively, remarked how wonderful good Mexican food was, how spoiled she had become in New Mexico. After a few minutes, she looked to Joe and asked, “Whenever you’re ready. Your family.”

Joe chuckled with slight exasperation, thought of how to begin. His family wasn't his favorite topic of discussion, as they were somewhat dysfunctional. He had good memories of his early childhood, when his parents, David and Marie, had been close and the family had been busy with sports and school. He had one older sister, Rachel, and one younger brother, Keith, and times had been good until Joe was about fourteen, when his sister got pregnant. Her pregnancy became a divisive wedge that eventually split his parent's marriage in two. His mother, Marie, was compassionate and kind, a practicing Christian, but also somewhat culturally liberal, and she felt that Rachel, who was only sixteen, should have an abortion. Joe's father, David, was agnostic but quite conservative, and he disagreed adamantly. Rachel was torn in the middle, and eventually she decided to have the baby and give it up for adoption. She dropped out of school, ended up moving in with another boyfriend when she was seventeen, and Joe's mom never forgave his dad for what she perceived as ruining his daughter's life over own his conservative bias. Things deteriorated over the next few years, and by the time Joe was a senior in high school, his parents were separated and then divorced. It 84

devastated his father, who moved into an apartment and began drinking heavily, eventually losing his job as a computer consultant. Now, several years later, he was involved in Alcoholics Anonymous and had his feet under him again, even owned his own small computer repair business. Joe and he spoke only rarely, but still went fishing and golfing together a few times a year. His mother seemed to thrive after the divorce, getting remarried to a business executive for Coors within a year. She continued to work as a real estate agent, was now quite wealthy and by all appearances very happy, though it was Joe's perception that she never seemed truly at ease with her new life, which consisted of several lavish homes and yearly exotic vacations. Joe definitely did not feel comfortable around his step-father, whom he thought of as materialistic and overly opinionated. But if he was honest, he probably had never given him a fair chance, had never completely forgiven his mother for filing for divorce and hurting his dad so deeply. For several years after the divorce, he and his mother had hardly spoken, though things had improved recently, and his mother had even become somewhat of a confidante through his first years of residency, if only by default. She 85

worried about his health, wondered why he was so depressed, and desperately wanted him to have a girlfriend. Joe smiled when he thought of how ecstatic his mother would be to see him here with Kaitlyn. Joe continued divulging his family dynamics to Kaitlyn, who encouraged him with her rapt attention and sincere interest. He elaborated about his sister, Rachel, who had overcome her early mistakes and was now doing quite well. She had given her first baby up for adoption, had a second one by age twenty by a different father, but had raised him as a single mom. His name was Cody, and he was now eight years old and in third grade. Cody thought the world of “Uncle Joe,” the doctor, and Joe worked earnestly at being a good uncle, taking him camping and to ballgames, doing uncle sort of stuff. Rachel had easily gotten her GED several years ago, and then taken night college courses for years while she worked at a grocery store. She finally graduated with a bachelor's degree three years ago, and was now working on a master's in psychology by taking year round night classes. She was currently interviewing for jobs as a women's crisis counselor. She and Joe had become increasingly close over the past couple of years, speaking at least weekly on the phone. She was now living with a decent and stable guy 86

named Dale, and Joe thought it likely they would be married within the year. Joe's little brother Keith was different, highly intelligent but not very motivated, and he had been cruising through life for several years now. After high school, Keith had dropped out of three different colleges, most recently taking an interest in becoming a pilot. For the time being, he was working summers as a river rafting guide and winters as a ski instructor. He had been his mother's baby, staying with her after the divorce, and he didn't turn away any of the benefits of her new wealth. He thoroughly enjoyed his laid-back lifestyle, his various girlfriends, and Joe could envision him easily passing another ten years this way on cruise control. Joe had always been the driven one, to a fault. Maybe to separate himself from his sister's early mistakes, he had set high goals and had pursued and attained them, almost without exception. He had put himself through undergrad by working full-time while playing for an intercollegiate club soccer team. He had studied microbiology with an emphasis in infectious diseases, which had prompted his year in Guatemala studying tropical diseases. He had by all accounts been a tremendous academic success, had gotten into a competitive medical school in Arizona, where he 87

had graduated in the top ten percent of his class, and then had been accepted into an even more competitive residency program in Colorado. Socially, things were more complex. He was friendly but only intermittently outgoing. He had lots of acquaintances who would consider him a trusted friend, but perhaps due to unresolved trust issues resulting from his parents’ divorce, he had very few people he would consider truly close friends, ones he could confide in or even just choose to hang out with. He'd had only two girlfriends in his entire life, and both times, he had pulled back from the relationship when things had gotten too serious. For the most part, he kept to himself with his free time, and he knew that part of the emptiness and depression he had been feeling was his own fault, as he had succeeded in isolating himself from others. He was not religious in any way, and had developed a sharp scientific mind through his studies and experience. He believed, consciously at least, that every experience or phenomenon could be explained through scientific means, and he intellectually avoided anything that seemed supernatural. And yet, if he was honest with himself, he had never been able to completely shake the feeling that there had to be more to the mystery of life than what 88

could just be seen or felt or proven, something else that guided the trajectory of people’s lives and of the human race. Joe continued speaking, and Kaitlyn continued to be intensely engaged in his descriptions of his family and his paradigms. As he finally came towards something of a conclusion, he felt embarrassed at having taken so much time. He looked to his watch, saw that an hour had passed, and felt compelled to apologize, “You know? I've talked your ear off here. To summarize: I have a good if slightly dysfunctional family, I have a lot of varied interests, and I'm not at the happiest place in my life.” But his native optimism bubbled up, and he finished, “But life is good. I'm sure there are better days ahead. At least I hope so.” Kaitlyn sat forward as Joe asked her, “Now, how about you? You now know more than you ever wanted to about me, and I don't know anything about you.” She smiled and said sincerely, “Well, I'm not nearly as interesting as you, Joe. But fair is fair.” She sat back again the booth and put her hands in her lap. Joe noticed how her pearl earrings sparkled in the ambient light. She tucked her loose curls behind her ear and looked up, thinking, biting her lip, then looking back 89

to Joe with her sky blue eyes, and Joe felt himself pulled into her gaze like it was the vastness of the sky itself, expansive, infinite in every direction. There was something so deeply profound about the gentleness and intimacy of her gaze when her eyes rested upon him that he found himself entirely swallowed up in it, like he was looking into the sky or perhaps looking at the sky reflected in a placid lake. It was a physically dizzying spiral of depth and reflection, and Joe actually had to grab the edge of the table to keep himself righted. Keeping his eyes on her, he felt centered again as she began humbly telling him about herself. She confided that she was an only child, that her mother had died tragically when giving birth to her. Though she had never known her, her mother remained a very real and vivid person to her, thanks mostly to her father's relentless efforts in that regard. From pictures, she knew her mother had been a very beautiful woman with thick blond hair and deep green eyes, and her father never stopped talking about how kind and funny she was, how easy to laugh, how intelligent. She had been a practicing nurse for two years before they had met. Her father had been a practicing physician himself, and they had met at work, fallen in love and gotten 90

married quickly. Kaitlyn had been born a week after their first anniversary. But the joy of her birth had been cruelly, instantaneously reversed by severe complications, and despite the best efforts of her dad and the other physicians, she passed away soon after laying eyes on her baby. The vicious irony of his wife's death in childbirth had stricken her father emotionally, so that he never felt comfortable practicing medicine again. An only child himself with no surviving parents, he had withdrawn from his work and from society for several months, and had cared for his infant daughter only with the conscientious help of some of the wives of his medical colleagues. Eventually, he recovered enough to care for his baby, and he soon found new purpose in raising her. He invested himself entirely in the effort, and took immense joy in watching her as she grew and developed into a beautiful, compassionate young woman, so much like her mother. After quitting clinical practice, he eventually took a research job at a medical school in New Orleans, a position that soon developed into a teaching job, which he found himself to be quite good at. Kaitlyn had spent her elementary years in Louisiana. When she was in high school, her father was offered a prestigious position at a small school in upstate New York, and 91

they had moved there and started over again. But his focus was never his work, always his daughter. From an early age, they spent most of their time together, usually in solitary pursuits, not social events. He took her camping, fishing, skiing, golfing, and whatever interests he had became her interests, and vice versa. She had never owned dolls or played princess. A natural athlete, she did well in sports; soccer and tennis were her favorites. Her dad came to every game or match she ever played. They lived a comfortable middle-class lifestyle, though he had found ways to constantly nurture her native sense of compassion and charity, taking her to homeless shelters on Thanksgiving or having her volunteer with the indigent care clinics at the medical schools where he worked. Her closeness to her dad had kept the boys away for the most part through high school. She had received a tennis scholarship to a small college in New York, where she had earned her associates nursing degree. After her sophomore year, her dad had decided to retire from his teaching to pursue research, and she elected to interrupt her education to travel with him to East Africa, where they both participated in an AIDS research project that was supposed to last three years. But he unfortunately contracted malaria there, 92

and his health suffered grievously, forcing them to come back after only nine months. He was able to get a new job teaching at the University of New Mexico, but he never fully recovered. Despite being a physician, he had been a lifelong smoker, and though careful not to smoke around his daughter, had been unable to kick the habit. The malaria seemed to have finally nudged his health over the edge. Kaitlyn had finished her nursing degree at a school in Albuquerque, and she began working at a large hospital there on the surgical wards. But her dad's health continued to worsen, and she spent most of her spare time helping take care of his increasing needs. Then, eighteen months ago, after another hospitalization for pneumonia, he had been diagnosed with lung cancer, and in spite of surgery, radiation and chemotherapy, he had continued to dwindle and suffer. Knowing the end was near, he had stopped all of his therapies and shifted himself to hospice care, which Kaitlyn was able to provide for him at home, right up until the end. She had been at his bedside six months ago when he had mercifully taken his last breath. She was deeply saddened, though not surprised by his death, but was mostly taken aback by how incredibly lonely she became. Her dad had been such a stalwart support, 93

such a friend and mentor, but the cost of that closeness was that she hadn't invested herself in other significant relationships. Without any siblings or cousins, when he died she became literally, terribly alone. After he passed, according to his wishes, she had taken twenty thousand dollars of his savings to travel around the world for two months. The money had been designated for her wedding someday, but he expressly wished for her to instead travel and experience the world. Before dying, he had given her a list of several places he wished he had seen, things he wished he had done, and so she traveled to Versailles in France, to the Pyramids in Egypt, and again to East Africa to distribute some gifts to those he had known there. From there she continued on to the Great Wall of China, then to New Zealand, then to the Amazon Basin, and then finally home. Though she had traveled alone, the journey was surprisingly not lonesome, as she still felt connected to her father. Mournful when the trip began, she soon found great purpose in doing those things and going to those places that he had never been able to. She felt that in some way his spirit was continuing with her on her journey. She was not overtly religious, did not belong to any specific church, but she considered herself an avid believer in 94

God and in a spiritual world that was greater than the physical one. When she had returned from her travels, Kaitlyn felt different, more accepting of her father's death, and freer about the directions her life could take. She soon spoke with her nursing supervisor about training for obstetrical work. While spending two months in the trenches at a major metropolitan hospital, she helped deliver over one hundred babies and had seen the full range of the joys and stresses of that line of work. She felt like she was still learning the ropes, but was increasingly confident in her skills. She admitted that if she stopped to psychoanalyze herself, that maybe in some way she was driven to go into labor and delivery in a vain effort to bring back her mother. But she didn't like to look at life that way, to peer beneath the surface of her own motivations. She simply relished the excitement and joy of helping to bring a new life into the world, and she tried not to make it any more complicated than that. Joe sat enraptured with her story, offering consolation or surprise or sympathy each time she paused. As soon as he heard each new segment of her life story, he immediately felt like he already knew it, that if he had sat down to think about it before she said it, that he would have guessed in every 95

particular point exactly what she had been through, how she had gotten to be where and who she was. As she finished discussing her OB training experience, she hesitated, looked to her watch and apologized, “Wow. That's a lot, Joe. Sorry.” Joe said, “Not at all. You are fascinating. You've been through so much.” Kaitlyn looked self-consciously to her plate, which had been sitting clean for over an hour. They had already eaten dessert, a chocolate fudge cake with ice cream, and the waiter had brought the check thirty minutes ago. The restaurant was nearly empty now, but nobody was rushing them to leave. When she looked like she had said all she had wanted to, Joe jumped in. “Wait. You're not done yet. You haven't told me how you ended up here.” Just then, the waiter swung by and asked if they were alright, and Kaitlyn looked to him and then to Joe and said, “Why don't we walk outside for a bit?” It was 9:15, and got up and walked out of the restaurant into the cool night. Latin guitar riffs followed them down the sidewalk, and Joe 96

pointed to the left, and they headed down towards the nearby park and lake. They spoke about the meal, about the cooler weather of the approaching autumn, and each mentioned politely how superiorly interesting the other's life story had been. They reached a railing on a small fishing pier that jutted out over the park's lake. The city lights glistened across the still waters as the dewy fragrance of flowers floated out to them on the late summer night breeze. They leaned across the railings, and Kaitlyn held her arms to keep them warm in the slight chill of the evening. As she looked across the lake, her profile was bathed in the orange wash of the sodium streetlights, and Joe leaned towards her and put his arm around her to keep her warm. She reached naturally to hold his hand, looked to his face and then back out across the lake. He gently prodded her, “So, can I hear the big secret about why you're here?” She smiled, sighed, and said, “You're going to think I'm crazy.” “No, I won't,” Joe responded. “Believe me, nothing you could say could make me think you were anything but amazing.” She gazed across the lake, and said, “That's sweet, Joe.” Then she 97

turned slightly away from him and rubbed her shoulders again, and said, “Well, truthfully,” she paused, “I'm here because . . .” She looked back to him and said, “Because I've been having this very vivid dream--” Joe swallowed hard and took his arm away from her as she searched his face, and she continued, “Without going into details, I've felt that—this dream—has been telling me something important.” She was trying to gage his level of disbelief, and she continued, “So, I started looking for jobs and this is the one that seemed like what I was supposed to do. Where I am supposed to be.” He was stunned, couldn't think of what to say, and in the pause she offered, “I know. Crazy, eh?” His mind was racing. He was thinking back to his own dream, where she had appeared so welcomely, so vividly, only yesterday, a dream which he had also decisively dismissed earlier in the day. He didn't know what to make of this new revelation from her, didn't know how it might relate to his own dream or state of mind. He wanted to talk with her about it, to tell her about his dream, to know more about hers, but he didn't know what to say, or how to ask it. So he only said, “No, not crazy at all,” then offered somewhat lamely, “dreams can be very convincing.” 98

Kaitlyn sensed the unease in his reaction, and she turned to him while holding her arms and said pleasantly, “You know, Joe, I'm actually getting a little cold.” “Yeah, no problem. Should we head back?” asked Joe as he draped his arm around her, and they walked back towards the restaurant. The wind picked up slightly and stirred the trees, and the street lamps cast swooping shadows over the sidewalk. A new air of awkwardness had entered into their conversation, though Kaitlyn succeeded in adroitly changing the subject from her dream to the more mundane and routine topics of daily life. She had to be at work by 7:00 a.m., just as he did, and she had a few things she still had to get done tonight. As they got into his car, Joe saw that it was past ten p.m.. He was amazed that only three hours had passed since he picked her up. He had been so totally engrossed in her story, in recounting his own, in her kind, familiar gaze, in her very being, that he had the sensation that days had passed, weeks even, and that in that space of time something dramatic had happened to change the path he wanted his life to take. It seemed everything had fundamentally changed since seven o'clock. He felt badly that he had been 99

so stunned at her disclosure of her dream that he had allowed this tinge of discomfort to infiltrate the otherwise ethereal feelings he'd had all night. Their polite conversation continued as he drove to her apartment and walked her home. At her door, she thanked him graciously for the evening, for the conversation. She said lightly again, with humorous exaggeration, that she hoped to “run into him” again soon. He joked back, slightly awkwardly, but as she turned to go, he realized that he didn't want the evening to end that way, not when everything else had seemed so right, so natural and comfortable. Not knowing what to say, he reached out to her arm, and said, “Kaitlyn.” She almost seemed to anticipate this final gesture, and she turned to look at him, and in the lights and shadows of the stairwell, he felt the deep ocean of her eyes open up to him again, and deep within them he felt their familiar reassurance. “I--” he started, not sure of what he wanted to say, much less how to say it, but he tried anyway, “I hope you don't feel awkward about anything. About the dream--” She looked intently at him. “You know I don't think you're crazy.” He paused, and finished, flailing slightly, “I think you're wonderful, and please, just know that you can trust me. I--” 100

“Joe,” she said, “I know. I do trust you. Completely. And--” she reached up and stroked his cheek gently, intimately, “I think that's pretty good for a first date.” She leaned to give him a tender, familiar hug, and then reluctantly waved goodbye as she stepped into her apartment and closed the door.

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Chapter 10 Later that night, Joe found himself in the canoe again. The fog was as heavy and the lake was as calm as always. He floated along for several minutes, passively stroking towards the pier on the canopied shore, like he had so many times before. He noticed the tinkling sound of water dripping from the paddle between strokes, a sound that disappeared into the muffling fog. But within his dream, his languid thoughts began to awaken. He looked around the lake, scanning the misty shoreline to see if he could glimpse what he now knew lay beyond it. He couldn't see mountains, or even the dappled sunlight on the vines. He felt impatient, couldn't remember this part of the dream taking so long. Tapping his foot, he looked to his paddle, and after a moment of consideration, he plunged it deeply into the water. He felt the bite and pull of the water as he muscled the oar through it. He took a few more strong but careful strokes, found the canoe lurching forward, and then he quickly knelt in the bottom and began to paddle resolutely. The wispy tendrils of fog began to curl and lift before him, sliding around him and soon he was gliding into the pier. He didn't bother tying up 102

the canoe. He knew it wasn't going anywhere. He laughed within the dream, which he was surprised to find was suddenly semi-malleable, something he could actively influence, not just passively experience. He wondered if it had always been this way, and if so why he had never recognized this before, or how he could have been so content to just let things drift along. That was completely unlike him. But, he reasoned, he'd never previously had any motivation for hurry, as the dream perpetually ended in anticlimax at the vines. But things were different now, and within the reality of the dream, he knew it. He had gone to bed that night conflicted about its significance. Two nights ago, it had suddenly become remarkable again, though only because of the appearance of Kaitlyn. But she was not a dream. She was very real, flesh and blood and more full of life than anyone he had ever met, and the significance or insignificance of the dream did not affect that central fact. And in that way he tried to dismiss his dream as irrelevant even at this moment while he was within it. But then he thought of her revelation that night that she had been following her own dream, and so what did that mean? He really knew precious few details, hadn't been open enough for her 103

to tell him more. Truthfully, part of him wanted to believe that such things were possible, if only for Kaitlyn's sake. At the very least, he had become deeply infatuated with her, and he felt that whatever different experiences or beliefs or dreams had combined to form the person she had become, he wanted all of them, all of her. He knew he had been caught too off-guard at the lake, was too muted in his reaction, too subtly judgmental when she had, at his insistence, confided in him. He knew how she had perceived his skepticism, and thus had stopped short of telling him everything she had wanted. No matter the details and significance of her dream, she was following it, allowing it guide her. It was therefore a primary reason that she had now emerged so brilliantly into his gray life, and thus he was thankful for it. He didn't know what to really make of any of it. It had only been a first date, and he had so easily told her everything else about himself—way too much, probably. Yet he hadn't been able to confide in her about his own dream. Deep down, he knew he had held back because he was scared. As intrigued as he had been in the immediate foggy aftermath of his 104

breakthrough dream, and as completely enthralled as he was with the luminous appearance of Kaitlyn within it, the last two days had been enough time for him to succeed in deconstructing it all, to demystify and diminish it, whittling it down to something more manageable that fit nicely into an experience he was willing to accept. He had concluded that, like everything else, the dream resonated because it must be rooted in something real, some explainable psychological phenomenon. To believe otherwise would be the essence of irrationality, acknowledging that there were inexplicable forces in the universe capable of intervening in and manipulating our lives, and that would mean potentially yielding his destiny to things that were out of his control. But despite his best intellectual protests, he knew that he would never be able to completely separate himself from his vestigial impulses of belief, of desperately wanting to believe in something beyond the physical. Some irrepressible part of his psyche, it seemed, yearned to believe in magic, in faith, in dreams. But having suppressed that impulse so entirely, how could he trust it suddenly now, much less lend Kaitlyn his unfettered faith in her own dreams? He had just spent three hours lost in her eyes, but it didn't seem 105

enough, not nearly so. There were so many more questions now, and they swirled chaotically through his mind. He leaped off the canoe. He was close to her again, assuming, of course, that the woman in the dream was actually Kaitlyn. By now he had succeeded in totally confusing his own mind to where he couldn't remember any distinction between their two faces, but uncertainty remained as to whether or not this was a trick of his mind. So, he thought as he bounded across the creaky boards of the pier, let's consider this a scientific experiment. He would rush through the vines into the valley, and then he could verify it all. He would find her, or her wouldn't, or he would find she was someone else, or nobody specific, or who knew? And then hopefully he could move on to more important things, like an actual relationship, and forget about the dream. Which was ironic, because here he was smack dab in the middle of it. At that final circular thought, the opacity of his thinking seemed to dissipate, and amazingly none of it seemed to matter anymore. His purpose became clear: make it back into the valley, back into the simplicity and clarity of Kaitlyn's eyes. 106

He rushed down the pier, wet branches slapping harmlessly off his face and shoulders. He paused only for the briefest moment when he saw the speckled sunlight slanting through the vines, pushed quickly through and emerged into the majestic mountain valley. He had to shield his face against the intensity of the sun and the sky. He rushed, squinting into the grassy meadow and scanned the horizon. She wasn't there, and he felt his heart sink. But otherwise it was exactly as it had been. Towering, snow-capped mountains outlined against a blue sky, green meadow, silver brook, large cabin on a hill. Behind him the lake and canoe and vines were all gone again. He turned around and saw the vast rocky valley sweeping open below, and he saw the pristine dark soil of the path winding to his feet and leading towards the cabin. He felt compelled to step in that direction. He wasn't sure how it was possible, but as he stepped forward he managed to be surprised again when he felt the presence of someone behind him, and he turned around. And there she was, grinning curiously at him. Beyond her appearance, beyond her endless blue eyes and blue scrubs and bobbing 107

ponytail and curling smile, he knew it was Kaitlyn. And shockingly, he felt the distinct impression that this was not just a version of her, not just an apparition created and confined within the boundaries of his dream, but that it was actually her. She was standing before him as certainly as she had been seated across from him at the restaurant. He didn't even attempt to understand what that might imply, but simply gave in to the intense joy he felt at seeing her again. He effused a smile that was a mixture of disbelief and elation, and as she beamed back, he eased willingly into the depths of her gaze. She seemed amused, just as before, and she said again, “Hello, Joe.” Panting from his rush into the valley, he threw his hands behind his head and exclaimed, “Hey there, stranger.” He caught his breath, and said, “It's been a few hours.” She grinned, there was a pause, and then she looked to his belt and said with surprise, “Hey, your pager's not going off.” He looked at himself and laughed appreciatively, “They can't get me tonight. Not on call.” His heart was racing. Feeling an almost magnetic pull, he stepped towards her and said, “I guess I can't leave you alone even in my dreams.” 108

“Your dreams?” she asked. He looked at her, wasn't sure what she meant. “Well, yes. This, I think--” a surreal impression washed over him, and he continued uncertainly, “I thought this was my dream.” She stared at him, said, “Joe, I think this is my dream.” They both stood in stunned silence, and she gazed with new intensity into his eyes, as if trying to discern if he was real. He felt suddenly selfconscious, as though she were peering right through him. After a moment, seeing whatever she had needed to, she recovered, and then a new certainty emerged in her eyes. She cheerily asked an unexpected question, “Well, since we're both here, want to see if we can make it to the cabin? Before it rains?” “Rain?” he questioned, baffled. She replied only with a mysterious smile that carried a sense of urgency, and he suddenly noticed that she was now dressed in running clothes. He was trying to compute these disorienting developments when she brushed by him, her lithe body bounding up the pathway. He looked to the 109

valley from where she had come, and he noticed there for the first time a mass of immense purple clouds swirling violently, churning upwards, roiling with thunder and lightning. He stared in surprise at the storm, then called out, “Kaitlyn?” He turned and saw her accelerating further up the trail, called again, “Hold on!” But she was already well on her way up the trail, and turned around only to make sure he was following. He heard more thunder, and the previously unnoticed clouds were nearly on top of him. He felt a large drop of surprisingly warm rain, and looking backwards again to the charging thunderstorm, he began to understand her urgency. He hesitated for a brief moment, then turned and bolted after her up the trail, keeping his eyes on her as she climbed, admiring her stamina as well as her graceful, athletic figure. She was fast and apparently tireless. He soon became determined to catch her before she reached the cabin. He increased his pace and was amazed to realize that he could run faster than he imagined possible. Quickly, he became impatient with the meandering path, deduced that his only chance to catch her would be by taking shortcuts, and with that he began leaping over stones, across the creek, over clumps of sage grass, gaining ground on her with every step. She 110

kept looking back playfully but purposefully, encouraging him without slowing. They reached the bottom steps simultaneously and began racing up to the pine deck that wrapped around the front of the cabin. Up close, the cabin appeared more solemn, uninhabited, darker inside, and he could see the swirling clouds and lightning reflected in its large panoramic window that peered out over the sweeping valley. He noticed there were cracks in some of the windows and cobwebs between the floorboards of the deck. By the top step he had overtaken her, and when he tugged at her shirt, she finally relented in the race. With a subtle maneuver, he playfully pulled her towards him, towards the deck, and they tumbled gently down in front of the large glass door. She laughed as they landed, and he propped on his elbow beside her, each shuddering with exhaustion and laughter as more rain began to fall. He became acutely aware of the intense vitality of her supple body alongside his. Her face glistened with sweat and rain as she lay back, and her eyes shone playfully, “Well, hello there, mister.” She was catching her breath, and said, “Looks like you're getting pretty good at running me down.” 111

He joked, “Well, apparently--” laughing as he caught his own breath, “that's the only way I can get you to talk to me.” Her laugh melted into a serene smile, and she reached up intimately to Joe's neck, gently pulling him towards her. The storm was breaking above them, and he gave in to the gentle tension of her embrace. Her skin glowed, almost translucent in the stormy light. His heart thundered in his chest, and he lowered his face towards hers as warm rain began to shower over them. He moved close enough to feel the warmth of her breath on his face as she parted her lips and spoke softly, “Well, Joe. We made it.” He was completely involved in her embrace, in the sensuousness of the moment. But something enigmatic in the tone of her voice troubled him, and for some reason, it suddenly seemed essential to him to understand whatever she had meant. Almost against his own wishes, with the risk of spoiling the aura of the moment, he paused, pulling back just enough to look in her eyes, and he questioned softly in return, “What do you mean by that?” Warm rain poured down as clouds and lightning reflected from the glass door above them, but her sky blue irises emanated a peaceful tranquility, and she carefully, intently fixed her gaze on him, so as not to be 112

misunderstood. She appeared slightly concerned for a second, but smiled understandingly, and pulling him back towards her, she whispered, “I mean this.” She tenderly brought her mouth forward, brushing her lips exquisitely close to his. He pressed his lips gently into her, and she pressed back hungrily. He felt himself melting into her, her words lingering in the charged air. Rain splashed over them, dripping from his body onto hers as she rose beneath him into his embrace. He closed his eyes, felt every misgiving, every self-doubt dissolving into the softness of her kiss, into the wash of light that dawned between them, spreading over them both like a sunrise.

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Chapter 11 The light surged into Joe's mind, and he suddenly awoke, sweating profusely. He was breathing intensely, and emitted a sharp grunt of surprise as he bolted upright, shaking his head. He threw off his covers and sat on the side of the bed. His alarm clock flashed 5:03 a.m. As his mind awoke, he looked at his bed and then around the room for Kaitlyn, scoffing in exasperation and disbelief when he realized she wasn't there. Never in his whole life had he experienced anything so intensely vivid as what had just happened. To his waking mind, it was not possible that it hadn't been real. He reached to feel his lips, the ones that hers had just so sweetly been pressing into, just to see if they were still there. He lay back in bed for a moment, closed his eyes, hoping that he could fall back asleep and be magically teleported back to the deck of the cabin and into her arms to finish what they had started. After a few futile moments, he stood and staggered into the bathroom, flicked on the light and squinted into the mirror. His hair was matted into his head, and he splashed water on his face. The surge of light that had awoken him had been so powerfully real that he looked to his arms and chest to see if he was glowing, which he wasn't. 114

His thoughts began to clear, and he began to recall every second of the dream, how he had been able to speed up the canoe, how she had still surprised him and looked so beautiful, how certain he was that she was real even while knowing it was a dream, how he hadn't noticed the rainclouds before, how they had raced up the steps and tumbled to the floor, how he had leaned into her, how their lips had brushed tenderly in the rain, how their kiss had seemed to fill them with light. He tried to remember all of his intellectual protestations from the night before, his uncertainty and skepticism, but they all seemed wholly immaterial at the moment. He pinched himself one more time, just to check that he was actually awake. Ouch, he thought. That hurt. He went back and sat on his bed and eyed the telephone. He knew it was impossible, but in the dream she had inferred that somehow he was in her dream. She had seemed so vividly real that he wondered irrationally, Could it be true? He urgently wanted to call her, to know if she'd been having the same dream at the same time. But that would be insane, he reasoned. It was five in the morning. For all of the mystery, he had no reason to believe that she would think their dreams had actually, impossibly 115

merged. Then his phone chimed. He stared at it before picking it up. The caller ID said “Kaitlyn” and he held it out for a few seconds, letting it ring a couple more times as he tried to gather himself. He answered the phone, “Kaitlyn?” unable to completely disguise his breathless anxiety. He heard her sigh, and then, voice trembling slightly but sounding relieved, she said simply, “Joe.” There was a long pause between them. Joe could feel the security of her physical presence on the phone, even without words. In the pause, he started to talk, “I--.” He started again, “I mean, we--” When he hesitated, she broke in politely, but with urgency, and asked, “What are you doing right now?” He tried to think of how to convey just what he was doing, and said, “I'm lying awake in bed,” then added the obvious, “and talking to you.” But he already knew, just by the trembling of her voice, not to mention the timing and with every sense and intuition that he had, that she was calling him now because she had just awoken from the same dream. He didn't want to be 116

scared anymore, didn't want to hide anything from her, wanted to give in entirely to whatever supernatural force in play, driving them together. His mind was racing to how best to broach the subject when she spoke, “Can I see you again? Now?” He looked to the clock, did some quick calculations as she continued, “I know it's early. But I just need to tell you something. In person.” He was quick to respond, “No, no, that would be fine. I understand.” He paused, and then asked, “Should I come over?” She replied, “Could we meet by the lake again? Same place?” “Sure,” he replied, slightly disappointed, “Give me fifteen minutes.” “Yes. Thank you, Joe. I'll see you soon,” she finished and clicked off the phone. Joe took a one-minute shower, threw on his scrubs and a sweatshirt, and was in the car within five minutes. His head was spinning. Everything was a mystery, but one fact was crystallizing: he loved Kaitlyn. Beyond the dream, beyond the kiss, in spite of knowing her less than two full days, he must love her entirely as he had never loved anyone in his life. He knew it 117

by the complete peace he felt in hearing the sound of her voice, by how she looked at him though the ocean of her endless blue eyes, by their impossibly romantic kiss in the dream. And by how maniacally he was speeding towards a community park at five in the morning. He had never before felt the strength of emotion that was now driving him. He would do anything, absolutely anything, just to be with her right now for another moment. He arrived at the lake as the first shades of dawn began to arch over the sky. The brightest stars burnt defiantly against the coming sunrise, and the city was quiet, the lake still. He parked along the street and from a distance he could see her silhouetted against the pale lake, leaning into the railing. He jumped out of his truck and walked briskly towards her, and as he approached she turned from the railing and rushed to meet him. She was wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt, and in the early morning shadows, he could make out the smooth contours of her face. He came into the intimate warmth of her gaze, and she gave a sigh of relief. She buried her face in his chest, clutched him tightly, finally tilting her head upwards, and said plaintively, “The dream--” He removed her hood, reached his hand to cradle the back of her 118

head, felt the softness of her hair through his fingers, brought his mouth towards hers, and whispered with calm certainty, “I know.” They kissed. No more words were necessary. Her lips tasted exactly like he remembered, felt just as soft, and as they dissolved together, sunrise crested the horizon and the lake ignited into a magenta glow.

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Chapter 12 By noon, Joe was exhausted and ill-tempered, and he still had another twenty-four hours before he could rest. He was on call again, his second of two thirty-hour shifts within four days. It was a merciless, soul-killing scheduling quirk that happened every few months. That it was happening now, in the midst of what felt like the most important moment of his life, was particularly cruel. It didn't help that he hadn't slept much the night before. Not that he would have changed a thing, though. As he finished up with a patient--a fairly routine chest pain admission, a Spanish-speaking migrant worker who probably had heartburn and could have been discharged from the ER if not for the language barrier—he thought back to both of the impossibly passionate kisses of the morning. First, the sensual kiss in the rain by the cabin, and second, the desperate kiss at sunrise by the lake. To Joe's mind, they were both equally real, each a healthy dose of Kaitlyn's lips and unmitigated love. The fact that one of them had never actually happened didn't make it any less true. His mind was still trying to wrap itself around that dizzying fact. At the lake, they had stayed lodged in each other's arms for ten 120

minutes while the sky and lake burned with peach and orange and honey, saying nothing, only embracing, kissing, and gazing in relief and disbelief at each other. Eventually, the morning brightened and the traffic increased. They moved to a small pavilion, and as the intensity of the moment eased, they sat on a table and began to talk. Kaitlyn spoke first, and she apologized to Joe for how she had acted in the dream, to which he had emphatically let her know that it was no problem by him. She said she was a bit embarrassed at how aggressive she had been, said she must be somewhat disinhibited within her dreams. Joe had just smiled at her, unable and unwilling to clear the sultry image of her rain-soaked face and seductive eyes from his mind. But she wanted to know the details of his dream: was it identical to hers? How long had he been having it? What did he think it meant? He told her that he'd been having the dream intermittently for ten years now, but that it had always been a rather boring and anticlimactic canoe ride until two nights ago, when he had finally stumbled through the vines and into the mountain valley and encountered her. He told her that he had been enchanted by her appearance, pleasantly shocked when they had collided the 121

next day, but that he had no idea what it all meant. He was trying to figure that out right now. He didn't digress further into any of his intellectual concerns about the dream itself, or about the supernatural in general. Right now, he was having misgivings about his misgivings. Kaitlyn's version of the dream, however, turned out to be much different, more complex and of a much shorter time frame than his. She had been having her dream for only the past six months, since a few days after her father died. Hers had nothing to do with canoes. In hers, she was climbing endlessly out of a jagged black canyon through clouds, hand over hand, roped up to someone above she could never quite see, trying to outrun a vicious lightning storm that was surging upward from the canyon below. It went on for hours, it seemed, and was intensely vivid and frightening. Initially, she thought it was all part of coping emotionally with her father's death. But one night two months ago, she had surprisingly scaled the rim of the canyon and found herself in a gorgeous alpine meadow with a log cabin on a hill, and she felt immensely compelled to follow the path that led towards it. As she made her way down the path, there appeared a young man 122

in hospital scrubs, his back turned to her, oblivious to her presence but impeding her way. She couldn't see his face, couldn't get his attention, and for some reason it never occurred to her to go around him. Eventually, the churning clouds caught up, and she awoke as lightning crashed around her and it started to rain. It was intensely real, and yet she had found it frustrating to not be able to progress to the cabin, or even to get the young man's attention. The dream, which up to that point had been occurring every couple of weeks, began occurring every other night, and after a few recurrences, she discerned in some intuitive way that this particular valley was in Colorado, and that she could never progress in the dream unless she moved there. She knew that wasn't necessarily logical, but the vividness of the dream and its frustrations had begun to torment her. She trusted her intuition and began searching for jobs in Colorado. When she had happened upon Loveland's posting for a labor and delivery nurse, she felt that was the opportunity she needed to explore. When she traveled to interview and looked for apartments, she found one from where she could see the towering peaks, and she accepted the position on site. She 123

gave two week's notice at her previous job, and made the interstate move. Shortly after arriving, she purchased several maps of the region, and as soon as she had time, she planned on visiting every mountain valley until she found the one from her dream. But then, ever since making the move, the dream had stopped. She wondered if that was it, if moving was all she had to do to satisfy it. She found herself deeply disappointed at that thought, as it left totally unanswered the question of the cabin, and what had been so compelling about it. She distracted herself by getting involved in her work, keeping one eye out for the man in the dream. He had been in scrubs, so she guessed he would be working at the hospital. She didn't know if he would be a nurse or a tech or a doctor or a janitor. She knew he had dark, straight hair and was fairly tall, but she had never even glimpsed his face. One day, however, she saw a flier on a bulletin board that had head shots of all of the residents, and the minute she saw his grainy, black-and-white xeroxed photo, she knew that it was him. She learned his name, Dr. Joseph Rorke, and was hoping that she would meet him soon, not seeking anything romantic, just hopefully some answers to her dream. 124

Then, two mornings ago, she too had the breakthrough dream, where as she approached him on the trail with his back turned, he suddenly started to move forward, then paused and turned around. She had been caught off guard by this sudden new development, but felt slightly annoyed, slightly intrigued, slightly amused that this person whose attention she had not been able to get for months had suddenly turned around without provocation. Seeing his face was not a surprise to her, as she knew him from his picture. But she was intrigued by the familiarity of his gaze. She had said, “Hello, Joe,” and as she had looked into his brown eyes, she had found them to be impossibly deep and familiar, and her curiosity was piqued just as his pager had gone off shrilly and she had woken up. She had looked at the clock and it was 4:40. She had not slept the rest of the night, anxious to get to the hospital and hoping to find him. But she had been so distracted through the busy morning that she had forgotten her lunch card, and so she ran home over her break, and was rushing back when she came around the corner and crashed into him. She immediately knew who it was, and as she stood up she even called him by name, which was confirmed by his name tag. But she also felt 125

suddenly very silly about the whole thing, about her fantastical hope that he might hold the key to the riddle of her dream. Plus, it was a terrible way to meet a new guy, and though arrested by his presence and familiarity, she had purposefully shortened the encounter. It was conveniently true that she had to get back to work, and he had appeared extremely tired. And yes, her leg had actually been hurting pretty bad. She had thought about him all through that next night, had convinced herself that he probably thought nothing at all of their run-in, and wondered how she might pick a better way to introduce herself, or if it was even worth it. But the intensity and familiarity of his gaze, both from the dream and their encounter, had kept her wondering. The next morning she had overslept and had not been able to eat breakfast or get ready for the day as usual, and in addition to being very hungry, she was feeling very plain and uncharacteristically self-conscious. The labor and delivery unit had been busy that morning, and by lunch she had only about five minutes to grab something to eat, so when she found herself suddenly passing Joe in the hallway, she wasn't at first sure he would even recognize her. When he obviously did, she didn't feel ready or frankly 126

like she had the time to stop and chat. She tried to be friendly, but was kicking herself a few moments later for looking like an idiot again, when he surprised her over her shoulder with his warning about the apple. She took the flirtatious gesture for what it was, relieved by the positive sign. In those next few moments, she had felt so comfortable in his company that by the end of their encounter, she felt impressed to encourage their next meeting as soon as possible. As she explained all of this in the early morning sunshine by the lake, Joe had listened closely, with great curiosity, willfully suspending his disbelief, wondering what it all meant for him, for her, for them. Lost in each other, they were unconscious of the pressures of time, and neither had looked to their watch until just as she was finishing. It was five minutes to seven. Suddenly, the pleasing image of Kaitlyn before him was crowded out by the intrusive visage of grumpy Dr. Strumph. They were both were going to be late for work, and with great reluctance, they frantically wrapped up their discussion, sharing a rushed embrace and final brief kiss. For a second, Kaitlyn clutched him as though unable to let go, as though maybe this moment wasn't entirely real and would never happen again, and she hadn't 127

yet said what she wanted to or asked what she needed to. But reality pressed heavy on both of them, and they hurried to Joe's truck. Kaitlyn needed to stop and change, and so he dropped her off at her apartment and then rushed to work. He stumbled into the call room at 7:07, offering the unconvincing excuse that he had overslept. Farshad paused briefly from reciting his morning check-out. Julia gripped her coffee mug with jittery hands, attempted a sip, looked disappointed again that it was dry. Doug didn't look up from his papers, and Joe sloughed into his chair. The omnipresent humming of the machines and pipes buried beneath the walls droned loudly. Dr. Strumph looked to his papers, steaming like an unstable volcano, but said nothing.

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Chapter 13 Joe's rounding did not bring him near labor and delivery that morning, and it was killing him to think that Kaitlyn was so close and yet so far. Each time he stopped to think of her, the magical events of the early morning seemed to fade further away, and he was frightened they might disappear all together. He tried to hustle through his rounds to create some time to swing by, if only to see her briefly, to reassert the reality of her person over the misery of his job. But midway through the morning, his pager screeched at him with another “Code Blue, ICU Room 7.” Joe couldn't believe it. That was Elbert Manderson's room. As the resident on call, Joe was nominally responsible again for running the code, though during morning hours, the attending physician was typically present and assumed responsibility. Joe rushed to the unit, where the commotion of a code was typically more subdued than on the medical wards. He slid by a few nurses and into room seven, saw a respiratory technician administering CPR to Elbert's too familiar skeletal torso. There were a tangle of tubes and monitors attached to him. The monitor above the bed blipped irregularly. Joe felt relieved when he saw Dr. Agahi at the head 129

of the bed, taking information from Nurse Nancy. As Joe entered, they both looked to him, and all three shared a silent moment of cynicism for what was happening. Dr. Agahi looked to him and said politely, “Dr. Rorke, would you like work your magic again?” Joe replied, “Not really. It wasn't magic. It was just epi.” Then he asked, “Has anything changed with his directive?” Dr. Agahi said seriously, but with awareness of the irony, “The judge should be reviewing the case this afternoon. But for now, no. He is still a full code.” Joe tried to appear earnest, questioned, “So what's going on?” Nancy responded, “PEA. Again.” Elbert was already on the ventilator, was already getting compressions, so there wasn't much to try, only a few rounds of medications again. Dr. Agahi motioned, “Let's give some epi and see what happens. We won't try too hard here.” Joe hid a smirk at the role reversal in play, and he stood to the side of 130

the room as Dr. Agahi took command. The medicine was infused, the compressions continued, the ventilator whooshing away. To everyone's dismay, within thirty seconds of administering the drug, the cardiac monitor jumped back to a regular blip. Dr. Agahi looked to the monitor as he felt Elbert's neck, found a feeble pulse, and looked at Joe. Attempting humor, Dr. Agahi said, “I think we have his diagnosis. Epinephrine deficiency.” Nancy laughed cynically, muttering, “Yeah. Or ninety-seven years old.” As she and Dr. Agahi shifted from resuscitation to stabilization mode, Joe asked politely if they needed any more assistance from him, and slipped back out of the room. Since he was already there, he went next door to the room of the poor seventeen-year-old girl with fetal alcohol syndrome. She was still ventilated, in an induced coma, and not much had changed, other than that the neurologist had obtained an EEG and determined that she was still having intractable, sub-clinical seizures, but that they weren't noticeable due to her induced paralysis. As Joe walked into the room, the mother nearly assaulted him with 131

questions and accusations: Nobody in this hospital cared for her daughter; the nurses still hadn't come to change her soiled diaper; why didn't somebody tell her what was going on? Why didn't they fix her? She demanded a transfer to a different hospital, and with some misplaced optimism Joe did nothing to dissuade her from that notion, though he knew it would never happen. He attempted to answer her questions calmly, and, searching for an escape route, he pretended to receive a page and politely asked to be excused to retrieve it. At the nurse's station, he stopped to speak with the girl’s exasperated nurse, who had reached the limit of her patience and was therefore intentionally avoiding the room. She informed Joe that the neurologist had seen her this morning, diagnosed the persistence of the seizures, grimly stated there was no other therapeutic option other than keeping her ventilated and slowly bringing her out of sedation and hoping for the best. He had then loudly suggested that the family medicine residency would need to be the ones to decide how to proceed, as there was nothing more he could do. The pediatrician had similarly punted, noting that since she would turn eighteen next month, she was really no longer a pediatric case. Dr. Graves, the 132

intensivist, hadn't been in to see her yet, but the nurse inferred that he was probably going to stay as hands off as possible. It was a case dumping, unloading a hopeless, rewardless case on the least powerful entity involved, which usually wound up being the residents. Joe stewed as he proceeded to review the labs and her chart. What needed to be done, he thought fatalistically, was to pull the plug on this poor girl, keep her heavily sedated, and let her die a merciful death. But he knew that could never happen, either. As long as the mother was the proxy decision maker, and as long as she continued to threaten lawsuits and demand aggressive care, then they would be forced to continue life support indefinitely. With no other real options, Joe half-heartedly wrote some orders to change the dosing of one of her medications, fully aware that it was futile, like telling someone who was dying of a shotgun blast to the abdomen to take two Tylenol instead of one. It wouldn't make a bit of difference. He gathered himself and entered the patient's room, prepared this time to take full control of the discussion. He spoke to the mother, using glowing terms to describe the level of care she had been receiving, the compassionate concern of the physicians and nurses, the potentially miraculous powers of the dosing 133

increase, and suggested that they were doing everything in their power to help her. All lies and half-truths. It wasn't what he wanted to say or what she needed to hear, but it was successful in settling her down for the time being and getting himself out of the room. As he left, he felt a new level of disdain for himself and his profession. Walking back past Elbert's room, he glimpsed the monitor and saw that he was still maintaining a regular heart rhythm and that Nancy was fumbling angrily with his IV bags. Once into the main corridor, he thought briefly about heading down to L&D to see Kaitlyn when his pager went off again. It was the ER. Joe answered the page and was disheartened to hear of the trauma alert, which required him to present immediately to the ER. The brief report he received was that there was a thirty-year-old migrant worker coming in who had fallen off of a ladder and sustained a head injury. Joe dropped his shoulders and slumped into the wall for a few moments, then trudged to the ER through the back stairs, dreading the hours of work that lay ahead of him.

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Chapter 14 Once Joe arrived in the ER, he got involved in the case and temporarily forgot about his own miserable existence. The young migrant worker was named Jesus Macias, and had been working at a grain silo when he slipped, plummeting about thirty feet and landing on his head. He had sustained massive cranial injuries, but was still breathing. It appeared he also had broken both arms, several vertebrae and ribs and had a collapsed lung, in addition to other probable, as-yet-undiagnosed internal organ damage. It was amazing he was still alive by the time the ambulance reached the hospital. Fortunately for Joe, the trauma surgeon on call, Dr. Valerie Campbell, was friendly to the residents, and though Joe didn't know her well, she made extra overtures to get and keep him involved in the case. He ended up doing the intubation, placing the chest tube, and reducing the arm fractures. The neurosurgeon on call, perhaps taking a cue from Dr. Campbell, was also friendly towards Joe, and he requested that Joe assist him on drilling a surgical hole though the skull to drain some of the bleeding and reduce swelling. All and all, Joe got completely caught up in the case and, at some 135

level, remembered the excitement of being a doctor again. Here was a young man who should have died, and the hospital and team of doctors had given him a chance at life again. By the end of the afternoon, the patient was still in critical condition in a coma in the ICU, on the ventilator with tubes sticking out of every orifice and several places in between, with a neck brace and encased in bandages and casts, but he was alive, and might even recover. Only time would tell what degree of permanent brain damage he had sustained. Just after seven p.m, Joe was sitting in the ICU finishing his charting when he received an overhead page for Dr. Rorke. He immediately recognized the voice as Kaitlyn's, and after pausing a moment to recognize that fact, he nearly knocked over the phone in reaching for it. On the other line, her voice sounded tired but comforting, and she asked pleasantly how his day had been. She said that she had been busy with two deliveries, one of which was complicated but ended well, the other of which should have been easy but ended in C-section. After a brief pause, she said that she knew he was on call, but wondered if he had a minute to see her before she headed home. 136

Because of the afternoon trauma, Joe still had a monumental task list to complete, and his night had only begun. In fact, after an incredibly busy day, his shift was still less than half over. But that did not deter him for a second in agreeing to see her right away. They decided on the cafeteria. On his way there, he was temporarily distracted by another page that he had to return, this one concerning an elderly patient on the medical floor with pneumonia that who was now having chest pain. After giving some orders, Joe hustled down and found the cafeteria nearly empty, only Kaitlyn leaning tiredly against a post with a backpack slung over her shoulder. Joe felt his spirits brighten at the sight of her, and she smiled in relief as he approached. Joe noticed that she held an apple in each hand, and she offered one to him and said, “Hey, would you be interested in some real fruit? I hope these meet with your approval.” He eyed the firm, pink apples approvingly and said, “Hey, these look great. Thanks. I approve.” She laughed and said, “They're not from here. I brought them from home, threw them in my backpack this morning.” “Ahh . . .” he said. “Smart woman. They're a dramatic improvement 137

from the hospital orchard, in any case.” They sat down across from each other and began talking about the day, taking crisp, juicy bites as they spoke. Joe had told her with reserved excitement about the trauma and all he had been able to do, and Kaitlyn was duly impressed. She had spent some time as a trauma nurse in Albuquerque before switching to OB. She mentioned her two deliveries of the day, and how, though both had turned out differently than she had expected, she was happy to have healthy moms and babies in the end. As they finished the apples, Kaitlyn looked empathically to Joe and said, “I can't believe you still have to work through the night.” “And,” added Joe, “tomorrow morning.” “That's so cruel.” “We'll see. Every once in a while, you get lucky and catch some sleep.” He then remembered something, looked as though he would mention it, but didn't. She smiled modestly, looking down briefly. When she looked back to him, a intensity of that morning's events, which had been dimmed by the day 138

and by their friendly, familiar conversation, flashed before them both. After a moment, Kaitlyn asked, “Do you think you might have some time tomorrow to talk?” “I have the afternoon off. I usually sleep for a few hours. But I'm free all night.” “What if we went for a walk in the evening?” “Yes. I would like that.” “If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to you more about--” she hesitated briefly, as if uncertain whether the reality of their mutual dream had survived the normalcy of real life, the business of the day, then concluded, “about the dream.” Joe was surprised to feel himself react somewhat skeptically when she mentioned the word dream. He realized that while the intense events of the morning remained vividly with him, he did not remember the “dream” part of them as having been a dream. He remembered them as actual events, remembered the rainy kiss by the cabin as an exquisitely tangible encounter. As he dissected that thought, he remembered the fiery kiss by the lake. That, 139

he knew, was definitely real. But it too had become enshrouded in the fantastical hues and fluid emotions of that moment, and in a bit of disequilibrium, he reached and squeezed Kaitlyn's hand, as if to reassure himself that she, sitting before him with an apple core in one hand and his hand in the other, with her sky blue eyes peering inquisitively into his, was still real. She was. Joe retreated into that one crystal clear fact. She was real, and against all odds he was falling desperately in love with her. After a long pause, he looked back to her and said, “I'd love to talk to you about anything in the world. Want to plan on meeting at 6:15? That would give us some daylight left.” “That would be great. I should be off by five.” She gave him a relaxed smile and asked, “Do you want to come pick me up?” “Absolutely,” he said. He had been ignoring his beeping pager over the last couple of minutes, and now he heard his named paged overhead. He rolled his eyes, and she mentioned that she'd better let him get back to work. He thanked her for the apple, and they stood, slightly awkwardly, remembering the intensity of the morning but unable to recreate that intimacy in this moment beneath the flickering cafeteria lights with a pop machine 140

buzzing in the background. Kaitlyn's eyes seemed to surmise the reason for the hesitance. She gave Joe a reassuring smile as she leaned in for a hug, just enough for both to feel an ember of the morning's intensity still glowing from beneath the day's accumulated soot. Then she said goodbye as the intercom crackled again and repeated the page for Dr. Rorke.

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Chapter 15 Joe awoke from a deep sleep on Friday morning. He rubbed his face and stared at the clock in the call room. It was 6:21 a.m.. If he remembered correctly, he had last checked the clock at 2:06 a.m after finishing his evening rounds, which meant he had been sleeping for at least four hours. Amazing, thought Joe. There is a God. He sat lazily on the side of the bed, stretched a bit, and stood in the windowless dark of the call room. He crossed to the sink and splashed cold water on his face and his hair. This was good news. Having slept four hours, he would be alert for morning rounds, which meant he could be efficient and possibly be out of the hospital by noon. Then he would only need to take a short nap in the early afternoon, and then his golden weekend, completely free of hospital responsibilities, would begin. Dr. Dave Johnston had called him in the late evening to relay that his “boss” had approved nine holes of golf that afternoon, assuming that Joe would be able to function. They had decided to speak again in the morning and confirm. And after golf, Joe would pick up Kaitlyn at 6:15. Life was good. He was surprised to feel almost giddy. 142

He checked and double checked his four pagers to make sure he hadn't slept through something. He hadn't. He reasoned that if the pager stayed quiet he even had time for a quick shower and some tasteless breakfast before the inpatient team showed up at 7:00. After Kaitlyn left last night, Joe had a relentlessly busy evening. After squaring things away with the fallen migrant worker, he'd had to deal with several other minor crises. He was just getting to his task list when around eleven p.m., he got a call from the ICU. It was the night nurse, whom Joe didn't know, calling to let him know that a patient would be passing away shortly, and could he come up to pronounce him dead? When he asked for the name, she replied, “Elbert Manderson.” Joe hurried to the ICU, and the night nurse, who didn't know of Joe's previous involvement in the case, recited to him the details: this was a ninety-seven-year old man with end-stage dementia and pneumonia who had been resuscitated twice that week against the family's wishes. The judge had finally stepped in that afternoon and, acting as court guardian, had determined that they should now withdraw life support and provide comfort measures only. The nurse relayed these details in a tone that suggested she 143

had gotten her report from Nancy, and that she couldn't believe the doctors had allowed this man to suffer through two resuscitations based on legal technicalities. Per Dr. Agahi's orders, she had turned off the ventilator at exactly nine p.m, and then dosed him heavily with narcotics and sedatives. His breathing had slowly become more shallow. About ten minutes ago he had begun breathing agonally, and she had called Joe for the impending death pronouncement. Joe listened to these updates, feigning no prior knowledge of the case, and when she finished, he walked into the room. Elbert was covered with a sheet, the tube had been pulled from his throat, and only his gaunt face was exposed, his mouth gaping slightly. All of the machines and monitors had been turned off, except for a silent cardiac monitor which showed a pulse rate of 29. He was hooked up to only one IV and a urine catheter. The room was lit sterilely by the florescent light, and as Joe stepped to the bedside, it was calm, no beeping or whooshing, only Elbert's labored, slow gasps. Joe was alone with him for a few moments, felt the slow, feeble pulse in his wrist, and stared at his skeletal face, at his eyes that were partly opened in a thick death stare. Joe couldn't help but wonder what these last few days 144

of life had meant to him, while his son and doctors and judges had haggled over the right way to let him die. Had he been aware in any way? Or was he already brain-dead? Was he suffering? Did he feel trapped inside his body, or did he feel nothing at all? Would he be mad, indifferent, proud at how things had turned out? Or did his body merely persist, technically alive but without any sort of mental life? Joe thought the answer was probably this latter, and, he thought somewhat cynically, if that's the case, then maybe he, or this vegetative body, doesn't matter at all, and all of this has been nothing but a self-serving drama for the preening characters left alive to reinforce their own delusions that this--this dead man's life, or their own feeble existences, any of it, all of it-meant something within the vast emptiness of an indifferent universe. Joe shook his head at the nihilism implied by his own thoughts, a small cynical smirk creeping to his lips. Kaitlyn's compassionate countenance crossed his mind, and Joe wondered what she would think of him now if she could get inside his head and see his thoughts taking shape. Kind of depressing and scary, he thought. But in honesty, he didn't know if he even agreed with his own thoughts, only knew that, while staring at the 145

emaciated vestiges of an old man at the end of a long death spiral, it was impossible not to think them. Joe reached to close Elbert's eyes, which reflexively drifted back open. The nurse walked into the room with a syringe of more medicine, and as she did, Elbert shuddered and took two spastic breaths, and then stopped. Joe looked to the monitor. The heart tracing stopped, then after about six seconds, blipped twice, and then went flat. After a few moments, seeing no further activity or breathing, Joe leaned over and placed his stethoscope to Elbert's chest, could hear no heart sounds, no breath sounds. He placed his knuckles over his chest, felt the skin already cooling through the sheet, then rubbed firmly. There was no response. Finally, Joe perfunctorily placed his fingers back on his wrist. The pulse that had been so feeble, like a whisper, was gone. Joe was duly noting all of these things when a strange realization caught him entirely off guard. With his hand touching the man's thin, cooling, mottled skin, Joe was struck by the tangible sensation that something that had been there was now gone, that whatever measure of life had persisted just seconds before had now slipped entirely away, leaving behind a 146

hollow shell destined to decay into inanimate dust. The intensity of the feeling struck Joe sharply. He felt chagrined at the dismissive ruminations he'd had on the emptiness of this man's life, or of life in general. Then, just as he was digesting that guilt, he felt a peaceful sensation of release, of relief that Elbert, the skeleton man who had lived almost a century, the man whom Joe had twice helped pull reluctantly out of the grave, the man whom he had only known only as an inhuman living corpse in the final sad sentences of the final demented paragraphs of his life, the man who undoubtedly had lived, loved and lost in untold ways that would now fade into oblivion, was finally, mercifully dead. Joe paused with his hand on Elbert’s lifeless wrist, and after a few seconds he realized the nurse was looking to him expectantly. He pulled his thoughts together and mustered authoritatively, “Time of death--” He looked to the clock on the wall, and said, “11:15 pm, Aug 27th.” At that, the nurse promptly drew the sheet over Elbert’s face and said, “Thanks, Dr. Rorke. I'll notify Dr. Agahi and the family.” Joe was feeling unexpectedly unsettled, but nodded appreciatively as 147

he stepped away from the bed, and, with one last look at the sheet-covered corpse, he walked out into the dim ICU corridor. In the room next door, he could see the seventeen-year-old girl hooked up to the ventilator, could just make out the whooshing sounds and beeps that, here at least, signaled that the fight for her life wasn't yet over. He walked past Jesus Macias' room, saw his nurse bent over the bed, fiddling with his chest tube, and Joe headed off towards another floor. From there, the rest of his night had been rather routine and once he got busy he quickly forgot the unanticipated poignancy surrounding Elbert's death. The frequency of pages steadily decreased, and he started making progress on his task list. He had one simple admission of a little girl with gastroenteritis, and by two a.m., he was in the call room bed. By some miracle he had woken up on his own more than 4 hours later. When the team showed up at 7:00, Joe was looking fresh, showered, and downright chipper. Doug saw him and, after expressing some initial surprise that Joe was actually on time, was shocked to learn that he had been the one on call. Julia was in her typical state of advanced caffeination, while Farshad fed tentatively off of Joe's boisterous mood, even making a few light 148

jokes of his own. Even when Dr. Strumph settled heavily into his chair--two minutes late, Joe noted silently--the feeling in the room remained light. Joe launched into an expert, efficient run-down of the preceding day and night's events. He mentioned the neurologist's dump on the seventeenyear-old girl, and followed that with a quick review of the other fourteen patients still on the service who hadn't either died or been discharged. Then, because it was interesting, he finished with a slightly more detailed description of the migrant worker, who was still alive and stable in the ICU. Joe was describing the various procedures that Dr. Campbell had let him perform, when Doug noted aloud the patient's name, Jesus Macias. He interrupted Joe and asked, “Hey, doesn't Macias sound like 'Messiah' in Spanish?” Joe replied, “Si, senor.” Doug continued, “So yesterday,” he paused dramatically, “you brought Jesus Messiah back from the dead?” Joe acknowledged that fact with an appreciative half-bow from his seat, said theatrically, “I cannot deny it.”

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Doug sat back in admiration. “Man,” he said, “and I thought I was good.” The interns and Dr. Strumph chuckled. As the laughter settled out, Joe dead-panned with grandiosity, “Sometimes you come to Jesus. Sometimes Jesus comes to you.” More laughter, and with that they broke for the morning to do their separate rounding. Joe zoomed through it, and he was out the door by eleven a.m. He got home quickly, spent some time on his email, ate a quick lunch and took a power nap. He even got to the golf course a half hour early to hit some practice balls. When Dr. Johnston arrived, he noted Joe's light demeanor immediately. “You must have had a good call night,” he remarked. When Joe nodded affirmatively, Dave continued jokingly, “Or found a new girlfriend.” Joe laughed at that, wondered to himself if Dave or the residency in general knew anything or had started gossiping about Kaitlyn and him, but he could tell that Dave had only made an off-hand, friendly joke. Joe responded, “Well, Dave,” then thought to venture confidently, “Maybe a little 150

of both.” At that, Dave's eyes perked up, and he replied, “Really?” He smiled approvingly at Joe, and checking again said, “No kidding?” Joe knew that Dave, like the rest of the residency, had been heavily invested in finding Joe a girlfriend over the past year. Or at least in teasing him about his lack of one. “Well,” said Joe, suddenly wishing he had said nothing, not wanting to jinx himself, “It's probably too soon to call her a girlfriend, but . . .” his voice trailed off, as he pondered the nearly unbelievable fact that he had only known Kaitlyn for three days. Dave prodded, “Well, when did you meet this lucky gal?” Joe's mind was suddenly feeling uncertain about time. Had it really only been three days? He was sifting through the dreams and the collisions and the kisses, and he was suddenly certain that he shouldn't have mentioned anything to Dave, so he replied, “Oh, just over the last few weeks,” in a tone that communicated that he didn't want to talk much about it anymore. Suddenly, a memory registered with Dave, and he said, “Hey, this isn't that nice new L&D nurse, is it? What's her name? Katy?” Joe just 151

smiled, and Dave, sensing his reluctance to talk any further about her, politely refrained from further questions. Now they were at the first hole, and Joe was getting ready to tee off. Somewhat distracted, he addressed his shot, turned his hips and snapped his wrists and promptly shanked one into the bushes fifty yards to the left. Joe looked to Dave, embarrassed, and Dave pretended with exaggeration to have not seen anything. Joe took the cue, and teed up his next shot, measured it carefully, and this time nailed it precisely and powerfully. The club head made a resonant thwank, and Joe watched the ball rocket straight down the fairway. “Nice drive, Joe,” said Dave. The late summer afternoon was pure Colorado. Blue skies, pleasant dry breeze, lush green fairways. Joe played nearly stroke for stroke with Dave for the first six holes, then hit a ball into the water on hole seven and took an triple bogie, but regrouped on the final two holes to finish only three back of Dave. It was about the best golf Joe had ever played, and as they headed back to the clubhouse, Dave joked about the reasons for Joe's new game. “Must be that new girlfriend,” said Dave. 152

Joe just grinned, and said simply, “Yeah. Must be.” Dave, gauging Joe's reluctance, politely questioned, “So, not to pry, Joe, but is this something that might be serious?” Joe was feeling more relaxed and optimistic, and knew he could trust Dave. He said simply, “Maybe,” then looked up to the blue sky, clear and deep, speckled with high wispy clouds. He couldn't help thinking of Kaitlyn's eyes, and finished, “I hope so.”

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Chapter 16 Joe arrived at exactly 6:15 to pick up Kaitlyn. She raised the blinds to her window and waved to him, indicating she would be just one more minute. He noticed with some amusement how punctual he had become, at least when it came to her. He got out of his truck and walked up the stairs towards her apartment, arriving just as she opened the door. “Hey there, Joe,” she said brightly. Yet again, Joe was dazzled by her appearance. She wore khaki hiking pants and a light blue collared shirt that accentuated the blueness of her eyes. Her hair was in a ponytail, and a simple copper and turquoise necklace hung lightly across her slender neck. So far, she was succeeding in knocking him out every time they met, and seemed so effortless in doing it. Completely natural, Joe thought, and smiled back at her. “You look nice, Kaitlyn. As always.” She grinned and, closing the door, asked, “So, where are we going on our walk?” Pulling himself together, Joe answered, “Well, we have some options. 154

I was thinking of hiking down the along river.” “Sounds great. I'm easy to please.” They got in the car and spoke casually on the short drive to the trail head. Once there, they parked and walked through an open gate towards the huge cottonwoods, dark green with their late summer leaves. They began walking along the asphalt path that paralleled the river. The river poured along almost silently through the dense lush foliage, a dark golden flow in the late evening sun. Squirrels ran out over the river on thick boughs while birds chattered furtively. The air, cooling off after a hot day, was slightly damp, thick with the scent of leaves and trees, flowers and water. Kaitlyn began by asking how he was feeling. Joe responded that he felt great, mentioned, with all humility, his phenomenal game of golf that afternoon, and said how lucky he was to have had such an easy call night that made it possible. Kaitlyn, as always, seemed sincerely interested in even the most insignificant details, to the extent that Joe couldn't help but ask himself, Am I really this interesting? He didn't think so, but apparently she did. They continued down the path, with occasional bikers speeding by and a few joggers with dogs on leashes. The sunlight melted into a deeper 155

yellow, shining off the black river like golden foil. Kaitlyn asked about the migrant worker, and Joe mentioned that he was still alive, but in a coma and facing a very long road to recovery, that he would most likely have severe, permanent cognitive deficits. At that, Kaitlyn sighed and said, “I was thinking about him last night.” She bit her lip and added, “You know, that must be so horrible. To be comatose.” Joe attempted to joke, “Well, it's better than being dead.” Kaitlyn smiled, but responded earnestly, “Do you really think so? Don't you think he's in pain?” “Not really. We're keeping him extremely sedated.” “Yes, but still,” she said. “How horrible to be alive, but unconscious.” “Hopefully not unconscious forever. He might recover.” “But recover to what? To wake up one day and discover you're brain damaged? Or . . .” Her voice trailed off, and Joe was surprised at the passion of her tone. He felt himself reacting somewhat defensively. Of all the cases he was 156

currently involved in, this was not the tragic one. After all, this time he had been somewhat of a hero, putting in a chest tube, saving a life, giving a second chance to someone who should have died. And it was far from hopeless. There were a lot of things in Jesus Macias' favor: he was young, otherwise healthy, had been in the ER within fifteen minutes of the incident, had never had any cardiac issues. The rehabilitation, the disability, the chronic pain and suffering: those were distinct probabilities. But that was all down the road, and Joe would be long gone by then. Which, he thought selfcritically, is probably why those eventualities never crossed his mind. Then he thought of Dr. Cutler's remarks, of how difficult it was to measure the quality of life, even if that life might appear worthless or meaningless. In the end, it was still “life” until—until when? Until the heart stops beating, the lungs stop breathing, the pupils fixate? These, of course, were the textbook answers. Joe remembered learning how to perform these empiric exams as an intern, tests that now seemed so perfunctory. He was reminded of one of his chiefs saying to his wide-eyed class of interns, “You all may not know how to crap in your own pants yet, but you can learn how to tell if someone's dead.” 157

Joe’s mind drifted to last night, to his death examination of Elbert Manderson, which he hadn't thought about it since it happened. The details were rather routine. Yet the sensation that resonated again in Joe's memory hadn't been any empiric result of any scientific exam. It had been that tangible feeling of sudden absence—what someone religious might call a spiritual departure--the feeling that something had irrevocably left the clammy, emaciated body of a demented old man, a man who had appeared mostly dead for all of the three sorry days that Joe had known him, and then, mercifully, he was dead. All dead. Unmistakably dead. There had been had no extracorporeal manifestations, no angels or tunnels of light, just some absence that could be felt. And the fact that whatever essence, something beyond his breath and blood, had been animating the man's deteriorating flesh was now gone? That didn't necessarily imply that the same essence continued to exist elsewhere, be it in heaven or in some other dimension or in a genie bottle. More likely it was just gone, faded into oblivion. But something had released. Maybe that's why they call it giving up the ghost, he thought. Joe had lost himself briefly in his own ruminations, and after walking 158

a few steps in silence, he stopped and looked to Kaitlyn, “I'm sorry. I was just thinking about something.” “That's okay. Are you thinking about that worker? I didn't mean to suggest you didn't do the right thing.” He glanced at Kaitlyn, realized that what she had been saying about the misery of living in a coma had triggered the circuitous thoughts meandering through his brain, and he wanted to tell her something of it. “No, that's not it. It's just, just that I had a somewhat strange experience last night.” Standing in the shadow of a humongous cottonwood that had to be at least ninety-seven years old itself, Kaitlyn had folded her arms to keep from getting a chill. She looked to Joe, her faced speckled with shadows, and asked, “Want to tell me about it?” “Well, three days ago,” and he again paused when he remembered that Elbert's first resuscitation had awoken him from his breakthrough dream where he had met her. At that realization, he looked to Kaitlyn, but not wanting another awkward pause, he said, “Actually, it was in the middle of the night. Three nights ago. This old demented guy coded.” He was trying 159

to think of what to say, and then just said it, “That's what woke me up. From the dream where we met.” She looked at him curiously, and for all he could remember, she looked right now exactly like she had at that moment in that dream. Was she wearing these same clothes? Or was she in scrubs then? Wasn't it in daylight? Was that really the first time they had met? Not really. It had been only a dream, and they met for real later that day. He couldn't keep any of it straight; it was all running together. She cocked her head slightly to the side, waiting, and Joe continued, “Well, anyway, this guy. Unbelievable that he was a full code. Against all odds, we revived him with just epi. But it turned out his family didn't want him to be a full code, and they were furious. They were under investigation for mishandling his affairs. It was a mess. There was a big ethics meeting about him, and then he coded again, was revived again. Finally, a judge assumed guardianship and ordered that we withdraw life support.” Kaitlyn was listening closely, and he finished, “That was last night.” The first rays of orange and pink were lighting up the western sky, reflecting off the slow moving river so that it looked like a misplaced lava 160

flow. Joe thought to clarify, “He wasn't even my patient. I just happened to code him the first time, then I was on call again when he died.” Kaitlyn was listening, and Joe couldn't remember why he had even started telling this story in the first place, was wishing he hadn't. He suddenly felt uneasy about sharing it, and didn't know why. Having learned to suppress his emotions, he saw them as a sort of weakness. Equanimity. An attribute prized above all else in a physician. He didn't want to, almost couldn't, show weakness to Kaitlyn now. Which, he thought recursively, she's probably perceiving as weakness. But she continued to wait patiently for him to finish. He hated it when his brain did this to him, spinning itself in circular logic, over-thinking situations that didn't need to be so complex. Why didn't he just open his mouth, and without pre-processing anything, just tell her what he was thinking? He could trust her, had no problem in telling her so much about himself two nights ago. So why the trepidation now? Kaitlyn was still waiting, and so he just cut off his thoughts, uncertain of where he had left them, and said matter-of-factly, “He died within hours. I pronounced him dead.” 161

He said this, hoping to move on, but Kaitlyn looked to the ground and back, grinning broadly and knowingly at him, then started walking forward again, hands in her pockets. “Aw, Joe,” she said pleasantly, and he could tell that somehow she had pierced through all of his semi-hidden charade of selfpsychoanalysis, and knew everything. There was no hiding from her blue eyes. She seemed to discern everything about him. He liked that, he guessed, but didn't like it at the same time. He would have felt self-conscious if not for her playful tone that indicated she understood and accepted whatever bizarre mental battle he had just waged. Walking with her, Joe felt compelled to say, “I'm sorry.” He kicked a loose rock. Kaitlyn smiled with reassurance back at him and said, “Look, you don't have to apologize to me. We've only known each other for what, three days? But you can trust me, you know.” She was looking up at him, and now he was feeling embarrassed about feeling embarrassed. She was seeing through it all, and hiding seemed to be making it worse. He just shook his head, forcing himself to feel more relaxed, relying on her sincerity, and said, “I do know that. I know I can 162

trust you.” But it sounded like he was trying to convince himself. He gave a little self-aware snort, and continued, “In fact, since the first second that we met, I've felt so--” he kicked another rock, “I mean it's been so comfortable around you.” He realized he was referring to the first time they met in the dream, but he was getting tired of reminding himself that that hadn't actually happened. He continued, “Maybe too comfortable?” He wanted to say this right, though not sure entirely of what he was saying, “What I mean is, how can that be? Every time we've been together, it feels so right, so easy.” He took another step forward. Why was he bringing this up? Was he trying to push her away? But he had a feeling he had to say these things now. Because if he didn't, she was going to see through him anyways. He forged ahead, “It's almost like I can't convince myself, some part of my brain, that it's all real, even though another part of me believes that so effortlessly. Have things been so unnaturally natural that . . . ?” His voice trailed off. Why was he saying this? It was like he was trying to open up a distance between them that hadn't been there. He thought, I should just stop talking now, and so he did, only to find himself, without words, looking again into the incredible 163

depths of her eyes, and he knew the barriers he was trying to place there weren't going to withstand that. The full glory of sunset was igniting beyond them, orange through the trees and golden off the river. Kaitlyn was still folding her arms, and Joe, feeling a desire to be physically closer, reached over gently and placed his arm around her shoulders. She looked at him pensively, amused at this curious display of uncertainty, but unwilling to let him distance himself. The shadows were deep through the woods and across the trail, and they stood together in silence. Several moments passed, and then Kaitlyn laughed, somewhat subdued, and said, “I think natural is good, Joe. I don't know about unnaturally natural. But I understand what you’re saying.” She was being very sincere. “We don't have to move any faster than either of us is comfortable.” At that, Joe squeezed her a little tighter, feeling the surge of electricity between them, perhaps muted by the moment, but definitely there. Feeling the soft warmth of her body, he couldn't help but remember the sultry kiss by the cabin. They stood watching the sunset for a few minutes, and then 164

Kaitlyn asked, “I think, Joe, that we should talk more about the dream. I think if we understood how each other feels about that, we might feel more comfortable with whatever else is going to happen.” When he didn't respond immediately, she asked, “What do you think?” “Sure.” Actually, he didn't want to talk about it, but he knew she did, and he didn't know how to get out of it. He looked back over his shoulder and remembered a bench perched over a bend in the river a few hundred yards back. “Want to go sit on that bench?” “Yeah, that'd be nice.” They walked in silence, his arm around her, on the short stroll back. Kaitlyn seemed to be appreciating the sunset and the river. Joe was trying to convey a similar air of ease, but was racing to clarify his own thoughts about the dream. As the seconds passed, it became apparent to him that he hadn't reconciled himself to it, to what it meant or implied. He wished he could take a time out, gather himself and then come into this impending discussion with a well thought-out platform, a position paper. He wanted to support her. But he owed it to her to be honest, and frankly, some part of him resented the dream. He wasn't sure what that was all about, and as they 165

reached the bench and sat down, he knew he was bound to say something amiss. Kaitlyn said, “Good choice again, Joe.” Joe looked out across the darkening water and sighed, forestalling the inevitable. “Thanks. I jog over here a lot, but alone.” He still had his arm stretched around her, holding her comfortably, and said, “I've been saving this bench for you.” She laughed and said, “Well, thanks.” They were silent for a few more moments, watching two ducks crossing the river, drifting downstream. When she spoke, Kaitlyn gingerly approached the dream again. “So, Joe. Should we talk about it?” “Sure.” She sensed his reluctance, but forged ahead, “What does it mean? To you, that is.” “To me? The dream?” He was stalling, and she knew it. “Yeah, you know, the canoe, the cabin, the kiss.” She was smiling and said, “That dream.” Joe was trying to think of what to say, thought that breaking things 166

down might be a good place to start. “The dream. Okay, well, I guess the dream has been . . . fascinating. Would that be the right word? You know, it was uninteresting for so long. I didn't pay attention anymore. But now . . . now it's interesting again.” The ducks were padding up onto the opposite bank. “But honestly, I think it's only interesting because of you.” She demurred with a smile, but then, looking at him intently, probed, “Explain that.” “I mean that . . . that the dream--. The dream only means something to me because of you.” He was aware that he had just repeated himself without any additional clarification, but she looked as though she was considering his words very carefully. “I mean that, well, a dream is just a dream.” He saw the ducks disappearing into the low brush. “You, however--” he raised his hand to her neck and ran his fingers through the base of her hair, “You are very real. This, all of this,” he was looking out over the river, to the sunset that had almost burnt itself out, “This is very real.” She had her head down, appreciating the neck rub, and she reached back to take the band out of her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. She 167

sighed appreciatively, “Thanks, Joe. That feels great.” He had said all that he supposed he wanted to. He knew she felt differently, more intuitively, less empirically, but he wanted her to understand that this, this reality, was what mattered most to him. He hoped he hadn't insulted her. She was silent, and he thought that maybe the conversation would end there. But with continued silence, he felt obliged to ask, “How about you?” She sighed, “I'm trying to figure it out, too.” She sounded relieved he had asked her opinion. Joe steeled himself, thought, no matter what, don't make light whatever she's about to say. She continued, “Honestly, I think it's something amazing. Wonderful. I don't know where it came from or why, but I do think it means something, and that it's important.” She sat up, and his hand fell back to the bench. “If all it was supposed to do was to bring us together, then that would be more than enough. But,” she bit her lip, and finished, “there's more.” Joe settled back just a bit. He had been hoping to persuade her that the dream, for all its fascination, was done. But she was staking her own ground now, and he realized, at least, that she fully expected more from it, 168

and by extension, more from him. Joe found himself feeling a bit slighted at that recognition, not by Kaitlyn, but by the dream itself, like he was being marginalized, or asked to play a supporting role when thought he had a lead. Could it be that there was some greater purpose to the dream than merely encountering each other? That maybe their whole new relationship was just a minor component, dramatic foreshadowing, of something more important? Joe wasn't liking this idea. He didn't want it to become a big deal. It was fine if the dream had brought them both to this point. He was ecstatic to be here. But he didn't like the idea of being taken any further along by something as capricious as a dream. He didn't know how to put those thoughts into words, and he found himself responding in a too dismissive tone, “Who says there has to be more to it? Couldn't this be enough?” Kaitlyn looked to him, seemed genuinely surprised at his tone, not that he thought differently from her on this essential point, but that he would react defensively to her ideas again. She started to say something, but rather continued to look him squarely in the eyes. She was beginning to sense his obstinance, the depth of his scientific worldview. She seemed to be 169

considering these attributes in a new light. But she said kindly, “Yes, Joe. This is wonderful. And it would be enough. But there is more to it. A lot more, I think.” “How do you know?” Joe was feeling cornered, and he was struggling with his instinct to push back. She subtly pulled away from him, and said, “How do I know? Well,” she was thinking, trying to consider his objections seriously, “because we haven't even made it to the cabin, for one thing.” Joe thought suspiciously to himself, And what would be the point of that? He remembered the cabin vividly. It had seemed so magnificent from a distance. But up close, he had seen the dark cracked windows, the splintered floorboards and cobwebs, the slightly foreboding presence that it emanated. And then he felt foolish for even thinking about it, because it wasn't real. He said, “Well, who says we have to make it in the cabin?” Kaitlyn looked out across the river, and he continued, more carefully, “My impression, from the dream,” he said, emphasizing dream, “is that we made it there, before the rain--” but then he couldn't suppress the memory of the luscious kiss. He wondered again why he was pushing her away here. Why couldn't he just 170

believe in this one thing, if only for her? It had brought them this far. Here was proof of that. He reached back to run his fingers through her hair-- “and couldn't that have been the whole point?” “No” she said. “I don't think so. I think--” she gave him a look that said, Please don't dismiss me again-- “I think there's something for us inside the cabin. Something we have to find.” “And you don't think it's just me? You don't think I'm the answer to all your dreams?” He was trying to make light of the situation, but she responded seriously, “Well, you're not inside the cabin.” “No.” Joe suddenly felt peevish, and said, “I'm just blocking your way, right? From where you really want to go.” Kaitlyn perceived the hurt in Joe's response. In the twilight, her eyes shone with a bit of pity. He knew he was behaving poorly, selfishly. Kaitlyn looked to him with firm kindness said, “Joe, you're not just blocking the way.” She reached to his face and said, “Look. That kiss by the cabin was wonderful.” Then with some promising tease in her voice, she said, 171

“Hopefully the first of many.” Joe smiled, “Yes, but . . .” He paused, and asked, “But how about the kiss by the lake? That one was real.” She smiled, patiently said, “That one? Even better.” She looked down to the ground for second, then back to him, “Look, I want to be with you, here and now.” She was staring into him with her deep blue eyes, which looked violet at dusk, and she leaned in and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “But there's more. I want you here, and I need you there, too. In the dream. You need to understand that.” He was relenting beneath the enchanting powers of her eyes, and he said softly, “So what does that mean? How can I help you in your dream?” She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes, and said, “I don't know. But if there is a next time, we need to make it inside the cabin.” Joe forced a relaxed smile, and said, “I can try to do that.” He wasn't sure how he could deliver, but didn't hurt to offer. She said, “And one more thing.” “Yes?” 172

“Promise me that you will believe me. If you don't believe in the dream, or in anything else, still believe in me. Remember what you said. I'm real, right?” The deepening shades of night scattered through the trees, reflecting off the river, off her eyes, and at that moment he couldn't imagine not believing in her. He reached to touch her cheeks, leaned towards her. He paused, began to kiss her tenderly. She stopped, dropping her head. He held her tightly, and she embraced him fervently for a few moments, then looked to his eyes. “Alright, Joe. Thanks.” He looked down to her and chuckled, “For what?” She looked back, pulled gently away from him, and stood. She reached for his hand, turning back up the pathway. She didn't answer directly, but asked playfully, “Do you think we make can it back through the dark?” He responded with confidence, “Know the way by heart.” “Good,” she said. “I trust your heart.” They turned to walk back 173

through the evening shadows, hand in hand. Joe tried to think of another line of conversation, but nothing else came to mind, and after a few moments, he sensed that she was lost in her own thoughts, too, and they made it back to the truck without another word.

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Chapter 17 Here he was in the canoe again. And again, it took him a few minutes to fully realize it. He felt slightly exasperated at being here, against his will, really. He was getting to spend real time with Kaitlyn in real life, had just dropped her off back home a few hours ago after some ice cream and casual conversation. This relationship was capable of proceeding onward independently, and the dream's services would not be required anymore, thank you very much. He didn't appreciate being carried somewhere against his will, or being forced to drift in this lame canoe. Why couldn't he have picked a jet-ski? He slipped slowly towards the shore again, water lapping against the hull, fog curling around him. For a moment, he closed his eyes, wondering if he might be able to force himself to wake up back in reality. But after a few seconds, he peeked open, and nothing had changed. He was still drifting through tentacles of fog. Resigned to his fate, he thought he might as well speed things up and get to the good part, and with that he thought of how the last dream had ended, with him in Kaitlyn's arms and tasting her lips. He plunged the paddle in and pulled strongly through the water. 175

He got to the pier and strode promptly across the wooden dock, through the wet brush, and out into the brilliant valley. He looked up and down to the cabin, to the valley, and was surprised to see no sign of the thunderstorm. From here, the cabin looked new and luxurious again, and he started to walk towards it. He felt dumb this time when, yet again, he was surprised to feel something pulling him backward. He turned, and of course, there was Kaitlyn. “Hello, Joe,” she said again, as always, and he felt himself very pleased to see her, but not entirely comfortable this time. He knew by now she could sense such things in his eyes. Even in the dreams, he thought. “Hey,” he said. “Here we are again.” Her eyes sparkled enigmatically, but she said only, “Race you to the cabin again?” “Uh, actually--” he looked up, wanted to tell her to wait and see what would happen if they just took their time, or took off in another direction, or just sat down in the dirt and played tic-tac-toe. A little experiment. But thunder crackled, and he looked and saw the storm now, rolling towards them. When he turned back around, she was sprinting up the path. 176

“Kaitlyn? Let's wait--” But she was gone, looking back encouragingly. Joe had to admit she was an extremely attractive target to pursue. Oh well, he thought. The thrill of the chase. He jumped to the short cuts right away this time, but still couldn't make up any ground on her. She kept her pace just fast enough to keep him on her heels. The rain began to spatter as they closed in on the cabin. They raced up the steps, and he caught her at the top again and pulled her to the ground. They fell beside each other, laughing, but there was strain in Joe's laughter this time. She looked at him as the warm drops began splashing down. She said intentionally, “Looks like you're getting pretty good at running me down.” “Well apparently--” and he found himself amazed that they were saying the same things, exactly. But it still fit, and he couldn't think of what else to say. Plus, he wanted to proceed on to the next part, so he continued, “it's the only way I can get you to talk to me.” She laughed and her eyes simmered with the same sultry, uninhibited passion, rain and sweat gathering in small creases above her lips, and she 177

reached and pulled him towards her. Now this is the part I like, Joe thought, finally allowing himself to be carried away in the dream, in the moment, in her embrace. She pulled towards him and said, “Well, Joe. We made it. Again.” This time, Joe didn't ask her what she meant. He understood it better now, but it didn't matter. He slid his face towards hers and kissed her sensuously, tasting the salty moisture of her lips, feeling the soft pressure of her body against his. Her hands caressed his neck, and his hands started to stray down her back, when she pulled herself away, wriggling slightly beneath him. Their eyes opened, and they looked at each other. Joe's eyes flamed with passion. Her eyes flickered with reflections of lightning, and pleading understanding, she whispered, “Not yet, Joe.” Joe could hardly restrain himself and went to kiss her again when a thunderbolt cracked and shattered the air. They both jumped, startled. As if unleashed by the thunder, the warm splashing rain suddenly transformed into a frigid shower. Joe yelped at the dramatic temperature change, and as he twisted in her arms, the cold water splashed onto her, and she caught her 178

breath. They both scrambled to stand, and suddenly the clouds opened up with stinging sleet that seemed to slice like razors. Kaitlyn was dancing in shock, half-laughing, half-yelping. Joe grabbed the handle to the large glass door in front of them. It was locked. He shook it violently, pulled back with his feet. It didn't budge. The heavy drumming of sleet on the deck turned into a crescendoing roar. The sleet morphed into pea-sized hail that began pelting them, and Joe saw Kaitlyn wincing in pain. He looked to her, her lips turning blue, dripping with water, hands covering her head. She squeezed towards Joe, yelling above the deafening din, “This isn't so fun! Let's get in the cabin!” Joe yelled back, “Or how about we just wake up?” She eyed him skeptically, and he yelled, “I'm serious. Pinch me.” Bouncing in the painful hail, she reached over and pinched him on the arm. “Ouch,” he said. But nothing changed. Wincing from the heavy pelting of hail, he saw that she was quickly becoming cold and panicked. He shook the rigid door handle again, tried to peer through the glass but couldn't make anything out, then looked to the deck floor. 179

“Can we just break in?” Kaitlyn yelled. Her teeth were chattering. He looked around, and saw a large softball-sized rock, sparkling in wetness a few feet from the door, sharp daggers of quartzite jutting out in every direction. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand. One of the jagged edges sliced his palm, which started to bleed. He stared for a moment, amazed to see his own blood in his own dream, quickly diluted by cold water running down his fingers. That's weird, he thought. He looked to Kaitlyn, whose eyes shone with desperation, and he held the rock up. He yelled to her, “Should we do it?” She yelled back, shivering, “Yes!” Joe turned to the door, and after a second's hesitation, he smashed the rock through the glass. The pane shattered, splintering cleanly out of the door frame. As the shards tinkled to the floor, Joe peered into the darkness, could not see anything beyond a rectangle of gray light falling across the wooden floor, puddled with water and littered with glass. He looked to his hand, shook his bleeding palm, and dropped the quartzite rock through the door onto the floor. When it hit the ground, it shattered like ceramic. The pieces settled, and he saw a spinning golden object on the floor. He reached 180

through the door to grab it. It whirred and then stopped in his fingers, and he saw it was a golden ring. He looked back to Kaitlyn, who smiled impatiently through her dripping shivers. Another lightning bolt crashed, an earsplitting crack of thunder, and with hail hammering across them, Joe reach back to grab Kaitlyn's hand and they stepped quickly through the door into the darkness.

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Chapter 18 Joe was panting heavily and fumbled at the bedside for his phone. It was 4:22 a.m., and he was wide awake. He thumbed through his contact list, passing one hand over his chest to see if he was wet. A little sweaty, but not soaked. He could feel his heart pounding. His room was dark, a slit of orange streetlight leaking through his broken blinds. Kaitlyn picked up on the first ring. She sounded a bit desperate, and answered, “Joe?” “It's me, Kaitlyn. It's me.” Then he couldn't help but laugh, and the first thing he thought to say was, “Are you alright?” “Yeah. I'm--” She laughed herself. “I'm dry. And warm. How about you?” Joe said, “I'm fine,” then couldn't stop laughing into the phone. Then she started laughing, and they devolved into uncontrolled laughter, like they had just gotten off a thrilling roller coaster. Finally, they gathered themselves, and he could only say, “Wow.” 182

Kaitlyn, composing herself, said, “Yeah. Wow is right.” Then, catching her breath, she asked, “Are you a believer now?” “A believer?” He paused, said again, “Wow.” “We're going to need to talk about it.” “Yeah. I think you're right.” Then Joe thought that maybe he should verify this, make sure they were both actually experiencing the same thing. “What just happened? In your dream, I mean.” “Well, pretty much the same as before. I climbed the cliff, then into the valley. You looked a little reluctant on the pathway.” Joe knew it, knew she had sensed that. She could see everything. She continued, “We raced, we kissed--” she hesitated, lingered on that word for a moment, sounded a bit embarrassed, then continued, “and then the rain turned freezing cold. Then it started hailing.” She paused, and then asked Joe, “What happened in yours?” “Well, just like you said. It was hailing, and I asked you to pinch me. It was freezing and I couldn't open the door. Then I found a rock and smashed the glass. It was dark inside, and I picked up a golden ring on the floor. Then I grabbed your hand and we jumped through.” 183

“Did you see anything else?” “No. It was pitch black. And now here we are.” Joe was thinking of other details: her wriggling away from his stray hands, his bleeding palm. Not only was it so vivid, so intensely real, but it seemed to mean something, to be intrinsically symbolic. And he was feeling it now, too, the need to figure it out. If it was a puzzle, give him some time and he could solve it. If it was narrative, he could deconstruct it. If it was a cornball romantic comedy, he could pop popcorn and snuggle up with her on the couch. But whatever it was, it was real, was really happening, and he was convinced of that now. Well, maybe not really happening, but really happening in some inexplicable dream sort of way. His brain was throwing up the white flag. Okay, he thought, I'm hooked. They agreed to sleep a few more hours and then meet up for breakfast at his apartment. They had already planned on spending the day together, as they both had Saturday off. Kaitlyn suggested that they drive up to the mountains. She had some maps to check out, and they could talk. When she ended the call, Joe looked at his phone for a few seconds, then placed it absently back on the nightstand. He dropped heavily back into 184

his pillow, put his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes. He thought of the exquisite softness of her lips, and then of the sudden freezing rain and hail. He brought his hand in front of him, felt his palm in the dark. It was smooth, no scars, no bleeding. He thought of the spinning ring, the desperate look on Kaitlyn's face as he led her through the door. He turned onto his side and drifted back into an uneasy sleep.

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Chapter 19 Ahhh, Saturdays, thought Joe. This is how they should be. It had been months since he had enjoyed a Saturday, since he had really taken a break from the misery of the hospital and done something just for the pure fun of it. He reflected that he had gone through pretty much an entire summer without a memorable weekend. That should be a crime in Colorado. Partly, it was because three out of every four weekends he was either on-call, post-call, or pre-call, which meant that, come Saturdays, he was either working, exhausted, or depressed. Mostly, it was because he had been spent the last year digging a deep, sad ditch for himself to be laid in, miles to go before he slept, surviving, living life like a dysthymic automaton. He hadn't realized how deep the hole was until Kaitlyn started pulling him out. But today. Today it was like the sun itself had burnt a hole straight from purgatory into paradise. He couldn't believe how bright everything looked, how intensely alive he felt. Kaitlyn was beside him, and he was pretty certain nothing could go ever go wrong again. A perfect day. They were standing almost literally at the top of the world, or at least 186

of the continental United States, twelve thousand feet high, a million miles away from the hospital, halfway up a trail that snaked off a highway traversing Rocky Mountain National Park. It was Trail Ridge Road, the highest paved road in the USA, and it bisected the park. There were hordes of late summer visitors crowding the summit with cars and motorcycles and R.V.s, even a dude in dreadlocks on a unicycle and three women in bikinis soaking in a pool in the back of a pickup with a lucky man in a cowboy hat. But Joe didn't notice anyone or anything but Kaitlyn all day. This high up, the sky was a velvety deep blue, undulations of cottony clouds painted along its ceiling. The sun was hot on their skin, but an alpine wind whistled along the ridge and cooled them. Kaitlyn pushed some loose hair out of her face, brushed it away as she tried to follow Joe's finger, which was pointing out a dark, rocky canyon that sloped between two glaciered peaks, lifting out of the dark green pines that blanketed the sweeping valley. A sliver of white spilled between the purple-gray cliffs. “I hiked up to those waterfalls late last summer,” Joe was saying. “A full day trip, but worth it. I think I only saw five other hikers all day.” “Did you go by yourself?” 187

“Yes. Like always.” “Well, I'll keep you company next time.” “Excellent. As long as you don't run away from me when I try to talk to you.” A flash of intimacy crossed her face, “You'd catch up to me at the right time.” Joe couldn't imagine ever seeing anyone more beautiful. Surprisingly, that had been their first allusion to the dream all day. It was as though each of them had decided independently that they would curtail any further discussions of the dream until later, and that for now they would just enjoy the day for what it was. When the time was right, they would have all the time they needed. For now, the dream, the cabin, the ring, these things didn't need to be formed into words. They hiked several short trails, saw a herd of elk and a golden eagle, took pictures by a roaring waterfall, and by late afternoon, they were headed back down the mountain towards Estes Park. The mountains cast shadows onto the aspens that tufted out across the bustling tourist town. The sun was wedged between two broad, rough peaks and dropping. Joe was in a 188

positively boisterous mood. He hadn't felt so alive in years. Or ever. Here was a luminous woman beside him who was perfect in every way. It was like she had walked right out of his dreams. Which, of course, Joe smiled, she had. They parked and walked hand in hand toward Joe's favorite local restaurant, the Colorado Chop House just off Main Street. He was stepping jauntily down the sidewalk, joking. Kaitlyn was laughing beside him, chiming in and enjoying his show of joie de vivre. He had been raving about this restaurant all day, and they had both worked up a hearty appetite. They settled into a corner booth. Joe placed his hat and wallet on the table and Kaitlyn removed her jacket, and they both sat in silence for just a second as they perused their menus. When the waiter came, they ordered breaded mushrooms as an appetizer. She ordered the Carolina honey ribs and he ordered a New York strip steak. Joe was mellowing out in the low-light, rugged ambiance of the restaurant. They sipped their ice water, and Kaitlyn said, “Thanks for a wonderful day, Joe. This has to be one of the prettiest places in the world. I'm so glad it's so close.” 189

“Gotta love Colorado.” “I do,” she said. “Good. Then you'll stay?” He meant it flirtatiously, but she considered it more carefully than that. “Definitely,” she said, with special earnestness, and then they both fell silent. After a minute, she broached the subject of the dream, “Would you mind if we talked about the dream for a bit?” “Not at all.” “You sure?” “Positive. You asked me this morning if I was a believer? The answer is, yes. Born again. Go ahead and baptize me.” “Wow. A true believer. Just like that?” She was teasing him. “What changed?” “Well, today--” he scooted around the table towards her-- “I realized something supremely important.” He grabbed her hand. “I want to be where you are. If that's by a lake or in a restaurant or in a dream, then I'm there.” “Thank you, you sweet man.” 190

“No, thank you for making this the best week of my life.” Joe was gushing. Sincere, but gushing. He seemed just slightly unhinged. Kaitlyn wanted to bring things back to earth a bit more. “So, speaking of dreams--” “I'm ready.” She hesitated just a second to let him know she was trying to be serious. “Okay, Mr. Believer. Do you have any idea what it means yet?” “I'm starting to.” He put his hand to his chin and finished, “Yes.” “Well, I've been thinking, too--” “I know. About the ring.” “Well, yes. About several things in the dream, and what they mean. One of them being the ring.” “Yes. I've been thinking about that, too.” “Good.” “And that is exactly why,” Joe was ebullient, floating along on his mood like a runaway train, “I'm going to ask you right now if you would marry me.” 191

“Joe?” He wasn't sure exactly what he was doing, but it felt right. He knew he could never regret it, not with Kaitlyn. He got down on one knee beside the table, placed a hand over his heart and the other in her lap, and looking into her blue eyes, he took a deep breath and said, “Kaitlyn Sullivan, will you marry me?” She looked at him, glanced around the restaurant, could see that heads were starting to turn in their direction. He continued, mumbling under his breath, winking, “I'm sorry. This is a bit spontaneous. I don't have a real ring yet.” It was growing quiet. She laughed shyly, said quietly, “Joe, we've only known each other for four days.” Eyes locked on hers, he said sincerely, “And I've never been more sure of anything in my life. I want to chase you through your dreams forever. I love you entirely. And I want to marry you.” The restaurant was hushed, and she blushed, “Aww, Joe.” And then looking to him she whispered, “You're serious? Because it's not funny if you're not.”

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“Kaitlyn, I'm deadly serious. I love you. And I want to marry you. How many more ways can I say it?” She locked her eyes on his. “Well, then,” and a smile curled mysteriously to her lips, and she said softly, “the answer is yes.” Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight. He leaped into her seat and kissed her deeply. She tilted her head back as ooohs and aaahs scattered through the restaurant. The table closest to them broke out in light applause. A table of six bearded Harley riders woofed and raised their beers from the corner. A half minute later, Kaitlyn looked up and saw their waiter approaching. She lifted Joe's head and straightened herself out. The waiter congratulated them and asked if they would like any wine for the occasion. Joe was about to say yes, but she politely declined. He suggested a dessert instead, after the meal, and Kaitlyn thought that would be perfect. He left, and Joe retreated reluctantly to his side of the table. The attention of the other diners had left them, and they started munching distractedly on the mushrooms. Kaitlyn smiled at Joe, in pleasant shock. “Wow. I love you, too, Joe.” She paused, smirking, “That was quite a 193

surprise.” “Well, I admit, it was kind of out of the blue. But hey, isn't that where the dream leads?” Joe smiled to reassure her that he meant every word, “It's so right. I'm on the dream bandwagon. It's a perfect day. It all makes perfect sense. We have to get married.” “Well, you always have a choice.” “Yes, and I choose to marry you.” He paused and became more serious. “Kaitlyn, look, you don't know me very well--” and he paused and thought that maybe wasn't the right thing to say since she had just agreed to marry him. “I mean, you haven't known me very long. But I'm a guy who doesn't make big decisions unless I've thought a lot about them--” Well, he hadn't thought about this at all. “I mean, unless I feel certain about them.” She was looking at him quizzically, and he continued, “What I'm saying is, as you get to know me better, you'll find that I take this sort of thing very seriously. And in some incredible way, even though it’s been only four days, I'm totally, completely, one hundred percent certain that I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.” “Glad to hear it, seeing as we'll be getting married.” She was 194

grinning, slightly exasperated at his ex post facto explanation. He told her he would get her a ring. He was going to start by breaking open every rock he saw. They started talking about dates. The sooner, the better, he suggested. The waiter brought their meals, and Joe dove into his steak. Kaitlyn picked thoughtfully at her ribs. She watched him cutting his meat ferociously. His wedding proposal had truncated their discussion about the dream. The ring was important; she knew it meant they were supposed to get married. But there were other things. Important things. The hail, the rock, the blood. The darkness of the cabin. She saw all of these. But she had seen more, too. She thought about bringing them up, but between bites, Joe was suggesting ideas for consolidating apartments, opening joint bank accounts, etc. She listened distractedly and wondered where it was all leading.

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Chapter 20 Sunday was not a good day. Labor and delivery was crazy. There were seven women in labor at once and Kaitlyn had two of them. The first one was Spanish-speaking only and weighed close to four hundred pounds. The other one was an uptight, forty-year-old wealthy woman who had a detailed birthing plan and whose husband was an overbearing lawyer. For the forty-year old, this was her first baby, and she was being induced because she was a week past due. She was not happy about it. She did not want an IV, did not want any monitoring, did not want to wear a hospital gown. She eventually compromised on the monitoring after her husband took the doctor out for a careful chat in the hallway, but then she complained incessantly about the straps across her swollen belly. She was sweet to the doctor, but the minute he left the room, she took it all out on Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn knew from the first minute that the woman was destined to have a C-section. She would fuss and moan and sweat and argue for the next twenty-four hours, and then the induction would stall. She wouldn't dilate, the baby wouldn't descend, and then sometime tomorrow morning she would 196

start sobbing in exhaustion and curse at Kaitlyn and her husband. The doctor would calmly tell her that the baby looked okay for the time-being but that if nothing changed in the next few hours they would have to seriously consider a C-section. At which point she would entirely decompensate and would deliriously, bitterly weep, “Fine, just cut it out! Just cut it out.” They would, and when she was waking up in recovery a few hours later she would be holding her baby and all the pain and drama would have vanished, and she would smile sweetly at Kaitlyn and say, “Thank you.” But it would be entirely insincere. When this woman's labor horror story was told and retold to all of her working friends and upscale relatives, Kaitlyn knew that she would assume the role of the villain. Never have a birth plan, Kaitlyn thought. The more you try to control things, the more you invite chaos to rear its head. And then things get ugly. She smiled ironically, chiding herself as she fumbled with hanging a fresh IV bag over the four hundred pounder's bed. No matter what her thoughts were, she would be sweet and compassionate to both patients. She was constitutionally incapable of acting out on any of her more cynical thoughts, and she knew it. 197

What was getting into her today? She should be ecstatic, but she felt irritable. She loved Joe, more than she could almost believe, and he had asked her to marry him yesterday. She wished today were over so she could see him again, to remember exactly why she agreed to something so crazy. But she knew why. In some inexplicable way, her life was being carried forward by the wave of the dream. She had moved here through the dream. Had met Joe, kissed Joe through the dream. And when the dream showed them a golden ring as a ticket into the cabin, she knew it meant she had to say yes when he proposed. It was the next step. And it wasn't hard to say yes. She loved Joe. She felt she knew him as well as she had ever known anybody, except for maybe her own father. And yet she had known him for less than one week. But there was something so deeply familiar about his gentle brown eyes. She saw deeply into him, and she saw hurt there, but she also saw great strength. She saw untapped compassion and fierce intelligence. And she saw uncertainty, and more than a little bit of fear. She saw all of that when she looked into his eyes, and she even saw through his defenses and his guarding and his mind-twisting logical circles. 198

Somehow, she could peer into the deepest corners of his soul and she knew and accepted them all. And she knew that she, more than anyone else alive, could reward his passion, ease his pain, calm his fears. She could love him completely like he deserved to be loved, and she knew it from the first moment they had met in the dream. But she was almost ashamed to admit that there was more than a bit of selfishness in her appraisal of him as well. Because he had something she needed. He held a key, a key to understanding her dream, and she needed his help. Because she was scared, too. Her whole life, she had lived beneath the shadow of her father's loving guidance, but also beneath the blanket of his fears. His wife--her mother--had died young, died in childbirth with her, and it had scarred him. Though he never verbalized the thought to her, a lifetime of interactions, of fatherly concern, of slightly paranoid premature conclusions, had caused her to know that he feared the same fate for his daughter. He would never have admitted it, but he had done everything he could to keep her away from boys, or from young men, or from any remote possibility of her getting pregnant. He was religious, though not overly so, but he couldn't have been more strict 199

with her on the importance of abstinence. When she had her first period at age thirteen, he had a technical, very awkward discussion with her regarding sex, and though she digested the facts, and though she was only twelve, she had even then seen through his scientific facade. When he said that you could die if you have sex before you're married, she understood what he was really saying was that he loved her, feared for her and could never bear to lose her the way he had her mother. When, as a sophomore in college, for the first time in her life, Kaitlyn had a real boyfriend--a very decent fellow tennis player whom she invited to Thanksgiving dinner—her dad seemed less than enthused, even though they had a lot in common. By Christmas, he had resigned his teaching job and accepted a new research position in Africa, on the other side of the world, and he wanted her to come along. That had provoked what was undoubtedly the biggest argument of their life. Kaitlyn had accused him of being over-bearing, freaking out, trying to prevent her from experiencing life and love. He was genuinely taken aback by her accusations. Over the course of a day, he reflected on them and admitted that maybe there was truth to what she’d said. But if he 200

was at fault, it was only because he loved her too much. She was exactly like her mother, in appearance, in personality, and perhaps he couldn't bear to lose her to someone else, much less to childbirth. He couldn't hold onto her forever like that, she argued. He had to let her go. Then they both started crying, and in the end, she had an unnecessary argument with the tennis player a week later about his penchant for breaking the speed limit, and that relationship ended swiftly. By early January, she was on the plane to Kenya with her dad. Seven months later, after she returned from her father's battle with malaria, the tennis player was sleeping with her best friend from the team. She didn’t let it bother her, because she and her dad would be relocating to New Mexico for her new job anyway. Over the next few years, she was asked out dozens of times, mostly by swooning male hospital workers, including a fifty-two-year-old, recently divorced plastic surgeon. But she wasn't much interested in any of them, and allowed a handful of first dates to occur. And those only turned into one second date, with a guy who turned out to be way too forward in his feelings for her. She smiled at the irony: he had told her he had seen her in a dream. 201

She instead became engrossed in her nursing studies, and then with her father's deteriorating health. Soon, five years and her father had passed away, and she was terribly alone. She was twenty-six and had never been in love. The same age as when her mother died. And now suddenly, she was engaged? Engaged to a wonderful man, a handsome young doctor, whom she had barely met but who she somehow knew completely. A man very much like her father, and she felt that he would have approved, albeit after being a little shocked. And that might be why she was feeling so ironic this morning. She felt overwhelmed and a bit manipulated by Joe's sudden proposition last night. He had been positively bubbling, effusive in his feelings, finally not hiding anything from her or trying to sort it out logically, and she had loved to witness his personality unchained. It was infectious. But she hadn't foreseen a marriage proposal brewing, and apparently neither had he, just acting on the impulse of the moment. She now saw his actions in a harsher light, and though they seemed rash and impulsive, she had the feeling that, in some subconscious way, he had done it to exert control over the situation. The dream had been carrying them heedlessly 202

towards this point, and it was a thrilling ride, but now he was grabbing the captain's wheel. He could have continued to let the dream play itself out, to follow where it led with something resembling faith. But not Joe. He needed to be in charge, to dictate their course. And so he seized control by leaping to where the dream had been pointing: a marriage. She loved him, and so she had said yes. But in the end, it seemed like tampering with fate, forcing the issue when it could have been leisurely explored over time, all very controlling. Just like her father. Or like a birth plan.

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Chapter 21 Four days later, Joe came to pick her up in the early evening, and as Kaitlyn jumped into the passenger seat, she saw a bulky splint on his right wrist and hand. She let out a little gasp. “What happened, Joe?” “You don't want to know,” he said quietly. “Did you break your hand?” “Yes. Fifth metacarpal. Non-displaced.” “Well, are you okay?” “I'm fine. It's really just stupid.” “Tell me.” “I'll tell you in a bit.” She took the hint and sat back, eyeing him with concern, and then she laughed. “You punched somebody, didn't you?” Joe darted a glance towards her, looked back to the road, and said with dismay, “Yes.” 204

“Who?” “Can't we discuss this later?” She was trying not to smile, but it was hard. Stop it, she thought. This is mean. She tried to compose herself and said, “No. Come on. You've got to tell me.” He pulled the truck over to the sidewalk and parked. She could see they were downtown, and across the street was the marquee for the community dinner theater where they would be eating. The theater was new, and Joe said he had no problem getting tickets. It was recommended to him by another resident who had taken his wife the weekend before, and he said the food and entertainment were great, well worth the price. Guys and Dolls was the current production. When Joe suggested the idea, Kaitlyn was thrilled. She loved that musical. When they’d parked, with the street cast in late evening shadows from the large marble courthouse off the town square, she reached over the seat and stroked Joe's cheek. “You poor thing.” “I'm an idiot.” 205

“It's not hurting?” “Just aching. Not too bad.” He looked reluctantly towards her, and she asked, “So, did you knock 'em out cold, slugger?” “Not really.” “Am I going to get the details or not?” “Maybe. If you're nice.” “Joe, what else would you expect?” “Ugh. Okay.” He shifted and looked directly at her. “First of all, I had an absolutely terrible call night last night.” “That's what you had told me this morning.” “I got zero sleep, and then Dr. Darnell was riding me all morning.” Kaitlyn had been hearing all week about Dr. Denise Darnell. Joe said she was a good physician, but very moody. Joe continued, “Then I had to go deal with the psycho mom of the seventeen-year old girl--” Kaitlyn had heard all about her, too. In fact, as their relationship seasoned into its second whole week, Joe and Kaitlyn had 206

found it impossible to not discuss their work, sometimes in great detail. They each had their triumphs, their tragedies, and mostly their trials. In essence, each case was very familiar to the other's experience, and they complained and laughed and consoled each other every evening about the day’s misadventures and absurdities. Maybe it was a confidentiality violation, but it was also therapeutic, and Kaitlyn found herself experiencing her day’s events through the lens of how she was going to present it to Joe that night. Kaitlyn thought this particular case of the girl with fetal alcohol syndrome and her belligerent mother was fascinating, and she interrupted. “What happened with her, by the way?” Joe stopped his train and thought and looked at her. “Well, amazingly, we got her off the ventilator yesterday, and today we reduced her sedation, and she doesn't seem to be having any more seizures.” “Well, that's good.” “You would think. But the mother is livid. She wants to know why her daughter won't smile at her.” Joe scoffed. “As if she ever really smiled. She says that something is still wrong with her and demands that we figure it out or--” 207

“Or that she be transferred to Children's Hospital?” “Yes. Again.” “Well, why don't you just do it?” “First of all, she turns eighteen next week, and they wouldn't accept her anyway. But she's not seizing. She's stable. They wouldn't care that she won't smile.” Kaitlyn looked at him sympathetically, and he finished, “I'm sorry. I guess I'm still in a bad mood.” “That's alright. You have a broken hand. And that poor girl. It's a horrible situation.” “Yeah, it is. And we're the ones who have to try and fix it all.” “Weren't you looking into having her removed from her mother's custody?” “Not going to happen. The social worker said there aren't grounds.” “But she's obviously unstable. And acting out of guilt. Making poor decisions.” “And dumb as the wall. But she's her mother. The courts won't do a thing unless she's placing her daughter in danger.” 208

“That's awful. Somebody rational should be making those decisions.” “Tell me about it.” Joe paused for a second, looking distraught. “So anyway,” Kaitlyn offered, “Your hand. Your night was so terrible, and you were in such an awful mood that--let me guess--you punched the mom?” “No,” he laughed. “Not a bad idea, though.” “So?” “So after all of that, we had a mandatory lunch meeting, an agonizing, dry lecture on the treatment options for hemorrhoids--” Kaitlyn began laughing. That was a terrible day. She could tell it was cathartic for Joe to be able to share the depths of his discouragement. He continued, “I got to the conference room late and tried hard not to plant my face in my lunch from sheer exhaustion. As I was nodding off, I could see all the other residents looking at me, whispering. When the lecture was mercifully over, I was suddenly surrounded by seven or eight residents, all wanting to know the details of--” he looked to her, “our rather rapid engagement.” “Oh, no.” She put her face in her hands and laughed. 209

“The word is out. Not that I'm embarrassed in any way. But I just wasn't in the best frame of mind to be fielding those questions.” “So what did you do?” “I fielded them. Most of them were nice, offering congratulations. A few teases about Las Vegas or the Chapel of Love.” Kaitlyn was chuckling. She had been through the same gauntlet of shocked well-wishers when she had shown up for work yesterday morning with an new engagement ring. It was a simple gold band with a small but sparkling diamond, just what she had wanted when they had gone to look. Joe had been amazed that the ring shopping had taken all of thirty minutes. One jeweler, three rings, one that fit nicely for under five hundred dollars. Kaitlyn said she loved it, and she meant it. She wanted that one. Joe had protested a bit, suggested they shop some more, but she said, what's the point? I love you and I love this ring, and if five hundred isn't too much, then let's go for it. After a few minutes, Joe had relented, and they walked out with her brand new engagement ring. Joe told her he thought it looked gorgeous on her finger, and had said, “What a woman.” Now she rubbed it absently on her finger, cringing and laughing at 210

Joe's story. She offered, “This sound's terrible. Didn't they know you were post-call?” “They didn't care. Somebody's always post-call.” “So, you punched one of them?” “Well, then Travis walks up.” “Oh, no.” “Yes, and he shakes my hand, of course squeezing until it hurts. Then he pops off with some smug remark about your dad coming after me with a shot gun--” “Oh, no.” “And I just said, 'Travis, you're an idiot, I'm post-call, and I'm going to leave now--'” “Good. So you left.” “Well, then as I'm leaving he--” “He what?” “Let's just say he insulted your modesty.” 211

“You're kidding. What did he say?” “It doesn't matter.” “Now I'm curious.” “No, I don't want to repeat it. And he didn't mean really mean it. He was just being a dork. But, yes, he made an obscene gesture and a very rude comment--” “And you, of course, just kept walking away because you know he's an idiot.” “Unfortunately, no. Look, I was totally disinhibited from exhaustion. I boiled over. So I turned around and punched him in the face.” “Oh, Joe.” “And broke my hand in the process.” “You poor thing.” Kaitlyn was trying to be sympathetic, but it was also hilarious. “Defending my honor.” “Ugh. It was stupid. I should have just kept walking.” “Agreed. But what happened to him?”

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“Actually, it was spectacular. He didn't see it coming. I caught him clean on the nose. He fell back, tripped over a chair, went flying into a table--” “Food everywhere.” “Yes. And red punch. He slides right into the video cart and knocks it over. The projector crashes to the floor, the cart crashes into the screen, and then--” Kaitlyn was clutching her stomach in laughter, “the screen topples over and lands right on top of--” Joe could hardly speak the words and finished through tears of laughter, “of Strumph.” Now they were both howling, and Joe was struggling to finish, “And--” He couldn't breathe. “And it knocked him on his butt--” He couldn't get it out, then finally he managed, “a big hemorrhoid projected on his face.” Kaitlyn was in tears, barely able to speak, but managed, “Nice! Two for one!” Then, neither of them could talk for several moments as the truck rollicked with laughter. Pedestrians on the sidewalk gave them suspicious looks.

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When they were finally able to catch their breath, Kaitlyn asked, “So what else? Isn't there more? Didn't Travis fight back?” “No, he just sat there, blood trickling out of his nose, saying, 'Dude.' Just repeating, 'Dude.' I'm sure I broke it.” “Oh, geez.” “The other residents held me back for a few seconds, but I wasn't coming after him. I think most of them thought it was too funny. He had it coming.” “Did you know your hand was broken right away?” “Yeah. I heard it crack. But I disguised the pain pretty good, and with all the other commotion around, nobody noticed. I just told Malia to tell him I was sorry. I turned around and stalked out of there. The last thing I saw was Dr. Strumph sitting on his rear-end in the middle of the floor with a big hemorrhoid on his face.” “Oh, boy. So, you're going to get in trouble, aren't you?” “I don't know. I turned my pager and phone off, walked straight to the ER, and had those guys take some xrays and get me splinted. Then I 214

headed home and slept through the throbbing, I was so tired.” “Are you sure you're up for this tonight?” “Are you kidding? I've got to get my mind off of it.” “Well, you've got it, cowboy.” “We better go, or we'll be late.” “Okay. Come here.” He had his good hand on the car door, but leaned back towards her, and she tenderly stroked his splinted hand and kissed him on the lips. “What a man. Defending my honor.”

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Chapter 22 Amazingly, Kaitlyn and Joe hadn't really spoken much about the dream over the past month. The wedding plans seemed to dominate their conversation in those rare moments that interspersed Joe's call nights and her labor and delivery shifts. The dream hadn't recurred in nearly four weeks. They mentioned it in passing from time to time. They had gone on a drive to the mountains one Sunday on a “Cabin Hunt,” but even then their conversation drifted easily to other avenues, and at the end of the day they had noted with amusement that, well, they didn't remember seeing it, because if they had they surely would have remembered. More time had passed and the vividness of the dream was fading. Kaitlyn even found herself questioning its significance, wondering if it had been fulfilled in its entirety by his marriage proposal. She found that thought logical and reassuring enough that it carried her through the occasional, inevitable doubts she had about the rapidity of their wedding. But in rare moments when she stopped to think on it, when she was able to recall the intensity of the dream, of the compulsion she had felt to make it into the cabin, when she was able to review it in its entirety in her 217

mind, with equal vividness, giving it serious consideration, then the questions resurfaced. She could see the race, feel the dreamy embrace and the warm rain. And then the hail, and the jagged rock, and the blood from Joe's palm. The ring, the broken glass, the darkness. She gathered from Joe, in the few brief discussions they'd had, that his dream stopped there, with him picking up the ring from the littered glass and then stepping into total darkness. But not hers. She had seen more. She didn't tell him about it, and wasn't sure why. She intended to at some point, but she was reluctant and the opportunity never materialized. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, but that it didn't make sense. Why would she have seen more of the dream than he had, when everything else was the same? She was worried that it might mean something sinister, or that he might get suspicious or envious. In some moments, she even doubted that she had seen anything else, or even anything at all. Maybe the dream had never actually happened in the first place. But every time those thoughts came, they were chased away by the perfectness of her recollection. The glass had been tinkling to the floor, and she had been shivering with cold as she grasped Joe's hand and they stepped into the darkness. Then her eyes adjusted instantly and she scanned the room 218

for the briefest of seconds. Ghostly white sheets shrouded the furniture, so that nothing could be seen except for gray, damp light reflecting dully off of the polished wooden floor. There was an empty, closed fireplace beneath a massive stone hearth. A staircase curved up through the darkness, leading into a long, dark hallway off of a landing. At the top of the stairs, there was a room, and the door was ajar. Out of the room came a greenish glow, neither warm nor cool, a glow like a light under water. When she saw it, she felt the overwhelming compulsion to go there immediately. And then she had woken up. Joe had called her thirty seconds later. He had gushed about the dream. Kaitlyn never mentioned the stairs, or the open door, or the green light.

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Chapter 23 Now it was the morning of their wedding, Kaitlyn didn't feel very nervous at all. She was by herself, in her apartment, and she was trying on her wedding dress one final time. It was simple and elegant with white lace and it showed off her shoulders. It fit her well. Joe would love it, she thought. She had gone by herself and picked it out at a discount dress store in Denver two days ago, and nobody else had seen it yet. She would do her hair next, then put her suitcase and dress in the car and drive twenty minutes to Longmont to meet Joe and his family for a late lunch. Then they would head to the small but luxurious Mountain View Grace Chapel that Joe's mother had reserved. Joe's sister Rachel, whom Kaitlyn had met only once last week, would help her get dressed and ready once they were there. The wedding would be at 6:15, and should be over right as the sun was setting beyond the mountains. They were going to be married by the pastor from Joe’s mother's church in Denver. It was the one insistence Kaitlyn had made in the whole mad month-long rush, that they be married at a church by a pastor. That was fine with Joe. He had done everything possible to accommodate her, and 220

she'd had so few requests that when she made one, there was no question it would be done. It was all happening very quickly, but not without reason. Joe had three pre-scheduled blocks of vacation time already set for the next twelve months. He had a week off at the end of September, and then nothing else until March. And no other residents had been willing or able to switch. Beyond that, he worked three out of four weekends a month and nearly every holiday. So if they wanted a honeymoon, they could get married in four weeks or wait six months. Neither of them wanted to wait that long. There would be a light reception afterwards and then Joe and Kaitlyn would take off for their honeymoon. Kaitlyn still had no clue where they were going, but Joe had told her to pack for the beach. She looked through her suitcase one more time to make sure she had her swimsuit and sandals. It was all coming together. Amazing, really, seeing as they'd had less than one full month to prepare. Joe's mother, initially stunned at the news, quickly became ecstatic and began feverishly preparing. She adored Kaitlyn from the moment they met, and she was not hesitant in the least to spend top dollar on the location, décor, catering, music, etc. The way she saw it, her 221

depressed son was happier than he'd been in years, and Kaitlyn was the angel who made it so. There would even be a string quartet playing to the side in the chapel. Which, sadly, was four more people than Kaitlyn had in her entire wedding party. Joe felt terrible about the lack of family and friends who would be attending with her, but Kaitlyn didn’t pity herself. She honestly didn't have any living relatives that she knew of. She had a handful of friends in New Mexico, but she didn't want to trouble them to attend on such short notice. And she hadn't made any close friends in Colorado that she felt obliged to invite. Except Joe, of course, and a couple of his residency friends and nurses who were common acquaintances. Joe would be driving up from Denver this afternoon with his father and brother, after what originally was conceived to be a “bachelor party” for the night before. In actuality, it had been just one guy drinking while everybody else watched. Joe rarely drank, having decided against it after watching his father succumb to alcoholism after the divorce. He said he'd gotten drunk a couple of times during his freshman year in college, but had gotten violently ill and recoiled instinctively from the feeling of being out of 222

control. He told Kaitlyn that he feared he could easily become an alcoholic if he tried, so he preferred to just avoid it altogether. His dad was in Alcoholics Anonymous now and didn't drink anymore. His cousin Eric was at the party, but he was Mormon and didn't drink. His sister's boyfriend, Dale, always recused himself after one beer. So when Joe had called her this morning, he reported that the bachelor party consisted of four guys sitting around and watching his brother Keith getting drunk and yukking it up about some embellished stories--first about Joe's adolescence and then, as he got more drunk, increasingly about his own various girlfriends. When Keith vomited around ten pm, they decided to call it a night and everyone headed home. Keith had eventually passed out on his dad's couch, and Joe had had to splash water on him this morning to wake him up. Joe would have a decent contingent at the wedding: his parents, his step-father, his brother, his sister, his sister's boyfriend, his nephew and several aunts and uncles and cousins, as well as five or six of his fellow residents and their guests. Everybody lived locally. But Kaitlyn would have nobody. Nobody except Joe. As she stood 223

and began to curl her hair, she stopped and looked at her wedding ring reflected in the mirror. She suddenly felt very sad, and realizing that she felt sad made her feel terribly lonely, and with that, she began to cry. She went to her bed and sat on the edge, cupping her face, weeping quietly. She lay back and tried to stave off the feelings of sadness by thinking of Joe, or of the dream. But all she could see in her mind was her father. And not her father in his prime, but her father as an emaciated, pale, greenish-gray shadow of his former self as he lay moaning in bed before he finally passed away from the lung cancer. She tried to rid that hellish image from her mind, tried to supplant it with something else. With relief, she remembered the ski trip she'd had with her father several years ago, during the winter break of her freshman year at college. She wasn't sure why this particular memory came to mind, but it was a welcome relief just to crowd out the cancer-ridden images of his final days. Hers sobs faded into smiles as she brought her hands to her cheeks, images rushing back into her head.

They were skiing in Vermont. It was a perfectly crisp morning, the 224

snow fresh but the sky blue and the sun warming their cheeks. There was no wind. They were the first skiers on the slopes that day, nothing but fresh uncarved powder in front of them. Her dad had on his blue ski coat and the black tassel hat that he always wore. She wore her bright white coat, black ski pants, and a purple headband with sunglasses. They peered down a steep pitch, and her dad looked to her and laughed with contentment, “No tracks. Fresh powder. Perfect weather. Could this be any better?” She responded, “Yeah, when I beat you down the hill.” With a hoot, muffled by the soft snow, she thrust her poles into the snow and launched down the run. He yelled, “Not on your life, young lady!” and launched down after her. They swished down the slopes, quickly building speed, carving expertly through the deep powder. They had been skiing there for four days, and knew every turn and twist of this run. Kaitlyn could hear him behind her, bearing down, and she knew that at any moment he would shoot past her with his longer skis and heavier weight. But he didn't. She kept forcing the pace, her thighs scorching, digging into every turn and floating down the straight stretches. But he didn't pass her. 225

They came to the last steep pitch and she shot off the top, lost her balance just slightly, but waved her poles and righted herself as she landed. Behind her, she heard her dad give a primal whoop as he launched off the hill, and she turned around just in time to see him flailing his arms, catch a deep pocket of powder with the toe of his skis, and go tumbling through the unruffled snow down the hill, kicking up a dense cloud of crystals that hung in the air, obscuring him. It was a rough landing, the kind that could knock you unconscious or tear your knees up, and Kaitlyn changed directions and zipped back across the hill towards the cloud of snow. “Dad!” she yelled. “Dad?” As she got closer, she could hear a deep noise that sounded like crying. She kicked her skis off and started racing back up the hill, but as she approached she recognized the sobbing sound as a muffled version of his baritone belly laugh. He rolled over just as she arrived, snow clinging to his goggles and cheeks. “Are you okay?” “Wahoo!” He was sitting up, knocking snow off his coat. “Am I okay? I have never been better!” 226

“That was a major biff, Dad. You had me scared.” “Snow is as soft as a pillow, sweetheart. I thought you were going to biff it, too. You were flying!” “Here, let me help you up. You were letting me win and you know it.” “Honest, sweetie. I wasn't.” She was having a hard time believing him, and he added, “I was trying my hardest. Apparently, a little too hard.” He laughed as he looked to his skis and poles scattered further down the hill. “You've gotten good.” “You think?” “Oh, yeah! I mean, you looked like somebody out of a Warren Miller movie. Absolutely tearing it up.” “And you weren't letting up just a bit, just to make me feel good? I don't believe it.” “Scout's honor. Look, I'm getting old and you--. Well, you're a college athlete now, aren't you? I don't stand a chance. I think you're going to have to take it easy on me from now on.” 227

“Well, you'll get me next time, I'm sure. Let me help you get your stuff.” “Hey, wait just a second.” He knocked some snow off of his legs and then knelt, gazing out across the mountains, catching his breath, staring out across the powdered pine trees that rolled into the horizon. He coughed and said, “You remember this, okay?” “Your biff?” “No. Try to forget about that, please.” He laughed heartily, coughing again. “I mean today. Remember today.” He had his hands on his hips still, still panting as he spoke, and for the first time she could remember, Kaitlyn thought that he seemed old. “It's perfect,” he said. “Even if you're lucky, you won't get more than a handful of these days in your entire life.” “Hey, I thought you were the guy who says that everyday is a good day depending on how you use it? Or was that Mr. Rogers?” “Well, that's true. That's true about good days. But today is not just a good day. Today is a perfect day.” He was looking at her pensively, and for a reason unknown to her, she felt herself starting to cry. “You don't get to 228

choose the perfect days, sweetie. They just happen.” He sounded a bit emotional, too, and then sighed, “I miss your mother on these days. Not skiing. We only went once together, and she was a beginner. But I miss her on the perfect days.” He took his goggles off and squinted against the bright snow, but looked her in the eyes. “She would have been proud to see you today, racing down the slopes. Proud of the good person you are, of the smart, kind, beautiful woman you've become. You two would have been best friends.” “Dad.” “No, let me finish. You want to know another perfect day? The day we got married. I was so madly in love with her, and the day so completely perfect, that I-- Really, I don't remember the ceremony hardly at all. But everything seemed so invincible, like it could never not be perfect. How can things change like that? How can they fade away? But they do. And it did.” He saw Kaitlyn’s tears and reached to wipe them away with his thick, cold glove. “Someday—many, many years from now, not soon, so don't get any ideas--you will meet a perfect guy—and he better be perfect, I'm telling you-but just make sure your wedding day is perfect.” 229

“Dad, stop making me cry. This is embarrassing.” “No, I've got to say this now. Because--” he was getting philosophical, struggling for just the right words, “because time is short. Life is short. What you think is beautiful and perfect and forever won't be. It will be snatched away from you in an instant, or maybe it will drain slowly away from you over years.” He brushed his goggles off absently. “So, all you can do is to hold on to these perfect moments when they happen. Try to make them last, here, in your mind, in your heart, forever.” “Dad, you're talking like you're going to die tomorrow or something. Don't do that.” “Well, with another biff like that, I just might!” He laughed, then said seriously, “Or in five years. Or in fifty years.” “You'd improve your odds if you'd quit smoking.” “Of course. Tomorrow.” He smiled. It was an old battle between them and now was not the time. “But look, stop crying. All I'm saying is, soak this up. Make it last forever.” “Duly noted, professor. Now let's get off this hill before they send out 230

the St. Bernards. Get your skis on. The race isn't over yet.” “It's not, is it? You better take it easy on me from now on.” “You're not as old as you think, old man.”

Twenty minutes later, Kaitlyn slowly woke up on the bed with one arm over her head and the other across her stomach. She rubbed her eyes and felt the salty tracks of tears on her cheeks. Oh, boy, she thought. That's enough of that. She scanned around the room, half-way expecting her father to be there. Her breath was warm in her throat. She reached over and peered through the blinds and confirmed: it was autumn in the city, not winter on the slopes. For the past six months, she had struggled to avoid remembering her father too closely, as the final images of his life had seared and scarred so deeply. The result was that she had shut him out almost entirely. Thinking of him made her too lonely, too sad, and she knew it wasn't what he would have wanted, for her to focus on the past. He wanted her to move on. She was sure that's why he had insisted on her two-month world tour, something to 231

exchange the sorrows of his death for the excitement of her own life. And then she trained in OB, then moved, then met Joe, and all these events had succeeded in gladly diverting her attention from his death. Dad would have loved Joe, she thought. He would have been so excited for us. But, if she was honest with herself, there would have been an undercurrent of fear lacing his excitement. She couldn't--shouldn't-- sugarcoat that from her memory, her father’s controlling fear. For all his genuine words of hope and positivism and holding onto the perfect moments, it was all deeply tinged by his paradigm of fear, the fear of loss. She stood up, remembering the memory of the ski trip. She shook her head. It was hard to believe that it hadn't just happened all over again. He said those things six years ago, in a different time and place on the other side of the country, but all she could see now was him looking into her eyes, telling her to soak up these perfect days. That, she thought, that's how I want to remember him at this moment. It's what he would have wanted. He would have silenced his fears. He would be encouraging her to enjoy the perfect day, the perfect wedding. I wonder if he knew, she thought. Did he know back then that he wouldn't be 232

able to be here today? Did he say those words at that moment intending for me to remember them now? She would never know. But that, she thought, is what I choose to believe today. The warmth of her father's presence lingered in the room. She allowed herself a smile, got up and walked back towards the mirror. She washed her face, patted it dry and quickly put on some lipstick, then threw the rest of her makeup into a bag. She checked her hair, grabbed her suitcase and her dress and headed out towards her car.

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Chapter 24 Blue-tinged moonlight spilled into the bedroom and cast shadows across the floor and walls. Kaitlyn's eyes fluttered open as she scanned the room without moving her head. She was nestled alongside Joe, her head resting on his bare shoulder, and she felt the steady, peaceful rise and fall of his chest, felt the softest brush of air across her forehead from his breath. She could see pine trees through the window. They appeared black with metallic branches shimmering in the moonlight, like dull silver. The moon itself was not visible through the window, but it was so bright outside she thought it must be full and directly over the cabin. She shifted herself slightly, just enough to allow her look up into Joe's sleeping face. He shifted as well, turned in the other direction without arousing, and promptly resumed his slow, steady breathing. Kaitlyn reflected on the wedding day. It hadn't been perfect. Close, but not quite. The lunch with his family ended up being more interesting that anyone would have liked. Joe seemed a bit on edge from the start. Keith was there, but somewhat sullen, his eyes still reddened and dull from the “bachelor party.” His father and stepfather were both there, and that created 234

some palpable tension in the back room of the restaurant, but everybody remained cordial and polite. Joe's mom had done most of the talking, balancing affection for her current husband with restraint and respect for her old one. But she was clearly energized by this opportunity to have the family all together. Joe held Kaitlyn's hand beneath the table, and they squeezed reassuringly back and forth. Kaitlyn spent a long time conversing with Joe's sister, Rachel, who was seated on the other side of her, dividing her attention between attending to her son's needs and trying to make Kaitlyn feel comfortable. In spite of what Joe had mentioned about Rachel's past, about the divisive role her teen pregnancy had played in his upbringing and in his parent's divorce, Kaitlyn could see that in reality, Rachel and Joe were extremely similar in appearance and disposition. It's no surprise they've become such good friends, she thought. She's like his female twin. She was tall and pretty, a few extra mommy pounds on her hips, but with dark, full hair, deep, intelligent brown eyes and a very grounded view of the world. Kaitlyn felt instantly comfortable around her, and grateful for her attention. As the meal drew towards an end, Joe's mom seemed to run out of 235

steam in carrying the jovial atmosphere single-handedly. In a pause of uncertainty, she offered pleasantly to Kaitlyn, “I'm sorry your father couldn't be here for this.” Kaitlyn responded thoughtfully, “Oh, thank you. He would have loved to have met you all. To have met Joe.” Joe's mom responded, “He would have been so proud of you, I'm sure.” “Thank you,” replied Kaitlyn. The silence resumed, and Keith, who seemed to be suddenly awakening to the world around him, stirred in the corner and impulsively chimed in, “Now, what happened to your mom again?” His mother gasped as he asked the question, and she whispered loudly, “Hush, Keith. This is no time for that.” Keith sat back, and all eyes turned imperceptibly to Kaitlyn. She thought, It's alright, really. She offered to Keith, “No, it's no problem. She died in childbirth.” Keith seemed to be bristling from his mother's public shushing. He 236

had a glint in his eye that betrayed that, all in all, he thought his brother was rushing much too quickly into this marriage thing, to a girl he barely knew. He followed up, “With one of your siblings?” “No, actually. With me.” “From what? Bleeding or surgery or what?” His mother was aghast and exclaimed, “Keith!” Kaitlyn tried to smile, but her eyes fell back to the table, and she paused before speaking. Joe was squeezing her hand tightly, and then broke in, said sternly, loudly, “Thanks, Keith. Glad you decided to sober up and join the party. Any other pleasant conversation stoppers you have for us?” Keith was ruffled, and said, “What's wrong with you? Can't I ask her a question?” Joe said, “Not stupid ones. What do you care, anyway?” He looked to Kaitlyn and apologized, “Sorry, I think little brother had a few too many last night and forgot his good manners.” Keith pushed his plate back violently from his place and knocked over an empty glass. Their mother, mortified, reached across with a futile 237

effort to separate her two boys. “Shut up,” Keith scowled, standing. “You're marrying someone you hardly know, much less her family or anything else about her. I bet you don't even know--” He looked to Kaitlyn, who looked down at her plate quietly, and he seemed to realize suddenly that she was a real person, right there, witnessing all of this, and that he was making a big scene. He said to her, “Look, Kaitlyn, I'm sorry. I think you're great, but I--” He looked around the table and saw the faces glaring at him. In the silence, he tossed his hair back with his hand, and said softly “I just think . . .” His voice trailed off, and he gestured that he was going to step out. He stumbled over a chair leg on his way out. His shirt tail was hanging loose. The table was silent for a second. Joe squeezed Kaitlyn's hand again and draped his other arm over her. His mother was flustered, looking for the right words to say. Rachel offered softly, “I'm so sorry, Kaitlyn. He's just being a jerk today. He's normally not so rude.” Kaitlyn looked up, glancing at Joe, then at everyone else at the table, then at Keith, who had plopped down on a bench outside the entrance window with his head between his hands. She had a reassuring smile on her face, and said compassionately. “It's no problem, really. I like Keith. He 238

didn't mean anything.” A tangible sigh of relief spread around the table as everyone witnessed Kaitlyn's effortless peacemaking. Joe's mother was gathering herself as Kaitlyn continued, “I don't mind talking about my mother, really. It is sad, but I never really knew her. I feel like I did, because my dad kept her very alive for me. She would have loved to have been here, too, I'm sure.” “Oh, Kaitlyn,” said his mother. “I'm sure they'll both be watching over you today.” She looked up towards the sky as she said it. Kaitlyn smiled, and said, “I'm sure.” Joe shook his head, twisting uneasily in his seat. He dropped his napkin on his plate and made a motion to stand. “Well, on that note, we'd better head over.” Chairs pushed back, and the family rose to leave. Once outside, Joe went straight to Keith and they had a private, terse conversation, ending with a handclasp and a grudging half-embrace. Keith came over immediately to offer his sincere apologies to Kaitlyn. His eyes were still bloodshot. Two hours later, the wedding began, albeit a few minutes late. The string quartet had been playing Mozart and Pachabel for forty-five minutes, 239

but faded promptly when the pastor rose to the front and the seated crowd of thirty-two guests silenced themselves. The large clear glass windows of the chapel framed a picturesque view of the Rockies, which were striped with golden aspen trees and dusted with snow at the top. The sunlight was molten on the peaks, and long shadows stretched from the trees towards the church and in through the windows. Kaitlyn approached the rear doorway. Rachel helped straighten her veil and her dress and whispered, “You look absolutely gorgeous. Really.” The pastor welcomed everybody. “Here Comes the Bride” began, and before she knew it, Kaitlyn was striding elegantly down the aisle, not entirely able to disguise the bounce in her step. She thought Joe looked extremely handsome in his dark tuxedo and royal blue bow-tie as he stood at the alter. She had to smile when she saw the slender splint still on his right hand and wrist. She blushed slightly when she felt the intensity of his gaze, knew that he wouldn't be taking his eyes off of her. As she approached, they locked on each other's eyes, and she looked into the fierce intimacy of his gaze, and soon was lost in the depths of his eyes. Scenes from the dream began projecting themselves into her mind, and she couldn't look away. She 240

thought, here we are, on the steps of the cabin, staring into each other's eyes in the warm rain. But then the thought of the freezing rain intruded abruptly. A flood of subsequent images flashed over her: rain, hail, rock, glass, blood, darkness, then her solitary glimpse of the room with the green glow. She felt herself hesitate. Joe perceived her sudden mental shift, the clouding of her thoughts, and an inquisitive, concerned look crossed his face. She brought herself back into the focus of his eyes, found comfort in the assurance they conveyed. He looked down at her, leaned towards her and kissed her tenderly on the lips. “Hold on, now,” joked the pastor, as the guests erupted in laughter. “We're not quite to that part yet. I'll hurry, I promise.” Kaitlyn took away her hand away that had strayed to Joe's cheek. She smiled demurely towards the audience and then back into the safety of Joe's eyes. The pastor cracked a few more jokes, then settled into his loquacious but routine remarks about the sanctity of marriage and the importance of this day. The sun blazed through the scattered western clouds with an intense golden glow that filtered into the chapel windows, and Kaitlyn clasped Joe's hands. She didn't hear a word of anything else that was said. 241

Now, several hours later, she lay in his arms, feeling deeply content. After the wedding, they had a brief and surprisingly fun reception, and then had driven a couple of hours to a remote cabin—a friend's of his stepfather— outside of Estes Park. It was secluded on a hundred acres, surrounded by pine and aspen with a creek along one edge of the property. Now, in the crisp stillness of the mountain night, the only noise Kaitlyn could hear was the faintest gurgling of the creek. The stillness itself seemed so pervasive that it almost had a low sound all its own. If she strained her ears, she thought she might be able to hear the whispering of the pines, but it could have just been Joe's breath. The cabin had a large hot tub, really more of a small swimming pool, and as they had left the reception, Joe confided in her that he had tricked her with the beach story, just to make sure she brought a swimsuit. When they got out of the car, crunching on gravel through the stillness of the night, the stars were iridescent in the sky. The Milky Way shimmered like a phosphorescent cloud. The first hint of moonlight was just starting to crest the eastern peaks of the valley when they climbed the stairs of the deck and stood at the large glass front door. 242

Joe had fumbled for his keys, and Kaitlyn looked around. This isn't it, she thought. It's beautiful, it's a cabin, there are sparkling glass doors and a deck. But it's not the same cabin from the dream, not the same valley. She paused briefly as Joe creaked open the door, uncertain entirely what his intentions were in choosing this place. He read her thoughts, and offered softly, “I know it's not the same one, wherever that is. But this is a good place to start. For tonight.” Kaitlyn just looked to him trustingly, and he finished, “We'll make it the cabin of our dreams.” She remarked coyly, “I’m not sure I plan on sleeping tonight.” “Who said anything about sleep?” winked Joe. Then he took her hand and, with reassuring eyes, led her carefully through the starlit doorway and into the darkness.

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Chapter 25 It took a while for Kaitlyn's eyes to adjust to the green light. It wasn't particularly bright, but the contrast with the darkness of the hallway and the corners of the room made it hard to look at directly. It was a greenish, faintly blue light, like from a computer screen. It was coming from the middle of the room, but she couldn't define the source. She looked to the doorway above her, then to her arms. They had a greenish cast. She looked to herself, and was surprised to see she was dressed in her wedding gown. The gown also seemed to emanate a green glow. She thought, I look like a Halloween glow stick, and she laughed. She continued to stand in the center of the doorway for several moments, rather content, unquestioning. She felt no compulsion to move forward or backward, transfixed by the tranquility of the watery light. After a little while—maybe a minute, maybe an hour—a funny thought popped into her head. Oh, of course! she realized. I'm in the dream. But that didn't make sense. She had just awoken here, in this very spot. There was no climbing. No rain. No ring. And most significantly, no Joe. So it couldn't be the dream. But even as she thought that, she knew that 244

it was. She felt a little upset. No fair, she thought. She didn't want to be here without Joe. This is our wedding night, for heaven's sake. We haven't had the dream in a month. If it's going to happen now, I want Joe here. But he was nowhere to be seen, and suddenly she felt drawn towards the center of the room. Rays of green light seemed to scatter slowly around the room, and she began to step towards the center. A large rectangular shape became visible through the green glow, and as she neared she saw slats that let the light through in long, thin bars. It's a crib, she thought. She moved quickly towards it now, and placed her hands gently on the rails. The intensity of the light increased dramatically, and it then changed in quality, transforming into blue and then a brilliant white. White light was suddenly everywhere. She squinted into the middle of it, and in the center she saw a beautiful newborn baby, laying on a white blanket, dressed in a white dress, with long, dark hair like Joe's, mouth parted slightly and eyes fixed on her. Kaitlyn caught her breath, and out of her poured an overwhelming rush of love. A smile radiated from her face, tears of joy pouring instantly into her eyes. She reached softly for the infant. 245

She saw her own hands and noticed that her skin was glowing white, nearly translucent. Her hands were approaching the baby when she felt a touch on her shoulder. She looked back and saw Joe, his face and eyes obscured in green shadows, the darkness of the room brooding thickly beyond him. His hand was freezing cold and dripping wet. Then the brilliant white that surrounded her and the baby grew, and she looked again towards the crib and the edges of the crib and the face of the baby and the definitions of her own hands, all vanishing away in a overpowering wash of light.

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Chapter 26 Joe's eyes snapped open, and he sat up sharply in bed. He stared around the room wildly, saw the ghostly blue moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains, saw the still, silent pines. He could hear the faint gurgling of the creek, and his own panting breath. The air in the bedroom was cool. Cold, even. But he was sweating. The sweat began to chill on his bare chest, and he looked to Kaitlyn. She was still sleeping peacefully, curled on her side facing him, her hair splayed across the pillow and a hint of a smile on her face. The sheet and comforter was pulled up to her chin, and one bare shoulder lay beneath her head. Her eyes were closed but flickering. He could tell she was dreaming pleasantly. He ran his hands through his own hair. Impossible. What was going on? He had been dreaming, too, but it hadn't been pleasant. How could she not be awake now? How could she be smiling? It had been horrifying. It was the dream again, the same one, sort of. But it was different, terrifying, eerie. He wanted her to wake up right now, to make sure she was okay, to tell her about it and figure out whatever dreadful thing it might mean. He 247

wanted her to reassure him, to look at him with her blue eyes and say it was going to be alright. He reached forward and touched her on the shoulder, to gently wake her, but she moaned pleasantly in the dream and rolled onto her back. She looked so lovely, so angelic in the blue moonlight, nearly translucent. He pulled back his hand. The dream had begun the same. The canoe, the waking recognition, the paddling to the shore. He got into the valley, looked up and down, and took a step towards the cabin. This time, he anticipated the friendly pull of her presence behind him, expected it. But it never came. He turned around anyway. She wasn't there. But the storm was. It was fierce, much more fierce than he remembered. Where is she? No fair, he thought. This is our dream.

Lightning and thunder were exploding within the purple, advancing clouds. He turned around and tried taking a halting step towards the cabin again, just in case he had missed her the first time. He stopped and looked behind him in vain. She still wasn't there.

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A huge crack of lighting crashed above him, and the skies burst open in the freezing rain. Drops scattered over him, and he gasped at the coldness. Something was going wrong with the dream. This wasn't what happened. He pinched himself, tried to wake up. Ouch, he thought. That never works. His mind was spinning. He couldn't fathom why she wasn't in the dream. This was their wedding night. They had spent hours wrapped in each others arms, lost in each other, before falling asleep. He had never felt closer to her, or to anyone. If the dream had meant anything, it was to bring them here, to this night, right? And now it was keeping them apart? He didn't have much time to ponder things. The storm was raging, and the rain was already turning into sleet. He was soaked and starting to shiver. He looked to the cabin. He could barely make out the front door, and in a flash of lightning it appeared the glass was broken out. Could she already be there? He leaped forward and into a sprint. The sleet turned into hail and began pelting him hard. The trail was turning into mud, and he slipped, crashed into a rock and banged his shin. His hand landed on a stick, and he 249

drew back in pain. He looked to his palm and saw a puncture wound, blood trailing into the rain and mud. The hail was getting bigger and harder and hammering into his back, pushing him into the mud. He struggled to his feet and place his hands over his head, slipping as he started up the trail. Lighting was detonating all around him, every two or three seconds with a simultaneous bone-shattering explosion of thunder. The wind was shrieking, the hail rumbling like a train. He scrambled to the steps, struggled to the top as the hail turned as big as golf balls, slamming into him, pushing he towards the ground with every step. He was stooped over, then crawling towards the broken glass door, and finally he lunged forward and propelled himself through the shattered doorway. Joe collapsed on the ground, dripping wet, sprawled on top of the broken glass in the darkness. The sound and fury of the storm diminished, and the roaring and drumming of the hail instantly trailed off, like he had just stepped from a factory floor into a sound-proof room. His head and hands and back stung and throbbed from being pulverized by hail. He caught his breath, and slowly rolled over. He was drenched, and his teeth were chattering. He looked to his 250

palm and saw the puncture wound but no bleeding. He rolled back onto his shoulder and broken bits of glass were stuck to his wet shirt and fell tinkling into puddles on the floor. He looked back out the doorway, and the clouds were so thick and dark that it seemed to be almost night. Now there were only rare flashes of lightning, distant muffled thunder, and no rain or hail. Joe reached to push himself back up with his hand and felt a jab into his palm. He reached down and winced as he plucked out a shard of glass, and his wound started bleeding again. He lifted his eyes away from the doorway and began focusing around the room. A purple, stormy light faintly illuminated it through the windows. He collected himself, rising to stand, saw white sheets draping everything, saw a huge empty stone fireplace on the opposite wall, and then saw a staircase curving up to a landing. He followed the staircase with his eyes and saw a murky green light glowing out of the doorway. She was standing there. His heart thumped in his chest. He had to get to her. He had to make sense of what was going on. He opened his mouth to speak, “Kaitlyn!” But his voice was only a hoarse whisper. He tried to clear his throat, “Kaitlyn?” 251

He couldn't yell, was just mouthing her name. She was in her wedding dress, staring in through the doorway, unaware he was below her. He saw her look upwards, then in towards the green light, then take a slow, intentional step forward. He noticed the greenish-gray glow of her skin as she disappeared out of sight. He was standing now, raised heavy arms to gingerly brush glass off of him, tried to take a step forward. His legs felt unbelievably heavy, like the strength of gravity had tripled. A couple of steps, and he had to go to his hands and knees. He could crawl easier than he could walk, and he began creeping towards the stairs, trailing splotches of blood from his hand. He made it to the stairs, and began laboring upwards. He tried calling her name again, but now his throat was completely constricted and nothing would come out. He crept towards the top step, and when he got there, he crawled towards the door. The green light was powerful now, casting shadows down the hall, and he made it to the doorway on his hands and knees. He looked up, and there was Kaitlyn, standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by the green light and looking down at something that he 252

couldn't quite see. Joe felt his strength coming back, felt the pull of gravity decreasing, and he braced himself in the doorway, pulled himself to stand. The heavy weight of his arms and legs lessened. He stared into the glow, at her slender, ethereal beauty in her wedding dress, the soft sloping of her neck and shoulders. He took a step towards her. He tried to call her name, was surprised to hear his own voice again, but it was muted, like he was talking underwater, and she didn't respond. He stepped closer towards her and could now see that she was staring into a crib. His mind was racing, trying to figure this out. A crib? She began reaching into the crib just as he approached her, and he reached out and touched her on the shoulder. She looked back to him and smiled, but he could barely make out the contours of her face in the shadow of the green light around her, and then her attention was drawn back towards the crib. He peered down with her, down into the crib, and he saw the object of her attention: an infant, covered in blood, bluish and orange in the green light, covered with the white cheesy film of birth. It was a girl, and she was floppy and still. He saw the dark umbilical cord, twisted and thick, still 253

attached, turgid, pulsating. He followed it from the newborn's abdomen, where it trailed along the bottom of the crib and out between the slats and plunged directly into Kaitlyn's waist, through her dress, straight into her navel. Joe stared in shock. Kaitlyn's dress was scarlet red along the front, bloodied and torn. He yelled to her, screaming to get her attention, waving his arms, but his shrieks only resonated murkily in his own head, never escaping into sound. She seemed fixated on the baby, still reaching, but not quite touching. He tried to reach her again, but couldn't. He tried to move in front of her, but he was stuck in place. He was only inches behind her shoulder, but he couldn't make contact. His screams were soundless, futile. The green light permeating the room seemed to grow darker. Joe looked to the floppy purple baby again. This baby was dying. His doctor's instincts took over. Somebody had to revive this baby, cut the cord, get its breath. He stretched his arms into the crib, and just before he made contact he looked and saw Kaitlyn's outstretched hands, saw the plain gold band shimmering on her finger. The green light was growing darker and thicker, 254

coalescing into black. Her hands were fading away, lines blurring, becoming invisible, and then everything went dark.

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Chapter 27 When the white light grew to such intensity that the whole room seem transfigured, Kaitlyn opened her eyes, and in the darkness of the room, she saw Joe sitting upright, awake and staring at her, his torso blue in silhouette against the moonlight from the window. His eyes were shrouded in shadows. He said, “Kaitlyn, you're awake,” and his voice wavered. “Are you okay?” “Yes, Joe,” and she rolled dreamily to her back. A blissful smile came to her lips, and tears welled in her eyes, and she said, “Joe, she was so beautiful.” She tried to stifle her tears, but was unable to, and she wept quietly and then looked to Joe. He reached a trembling hand to wipe her tears, but said nothing. “Did you see her, Joe? The baby?” Joe was silent for a moment, and then said softly, “Yes.” “And the light. You saw the light?” She was gathering herself, and the wonder of the dream was growing into the enthusiasm of reality, and now she was laughing, sobbing for joy. 256

Joe was subdued, and responded with a question, “What did you see?” “Oh, it was so beautiful. There was a green light, at the top of the stairs, I think.” She remembered that she had never told him about that part before, about the stairs or the light. But he didn't question it. She wondered if he had seen it before, too, wondered why he hadn't told her. She continued, “I was in the doorway, and in the center of the room was a crib, and in the crib there was a baby. She was dressed in white, and she looked just like you. She had your hair and your lips. She was the most beautiful baby I've ever seen.” “And what did you do?” “I went to pick her up, and then the whole room turned white with light. You were there, behind me, looking over my shoulder. And then--” she said, remembering that Joe had been cold, wet, and obscured in shadows, “then I woke up.” She was now fully awake. She perceived that Joe was reluctant to talk. “Why? What's wrong?” “Nothing. Nothing is wrong.”

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“No, you're worried. Did you see something different?” He was composing his thoughts carefully, and responded, “I saw you in your dress, and the green light, and the crib, and the baby.” It was all true. He lied only by omission. “That's exactly what I saw. It's the same.” “Yeah, I guess so.” “Tell me, then. What's wrong.” “Did you take your birth control pills?” “Yes. Of course.” “Didn't miss a day?” She had, three days ago, but she had caught it the next day and taken two as she was supposed to. He was worried, and she didn't understand why, and so she said, “No. Are you afraid I'm going to get pregnant right away?” “Maybe. It's 98% effective. Less so in the first month. And only if you take it everyday.” “Hey, no fair. Don't lecture me about how to take birth control.”

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“I'm sorry.” “You seem scared. Why? Wasn't she beautiful?” “Yes, Kaitlyn. Babies are beautiful. But it’s not time yet.” He was sounding a bit testy, but trying to disguise it. “It's too soon.” “Who says it's going to be now?” “That was pretty vivid, wouldn't you agree? If history is any indication--” “If history is any indication, then the same dream that brought us together just told us we're going to have a baby. But that doesn't mean in nine months, necessarily.” Joe was silent, and Kaitlyn reached her hand to his face. She couldn't see his eyes in the dark, and so she couldn't read what he was feeling, or why he was reacting this way. But she could sense his fear. “Besides, aren’t you a true believer in the dream now? I remember someone who jumped pretty quickly to a marriage proposal when the dream suggested it.” “Maybe it was too quick.” “Well, now is a great time to tell your new wife that.” 259

“Kaitlyn, that's not what I mean. I'm glad we got married yesterday. I love you.” She sat in bed and crossed her arms, “I know you do.” Then she softened, “And I love you. Isn't that enough for now? Babies, dreams, life. We'll figure out the rest as we go.” Joe didn't say anything, but took a deep, slow inhalation. Kaitlyn said, “Look, it's going to be alright.” “I know.” She caressed his face, and he moved towards her. She reached her arms to his neck and pulled him closer. “Let's not worry about it right now. Let's do something different.” She kissed him tenderly, and they melted together in the blue moonlight of the room.

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Chapter 28 Three weeks had gone by, and the blissful pattern of newlywed life came surprisingly easy to them both. Between their busy schedules, a few days sometimes passed when they scarcely saw each other, but in between those times, they spent every moment together. Joe was on a slightly less intense schedule for the month, and Kaitlyn was working four days on and three days off, and her supervisor allowed her to time her days off with Joe's. They moved into Kaitlyn's apartment, which was cramped but cozy. They had most of what they needed. What they didn't have, they received as wedding gifts or bought with gift money. They received two toasters and three casserole dishes and a funky lava lamp that they didn't know what to do with, but otherwise they were set. There were no more dreams. The intensity of the baby dream seemed to fade as the routine of their new life took root. Kaitlyn had brought it up once, but Joe seemed unenthused about the conversation and it hadn't gone anywhere. Now, she realized, she hadn't even thought of it for over a week. But she was standing in the bathroom holding a pregnancy test, hesitating, and the memory of the dream came flooding back. She had been 261

feeling very fatigued over the past week, and nauseous in the mornings. She thought that she may have a touch of the flu. But that morning she threw up for the second straight day, and after struggling through a queasy day at work, she had bought the test on the way home. Joe was on call tonight, and she hadn't mentioned anything about it when she said goodbye as she left the hospital. Was she hesitant to take it because she was afraid of what the result might be? Well, not afraid for herself, really, but afraid of how Joe might react. She'd had such overwhelming feelings of love and excitement about the baby in the dream, but apparently Joe didn't feel the same, and she couldn't quite understand his reluctance. She guessed that he must have seen something different than she had, or something additional, and it had scared him. But he wouldn't tell her, and she couldn't imagine what it would have been. How could a baby be scary? Most likely, it was his serious side taking over. He had been on an ebullient fairy tale ride for the preceding month, finally relenting entirely to the magic of the dream and love, floating through the engagement and the wedding. And now it was time for a reality check. What new dad wouldn't 262

be worried about his wife's potential pregnancy? But there was more to it than just that. As much fun as they had as newlyweds, and as much as they were truly in love, there was an undercurrent of tension coming from Joe. He tried his best to disguise it, but it came out in rare moments, and more than once she had awoken in the middle of the night to find him staring at her with his head on the pillow. She tried to question him in those moments, but he deflected her queries and instead found something new to compliment her on, like her earlobes or her wrists or the way she brushed her teeth. And then the barriers and the tension would disappear as they embraced again. Invisible, but still there. Maybe this was her reality check as well. She had felt from the first time they met that she knew everything about him, how he thought and what he liked, and what she didn't know she had been able to discern. It was easy. It seemed she could tell everything about him by looking into his eyes. But perhaps it wasn't supposed to be that easy. Not always. You could love someone completely, and yet everyone still tended their own secret garden. She looked into the mirror, and bit her lip. She walked over to the toilet and did the test. She placed it on the counter and turned her head. 263

Three minutes, she thought. I'm not going to look for three minutes. She paced and let her hair out and went to brush her teeth, and then looked to her watch, and after two minutes she couldn't stand it. She looked. Two lines, a pink and a blue. She was pregnant. She put her hand over her mouth, but was silent, and then she started to cry. Of course she was pregnant. She had known it. She had known it for three weeks now. First time. On their honeymoon. It really wasn't a surprise. But suddenly it was real. For a moment, all she could see through the tears in her eyes was the baby, lying in the crib with the dark hair and the precious lips and the intent eyes, and the green lights turning a brilliant white all around. And then she remembered Joe, behind her, eyes covered in the shadows of the green light, dripping wet. Why had he still been wet? She hadn't seen his eyes. What he had been thinking at that moment? What scared him? She took a deep breath and wiped her tears. She blew her nose, and reassured herself. He'll be ecstatic. He loves me, and he'll love our baby. 264

She went to her dresser and picked up her cell phone, was about to call him. No, she thought. He'll be busy. I should wait until tomorrow. I'd better tell him in person.

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Chapter 29 Jesus Macias was alive. Well, he had never actually died. But now he was suddenly, miraculously awake. Joe got the page from the nurse at 6:30 in the morning. It awoke him from a very short sleep, about fifteen minutes, and he was exhausted. He called back and the nurse on the extended care floor answered, breathless, like she had just seen the Holy Virgin. “Dr. Rorke, you won't believe this, but Jesus just woke up. Jesus Macias. And he's talking.” After a night of nearly no rest, Joe didn't share her breathless enthusiasm, but he was still amazed. Jesus had been in a coma for the past two months, a persistent vegetative state, and it was assumed he would never wake up. After the initial accident, he had spent a week in the ICU, and once his chest tube was pulled and his other injuries appeared to be healing, they had weaned him off of the ventilator. He breathed on his own just fine, but was completely unresponsive, and his EEG showed only the most 266

rudimentary brain activity. The left anterior side of his skull was markedly caved in from the fall and the subsequent brain surgeries, giving his forehead a scooped out appearance, criss-crossed with pink scars over his brown skin. The bleeding and swelling in his brain had been enormous, and it was assumed that he had lost all brain functions but those of the brainstem, which controlled his breathing. When it had become apparent that he was likely to remain alive but in a coma, he had been transferred first to a medical floor then to the extended care floor. A permanent feeding tube was placed into his stomach. His urinary catheter needed to be changed every two weeks, his diaper twice a day. He was on a special bed to prevent bedsores and had special stockings to prevent blood clots. But his IV was stopped, he was on no other medications, and medically, there really wasn't much else to do. He was alive, but brain dead. Socially, things were much more complex, and very sad. As an illegal immigrant who had been traveling and working alone, there was no documentation, no friends, no contacts back in Mexico. He hadn't had a single visitor in his entire two months, and the social worker's efforts to find 267

some contact person was entirely unsuccessful. The large grain company from whose silo he had fallen claimed, unconvincingly, that they had no idea who he was and that he had been on their property illegally. And of course, there was no one to pick up the bill for the hospital. Including the surgeries, specialist consults, ICU stay and special equipment, his total bill after two months was approaching eight hundred thousand dollars. The hospital administrators just loved these cases, so much so that they were desperate to dump him anywhere. If they could have dumped him on the street without getting caught, they probably would have. As long as Jesus sat lifeless but alive in their hospital, he was a drain on their revenue and there was no end in sight. A bottomless pit. The University hospital wouldn't accept him in transfer: he was too stable. The Rehab hospital wouldn't touch him: he had no rehab potential. The Brain Institute in Arizona would consider him. They loved these challenging cases, they assured. But when it came to illegal immigrants with no payer source, not so much. The nursing homes were too full, or didn't take patients with PEG tubes, or didn't have the required level of nursing care available. The hospital tried to explain: you only need to change his diaper 268

twice daily and hook his tube up to a pump. But no dice. Nobody would get paid, and everybody knew it, and nobody was going to be dumb enough to get this hopeless case dumped onto their doorstep. The hospital had been lucky enough to win the Jesus Macias lottery, and now they were stuck with him. So Jesus Messias was dead but still alive and had no place to lay his head, excepting Loveland Memorial Hospital, whose administrators gritted their teeth and eventually, begrudgingly accepted their fate. The residents checked up on him everyday, but there was nothing to do. Sometimes someone would feel sad for him, would feel compelled to write an order for a pain med, because, well, maybe he was in pain. But as the weeks became months, they mostly forgot about him, and pretty soon he became a sort of a cynical joke to all involved. When the residents checked out to each other, they would joke about the latest developments in his case: he was seen playing checkers; he pinched a nurse on the rear; he was requesting to go outside to smoke. All false, all funny. It was an entirely rational if cynical response to a hopeless situation. Why not find some humor in it? It wasn't hurting him any. 269

So now, as Joe walked briskly to Jesus' room, he was wondering what must have happened. Who was going to believe him today when he told the morning crew that Jesus had been resurrected? Joe entered the room, and three nurses were crowded around the bed, where Jesus' head was elevated. His eyes were open, and blinking slowly, and his left hand was pawing methodically, aimlessly at the air just above his hospital gown. The attending nurse saw Joe enter and said, “Dr. Rorke, look! It's a miracle!” Joe took a long, slow look, and replied, “Amazing. When did you notice this?” “When I checked on him at four a.m., nothing had changed. Just lying there like always. But when I came in a little after six, he was lying flat in bed with his eyes open, doing this with his left hand.” “Has he been moving his right hand?” “No. Just his left. He made a few groaning noises, right, girls? Like he was trying to talk.” The other nurses nodded. 270

Joe came to the side of his bed and looked into Jesus' eyes. They were open, and Joe shined a penlight into them. The left pupil was completely dilated, but the right one was contracting properly.

His eyes

were making tiny, almost imperceptible oscillating movements towards the left. He made a guttural, slurping sound, and the nurse pointed and said, “Hear that? Do you think he's trying to talk?” “Uh, I don't know. Let's see something.” Joe tried to catch Jesus' attention with his hand, but to no avail. He was staring thickly into the distance, and his hand kept pawing at the air. Joe called out, “Senor Macias, puede oirme?” No response. Joe performed a few more quick tests, but elicited no response. Jesus continued to moan gutturally, and even coughed a few times. Joe talked to the nurses for another five minutes, wrote some orders, and asked for the neurologist to come and reassess him later that day. Then he headed back up to the call room for morning checkout, when his cell phone rang. It was Kaitlyn. “Hello, beautiful,” Joe answered. “Hello, handsome. How was your night?”

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“Rough. I got about two hours of sleep chopped up into three or fours chunks. Had some terrible admissions. This drunk was brought in by the police around one in the morning after they found him passed out in the park, and it turns out his has a horrific infection in his foot. If he survives, he'll probably have to have it amputated.” “That's horrible.” “Yeah, it is. But then just now, something strange happened. Jesus Macias woke up.” “The migrant worker? Are you serious?” “Yes. It's kind of amazing.” “It's been two months, hasn't it? Is he talking?” “No. That's the bad part. He appears to be paralyzed on the right side and he's just moaning and making motions with his left hand. He's still not responsive. But his eyes are open.” “Do you think he'll recover?” “Maybe. Look, I'll tell you about it later. I'm going to be late for check-out, and I think it's Strumph again today.” 272

“Uh-oh. Better run.” “But I love you. I should be home around noon. You're off today, right?” “Yes. Thank goodness.” She sounded like she was going to say more, but didn't. “Okay. See you soon.” “Okay. Love you.” Joe disconnected and stood in the hallway for a second. His hand was resting lightly on the doorknob to the call room. He stared at his phone and sighed. She had something to tell him, but she was waiting to do it in person. He had heard her throw up yesterday morning, even though she thought she had disguised it. He knew it. He was developing an intuition about her. The dream flashed in front of his eyes for the first time in weeks. The green light, the floppy newborn, the attached umbilical cord, the gathering darkness and Kaitlyn's disappearing hands. He'd had that dream only once, but it seared his mind. His was different than hers had been. Hers apparently was 273

pleasant and powerful. His was gruesome and eerie, and he had decided not to tell her about it because he didn't understand it. But he tried to convince himself that it wasn't necessarily scary. He had seen plenty of floppy babies in his career. They almost always turned out just fine. And while he hadn't been able to talk to her or get her attention, Kaitlyn had looked lovely and healthy standing in her wedding dress. There was no reason to interpret that she was in some sort of danger. The dream could mean anything. Or, more likely, it meant nothing. Maybe it was like he had first suspected, all some weird psychological phenomenon that he and Kaitlyn had chosen to infuse with artificial importance. In any case, he was exhausted. He would have to summon the will to be excited when she told him the news. He didn't know whether to be ecstatic or terrified. Right now, he didn't have the strength to be either. But Jesus Macias was alive, and he felt some mild excitement at being able to tell this unexpected news to the other residents this morning. How was he going to do it? He would have to make it dramatic.

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Then he looked to his watch. 7:05. Strumph. Late again. His shoulders slumped as he turned the doorknob and tiredly opened the door.

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III

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Chapter 30 Five months had passed, and a lot had changed. The worst of the winter had passed, and the first hints of spring were starting to peak through the grass. Kaitlyn was just starting to show. Joe had sold his truck and bought a used sedan that could fit a car seat in the back. They were getting ready to move into a two-bedroom apartment in the same complex. Travis's nose had healed and he and Joe had patched up their friendship, even went skiing together a few times, and Travis never made another crude joke to Joe. Joe's hand healed completely, though if he gripped something just right it still tweaked with pain on the outside edge. But some things were the same. Joe was still working like a dog and mostly miserable while doing it. The same procession of deadbeats and drunks and drug addicts still filed inexhaustibly through the hospital doors, and with each new admission on a call night, Joe was increasingly suspicious that it was all some sort of cruel conspiracy against his happiness. Kaitlyn was still working four shifts a week on labor and delivery, and planned on continuing right up until she delivered, if they let her. Jesus Macias was still in the extended care unit, unable to move his right arm or to say a coherent 277

word, though he had been able to turn his head to a person's voice. There was still no place to send him. And there were no more dreams. To Kaitlyn, this seemed perfectly reasonable. To her, the dream had been fulfilled. She had found Joe and discovered the precious, utterly compelling presence within the cabin, which turned out to be her developing daughter. The dream had ended there, and real life had followed suit, and so there was nothing else to discover or understand about it. She was aware that Joe may have seen something different, something that disturbed him, and had never told her the whole story. But whatever it had been, he seemed to relax with the passage of time and was now fully engaged in her pregnancy. Her first trimester had been difficult, lots of vomiting and fatigue. But by three months, she was feeling better and had started to focus on her baby-to-be, picking out cribs and clothes and decorations. It was funny how she was surrounded by babies and births everyday in her job, but now this was her body and her baby and she was starting to get the nesting urge. Just two weeks ago, she began feeling her kick. Last week, she had been unable to button her pants for the first time. 278

To Joe, the dream had become irrelevant. Its vividness had receded with time, taking with it the fear. He took delight in his beautiful wife and her expanding belly and the new life they had established together. Their relationship was fun and effortless and full of hope, and despite the misery of his job, he loved life again because of her. The moment he got off work, he would rush home just to be near her. They had to make a rule to limit his appearances on the labor and delivery unit when she was working, because if he showed up, then neither one of them could get their anything done. The relationship was tangible, real, under control, and he began to wonder if they had ever had the dream. He knew they had, but he could scarcely remember the details. Life with Kaitlyn seemed to be a dream all its own now. So for their own separate reasons, neither of them had mentioned the dream in over a month, ever since they had done the ultrasound. Joe had set it up to do himself at the clinic after hours, and as they entered the darkened room, they discussed what the gender might be. Both remembered the dream, that it had been a girl, and though Kaitlyn didn't invoke that specifically as evidence, she said, “You know it's a girl, right?” Joe said that he would believe it when he saw it. When the ultrasound showed a girl, 279

Kaitlyn had squeezed his hand in confirmation, and Joe whispered to her, “Fifty-fifty chance,” and winked, then kissed her. They hadn't mentioned the dream since. Joe had been less interested in the gender than in the fetus's health, anyway. By every measure the baby was growing and developing perfectly. Kaitlyn's prenatal tests were all superb, and she took exceptional care of herself, what she ate, and how she exercised. So Joe had, by the time of the ultrasound, convinced himself that there was nothing to the dream, and the ultrasound had chased any residual doubts away. Now it was nine o'clock at night on a Thursday in late March and they were watching a college basketball game on television. It was the NCAA tournament and Joe's team, the Arizona Wildcats, was playing to make it into the Final Four. But they shot poorly and played even worse on defense and were being beaten by twenty points. Joe turned off the TV in frustration with three minutes left in the game. Kaitlyn tried to offer consolation. “Hey, always next year, right?” “Yeah, right. Their three best players are going pro and they'll bring in a bunch of freshman and they'll be terrible.” 280

“Hey, where's the hope?” “It has nothing to do with hope. Just reality. If they were going to do it, now was the time.” He went to the fridge to find something to eat, stared for a few minutes, then closed it and grabbed some cookies from the pantry. He offered some to Kaitlyn. “No thanks,” she said. “Are you serious? I thought you loved these.” “Those? No way. I can't stand them.” “You're joking, right? When we first met, you're the one who introduced them to me.” “Me? Nope.” “No, I'm serious. I'd never had them until you bought them and told me to try them. Trust me.” “No way, Joe. Don't you think I know what I like? Those are gross.” Joe was smiling. Didn't she like these? She had, in fact, introduced them to him, he was sure. It hadn't been that long ago. She had raved about 281

them, and he presumed that, at that point, she had in actuality truly loved them. But he noticed increasingly that pregnancy had totally altered her preferences in food. And not only that, but it had altered her very memory of her likes and dislikes. Like the other day, he had suggested Mexican food--maybe Casa Azul?--and she had only stuck her tongue out at him as if the very thought of it made her about to vomit. When he shared with her his memory of their first date, when she had devoured a chimichanga there, she showed genuine surprise. With some self-disdain, she had said, “If that's true, then I don't know what I was thinking.” Over the last month, her diet had consisted primarily of saltine crackers, tomato soup and tuna fish. Almost every day, she brightly recommended this very same menu for their dinner plans. Joe initially had been accommodating for the first one and even two weeks of this monotonous meal, but eventually he had asked her, with some hesitance, if they might consider something different tonight? At which point she bit her lip and held her hand over her stomach and asked, “Like what?” He began to recite a lengthy list of alternative meals, mostly involving some sort of meat, 282

and she politely contorted her face in various stages of restrained disgust, and after a few minutes they came back to the irrefutable fact that tomato soup and tuna fish, topped with saltine crackers, was by far the most delicious and nutritious meal in the entire world. He was a doctor, she said. He should know that. Joe handled it all with a grin. He had seen hundreds of pregnant women, but never one as glowingly lovely as her. She looked prettier every day, tuna fish or no. So after he ate his disgusting cookies, they got ready and crawled into bed. Kaitlyn asked, “Do you want to listen tonight?” Joe had gotten in the habit of bringing home his clinic's hand-held fetal heart monitor in the evenings, and they had made it a nightly ritual, hearing the whooshing, crackling beat of their daughter's heart. He responded apologetically, “You know what? I forgot to bring it home tonight.” “Oh, darn it.” “Don't worry. I'll bring it home tomorrow. Remind me.” 283

“Okay.” She seemed disproportionately sad, and Joe asked, “Didn't you say you listened to it at work today?” “Yes. It was fine.” “Good. Then I'm sure she's still fine tonight.” “Oh, I know. I just like listening to her with you.” “Really? Thanks.” “No, I mean it.” She held her hand over her belly, “Oooh. I just felt her kick. She's fine.” “Good.” “But I like it when my handsome doctor husband tells me that himself.” “Well, thanks. Again.” The was a brief silence, and then Kaitlyn asked, “Don't you like to listen to her with me?” “Of course.” Joe's spider sense detected that this was heading in a 284

precarious direction. He had to be careful. Kaitlyn replied, “Then why aren't you sad?” “About what?” “About what? About this, of course.” “Sweetheart, I'm not sure what you're getting at.” She dropped her head onto her pillow and began to cry, “You don't understand.” He was trying not to laugh at her and said gently, “Sweetheart, tell me what you mean. I'm trying to understand.” She wiped a tear from her eye, and said, “I'm sorry. I sometimes just feel like the baby's not important to you.” “What are you talking about? She's the most important thing in the world to me, right after you.” She turned to him and asked seriously, “What do you mean, 'right after you'?” Joe wasn't sure what he meant. He didn't mean anything, really. He just knew he was stepping blindly in a minefield and hoping to make it out 285

alive. He took a scoot back and offered a safe approach, “I mean you are my wife and I love you and she is my daughter and I love her.” She was eyeing him skeptically, and then she smiled, and Joe knew he had somehow passed the ill-defined test. She said grinning, “You mean it, Joe?” “Do I mean it? Oh yeah! I think about you and her all day. I tell my patients about you two.” He was exaggerating, sort of, but it seemed like the right thing to say. She was beaming now, and the tears were really starting to flow, but happy ones. “You are a sweet man, do you know that?” He reached to cradle her in his arms, and she put her face on his shoulder and began to sob. She cried quietly for ten minutes while he stroked her hair, and then she fell asleep. Joe lay awake for another thirty minutes, amused at the torrent of emotions pregnancy had released into this beautiful, tenderhearted and previously stalwart woman who had become his wife and the mother of his child. He loved her. 286

Chapter 31 Joe was surprised to find himself in the canoe a few hours later. It had been several months, and after some delay in recognition, he wasn't enthused about it, and so he was content to drift along slowly for a bit. He took a little more time to scan the shores. Everything was indistinct, shrouded in the fog. He took a few lazy strokes in another direction, but every stroke seemed to bring him back towards the dock. He glided in and stepped slowly onto the dock, and his mind was becoming more alert. The memories were coming back, and they were not pleasant. He began to feel angry. He didn't want to be here tonight. Things were going along great. He didn't need to get pounded by hail again. Didn't want to wave frantically at Kaitlyn just to be ignored. Didn't want to see that terrible image of the floppy baby and her bloody dress and the darkening green glow, if that's all that was waiting for him. No, really. He didn't want any part of it anymore. He didn't need it. He stopped walking down the dock and looked ahead, saw the dripping wet bushes, the sun on the outer leaves at the end. Nope, he thought. I'm done. He turned around, stepped back towards the canoe and before he knew it he 287

had plunged into the cold dark water of the lake. The canoe was gone. It was freezing, like glacier water, and he was shocked. He couldn't breathe. He had all of his clothes on and he started sinking like a cement block. It was dark and murky and the water was like ice. This is deep, he thought. No bottom. He kicked his legs out to stop the descent, and he pushed back towards the surface, towards the gray light above him. He kicked and stroked upwards, and the light grew brighter. He surged up and out of the water, gripping the edge of the dock and pulling himself out, dripping wet. He was shivering, and he had to move to keep warm. He looked down the dock and saw the sunlight on the leaves outside, and he moved towards it. Then he was out in the valley in the intense sunlight, and the lake and fog had vanished, and he was soaking wet, but the sun felt briefly warm. A few seconds and all of the memories came flooding back. He knew what was coming. He had to hurry to beat the hail. He didn't want any part of that. Kaitlyn wasn't on the pathway, but he knew she wouldn't be, and he didn't waste any time, just took off running for the cabin. The storm and thunder exploded on top of him immediately, and he thought, Can't I catch a 288

break? The freezing rain and sleet blew across him and the dust of the trail congealed into mud. He started slipping. Then the hammering hail rumbled over him, pushing him down, pelting him, stinging. Joe was angry. He was freezing and beaten down, bedraggled and dripping wet when he finally propelled himself through the broken door and onto the shattered glass. The rumbling noise of the storm stopped, and he pulled himself up and looked to the curving stairway.

He felt the familiar jab into his palm as he

pulled himself to stand, but he didn't stop moving. He saw the green glow at the top of the stairs, but Kaitlyn wasn't there. Unexpected. Where was she then? He felt a new rush of fear. He tried to stand, but the heaviness of his legs returned and it was all he could do to drag himself towards the stairs on his hands and knees. He finally made it up to the doorway and looked in. He was relieved to see Kaitlyn there, standing over the glowing green crib. She seemed alright. At least she was there, and he felt relieved. He hurried to stand. The weightiness was leaving, and he walked towards her, still dripping wet. He tried calling her name, but she couldn't hear, and he knew it was futile. He came behind her and reached to touch her on the shoulder, but this time his 289

hand passed right through her like she was a hologram. He hesitated. What was going on? He looked at her, and now her personage was beginning to disappear, fading into the vanishing green light. He could see right through her and then, before he could even think, she was gone, and through where she had been, he could see the crib and the floppy blue baby. He saw the umbilical cord attached, but instead of being thick and dark, it was flaccid and gray, and he followed it to the edge of the crib, and now the end of it was torn and it dropped off the crib and blood was draining onto the floor. Where was Kaitlyn? Hadn't she been attached to the cord? But she was gone. Joe saw a golden ring spinning on the floor in her place, and then it clinked to rest in the pool of umbilical blood. He looked back to the baby girl, who was turning gray. She was dying. Joe leaped into action, and reached in and grabbed the cord. He hastily tied the end in a knot close to her abdomen, then lifted her into his arms. She was warm and slimy but still. He began rubbing her back vigorously. He could feel her heart beating in her chest, but slow, too slow. He looked for something to clear out her mouth and nose, kept rubbing, stuck 290

his index finger in her mouth, and then he felt a gentle pull. It worked like turning an ignition. She sucked on his finger, then took one wet, gurgling half-breath, and then she let out a feeble cry. Then she sucked in another breath, then another, and suddenly she was pumping out wet scream after scream, each one building. With every breath, her color improved from purple to orange to pinkish gray. Joe was breathing heavily, and took a deep breath himself. She was going to be alright. He tucked her into his arms and close to his body to try and keep her warm, but he realized he was soaked, and his clothes were frigid. He looked around but there was nothing dry. With one hand, he ripped his shirt off over his head and held her directly to the skin of his chest. She began flexing her arms and legs and he became suddenly aware of the wonder of her little beating heart, could feel it thrumming like a hummingbird inside her. This little human machine was howling and whirring away in his arms and he suddenly knew that this was his daughter, and tears sprung into his eyes. But where was her mother? Joe looked around. Where was Kaitlyn? The thought of the torn cord rushed into his mind, and filled him with terror. He spun around and noticed the light around the crib had changed. It was 291

flickering, orange like candlelight. He scanned around and in the far corner of the room he saw the dying pale green glow. There was a doorway there, and framed in the pale green light he could see Kaitlyn. She was turning her head to look at him, and then the door slammed shut. It was a heavy door with thick wooden planks and large metal bindings, like out of a dungeon, and it squeaked and groaned before it banged shut. A large iron ring dangled where a doorknob should have been and rattled to a rest. “Kaitlyn?” Joe panicked. “Kaitlyn!” His voice was ringing out clearly now, and it startled the baby, who shrieked louder. Joe looked around and frantically placed her back in the crib. He lunged towards the door. “Kaitlyn!” He could see the green glow leaking around the edges but fading. He grabbed the iron ring and pulled. It didn't budge. He pounded his fists on the door, felt the rough, solid thickness of the wood. He kicked it, yanked at the ring again. “No! No!” There was only silence beyond the door, and the green light extinguished. The baby was shrieking from the crib, and Joe screamed again and 292

again, throwing his shoulder into the door like a battering ram until he finally collapsed on the floor in futility and exhaustion.

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Chapter 32 In the morning, Kaitlyn awoke slowly, yawned and stretched her arms, then reached to touch her belly, where she could feel the fluttering of kicks. She turned to Joe and reached her arm towards him, but she came up empty. His side of the bed was cold. She sat up and rubbed her eyes and she saw Joe leaning with his back against the door frame of the bathroom. A pale gray light slanted through the blinds. “Are you alright, Joe?” He didn't answer, and she looked at him and saw him scowling at the floor. “Hey, what's going on? Are you mad?” He looked to her and shook his head. His eyes were tired. “No, I'm not mad.” “Then what's wrong? How long have you been awake?” “A while.” “What's going on?” She leaned towards him, searching his face. “Did you have a bad dream?” “No.” He paused, then said somberly, “But I've been thinking.” 294

“About what?” “About you. About the baby.” “And? Everything's great, remember? Isn't that what we said last night?” “No, we don't know that.” “Oh,” she said, and then spoke with restrained frustration, “Well, did you discover some secret new information in the middle of the night? Did you do an ultrasound on me while I was asleep?” “Hey, I'm being serious.” “So am I. Tell me what you're talking about. You're making me upset.” “I'm just worried. We don't know that everything is alright.” “What makes you so certain something is wrong?” “I don't know that something is wrong. I'm just saying that something could be wrong and we just don't know it. Or that something will go wrong and we're not prepared.” Kaitlyn looked to him, eyes cloudy with confusion. “Joe, please. Tell 295

me what's bothering you. What could have possibly changed overnight?” “Look, sweetheart.” His voice sounded patronizing, and he tried to change it. “Haven't you seen some bad stuff happen in L&D?” “Of course.” “And how often can you predict when it's going to happen?” “I don't know. I haven't really thought about it. Sometimes you get a bad feeling, especially about the sick ones. But that's obvious. I just take care of them as best as I can, and what happens, happens.” “Exactly. What happens, happens. And sometimes it's bad. I don't like that.” “You don't like that,” she said with disbelief. “No, I don't like it. I don't like it when it's my patient, and I definitely don't like it when it's my wife.” “Well, your wife is not your patient. Dr. Johnston's my doctor.” “Yeah, I know.” “You're the one who recommended him.”

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“I know. But maybe you should switch.” “Why should I do that? I thought you said he was the best.” “I think he's competent. He's my friend. But not necessarily the best, at least when things get complicated.” “Well, thanks for telling me.” She sat back in exasperation, and then cried out, “Joe, why are you acting this way? You're really upsetting me. Why do you suddenly think that things are going to get complicated? There's nothing to suggest that. Nothing at all.” Joe slumped to the floor in the doorway, and put his head in his hands and didn't respond. Kaitlyn said, “Look. This is not a good way to start the day. You of all people should know not to upset a pregnant woman.” She threw off the covers and stepped towards him, over him and into the bathroom. “And you should respect me enough to tell me what's bothering you without scaring me half to death. I'm going to take a shower and get ready for work and maybe by then you'll be ready to tell me what in the world you're so frightened about.” 297

She went to the shower, and Joe went to the kitchen and poured a bowl of cereal, but he wasn't hungry. He was upset, and he was making her upset, and this wasn't helping anything. But he was furious at the dream, and he couldn't get it out of his mind. He had awoken in a frantic sweat at three in the morning, terrified at the image of the door slamming behind her. He hadn't wanted to wake her, because she was still sleeping peacefully. He waited for her to wake up on her own, but she didn't. After twenty minutes, he got out of bed and spent the rest of the night pacing the room and leaning against the wall, pondering the dream, getting angrier, waiting for her to wake up. Now it was three hours later, and he had consciously decided that he wasn't going to believe in it, any of it. It didn't mean anything. It was crazy fool dream and it was of no consequence in the real world, and it wasn't even worth his time to think about. Yet the dream had planted the seed of terror in him, deeply. And despite his attempts to disregard it, the memory of every labor and delivery disaster he had ever witnessed came rushing back to him. The undiagnosed breech. The eclamptic seizure. The twenty-nine week stillborn. The 298

retained placenta. The fourth degree tear. The post-partum hemorrhage. They came screeching across his memory like a mangled train wreck, images of blood and carnage and injury and death, and he couldn't make them go away. He tried to convince himself that these were the exceptions, not the rule. Ninety percent of the time, everything was just fine and the doctor's presence was superfluous. Ninety percent of the time, the mom and the baby were perfectly healthy before, during, and after birth and everybody went home happy, and if there were complications, they were minor and posed no serious threats. And most of that unlucky ten percent were the diabetics and the obese and the smokers and the druggies. Kaitlyn was as healthy a patient as anyone could hope for. Nine out of ten. Those were pretty good odds. But he couldn't convince himself. He tried to shut the dream out of his mind. It's not real, he told himself. It's a fantasy. It's illogical. It has nothing to do with her pregnancy. Nothing. But he was still terrified. She turned off the shower, and he was standing by the window. It was cloudy and looked like it might rain. When she came into the room, dressed 299

in blue scrubs, he turned to look at her and she came towards him and embraced him by the window. In this light, her blue eyes stood out dimly against the grayness, and she fixed his eyes and said softly, “I love you. I'm going to be alright. Really.” He held her tightly and said, “Let's hope so.” She looked up at him and said, “And if I'm not . . .” He pulled his head back and interrupted, “Don't say that.” “Don't say that? You're the one that brought it up.” She put her head back on his chest and rubbed his back. “No, just listen. All I'm saying is that if I'm not okay, then things can still be okay.” “That doesn't make sense.” He pulled away from her, “Now you're talking like you know something is going to happen.” “Joe,” she said, starting to lose her patience, “Come on. Don't give me that. I don't know anything. That's the point. You can't control everything. You can't control my pregnancy and you can't control me. You just can't, and you need to accept it. Sometimes, things happen one way or the other, whether you like it or not.” 300

“No.” He looked distantly out the window. “I don't believe that. Bad things happen, sure. But only if you're not prepared.” “Maybe. But sometimes bad things happen anyway. Come on. You know you don't really believe what you're saying. Do you think you're Superman or something?” He grunted, then turned to look back out the window. “Look, I'm just not going to let anything happen to you.” “Thank you. I appreciate that. You love me, okay? I understand. And I love you. But listen to yourself--” She was going to say more but stopped. After a long silence, Joe looked down to her, and asked with utmost seriousness, “Tell me what happened to your mother.” “What?” “To your mother. What happened to her in childbirth?” “Huh?” Her eyes were searching him. “So that's it, Joe? That's what this is about? You and Keith, eh?” She added softly, “You know that's unrelated.” 301

“Maybe. But maybe not. You're the same age.” “And don't you think I've thought of that?” “I don't know. We've never talked about it.” “Well, of course I've thought about it.” She looked into his eyes, then out the window. “My dad said she had a massive post-partum hemorrhage. She bled to death.” “And why didn't they save her?” “It was a small hospital in the middle of nowhere twenty-six years ago. They didn't have her blood type. And 'they' was my dad. He was her doctor. There was nothing he could have done.” “No.” “What?” She pulled away from him and looked angrily to his face, “What do you mean, 'no'?” He took in a long, slow breath, but set his face firmly, and replied, “Even twenty-six years ago, he could have done something, if he was ready for it. Look, I'm not blaming him. There were a lot of factors working against him. But still, she died because he wasn't prepared.” 302

Kaitlyn pushed him into the wall and breathed in sharply. She struck him hard across the face with her palm. She scowled at him, and tears starting rolling down her cheeks. Her voice quivered softly, “You jerk.” She crossed her arms and whirled away, grabbed her backpack and strode briskly towards the door, paused, stifled a sob, and was gone. Joe watched her go, and then turned towards the window and rubbed his stinging cheek. He watched her get into her car and drive away. He absently knocked a book off the desk, and then kicked it violently across the room. He slumped into his computer chair for a few minutes, stewing, and then picked up the phone. He couldn't do it today. He needed some time to think. For the first time in residency, he called in sick.

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Chapter 33 Joe was stuck at home all day. He couldn't leave, because he couldn't afford to be seen somewhere besides the hospital. He had called in sick. It was a lie, and he felt like a bum. His face stung more and longer than he would have imagined, not that she'd struck him that hard, but that she'd felt angry enough to do it. She was the kindest, sweetest, gentlest person he had ever met, and for her to strike him in anger meant that he must be exactly what she had said. A jerk. Or did she have a violent side that had been hidden until now? He knew that wasn't true. He had simply pushed her past the brink of her extraordinary patience. But maybe there were a lot of things he didn't know about her. He had known her for a total of six months. He knew who she was now, at this point in her life, and he loved her. But what did he really know of her life history, or her family history? No matter how she took it, it wasn't irrelevant to ask how her mother died. He could have done it more tactfully, perhaps, less confrontationally, but it was still relevant. Some childbirth related problems could be familial. Hemorrhaging was probably the most gruesome way to die in 304

childbirth, but it was the end of several different possible roads. Had she torn? Had she had an infection or a ruptured uterus? Did she have a bleeding disorder or a placental problem? Did she have a prolonged labor and her uterus just gave out at the end? If he knew more, then he could know how to prevent the same fate for Kaitlyn. She was mad at him for asking, but she didn't understand his reasons. Her life could be in danger. She thought he was being controlling, but he was just trying to protect her. From what, though? From the dream? No. Joe was done with that. He wouldn't even mention to her that he'd had another one, because it was foolish and, deep down, he feared she would put more faith in the dream than in him. There was no reason to introduce delusional nightmares into this equation. Besides, it wouldn't help anything. The best thing to do was to ignore it. If it served any purpose, at least it had woken him up to the dangers—the real catastrophes, not imaginary fantasies--that lurked if he were unprepared. The thought crossed his mind that his extra precautions were, in fact, in direct reaction to the dream's foreshadowing, despite his intellectual protestations. Maybe that was true. But regardless, he thought, I'm just covering my bases. I'm ignoring the dream, but should there be any 305

tiny element of truth to it, I'm prepared to thwart it. With some time to think, he had developed a plan, jotting down notes and making some phone calls. He would consider every angle, consult with the right people, and when she delivered, all possible contingencies would be planned for. It could be done. Most hospitals are prepared for the common emergencies, but he would be prepared for every conceivable disaster. He knew the questions to ask, the people to talk to, the supplies to request, the precautions to take. He could do it. Later in the afternoon, he was feeling more in control, but still on edge. He had a plan, but he would have to try and talk to her, apologize, explain what he had come up with, get her to buy in. It would take some fence-mending. If she would let him explain, then she would understand. But he guessed that Kaitlyn wouldn't be in the mood for talking right away. He was right. When she came home that night, she looked exhausted. She offered a reserved greeting to Joe, who was watching basketball from the couch, but she made no overtures for instant reconciliation. After changing her clothes, she came into the kitchen and said, “So, you called in sick, huh?” 306

“Yeah. How did you know?” “Well, for one, you weren't at the hospital. I had several residents ask me if you were alright. I was a little embarrassed because I didn't even know you were sick.” She looked at him. “Are you?” “No. Not really. But it's true I don't feel well. I just couldn't handle it today.” “Doesn't that leave the other residents in a bind if you just don't show up?” “I called in. Hey, I've picked up other people's slack for two years now.” He was defensive, but backed off. “I had other things on my mind today, okay?” “Okay.” Her native kindness was about to take over and offer consolation, but she restrained herself, and Joe was disappointed. He was hoping she would be the first to try and make up. It would be much easier that way. She asked skeptically, “So, what's the deal?” “Do you really want to know?” He didn't seem to be in a receptive mood. 307

“Well--” She pulled out some pots and opened a can of tomato soup. “I don't know. I don't think so. Not yet.” Joe saw the sickly red-orange liquid dripping out of the can, and he realized he couldn't stand to eat it one more time. Not tonight. He asked politely, “I was thinking about, maybe, eating something different tonight. What do you think?” “Suit yourself,” she said without looking at him. “I don't suppose it would have been too much for you have dinner ready when I got home, seeing as you’ve been home all day.” She threw the can in the trash. “What did you do, anyway?” “I came up with a plan.” “A plan? About what?” “About you and the baby.” She turned to look at him now, and he continued, “I was hoping to share it with you. When you're ready. It's a plan to keep you both alive.” “You're kidding.” This wasn't the reaction he'd hoped for. “Actually, no. I'm not.” 308

“You came up with a plan for me and the baby.” She turned back to the stove. “Don't you think I may want to be consulted in this plan? You may recall that I know a thing or two about birth.” “What do you think I'm doing now?” he pleaded. “Look, I don't want to talk about this. Not now. Maybe later.” “Okay. Fine. It can wait.” Joe tried but failed to convey a sense of non-chalance. He stood up and opened the refrigerator. Nothing looked good, but anything looked less awful than tomato soup. She had said, “Suit yourself,” and he suddenly realized that this could be liberating. Due to the circumstances, he was not constrained by the tyranny of her cravings. They had the stuff to make BLTs, and he pulled some bacon out. “Oh, please. No,” said Kaitlyn. “What?” “You can't be serious. You're going to cook bacon?” “Well,” he held the package of bacon in front of him, “the thought did cross my mind. I was thinking of BLTs.” “Oh, gross. No. No, I can't handle that.” Her hand was on her 309

stomach and her tongue was sticking out. “The smell will linger for weeks.” Joe thought about fighting this battle. He wanted bacon. But he decided against it, and put it back with disappointment. Her soup was starting to boil, little red bubbles splattering on the stove, and she came to retrieve it. He scanned the fridge again, and suddenly he couldn't stand to be in their apartment anymore. He had been there all day. There was nothing to eat. Kaitlyn's anger was simmering palpably, along with her disgusting soup, and it was oppressive. He had to get out. He grabbed his keys off the table and reached for his jacket. “Where are you going?” “Out. Nothing looks good. And I just realized I didn't even eat lunch. I'll grab some fast food or something.” He turned to go, then thought to attempt one more gesture of peacemaking. “Can I get you something?” She looked to him, appeared about to soften, but said only, “No thanks.” He turned to go and let the door close slowly behind him, hoping she might call out for a truce. But it shut with a swish and a clank and there was 310

no Kaitlyn, and he trudged out towards his brown sedan. It was dark out, and the street was quiet. The streetlights cast an orange glow over the brown grass and barren trees and he thought, early spring notwithstanding, everything looked dead and lifeless and completely depressing. He hopped in and started the car, feeling the weakness of the engine as he put it into gear. He missed his truck. He looked up to their window, but Kaitlyn wasn't in sight. He drove around to McDonald's, pulled into the parking lot, and contemplated life and food. No, he thought: a Big Mac is not going to do it tonight. He backed out and drove down another street. KFC? No. Wendy's? No. Nothing looked good. He drove around for twenty minutes. His aimlessness and indecisiveness was exceeded only by his hunger, and eventually he saw the blue and red neon sign for Casa Azul. Mexican. He thought, I need some real Mexican. He parked and walked in, felt odd at being here alone. As the waiter guided him towards a lone booth, he looked around and suddenly felt very self-conscious. He was supposed to be sick. He hoped he wouldn't see anyone from the hospital. 311

But it was too late. “Dr. Rorke! How are you?” Joe was chagrined, but the voice was friendly. He turned around, tried to appear slightly ill, and was relieved to see Dr. Dave Johnston and his wife. Dave asked sympathetically, “I thought you were sick today. You must be doing better.” Just like Dave, thought Joe, to give me the benefit of the doubt. He managed a cough, and said in a slightly feeble voice, “Yeah, just felt very fatigued and queasy today. Slight temp.” Which didn't really explain why, being so sick, he was at a Mexican restaurant alone. Joe was lying to a friend, and he hated it. He attempted a weak joke, “Maybe Kaitlyn's morning sickness is contagious.” Dave and his wife laughed. Dave said, “Well, hopefully it's just a twenty-four hour bug. How is Kaitlyn doing, anyway? Is she at home tonight?” “Uh, she's fine. Real tired, you know.” “Well, you tell her that her doctor recommends plenty of rest. And tell her I want her husband making dinner every night. Doing the dishes. 312

Whatever she wants. Doctor's orders.” Joe managed a false little chuckle. Dave was being friendly and genuine, but he didn't know these things were stinging. Joe forced a cough again and said, “You better not get too close so I don't get you sick.” “Good advice, doctor. You get some rest this weekend. Hopefully we'll see you on Monday, but you take care of yourself.” He turned to go, and then offered a final aside, “Gotta get well for golf season. That is, if the boss lets me play this year.” His wife tugged playfully at his arm and they strolled out of the restaurant. Joe sat down and perused the menu for a second. He stomached a few chips and salsa, and then got antsy sitting there. He felt exposed and alone. It was still fairly early, and he didn't want to see anyone else. He fished two dollars out of his wallet and left it at the table for the chips, and then got up and crept out. He drove straight back to McDonald's and got a Big Mac from the drive-thru, then drove to the park by the lake. It was a cloudy, cold spring night and the park still looked barren and lifeless from the long winter. Joe tried to conjure up the images from their first kiss here during those sultry 313

days of late last summer, when the leaves had been thick on the trees and the morning sunrise had lit everything on fire. It had all happened so fast. Yet it all seemed so distant. He tried to eat his Big Mac, but it was difficult. His stomach was queasy. Maybe he really was sick, or maybe he had talked himself into it. He ate half of it and then wrapped the rest up and threw it in the bag. He should just go home, talk to her, explain his reasoning. It was perfectly logical. He was only trying to protect her, and she would understand. But he didn't. He pulled away from the park, put in a Beatles CD and wandered around the city streets. After a few songs, he turned off onto the highway. He drove aimlessly towards the mountains for twenty minutes, and then turned around. When he got back to their apartment, the lights were off and it was locked. He creaked open the front door and took his jacket off. He walked through the kitchen, and in the dim light he could see a bowl of tomato soup that had barely been touched. He walked into their bedroom, and Kaitlyn was wrapped under the covers. He could hear her slow, steady breathing. He got ready for bed silently, and slid beside her. She stirred for a moment, 314

turned the other way, and then resumed her breathing. He lay on his back and looked at the dark ceiling for an hour before he drifted off to sleep.

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Chapter 34 “No!!!” Kaitlyn's mind was exhausted and she was in a deep sleep, and though she'd heard a scream, she didn't quite wake up. She tossed and then felt Joe shifting in bed, felt his weight leave the mattress, and she rolled over and opened her eyes. Orange light slit through the blinds, and Joe was pacing by the windows. “Honey? Are you okay?” she asked. Joe stopped pacing and looked to her. In the faint light, she could see his eyes, and they were wide open and alarmed. “You're awake?” he asked. “Yes, I'm awake. What's going on? Did you just scream?” “I don't know. Maybe. Probably.” “Did you have a nightmare?” He didn't answer, but crossed the room to her side of the bed and gently touched her face, and then clasped her urgently to his chest. “Are you okay?” he asked. “I'm just fine,” Kaitlyn responded. “But a little scared. Please, tell 316

me what's going on.” Joe stroked her hair, holding her tightly, inhaled deeply to slow his breathing. She could feel his heart racing. His muscles were tense. He was cold with sweat. He's terrified, she thought. But of what? He still didn't answer, and after a few minutes his heart rate slowed. She pulled back and held his face in her hands and asked again, “Tell me what's going on.” “I--” He was hesistant. “I'm not sure what to say.” “Just the truth, Joe. Tell me why you're scared.” “I don't know if I trust what I feel.” He looked down. “Just start somewhere. You had a nightmare?” “Yes.” “What was it?” A long pause. “It was the dream.” “The dream?” “Yes, the dream. But longer, and frightening.” He looked intently at her, “I assume this means you weren't having it.” Kaitlyn was feeling spooked. She hadn't had the dream now for five 317

months. It had become an afterthought. “No,” she said. “And you haven't had it since . . . when?” “You know that. Since our honeymoon night, when we saw the baby.” Her mind was fully awake and racing now, and a question came to her mind. “I thought it was the same for you. You've been having it? How many times?” “Just twice. Last night, and--” He ran his fingers through his hair, “and just now.” “But why would you have it, and not me?” “I don't know. And I don't think I should be having it. I don't want it. I don't think it matters. It's just a stupid, idiotic, foolish dream and it's not real.” “Hey,” she replied, “Last I remember, it was beautiful. It's how we met, why we got married, how we saw our baby.” “Yeah, well, that's great. But it's still just a dream.” “Not really. It's more.” She was biting her lip. “And I'm saying it's just a dream, and it doesn't mean anything.” 318

“Look, Joe, obviously something changed. What happened just now? Something bad, I'm assuming.” “I don't really want to say.” “You said it was the same, but longer and scarier.” She paused, and said carefully, “Did I die in it or something?” He paused for a moment, and then exhaled through his mouth and said, “I'm not sure.” “Well, what happens?” “Okay,” he said, standing, starting to pace. “If you really want to know.” “Don't you think I should?” “No. I think it's unnecessary. But first, let me tell you the truth.” He started pacing, said, “The honeymoon dream, with the baby and all of that. I don't think we saw the same thing.” “What do you mean?” “You saw a green glow and a crib and a baby dressed in white, right?” “Yes, and you looking over my shoulder.” 319

“Okay, well that's not what I saw. Not exactly.” He looked out the window at the silent orange street and then back to her. Her face was in striped in shadows. “I feel stupid even mentioning this. But for me, that dream started like always, with the canoe and the valley and all of that. But you weren't there on the path. I waited for you, but the storm was coming. In the lightning I could see that the glass door on the cabin was already broken out. So I assumed you were already there. I started running towards it, but the hail started, huge balls of it, and the trail was muddy, and it was all I could do to make it through the door.” “Okay.” She was rapt with attention, could not take her eyes off of him as he paced. “Then I saw everything covered in sheets, saw the green glow upstairs, and there you were, standing in the doorway. I yelled to you, but you couldn't hear, and then you walked into the room.” “That's where my dream began. I didn't see you or hear you or anything.” “Yes, exactly. I tried to run to you, but my legs must have weighed a thousand pounds each, and it was all I could do to drag myself up the stairs. 320

Finally, I came up behind you, but I still couldn't yell. It sounded like I was underwater. I tapped you on the shoulder, and then looked into the crib. And I saw the baby.” “That sounds pretty much the same.” “But it wasn't the same baby, at least not what you described. This baby I saw was blue and floppy and just lying there. The cord was still attached. I followed the cord, and it was draped through the crib and then attached--” he gulped, and gestured, “Attached to you. To your belly button, through your dress, which was torn and bloody.” “Whoa.” Her eyes narrowed. “Really? How weird.” “I know. And then you tried to reach for the baby, but everything turned dark.” “Not white?” she asked. “No, dark. And then I woke up,” he replied “Why didn't you tell me?” “Because you were still asleep.” “Then why didn't you wake me? Didn't you think I'd want to know?” 321

“I'm not sure. I was scared. You looked so peaceful, and I just stared at you, trying to think of what to do, or what it meant. I decided it didn't mean anything. Eventually, you woke up, and you were crying, but it was because you were so happy.” “You still should have told me.” “I did. Sort of. I saw the green glow and the crib and the baby, the things you described. Just the details were different.” “I'll say.” “I didn't want to make a big deal of it. Like I said, I don't think it means anything.” “Do you really believe that?” He looked long and hard at her, and said, “I don't know.” “Is that the same dream you just had now? It's weird, but I don't think it necessarily means I'm going to die. It could just mean that I'm going to have a baby.” “Or maybe it doesn't mean anything.” He almost spat the words out, then sighed and said, “But no, that's not all. The last two nights, there's 322

more.” “Tell me. Please.” “I'm sorry.” He gulped, shook his head, and remained quiet. “Joe?” “Why bother with it?” “Just tell me. Please.” He was composing his thoughts. “Well, last night—and now— everything else was just like I said.” He scoffed, thinking scornfully of the pelting and stinging hail, and the shivering wetness, and then continued, “But this time, when you reached for the baby, you-- well, you disappeared. Vanished right in front of me, like a ghost.” “Really?” “I looked around, but you were gone. I saw the umbilical cord coming from the baby. It was dangling on the floor, draining blood. The baby was floppy. I grabbed the cord and tied it, picked her up, stimulated her, and pretty soon she started crying, turned nice and pink.” “Thank goodness.” 323

“Yes, but then I looked around for you. I saw you in the corner by another door, and there was the same green glow, but fainter. And then--” “Then what?” “Then--” He was leaning with his forehead against the wall. “Go on.” “Sweetheart.” He moved towards her compassionately. “Then the door slammed shut behind you. I put the baby down. I tried to pull it open, to kick it down. But I couldn't.” Joe's voice finally broke, and he finished with a whisper, “I tried, sweetie. I tried but I couldn't open it.” Kaitlyn was silent. Tears drained tensely down Joe's cheeks. He was trying to restrain himself, and sat on the bed beside her and clasped her to his chest. His heart was racing again. “I'm sorry,” he said. He couldn't pull away from her for several minutes. Finally, she spoke softly with her cheek against his chest. “Hey, you're the one who doesn't believe in dreams anymore. So don't be upset.” He composed himself and whispered, “I don't know what to think. I can't lose you, Kaitlyn.” He pulled her tightly to him, “I'm sorry. I'm 324

scared.” She ran her fingers through his thick hair, and after a moment, whispered, “Me, too.”

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Chapter 35 Eventually, Joe and Kaitlyn fell back asleep, after crying and then making love with a new urgency. They were all each other had, and something sinister was threatening to take it all away, and they had each other to rely on and no one else. Fortunately, it was a weekend, and they both had it completely off from work, and so they slept in late. Gray light burned through the windows when Joe finally stirred, and as he opened his eyes he found Kaitlyn staring thoughtfully at him. He turned to embrace her, and she said brightly, “So, let's hear this plan, cowboy.” His mind felt rested. He yawned and stretched, and said, “For today?” “No, for me and the baby.” “Hold on. I've got to clear my head first.” They got up and showered, and Joe made pancakes for breakfast, something that she would still eat. He did not make any bacon, and he made 326

sure she understood the sacrifice in that. Both were surprised and relieved that their relationship was returning to normal, that they were talking and conversing easily, without the strain of the past few days. As the morning wore on, even the weather seemed to lift, as a radiant spring sun burned away the low gray clouds and revealed the blue sky above. The rays through the window lifted the chill from the room. Kaitlyn was clearing the dishes, and Joe went to his desk to grab his notebook. He said, “Okay. Are you ready for the plan?” “Yes. Hit me.” “Oh, sweetheart.” He laughed, then feigned surprise and made a sad face. “I would never do that.” Her look softened as she remembered her slap from a few days ago, and she placed the dishes down and walked apologetically to him. “I'm so sorry. I never should have hit you.” “No, you should have. I deserved it.” “But still . . .” “No, it's okay. I think you only broke one tooth.” 327

“Joe, I'm sorry. I didn't understand.” “It's okay. I was behaving like a jerk.” He paused, and then added, “Just like you said.” He realized he was rubbing it in too much, and she was about to become very sad. He had to be careful with this pregnancy rollercoaster, and he offered, “Really, I never should have kept from you what I was thinking. Or the different dream. But it obviously was freaking me out.” “Understandably.” “But at least now we have a plan. So, are you ready?” “Yes. But first, maybe we should settle something.” Uh-oh, he thought. Now is her chance to rub it in. But she didn't. She asked, “Do we believe in it or not?” “In the dream? Uh, good question. I say no.” “Okay,” she replied uncertainly. “Can you accept that?” “Maybe. I don't want to die, obviously. I would choose not to believe that part, if that's what it really means.” She paused, then said, “But do you think it works that way? Do you think we can just choose to believe in it or 328

not?” “Sure, if we accept it's just a dream.” “But do you think it will change in any way, whether or not we believe it?” “I think it may be better to just ignore it,” Joe replied. Kaitlyn looked pensive. “But what I'm saying is, can we just ignore it? Or should we try to change it?” “Ignore it. Pay no attention to it. Forget about it. Focus on reality.” “Okay.” She was biting her lip. “What?” “Well, if you're ignoring it, then why are we about to discuss your plan to change it?” Joe was aware of the irony, and he had thought of a response. “I look at it this way. This plan is a plan to prepare for every possible scenario that could threaten you or the baby during birth, and to be prepared to pre-empt it.” “Yes, but . . .” 329

“It really has nothing to do with the dream, other than the convenient coincidence that the dream is what alerted us to the potential dangers.” “Just a coincidence?” “Well, not necessarily, no. I do think that all of these anxieties may have been lurking under the surface of my mind, and that in the process of sleep, my brain coalesced those fears into a vivid dream that I became consciously aware of.” He was sounding very professorial, overly analytical, and he looked to her and said simply, “It's a trick of the mind.” “But what about the rest of the dream, the early versions? I'd rather like to believe in those parts, especially since that was what brought us together. I mean, really, Joe, if you think about it, how can we just explain it all away as 'a trick of the mind?' How could we have seen each other before we ever met? How could we both be having the same dream at the same moment when we were sleeping miles apart?” Joe's mind reverted to the kiss by the cabin, and the spinning ring, and his subsequent unrestrained belief that had prompted his sudden proposal, his belief that something outside of his own mind had been coordinating and propelling their relationship and inciting him to act. But to admit that would 330

be to admit that some other power could continue to control them, possibly even tear them apart. He didn't know how to reconcile these two thoughts, and his first impulse was to respond dismissively to this essential contradiction. Simpler just to call one thing true and another thing fantasy and leave it at that. But he didn't want to go back to hiding things from her, or to posturing defensively, and so he responded, “Okay. That's a good point.” Then he said, “Honestly, I don't know how to reconcile that.” Kaitlyn looked at him intently, and after a moment she said, “Maybe we can't. But maybe that's okay. Maybe it's okay to believe in two contradictory things at once.” They both looked out the window and pondered that for a moment, and she added, “How about this: we can believe in the dream based on where it brought us, but we don't need to believe in it based on where it wants to take us.” “I'm hearing you. But,” he rubbed his chin with his fingers, “don't you think something must be either true or false? To try and have it both ways, isn't that impossibly ambiguous?” “But so is life, Joe. So are dreams. So are marriages. None of it's pure black or white.” 331

Joe nodded at her, then asked, “So, to re-ask your question, where does this leave us with the dream?” “Personally, I think we should acknowledge the dream, appreciate it, consider it. But we shouldn't let it define us, or determine our destiny. Let's take the magic and mystery of the dream and shape it to our own ends.” Joe liked that. A lot. He couldn't have said it any better. It was ambiguous and contradictory, but it allowed them the space to both believe and remember and still prepare and control. Kaitlyn had a curious, fatigued look on her face, like she had just said something vitally important and rational because it was what he needed to hear, but not something she could entirely embrace. She looked to the floor, and when she looked back to him, her eyes were moist with tears. Joe rushed in with a kiss, and stroked her cheeks gently. When he pulled back, he summarized, “Well said.” She smiled poignantly at him, and he continued, “Now, are you ready to hear this plan?”

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Chapter 36 “Joe? Wake up, Joe.” “Huh?” Joe shifted in bed and then propped up on his elbows. The room was dark. The clock said 4:10 a.m. “Joe, I think my water just broke.” Now Joe was awake. Her due date was still two weeks away. “What? Are you serious?” “Yes. I'm serious.” “But are you sure?” “Well, I don't know why else somebody would have just drained a bathtub in my underwear.” Joe reached over and tossed off the covers and felt the soaking wetness of the sheets beneath her. Kaitlyn was lying flat on her back, cautiously supporting her large protruding belly with her hands, and he could see her silhouetted against the blinds. She was staring distantly at the ceiling, taking a long slow breath. He could smell the ripe, salty odor of amniotic fluid, and he knew she was right. He asked, “Are you okay?” 334

“Yes, I'm fine. Baby is moving.” “You look in pain.” “Well, I'm having my first real contraction, I'm pretty sure.” “Okay. Okay.” Joe jumped out of bed and paced towards the closet. “Okay,” he said again. Kaitlyn was breathing heavily with her eyes closed and he watched her as he threw on his scrubs. Then she started relaxing, and he said, “So this is for real? This is the real thing?” “Yes, honey. For real.” “Do you know if you're dilated?” She looked at him, exasperated. “What kind of question is that?” “What I mean is . . . Oh, never mind.” He had his scrubs on, and he grabbed for the fetal heart monitor. “Let's make sure she's all right first.” “Okay.” He clicked on the monitor and placed it on her taut belly, and instantly they heard the loud drumming of the baby's heart. “One hundred and thirtythree per minute,” Joe sighed. “Great.” He threw the monitor on the bed and asked, “Do you want me to check you?” 335

“I'm sure I'm not dilated yet.” “Well, just to check for a prolapsed cord or a foot or to see if you're bleeding . . .” “Okay, okay. Fine. I'm thirty-eight weeks. It's safe.” She grimaced again. “Hold on a minute.” “Are you having another contraction? Already?” “What do you think, Joe?” she barked sharply. “Do you think I'm just having gas?” She threw her head back on the pillow and began to breathe through her mouth. She shut her eyes. Joe opened a package of sterile gloves he had brought from the hospital, and he sat on the side of the bed. His scrub bottoms were getting wet on the edge. She breathed through her contraction and he stroked her forehead, and when she was done, she opened her eyes and looked at him and said, “Okay. Go ahead.” Joe reached to check her cervix. He struggled for a second, and then found it. “Wow,” he breathed. “You're, like, five centimeters.” “No way. Already? After two contractions?” 336

“Head's down and engaged. You're good to go.” “Really? Maybe this won't be as bad as we thought.” Kaitlyn had a mixture of excitement and dread on her face. Joe suddenly had to suppress a feeling of panic. They looked at each other and then at the clock, and said simultaneously, “Let's go.” Joe launched into a flurry of activity. He grabbed a pad and some clothes for Kaitlyn, and then grabbed her suitcase. As she changed, he called the labor and delivery unit and alerted them that her water had broken and that they would be there in five minutes. Through the phone, he heard a small burst of cheers from the nurses as the message was relayed. Then he called Dr. Karen Leavy, who had become Kaitlyn's obstetrician, on her personal phone, and she said she would meet them in about thirty minutes once they were checked in. Joe said thanks, but cautioned her, “Don't be too long. She's already at five and she's only had two contractions.” “Okay, Joe. Just relax. It's her first baby. She'll be fine. If the baby comes squirting out sooner, I think you'll know what to do.” 337

Joe managed a polite laugh and hung up, but it wasn't what he wanted to hear. He had convinced Kaitlyn to switch to Dr. Leavy, who was universally regarded as the best obstetrician on staff, but she could be a bit abrasive. Abrasive is alright, Joe had decided, but alive and well is what we're going for. Joe and Kaitlyn had not confided in Dr. Leavy about the cause of their concerns, and by now she had concluded that Joe was an overvigilant physician and father who just needed to take a mega dose of a chill pill. Joe didn't mind. He knew from experience in working with Dr. Leavy that she would make the best and most cautious decisions, and he was confident that Kaitlyn was in expert hands. Besides, Joe knew what he was doing, too, and so between them both they wouldn't be caught off-guard. And actually, they could throw a third cool and experienced head into the mix. Joe next called Tina, the middle-aged labor and delivery nurse that he and Kaitlyn had hand-picked to work with for this occasion. Kaitlyn and Tina had become close friends over the preceding nine months, and in Joe's estimation, she was the most skilled, experienced and compassionate L & D nurse around. And unlike with Dr. Leavy, Kaitlyn had decided to partially confide in Tina about their concerns. Without going into details, she had told 338

her about Joe's anxieties, based on his scary premonition that Kaitlyn was going to die in birth. Tina heard the story non-judgmentally and pledged that nothing would happen to her, that she would take the best care of her possible, and Kaitlyn had been reassured. Tina answered her cell-phone and said, before Joe even identified himself, “I heard the news, sweetie. I'm already here. I'm on tonight. You just relax and get her over here, and everything's going to be just fine.” Joe answered simply, “Thanks.” Then, before he hung up, he thought to add, “Do you still have my list?” Tina answered, “Yes, I do. Of course.” “Do you want to go ahead and make some calls and make sure everything is in place?” “Yes, dear. You know most of it is already here, but I'll verify.” “The most important is the blood bank. Make sure they have at least five units typed and ready.” “I'll make the call. Now, hang up the phone and pay attention to your wife.” 339

Joe clicked off and looked up, and Kaitlyn was standing uncomfortably by the door. She reached to pick up her suitcase, and Joe reached and said loudly, “No!” then added more calmly, “I mean, I'll get that.” Kaitlyn grimaced, attempting a smile, and Joe handed her a light jacket as they headed out through the cool, dark summer night towards the car.

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Chapter 37 The door shut behind Joe. Finally, it was just the two of them, and the room was quiet. Only the soft liquid murmuring of the fetal heart monitor could be heard. The lights were low, and Kaitlyn was laying on the hospital bed with her head raised and rolled slightly onto her left side. Water continued to drain between her legs and soak the pads on the bed, but for the moment there was no pain. She looked up at Joe and managed a fatigued smile. He smiled back silently and walked over towards the green glow of monitor that had two curving lines, one that traced the baby's heart rate and another that traced her contractions. Joe sat down on a stool beside the bed and took her hand without looking away from the monitor. “Looking good,” he said. “She's doing fantastic. Very happy.” “I know,” replied Kaitlyn. “Everything is going to be alright.” In the darkened room, the green light reflected softly off of Joe's face, and he finally turned to look at her. He stared serenely into her face. “And you,” he said, “You have 341

never looked more beautiful.” Kaitlyn smiled and knew it couldn't possibly be true. Here she was in a flowery pink-and-white hospital gown with a IV sticking out of her arm, no make-up and her hair a furious tangled mess. Her cheeks were as chubby as a baby's, her belly was the size of a walrus, and her ankles looked like pink play-dough. But she knew from the gentle look in Joe's gaze that he meant it, every word, and she leaned towards him and they kissed tenderly. Then she felt the tugging deep in her gut, and she shifted and pulled away from him. The pulling increased and her belly tightened and she closed her eyes and began breathing deeply, tried to imagine riding a boat on a wave in the ocean, but that didn't last long. She began to puff and tried to keep from screaming, but the wave was crashing onto her and burying her and taking her breath away and she gasped and let out a little squeal that rolled into a high-pitched groan, and then the gripping lessened just a bit and she exhaled and inhaled more deeply and then she was on the downhill side of the wave and the tension in her face lessened and she slowly opened her eyes and looked to Joe again. He was wincing in pain, and this irritated her, and then she released 342

her grip. He pulled his hand out of hers quietly and began shaking it, then flexing it, rubbing it. He didn't say anything, just looked back to her and smiled. Kaitlyn said tiredly, “I'm sorry, Joe. I hurt your hand, didn't I?” “No, no. I'm okay.” “Joe, this hurts. So bad.” “I can tell, sweetheart.” “I don't know if I can do this.” “Yes, you can. Of course you can. You're doing so well. You're amazing,” Joe replied. “Thank you. I need you, Joe. Until the end.” “I'm right here, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere.” He was still rubbing his hand. “Are you sure your hand is alright?” “Yes, it's fine.” He forced himself to stop shaking it, and said, “But how about next time you grab this handle and I'll rub your shoulders.”

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“Okay.” She grimaced. “Oh no. Here comes another one.” She breathed in deeply, started sooner this time, stayed on top of the wave. The pain was intense, but she knew if she could hold on, it would fade in a few more seconds. She breathed deeply, fiercely gripping the foam handle on the bedside and visualized the wave receding away from the shore. She did it. She was on top of it, and as she came out of it, she heard the sounds of her own breathing, and it sounded in control, and then she could hear the slow murmuring of the fetal heart rate increasing in tempo. Joe said, “Amazing. You're doing amazing. I can't believe you're doing this without an epidural.” “Oh, what was I thinking? Maybe there's still time for one.” She had decided to not have an epidural for two reasons. First, like most new moms, she wondered if she could handle it, and truthfully, she felt some pressure in being a labor nurse, as though it was expected of her to be tough enough without one. But second, and more important, she and Joe had decided to not introduce any artificial risks into the delivery. Epidurals were almost always safe, but there were rare and potentially fatal risks as well. So she would try and withstand the pain and do it naturally. But now she was starting to doubt 344

herself. Joe responded, “We can try. But you're already at eight centimeters, and it's only been two hours since your water broke. This is going to go quickly. You'll probably deliver before the anesthesiologist gets here.” “Easy for you to say.” Kaitlyn was keeping her eyes closed between contractions, and she peeked open to see Joe's face reflecting the green light from the monitors. He was looking intently at them, and she asked softly, “What do you see, Joe?” “Nothing bad. Her heart rate is slowing during your contractions, but nothing major. Just variable decels. I think she's moving down.” “I hope so, Joe. I want this to be over. It's so much pain.” “You are an amazing woman. You can do this. Pretty soon, you'll be holding Melody.” Kaitlyn smiled at the sound of the word. They had finally decided on a name just a few days ago, and it seemed perfect to both of them. Melody. It was cute, evocative, full of hope. And hope had become the hardest thing for Kaitlyn to hold on to. 345

As much as she loved Joe, she couldn't confide in him the depth of her fears. She hadn't had any more dreams since the honeymoon, but no matter what she said, she couldn't help interpreting Joe's dream and fearing the worst. She wanted to believe—was forcing herself to believe-- that they could change it, pre-empt, counteract it. But she found herself relying on Joe's plan and his confidence, and struggling against her own doubts. She had begun praying in earnest, asking God to preserve her life through delivery, to let her have the privilege to care for her daughter and husband, to be able to live and grow together with them as a family. But her prayers felt futile, like brightly colored pebbles cast into a gray sea of destiny. She didn't talk about it, because knew Joe wouldn't be able handle the uncertainty or the fear. He had too much to lose. He loved her too much. To have given him more cause for doubt would have torn him apart, and would have ruined whatever time they had left together. He would have dreaded the pregnancy, fought like a caged animal against a feared fate, and sunk into his worst instincts of controlling behavior, probably all in vain. That's why she had written the letter to him last week, just in case, and given it secretly to Tina. 346

But if she tried, Kaitlyn could momentarily shake the feelings of predestined doom and find cause for hope. After Joe had confided in her a few months ago, he stopped having the dream himself, or at least he did not make mention of it any more, even when she asked him. She believed him, because as her pregnancy progressed, her own nights became fitful and sleep came sporadically, but she never found him awake in the middle of the night. That was the one thing that gave her hope: perhaps the purpose of the dream was to lead them to make these extensive contingency plans, and by doing so, it was now fulfilled. She hoped that was true. But she couldn't help wondering, What is it all for, then? What's the purpose of the dream? To bring us together or to tear us apart? To guide us safely through hidden dangers and uncharted waters? Or to just mess with our minds like a kitten playing with a string? What's the point? At that thought, she felt a rolling motion in her pelvis and then growing pressure between her legs. Another contraction came on strongly, this one the hardest yet, and Kaitlyn gasped, tried to stay on top of the wave, but couldn't. It wasn't receding. It was growing. Her entire body crescendoed into one taut ball of exquisite pain that radiated from deep 347

within her pelvis, and for the first time she began to feel true panic. She puffed, and then screamed loudly. She could feel Joe's hands on her forehead, stroking the back of her hands, and then he pulled away abruptly. It was the most unbearable, agonizing pain of her life, and he abandoned her? She thought she might explode, and then at the climax the pain mercifully began to recede. She struggled to breathe, open her eyes and she looked hastily to see where Joe had gone. His face was focused closely on the monitor, and he was tracing the electronic green lines with his fingers. She listened for the slow, faint whooshing of the heart monitor. Too slow, she thought. Much too slow. She couldn't catch her breath to form a question, and instead she made a whimpering sound. Joe looked away from the monitor, trying unsuccessfully to mask his concern. “It's alright,” he offered softly. “Just another deep variable.” Her hearing was muffled, but Kaitlyn could hear the heart tones, and they were still slow. Joe gentle reached over to her and touched her shoulder and said, “Here, sweetheart, let's get you on your side.” Kaitlyn felt a flush of panic, but suppressed it and managed to ask, “What's the rate, Joe?” 348

“It's fine. Just a deep variable. Breathe nice and deep now.” “What's the rate, Joe? Tell me.” She was angry. Joe didn't respond immediately, then in a falsely calm tone, “Fortyfive. Fifty. I think it's coming up.” But Kaitlyn could hear it, and it wasn't coming up. She braced her arms beneath her and thrust downwards, trying to rock her momentum and roll onto her left side, but she felt like an upside-down tortoise. She hated these beds. Joe reached down and pushed her shoulder and hips and helped roll her over, and Kaitlyn panted and said firmly, “Get me some oxygen, Joe. Right now.” The heart beat was still low, but it was starting to pick up. Joe reached above her for a mask and ripped open the tubing. The heart rate skipped fast for a few beats and then the tempo rose and accelerated, faster, faster. Joe fumbled with the tubes but relaxed, and they both breathed a sigh of relief. The door burst open and Tina came rushing into the room, trailed by Dr. Leavy. They heard the improved rate from the monitor, looked at it, and 349

then relaxed a bit. Tina walked briskly to the bedside and asked, speaking to Kaitlyn's belly, “Are you misbehaving in there?” Kaitlyn had the mask on now and nodded, and Joe spoke. “Just a deep variable with a really strong contraction, but seems to be recovering.” Dr. Leavy answered, “I'll say it was deep. You went all the way down to forty and stayed there.” She reached for a sterile glove. “Baby must be making a big move. Do you feel like you need to push?” The oxygen was rushing into her face and she had to speak through the green plastic mask, but Kaitlyn answered, “I think so.” Another contraction was mounting, and she braced herself. “Well, let's see what we've got.” Dr. Leavy reached between Kaitlyn's legs and checked quickly as Kaitlyn's contraction began to swell. The heart tones were slowing again. Dr. Leavy raised her bloodied glove from the bed and said emphatically, “Push away, girl. You're complete.” Kaitlyn's eyes grew wide and she was stifling a moan as the contraction intensified. Dr. Leavy added, “Don't hold it in, sweetheart. Let it out.” Tina picked up the phone and yelled some instructions to the desk, 350

then whirled into a flurry of activity. She grabbed the delivery cart and scattered surgical instruments across it. In a few seconds, two other nurses rushed into the room with the baby warmer. Joe was glued to the monitor, absently holding one hand across Kaitlyn's arm. On her left side, the heart rate was improved, but still low. She began having contractions every two minutes, fierce ones, and now she was trying to push through the pain. Dozens of contractions passed. The heart rate would drop to ninety, but then pop back up to one hundred and ten. Dr. Leavy sat at the foot of the bed and talked calmly through the contractions. Thirty minutes passed, and Kaitlyn was zoned out, lost in the relentless, suffocating waves of contractions. Incrementally, she was moving the baby's head down. She was so completely enveloped in the pain and sweat and breathing that she had lost the concepts of time or place. Joe continued to divide his attention between her and the monitor. Kaitlyn hadn't liked holding the handles. She preferred Joe's hand, but her vicious squeeze was crushing it, right on the outside edge where it had been broken. He didn't seem to care. The heart rate was still okay, but tenuous. Joe stayed 351

glued to the monitor, and Kaitlyn could tell that somehow Joe felt he could get the heart rate to stay up through sheer willpower alone. At the start of an immense contraction, Kaitlyn gave a mighty push, and Dr. Leavy announced, “Good, Kaitlyn! That's perfect. She's turning the corner. I see hair.” Kaitlyn heard these words vaguely through the fog of pain, but they registered, and she snapped out of her zone briefly. She pushed mightily, but that contraction was already receding. Her hearing seemed to blaze into focus, and she could suddenly hear everything in the room. The monitor murmured softly. The heart rate had dropped very low again. It was staying there. Joe's eyes flitted from the monitor to Kaitlyn to Dr. Leavy, who had removed her white coat and was putting on a gown and gloves at the foot of the bed. She caught Joe's gaze and offered a terse but confident nod. She said lowly, “This baby's just fine. Just in a rush to get out. Probably a nuchal cord.” Joe bent over her and whispered, “I love you. You're doing great,” in Kaitlyn’s ear, but she closed her eyes. Everything seemed orange and red. 352

Her hearing clouded again, and the slow heart tones sloshed through her head. She desperately wanted some relief, a break, even for just five minutes so she could gather herself and then maybe she could handle this again. But the contractions wouldn't wait and she felt the slow onward rush of the horrible ripping pain starting in her belly again. Kaitlyn was still sweating and panting from the last contraction, and she whimpered in bed. Everything became muddled. She heard Dr. Leavy's muffled voice say calmly but urgently, “Push, girl. You can do it.” She felt Joe's hands on hers, guiding her back to the handles, pushing her back up and forward.

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could still hear the low, whooshing heart tones, getting slower, slower. Then she heard them cut out entirely. In the fog of her mind there was an awful silence. Then something bestial took hold in Kaitlyn. She grunted ferociously, took a gigantic breath, and bore down. She pushed like an animal, like she was extruding clay through the pores of her skin, like she was extroverting her organs. Her veins jutted out of her temples and her face was purple. She took another breath and did it again. Her eyes remained shut tightly. Dr. Leavy was talking, telling her to push. She gasped for air and did it again. And again. 353

Then the contraction receded, but the heavy pressure remained. Everything sounded like it was underwater now. She could hear the slow whooshing of the heart tones again, but now she couldn't tell if they were coming from inside or outside her. They kept drumming slower, softer, irregular. And then the whooshing stopped again. She heard a banging of drawers and a clanging of metal. Joe's voice was hushed in her ear and he told her to push, and then he was yelling at Dr. Leavy. Kaitlyn heard the word “vacuum,” and then another wave of contractions began to build and it turned into a tidal wave, a tsunami, and she heard her own guttural shriek as if it came from outside of herself and then she heard a pop and felt her pelvis rip in two. Instantly, the pressure relieved, like popping a tense water ballon, replaced by a raw, ripping pain. There was a muffled cheer in the room. An intense feeling of catharsis washed over her, and she heard herself crying, the whimpering sound fluttering down from the ceiling and back into her own head and then she felt another final tug and pull, and then a slippery squirt like a fish slipping out between her legs. And then sweet, sweet relief. It was over, and her whole body was 354

shivering like a tree in autumn, and she was weeping. Joe was kissing her neck and her cheek and stroking her forehead and was saying over and over again, “I love you. I love you.” She had done it. The red faded from her eyes, and she slowly opened them, and saw Joe's brown eyes pouring out tears as he kissed her, and she looked to the bloodied sheets between her legs and saw Dr. Leavy cradling a purple, floppy baby. It was a girl, and it was her daughter. Dr. Leavy removed the bloodied white suction cup from her head, and reached back for a green bulb syringe. Joe's eyes traced Kaitlyn's gaze, and he looked to the baby, and his hand shifted in position, and then left her. He reached and handed Dr. Leavy another cord clip, and then he leaned and grabbed a pair of pointed scissors from the cart. Kaitlyn watched him holding the turgid purple cord that came out from between her legs. He measured it in his hands and then approached with the scissors. He closed the scissors between the clips, tugged on the cord, sawed, and then it broke free. Joe's right hand flipped in the air, withdrawing as if in pain, and he dropped the scissors and they clanged to the floor. He reached for his hand, and Kaitlyn saw a puncture in his palm oozing bright red blood. Dr. Leavy glanced sideways at Joe, silently 355

reprimanding him for the commotion as she whirled with the baby and handed her to the nurses waiting at the warmer. Joe shook his hand out and muttered something, and then reached for a gauze pad from the cart and clutched in his right palm, and then returned to Kaitlyn. She looked at him through her sweat and tears and her utter exhaustion, and he leaned down over her again and she closed her eyes and whimpered into his chest. She felt faint. It seemed like forever that they sat there, their foreheads and noses touching, eyes closed and crying into each others' faces, salty tears dripping across their lips. Dr. Leavy's voice called out loudly, and Joe snapped his head up and then he was gone. Kaitlyn looked up wearily and saw him rush around the bed towards the warmer, and then he was hunched over it. Dr. Leavy was speaking calmly from between Kaitlyn's legs, her face and eyes half-turned towards Joe and the warmer. Kaitlyn felt fear entering her mind, but then a wash of immense peace came over her, an utter assurance that her daughter would be alright, and after a moment, a cry gurgled up from the commotion around the warmer, and then a wet breath and then another cry and then a full 356

blown newborn scream. Her eyes watched Joe hunched over, and then he stood upright and the two nurses hunched over, and he ran his left hand through his hair, his right hand still clutching the gauze and dripping small drops of blood. He stepped back from the warmer, and looked to Kaitlyn and offered a reassuring smile, and then he reached behind him for a small stethoscope and bent down over the baby again. Dr. Leavy began speaking, and it was like her voice was rising out of water and then becoming clear. Kailtyn heard her say, “Going to have to put in a few stitches, Kaitlyn. A pretty bad tear, but it'll come together fine. We'll wait for the placenta.” Kaitlyn's mind was coming in and out of focus, and she became intermittently aware of the room around her, of the green lights reflecting off of Dr. Leavy's goggles, the shadows in the folds of the teal curtains that hung across the doorway, the jerky motion of the second hand on the sterile wall clock, and of Joe and the brilliant white light emanating from the warmer that enveloped him. She felt a slight pressure in her belly, and felt a sting of raw pain. She bore down gently and felt another gentle slipping, and then a 357

bulging and then another deep relief of pressure. Then she heard a muffled popping sound in her head. “Placenta out,” said Dr. Leavy to no one in particular. “Is she okay, Karen?” Joe asked from the warmer. “Just fine. Might be a third degree tear, but she'll be fine. Placenta looks good, just a little bleeding. I think you can breathe easy.” “Hallelujah,” said Joe, and then he said something to the nurses, bending down, and when he rose up, Kaitlyn saw him with the baby through blurry vision. Melody wasn't crying anymore, her eyes squinting seriously against the bright light, her face a grayish pink with a rosy tinge on the cheeks, her hair dark like Joe's. Joe bundled her in a white and pink blanket, and the nurse placed a pink knit cap on her head, and he stepped carefully across the puddles of fluid and blood on the floor and crossed the room back towards the bed. Kaitlyn reached up weakly and towards them both, towards her daughter, her husband, her life, and then she felt a throbbing in her head. She jerked backwards. Red stain dripped quickly across her vision, and her neck 358

jammed backwards into the pillow. Through a curtain of red she saw Joe's delighted brown eyes looking up from the baby's face, then saw them confused, growing wide with alarm. Everything turned red and then orange and then yellow and then white, all white and still and silent.

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Chapter 38 Joe was looking at Melody's splotchy purple face. She was staring out solemnly beneath her pink knit cap, and he had to laugh. She seemed very serious. Joe thought, This being born business is serious stuff, isn't it, sweetheart? and he could feel his heart melting. She was beautiful, and despite being stunned by a cord that had been wrapped three times around her neck, she was breathing fine, her heart rate was fine, and she was healthy and vigorous. Mostly, she was alive. These kids are resilient, Joe thought. Then he took a deep breath and allowed himself, finally, a comforting thought. It's alright. He sighed excitedly, exhaustedly, and then thought it again: it's alright. It was all unnecessary, all this worry and drama, all this foolishness about the dream. My two girls are alive and well, and everything will be alright. Joe was stepping carefully across the room, staring proudly at the baby and contemplating those thoughts, wondering how to put them into words to share with Kaitlyn, when he saw her outstretched arms collapse heavily onto the bed. He looked up as her face went ashen gray. In the shadows of the room, her color drained instantly, and her face looked 360

unnatural and dark, reflecting a fiendish green glow from the monitors. She let out a sharp, unnatural shriek that was cut short, and then her eyes rolled backwards and she began to convulse. Joe was frozen. He gulped. He took a half-step backward, then staggered forward, almost dropping the baby. He couldn't find his voice. Nobody else was paying attention. Dr. Leavy was turned away from the bed, fixing some suture on her needle. Tina was entering data into the computer against the wall, and the other nurses were cleaning the warmer. Joe stared for a moment in disbelief, and then Kaitlyn's legs jerked and kicked out of the stirrups and knocked a large metal bowl to the floor. All eyes turned to the bed, and Joe gripped the baby in one hand and finally found his voice. “Kaitlyn,” he whispered, reaching, then mustered a hoarse yell, “Kaitlyn!” Dr. Leavy looked up and her eyes went wide with alarm. She lunged from her stool, pushing past Joe to the head of the bed. She yelled at Tina, “Pull the code button. Now!” Tina whirled and knocked a stack of papers off the counter which fluttered towards the floor and landed in speckled pools of blood, quickly soaking through. Dr. Leavy reached to brace Kaitlyn's 361

shoulder, trying to prevent her from bucking off the table. Joe felt paralyzed, helplessly shifting the baby in his arms, who continued to peer solemnly around the room, as if gauging it all. One of the nurses by the warmer rushed towards Joe and plucked her from his arms. Tina rushed to the bedside and grabbed the oxygen mask, jamming it into Kaitlyn's face. She yelled out loudly, urgently so to be heard down the hall, “I need some help in here!” Dr. Leavy spoke loudly but in control, “Clear out the room. Grab the crash cart. Let's go,” and the other nurse rushed from the room. Joe's hands were free now, but he couldn't think. He reached down and with one arm swept the bloody blankets and instruments off the foot of the bed and they went crashing across the hard floor. He cradled Kaitlyn's spastic legs in one arm and yanked on the bed platform until it slid out and locked into place, and then he rested her legs on it. Her trembling skin was clammy and cool, and it felt empty, and he looked to her face. Her jaw was clenched and contorted and he saw blood trickling from the corner of her lips. A blue strobe began flashing in the hallway above the room. Everything started to fade out of Joe's mind. He heard Dr. Leavy barking 362

orders to Tina, who grabbed Joe's wrist and pulled him towards the head of the bed, placing his hand over the mask on Kaitlyn's face. He could feel the whooshing of air through the holes in the mask and felt the resistance against her face. Joe hesitated as the commotion swirled around him, leaned down to her distorted face and whispered, “Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn. Please.” He felt the jerking of her body beneath him and he leaned over her and tried to steady her, to stop her, but she shook and shook, and he began sobbing softly but uncontrollably, and over the rattling of the bed, the whooshing of the air, the frantic yells and the beeping alarms, he heard Melody begin to cry from the warmer.

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Chapter 39 Twenty hours later and Joe hadn't slept. He was in the ICU, collapsed on a tattered green recliner. His head lolled to the side in complete physical and emotional exhaustion, and he looked to Kaitlyn. She was hooked to a ventilator and a dozen other tubes and monitors, and she lay stiffly in bed with her arms rigidly extended along her body. Her eyes were taped shut, and the whooshing sound of the ventilator muffled the low digital beeping of the monitors. Joe gazed despondently at the plasticky color of her skin and the jerking motion of her breathing, and for the hundredth time that day, his throat began to constrict. He felt his eyes welling with tears, but there wasn't much left to cry. It was four in the morning again, twenty-four hours after her water broke, and Nancy the ICU nurse had just come in to check her vital signs. She verified the ventilator settings, and when she left again it was just Joe and Kaitlyn in the room. Through his red eyes, Joe reached weakly across Kaitlyn's bed to grasp her hand, tried to pull it towards him but felt the mechanical resistance of her arms, and he let go of her hand and stroked the clammy skin of her forearm instead. He hoped to detect some stirrings of 364

vitality within her, or perhaps to evoke some response, but he felt nothing. The day had been nightmarish, things happening too fast in a bizarre convergence of deja vu and slow motion. When Kaitlyn had seized, Dr. Leavy had leaped into action and taken control, managing to be both calm and aggressive, and Joe knew that she had handled the crisis as well as could be hoped for. It wasn't until hours later in the ICU room that she had manifested her own emotional distress, when she had apologized to Joe and they embraced and wept together for several minutes. Dr. Leavy had called the code immediately, and the code team had arrived promptly, intubating Kaitlyn within seven minutes and getting her to the ICU in less than twenty. But still, her oxygen levels had been dangerously low for over seven minutes, which was too long. Dr. Leavy had consulted five other physicians, including the intensivist Dr. Graves, as well as a neurologist, a neurosurgeon, a cardiologist, and another obstetrician. Everybody, from the physicians to the nurses to the techs, had acted expertly and compassionately, taking the case personally. They all in some respect knew, or at least knew of, Joe and Kaitlyn. But there wasn't much else that could be done now. After the initial 365

stabilization and testing, a CT scan had showed what everyone feared: a large hemorrhagic stroke from a ruptured cerebral aneurysm. The aneurysm was at the base of Kaitlyn's brain stem, and had probably been there for years, silent. Stress and the increased blood pressure in her brain during labor had made it swell and leak, and then it burst. She bled into her brain rapidly, which caused the seizure. The location of the bleeding and swelling instantly impaired her ability to breathe on her own. It was a terrifying diagnosis. In his feverish labor preparations, the thought of an aneurysm rupture had crossed his mind, but Joe shut it out because the possibility was so remote and there was really no way to predict it during pregnancy short of doing an MRI. That seemed unreasonable given her overall good health and lack of symptoms. But now Joe was flaying himself for not pursuing that path further. If he had only known, they could have done a C-section, treated the aneurysm after delivery, saved her from this fate. But Joe hadn't done it, hadn't tied up that loose end, hadn't detected the ticking time bomb, and now his wife hung on the edge of death because of it. He wasn't prepared. Joe knew the statistics. More than half of women with an aneurysmal 366

rupture died immediately or within hours, and half of the survivors suffered profound, permanent brain damage. Kaitlyn would need brain surgery at some point, but it appeared the bleeding had stopped, and she was too unstable at this point to survive surgery. A second MRI was scheduled for the morning to determine the full extent of the damage and to see if there was any further bleeding. There was a minor cause for hope: some women who survived did, with time, completely recover, and they were typically the young, otherwise healthy ones. Maybe Kaitlyn could be one of those. She had previously been in excellent health, and that was in her favor. She had already beaten the odds just by surviving this far. But looking at her contorted and obscured beneath layers of equipment, Joe struggled to sustain any shred of hope. Against his will, the images of the dream invaded his mind. He thought of the dying green glow behind the slamming door, and he found his hope hard to sustain. A fog of despair and fatigue settled over his brain as he closed his eyes in the recliner, and the whooshing and beeping continued unabated.

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Chapter 40 Joe awoke in the canoe again, same as always, and he looked around in disbelief and then cursed in frustration. He stood up in the boat, felt it rocking in the waves, and looked to the enshrouded shoreline. He screamed “No!” and heard his voice muted by the dense fog. No echo. He flung his paddle in anger out into the placid lake. It splashed softly out of sight, and then he collapsed into the bottom of the boat. He slammed the sides of it with his elbows, and then shut his eyes and tried to fall back asleep. He felt the gentle rocking of the boat on the water. He was going to stay in the bottom of the canoe until he woke up. He bristled against the futility and frustration of this idiotic dream and he was going to ignore it until it disappeared. It was taunting him now, and he hated it for that. After a few moments, the canoe clunked into something, and Joe opened his eyes but did not raise his head. The canoe was knocking gently against something hard, and after a few minutes he sat partially up and saw the canoe rocking against the pier. He lay back for a second, took a deep breath, then sat up sharply and crawled out, exasperated, and then he stood. 369

He walked slowly down the creaking boards towards the leaves and pushed his way out into the valley. It looked the same as always. The snow-capped peaks, the green meadow, the silver creek and the blue sky. He looked backwards down the path, and of course Kaitlyn wasn't there, but he noticed that there was no storm this time, and his curiosity was piqued. Why wasn't there a storm? He squinted into the sun towards the cabin, and he could see the front door. The glass appeared intact, like it hadn't been broken into. Now Joe was curious. What did this mean? He felt a frantic surge of hope in his chest, and he began walking briskly up the path, then trotting. He glanced over his shoulder out of habit, and there was no storm chasing him, and so he slowed again to a walk. He was going to be fast but careful. He looked around him, scrutinizing the cabin as he approached. It looked pristine again, no cracks or cobwebs. At the base of the steps there was a stack of wood, half-chopped, that he had never before noticed, with a large splitting axe sticking out of a chopping block. Joe walked up the steps cautiously, inspecting everything around him. The deck, the windows, the door, it was all in perfect condition. He 370

approached the doorknob and turned it, and was surprised when it clicked open easily. He swung the door open and followed it in, stepping out of the sunlight into the cabin. His eyes adjusted quickly, and he noted that the room was brightened by the sunbeams. Small dust particles shimmered in shafts of light. Nothing was covered with white sheets this time, and the furniture was visible, all brown leather and wood, and it looked comfortable and inviting. A small fire blazed in the stone fireplace. Joe shook his arms and legs and realized that they felt normal and light. He traced his finger along the polished back of a wood-framed couch as he turned his gaze to the stairway. At the top of the curving stairs, the door was open, but there was no Kaitlyn, no green glow coming from within. He made his way cautiously up to the doorway and stopped. He looked in, and there, in the center of the room, was the crib, all white and glowing. He saw something stirring within it, and he approached and looked down, and there was Melody, dressed in a white dress, her thick dark hair combed with a bow in the top, gazing seriously around the room and then towards Joe's face. She didn't make a sound, other than a faint rustling of clothes on linen as she thrust out her arms 371

and legs at random intervals. Joe couldn't help but smile at her, and was leaning over the crib when he looked up and saw the closed wooden door in the far corner. Outwardly, it looked the same, heavy iron bands and ring, but the room was lighter and the door did not emanate anything sinister. Joe stepped away from the crib and towards the door. As he neared, he saw a radiant white glow streaming around the edges, and he reached his hand to the iron ring and pulled. He felt the door budge slightly. He reached with both hands and pulled harder, leaning back, and the door creaked open, sliding along the wooden floor. A glare of brilliant sunlight burst into the room, and Joe had to shield his face. He squinted into the light and took a careful step to the sill of the door and braced himself. As his eyes adjusted, he found himself staring out into a vast expanse of blue sky, white sunlight and empty space. He could see clouds below him, and he leaned forward and looked downward, and he saw that the door was perched on a high cliff, and he was staring into a sunlit chasm. A small stone shelf extended out from the floor of the doorway, then plunged down a sheer rocky cliff, straight below the cabin. The rock face was dark and jagged. He 372

could see nothing but sky and clouds below him. Joe was looking into the expanse, and something red caught the corner of his eye. He looked down at his feet and saw a metal climbing anchor bolted onto the rock. A woven red rope extended out from it and then hung down over the ledge, dangling along the rock face into the chasm. It trembled slightly on the ledge, as though a fish were nibbling at a line. He peered out and followed it down as far as he could but could not see anyone attached. He thought of Kaitlyn's dream, and he reached down quickly and grabbed the rope and tugged. It was slack, and he began hauling rope up the cliff, hand over hand. He coiled it over his shoulder and elbow, yard after yard, and it freely slid up the cliff side. The tail end got lighter as the coils grew heavier on his shoulder. Finally, he could see the end dancing up over the rock, and he coiled the final few yards onto his arm. As he threw the last coil over his shoulder, he noticed the texture of the rope had changed in his hands. It felt warm and rubbery, and he looked to the loose end of the rope and he saw that it was dripping blood onto his palm. He held it out away from him and shook the coils off his shoulders into the crook of his elbow, and he saw that he was holding a long, torn 373

umbilical cord. He dropped it in alarm onto the stone ledge and stepped backwards through the doorway. Gravity grabbed the rope coils and they slid over the edge of the shelf and plunged out of sight. After a few seconds the anchor bolt jerked and the cord pulled taut over the ledge. He wiped the blood from his palm onto his legs and stared at the rubbery cord dangling over the stone ledge, and he withdrew in disgust and anger. What sort of cruel game was this? He averted his face, and slammed the blade of his blood-stained hand into the door frame. He winced in pain, as it was his bad hand. He grabbed the door edge to close it. It creaked and groaned, cutting through the sunlight and then slamming shut. It was dark in the room, much darker than it had been before. Joe turned around and the crib was gone. He glanced hurriedly into the shadowy corners of the room and could see nothing else, only barren stone corners, and then he searched through the room and out onto the balcony above the stairway. He looked down the curve of the stairs, and all of the furniture was again covered in white sheets. Even the fireplace was extinguished and cold. Then to his left he heard a faint noise. It was the distant crying of a baby. 374

He turned to look to his left and down a long darkened hallway that extended off the balcony. He didn't remember ever having seen it before, but he quickly became aware that it was very long, very deep and dark. He couldn't see to the end, and as he tried to follow it into darkness he saw doors, countless heavy wooden doors with iron rings, branching off on both sides. He heard crying again, and it sounded like it was coming from the end of the hallway. He moved cautiously in that direction, straining his eyes in the darkness, and in the farthest depths he thought he could see the traces of a green glow.

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Chapter 41 Early morning sunlight splashed intrusively through the hospital windows as Joe abruptly stirred in the recliner and opened his eyes, squinting at Dr. Graves's silhouette against the window. Dr. Graves was standing at the head of Kaitlyn's bed with his hand to his chin, and he was silent. Only the whooshing of the ventilator and the relentless beeping of the monitors could be heard. Joe saw him briefly look up, and then back to the sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. Joe's mind was racing at the dream, and he closed his eyes again and struggled to slow his breathing and his heart rate, to get himself together. What was that? he thought. How could I have just had another dream? And so bizarre. He didn't want to acknowledge the dream anymore, but he had no idea what to believe now. He felt he needed to call the nursery and make sure Melody was still doing okay. But what of the green glow down the hallway? He could still see it, and irrationally, that gave him faint hope, but why? The green had not meant anything good in the dream so far. But at some level, did it suggest Kaitlyn was still alive? He didn't need a dream to hint obscurely at that fact. Here she was, 376

still alive but comatose only a few feet away. He could hear the machine. He took a few deep breaths, then opened his eyes again and sat up in the recliner, tossing his sheet to the floor. He rubbed his face, then stood and stepped to Kaitlyn's bedside opposite Dr. Graves. He took her rigid hand. Dr. Graves looked up at him again with a serious look, seemed about to say something, then looked back to the papers, moving his jaw silently. After a few moments, Joe asked quietly, tentatively, “Any good news this morning?” Dr. Graves appeared slightly flustered at this breech of silence. He removed his reading glasses and dropped his hands to his sides, considering his thoughts carefully. Finally, he said, “No, Joe, I'm afraid not. No good news.” “Okay,” Joe replied somberly. “Nothing worse, mind you. Her blood work looks about the same. Nothing seems worse than what we already knew.” He looked down to Kaitlyn's extended arms and contracted hands and said carefully, “Decerebrate posturing is never a good sign, though.” Joe caressed Kaitlyn's 377

hand with his fingers and felt a surge of desperation. Dr. Graves paused for a few moments, and then continued, “You know, Joe, we haven't seen a peripartum ruptured aneursym in my twenty-three years here at Loveland Memorial. If we can keep her stabilized, maybe we can get her down to University Hospital where they have more familiarity with these cases.” “And what else would they do there?” “Surgery, for one thing.” “But wouldn't they wait until she stabilized or showed signs of further bleeding? Couldn't Dr. Steele do the same thing here?” Dr. Steele was the neurosurgeon, young but highly qualified and Joe trusted him if and when surgery was required. Dr. Graves looked down at Kaitlyn and then back to Joe. “Yes, he could do it and do it well,” he said. “Then why would we transfer her?” Dr. Graves put his glasses back on. “At this point, you're probably right, Joe. There's nothing they would do there that we couldn't do here.” Joe shrugged and didn't reply. 378

Dr. Graves shifted in place and asked, “Tell me, Joe. Did you two ever discuss what her wishes would be in this situation?” Joe shook his head no, and then said, “You know, I've only known her for--” He choked on his words; they didn't seem possible, but he finished, “-only for ten months.” He was stifling tears, and Dr. Graves reached across the bed and placed his hand awkwardly on Joe's shoulder. Joe wiped the tears from his eyes, then sobbed again. After a moment he sat down on the recliner, head bowed and clutched Kaitlyn's hand. Dr. Graves said dispassionately, “We can always hope for the best.” Then Joe heard him walking slowly out of the room and through the curtain. Joe leaned over and began to weep uncontrollably onto Kaitlyn's cold shoulder. He cried for ten minutes, and then slowly composed himself. The sun was getting higher in the sky. It was a brilliant summer morning, no clouds, and Joe remembered the dream, and the doorway leading into the open abyss, and then he remembered Melody. He picked up the phone and dialed the nursery and asked to speak with her nurse, Stacy. When she came to the phone, Stacy said, “She's doing great, Dr. 379

Rorke. Sleeping right now, but feeding very well. No problems.” She was trying to be as cheerful as the occasion could permit. “Would you like us to bring her up to the room?” “No, no,” said Joe quickly. He wasn't ready for that. “Now wouldn't be a good time.” Then Stacy asked compassionately, “Has Kaitlyn shown any improvement?” She and Kaitlyn had been friends. “Yeah, maybe,” Joe offered unconvincingly, but desperate to hear some good news, even if it was a lie that came from his own mouth. It didn't matter anyway. Nothing he said or did mattered anymore. He added quietly, “We'll just have to see.” “Well, we'll take good care of Melody down here. Whenever you're ready to see her, just call and we'll bring her up.” “Okay. Thanks,” said Joe. Right as he hung up, he looked to the curtain over the door, and he saw his sister Rachel poke her head cautiously in. She looked to Joe's red eyes and disheveled clothes and instantly tears sprung to her face. She 380

rushed to the bedside and gave Joe a sad embrace. Joe's mother stepped in behind her and stood stoically by herself in the corner of the room, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes as she watched her two oldest children embracing and comforting each other, while her daughter-in-law breathed mechanically on the bed. For the next hour, none of them talked much, mostly either short sentences describing the bad news or Joe's mother attempting to spin events in hopelessly optimistic ways, which Joe found worthless. Eventually, the tears dried up, and he thanked them politely for coming, asking if they wouldn't mind going to the nursery to check on Melody. As they were leaving the room, Joe called, “Thanks, Rach. Come by tomorrow,” and gave her one more sorrowful hug. Then they left. Immediately after they left, the curtain rustled again, and Malia, the third-year resident, stuck her head in gingerly and asked softly, “Joe?” Joe looked up tiredly. He was glad to see a friend, but he was exhausted and wanted to be alone. He replied, “Yes?” “Is now a good time? I know your family just left.”

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“Sure. I'm just very tired.” Malia continued from the curtain, “I just want you to know how sorry we all feel for Kaitlyn and for you. We don't want to bother you, but at the same time we want you to know we're here for you.” She stepped into the room and handed him a card. “We got you this for you, and I've told everybody else to stay out, and that you can call me if you need anything and I'll take care of it.” Joe took the card and looked up to her face, which was empathic but strong. “I--” he managed a disparaging snort, “Actually, I think I'm on call tonight.” “Oh, hush, Joe. We've got it covered.” She gave him a hug, and then looked to Kaitlyn for the first time, trying unsuccessfully to hide her alarm and concern upon seeing her posturing. She said, “I'll leave you alone, but you remember, we're all praying for you and hoping for the best. Please call me if you need anything. Okay? You're baby's doing fine, by the way. I checked on her this morning.” “Thanks, Malia,” he replied. “I'll make it up to you.”

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She smiled warmly at him and disappeared behind the curtain. Joe opened the card and absently read the short but heartfelt consolations from his fellow residents, and then placed the card on the bed stand. He turned his attention back to Kaitlyn, trying to pull his thoughts together, which seemed impossibly muddled, a thick tangle of emotions and regrets and sorrows. What was he supposed to think right now? What were people like him supposed to do in this situation? His mind was cloudy, and he was mentally exhausted. He couldn't leave her bedside, he knew that. But he wasn't doing her any good sitting here, either, at least he didn't think so. She didn't seem to be aware of anything, and at any rate she was being heavily sedated. But was there a possibility that she was aware in some way of her surroundings? If so, he wanted to provide whatever meager level of comfort he could. But he also knew it was highly likely that she wasn't aware of anything at all. Could that be true, he thought? Could her body be alive here, but vacated? Where is Kaitlyn? The question seemed silly as he continued to gently stroke her hand. He shook his head. Maybe he should call down and have the nursery bring the baby up. But no, not yet. His sister and mom were down there right 383

now. He released her hand and walked to the window, staring out at the hot summer morning. He desperately wanted something he could physically do. If he could do anything, anything at all, to save Kaitlyn or comfort her or fix her, he would do it. He would walk around the world, dig a hole through the earth, beat his head against the wall, eat a library. But that was exactly the problem. There was nothing to do. Nothing but sit and wait and try to maintain some sort of hopeless hope. Dr. Graves had asked if Joe and Kaitlyn had ever spoken about this potential situation, and Joe thought, incredulously, that amongst all of his other meticulous—and ultimately irrelevant—plans for her, they had never discussed what her wishes would be if this should happen, if she should become comatose, incapacitated, ventilated. He tried to remember their conversations, and he recalled her unguarded reaction to Jesus Macias's injury on their walk down the river trail. Her response hadn't been at all what he had expected. She had expressed sincere concern that he was suffering, that he might survive only to live the rest of his life disabled and in pain. She had wondered if it had been worth it to resuscitate him. But what had she said after that? Had she said specifically that she 384

wouldn't want to be maintained on life support? He couldn't remember. Could the context of her words about Jesus Macias give him enough to infer what she would have thought? Or was he just attributing thoughts to her that weren't her own? How could her know what she would think? Ironically, Jesus Macias had continued to recover over the last few months. Incompletely so, but there was no doubt that he had improved. In fact, he was able to walk now—more of a stagger, really—but he could shovel food into his mouth with his left hand, and he could say a few words. He was like a huge child, mentally, and he laughed easily and cried often and got very frustrated, at times violent, but had in general endeared himself to the nursing staff, so much so that some of them had petitioned against him being transferred to the nursing home, because they didn't think he would be well taken care of there. But it was only a matter of time, probably a few more weeks, and then he would go to the nursing home anyway, once there was an available bed. Amazingly, it had already been ten months since his accident. It was the same week that he and Kaitlyn had met. Joe contemplated that, and wished he could go back in time and take that discussion with Kaitlyn further. He had mentioned Jesus Macias in the 385

subsequent months, but she never seemed enthused to discuss him much. Now he wondered if he should be reading something into that reluctance. He knew for sure that she hadn't wanted to die in childbirth, that much was clear. She had been more than willing to contribute to and go along with Joe's plan. But if he was honest, even he knew that always, behind her willingness to prepare with him for all possible contingencies, there had been an air of reluctance about the plan, a suspicion that something would go wrong anyway that she had been unable to conceal completely. He had been aware of this trepidation, but he was afraid to explore it and how it might relate to the discredited dream, and so he never asked her about it, and she never offered an explanation. Now he looked to her lifeless face again, heard the whooshing of the machine, and wished that he had been brave enough to ask her that question, to know what she would want him to do right now. Amongst all of his superfluous medical plans, that was the one vital piece of information he was missing. If only he she could tell him now. The curtain over the door rustled, and after a moment Tina, the labor nurse appeared. Joe was slightly alarmed at her appearance. She looked 386

exhausted and completely devastated, and she entered the room as if heading towards a gas chamber. She couldn't help but look to Kaitlyn on the ventilator, and she brought her hand to her face and began to cry. “I'm so sorry, Dr. Rorke.” She sniffled and tried to compose herself, then offered again, “I'm so sorry.” Joe didn't have any tears left to cry, but he felt badly for Tina. She was taking this personally, as the whole team had, but no one more so than her. There was nothing she could have done to prevent it or fix it. On the contrary, her swift and composed actions were probably one of the main reasons that Kaitlyn had even survived the initial insult. But that didn't remove the awful guilt and sting. Joe said gently, “Tina, you have nothing to be sorry for. You did your best. Everybody did.” She accepted his words bravely, sniffled again, and then stood straight. She removed a sealed envelope from her jacket and thrust it out to Joe. He took it in his hands and saw Kaitlyn's handwriting on the outside. It read, “To Joe.” “Dr. Rorke, this is for you,” Tina explained. She was measuring her words, and said, “I know that you had some premonitions. I believe she was 387

having them, too. She hoped nothing would happen, but she asked me to keep this and give it to you in case something did.” Joe looked at the envelope, then back to Tina, who took out a tissue and wiped her eyes and blew her nose, then nodded carefully as Joe turned the envelope in his hands. She stepped sideways towards the curtains and said again, “I'm so sorry,” then fumbled her way out of the room.

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Chapter 42 Joe perched on the arm of the recliner and stared at the envelope in his hands. He traced the letters of his name on the front, and he could almost feel the tenderness with which they had been written. To Joe. He could hear the way his name sounded when it came out of Kaitlyn's mouth. He looked past the envelope to where she lay on the bed, saw the awful tube sticking in her throat, and considered in a detached way the peculiarity of this emotion. Kaitlyn was still alive and breathing in this very room, but the only thing conveying the vitality of her life was this inanimate object he held in his hands. He carefully lifted the seal and unfolded the two pages of paper, torn out of a notebook with the tattered ends still attached. She had written in black ink in her loose, elegant strokes, though her letters seemed shakier than normal. It was dated exactly one week ago. June 22th, 2008 To my beloved Joe, 389

First, let me tell you how much and how deeply I love you. If you're reading this, my heart is breaking for you, because it must mean that the worst has happened. Please know, my love, that nobody could have ever been more careful or thoughtful or meticulous in trying to protect me and our baby. There is nothing else you could have done, and whatever has happened, it must have been meant to be. I only hope that at least Melody survived. I can't say why, but I know that she will. I have had a very reassuring feeling that she will be okay no matter what. For the last few months, I have been hoping against hope that you would never have to face the situation that would prompt you to read this. Even as I write, I am hoping that this is only destined for the trashcan, and that you and I will be able to live long and happy lives together and raise our daughter. But if you are reading this, then the worst has happened. No matter where our shared dream came from or where it has taken us, the simplest, most pure dream of my own heart has always been to spend all of my time, life and love with you. 390

I don't know why the dream ever came to us, or how, or what it meant, but I hope that you don't look back on it in anger. I don't. Even if I'm dead now, I don't. It brought us together, after all, and if these last ten months were all of the happiness we were supposed to be allowed, then I believe it was worth it. I think every happiness in life comes with a built-in time limit. If our ten months were short, they were also perfect, or at least close. I have never been happier. Just as importantly, the dream gave us our daughter. She is precious, Joe. If you are reading this, then you know I gave my life to bring her here, to you. Give her your very best as you raise her. Please treat her like the precious child that she is. I know that you will. Tell her about me often enough to keep me alive and real in her memories, the way my dad did for my mother and me. Oh, Joe. It breaks my heart to write these words. I hope--oh, I hope, I hope--that you will never have to read them, and that I will be able to hold you in my arms, feel your heart beating in your chest, and kiss you tenderly in the warm rain in the mountains forever and ever. I love you, Joe. Take care of Melody. Remember me in your dreams. 391

Love forever, Kaitlyn He looked up from the letter and out the window. He thought all of his tears had been spent, but they began again, dripping from his cheeks and onto the paper, and the ink of her words began to run. He folded the paper haltingly, bent his head into his hands, and sobbed sorrowfully.

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Chapter 43 The letter was beautiful, and it touched off an ache so deep inside of him that Joe couldn't express it. He was overwhelmed, and he was glad that nobody was poking through the curtain right now. He read it again as his tears subsided, relishing the warmth and tenderness of her tone while at the same time despairing over her absence. The letter was beautiful and sad, but mostly it was from her, and he missed her voice and her smile unbearably. But as he reflected on it, he realized it was also inconclusive. She had written it as a goodbye note, under the assumption that if he should ever read it, it would be because she was dead. But she wasn't dead. He watched the rise and fall of her chest with the machine, the IV medications dripping slowly through the clear plastic tubing and into her arms. She was still alive. She had said goodbye, but she was still here, and thus the letter only magnified his conflicted emotions. Earlier in the day, the neurologist had ordered an EEG to evaluate Kaitlyn's level of brain activity. It was late afternoon before the tech rolled the cart into the room and began placing the electrodes across her scalp. The tech was businesslike and detached, and Joe didn't know him, had never seen 393

him in the hospital. The tech apparently didn't know any details of the case, that Joe was a doctor or that Kaitlyn was a nurse. Joe watched him silently from the corner of the room, and when the tech began adjusting dials below the screen, Joe leaned over and looked. He didn't know much about interpreting the rows of squiggly lines on the print out, but he knew enough to know that flat lines were in general bad. Kaitlyn's rows had a few flat lines, but also several rows of rapidly oscillating spikes. As he finished up, Joe ventured to ask the tech what he thought of the EEG. The tech seemed perturbed at the question, and without looking up he said, “I'm sorry, sir. I'm just the tech. You'll have to ask the doctor.” He sounded like he had answered the same question in the same way a dozen times already that day. Joe responded, “Actually, I am a doctor, but I don't normally interpret EEGs.” The tech looked at him skeptically, and Joe continued, “I know you run these things at least ten times a day. I'm just curious what you think of it.” “Really, sir,” the tech replied, “You'll need to ask Dr. Morton.” “When will he read it?” asked Joe. 394

“Probably tomorrow. He usually reads them in the morning.” “Okay, but I'd like to have an idea tonight. Can you just tell me if she has signs of brain activity or not? She's my wife. She was a nurse here.” The tech looked at Joe and then to the floor, and appeared to be facing an internal dilemma. Eventually, he turned the dial down on the monitor, and reshuffled the papers that were resting on the keyboard. He looked to the monitor, then back to Joe, and offered laboriously, “She's in a coma. But understand--” “Look, I understand you're not the doctor. I'm not going to hold it against you in any way. And obviously she's in a coma. What I want to know is what level of brain functioning this EEG suggests.” Joe was flustered, but caught himself and then finished apologetically, “Please. If you know something, just tell me. If not, then I understand.” The tech considered this plea, and then replied, “This represents a deep coma.” He suddenly seemed semi-human. Joe sighed, and the tech added, “I'm sorry. But it just doesn't show much brain activity right now.” Joe looked down and said, “Thanks. I guess that's what I was afraid 395

of.” But the tech was getting excited now. He had learned to hide behind the presumed insignificance of his position, but he knew a lot. He added, “That doesn't mean she won't improve. I've seen worse EEGs then this on people who have gone on to wake up later.” He looked down at Kaitlyn, and for the first time he appeared to consider her as a person. “She's your wife?” he asked. “Yes. My wife. She just had our first baby, and then had an ruptured aneurysm immediately after.” “Oh, that's terrible. I'm sorry.” “Yes, it is terrible.” Joe was tracing Kaitlyn's cheek with his hand, and he concluded, “Alright, thanks.” The tech gathered his things, and by the time he stepped past the curtain, he seemed detached and inhuman again. Joe had watched him go, and then felt a rumbling of hunger in his stomach. He hadn't eaten anything all day. He checked out with the ICU nurse, who was getting ready to leave 396

her shift, and then he headed to the cafeteria. The food, as always, looked terrible. He grabbed a cold slice of strangely gray pizza, and then as he walked by the fruit basket, he stopped and considered the lone brownish, bruised apple in the bottom, nestled between the black spotted bananas and tattered yellow oranges. He picked it up and measured it in his hands, then placed it on his tray. In honor of Kaitlyn, he thought. He tried to make himself laugh but wasn't able to. As he passed the dining area, he saw a group of residents gathered at a table. Joe didn't feel like talking, and planned on dropping off his tray and just slipping quietly back up to her room. He waved weakly, but as he was turning to go, Travis stood and walked carefully towards him. “Hey, Joe,” Travis offered. “Hey, Travis.” “Glad to see you, dude.” Joe nodded tiredly, and Travis continued. “We're so sorry for you. Can't believe it. It totally sucks.” “Yeah,” said Joe. “That about sums it up.” “Yeah,” replied Travis with his hands in his pockets. There was 397

nothing else to say, and so he put his hand out gently to Joe's shoulder and said, “Let me know if I can, like, help.” Joe had to smile briefly as he glimpsed Travis's nose, which was still slightly misshapen at the bridge. “Sure. Thanks,” he said. Travis was turning to go, and then Joe thought of something. “Uh, wait a second. Actually, you could help me.” “Yeah?” He looked back, eager to help. “I haven't slept more than two hours in last two days,” said Joe miserably. “I'm afraid I'm going to go crazy if I don't sleep tonight. And I have a feeling I'm not going to.” “Dude, I can only imagine. Need some sleepers?” “Well, just one would be fine. If you could call it into the hospital pharmacy, I'll head down later and pick it up.” “No problem. Happy to do it.” “Thanks.” “You get some sleep tonight. Maybe there'll be better news tomorrow, you know?” 398

“Yeah, maybe.” Travis headed back to the group of residents who had been watching their conversation quietly. Travis picked up the wall phone by the table, and Joe waved again to the group, who waved back, and then he turned to go. He walked to the back stairway and headed upstairs, and as he came out on the fourth floor, he saw the framed picture of mountain scenery. The purple snowcapped peaks and the blue sky and the wildflowers. It had been months since he had noticed it, but this time it stopped him in his tracks again. All of the vivid imagery of the dream came flooding back. He could see Kaitlyn in her blue scrubs and pony tail, her curious smile, the rain gathering on her lips as she pulled him closer, could see her in her wedding gown as she turned towards him and the door slammed shut. He stared at the picture and began absently eating his pizza slice. He finished that off and began eating the mushy apple. After a few bites, he looked at it and threw it towards a trashcan across the hall. It squished against the wall and slid into the can. He contemplated the picture some more. For the first time since before their honeymoon, he actually wanted to go back to the dream. The green glow from the depths of the hallway that 399

morning had given him a renewed glimmer of hope. Maybe if he could fall asleep tonight, he could make it down the hallway and see what was there. He headed hopefully over towards the pharmacy. The pharmacist, like all of the hospital staff , had heard about Kaitlyn, and she offered her condolences, handing Joe a small paper packet that contained two pills of zolpidem. “In case you need another one,” she said sympathetically. Joe was close to the nursery and decided to walk by. He tried to remain inconspicuous, didn't want to see any nurses or draw any attention to himself. He looked at Melody through the glass window. She was one of three babies strapped into the infant swings. She was wrapped in pink and white blankets, and at first Joe wasn't certain which one was her. But he squinted through the glass and could see the small pink teddy bear that Rachel had brought for her nestled against her head like a pillow, and then he recognized her dark hair and Kaitlyn's nose. It was true, he thought, just like my mother said. She does have her nose. He watched the jerky rhythm of the swing as she swung back and forth, back and forth. Her eyes were open, and she still looked very serious. Joe had to smile. This was one serious girl. After a couple of minutes, he looked down the hallway, felt the pill 400

packet in his pocket, and then shuffled in exhaustion back towards the ICU.

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Chapter 44 Two nights later, Joe was watching the moon rise through the window. It was nearly full and white as chalk, washing the stars from the sky, and its light filtered into the room and cast blue shadows across Kaitlyn's face. Joe had finally asked for Melody to be brought to the room tonight, and her crib was pulled up next to the bed. She lay peacefully on Joe's chest as he reclined in the chair. She was swaddled tightly in a pink blanket and had been sound asleep for the last two hours. It was past midnight. Joe had turned down the volume to all the monitors in the room, and the only sound was the murmuring of the ventilator, which was now so familiar that it was no more intrusive than ambient noise. Occasionally, a shudder and a tiny burst of periodic breathing came from Melody's fragile little body on top of his. Joe needed to sleep now, but he couldn't. He had slept soundly each of the last two nights, but only with a little help from his zolpidem. Each morning, he had awoken feeling groggy and unrested. Of most concern to him, there hadn't been any more dreams. Perhaps due to some emotional delirium, Joe had, over the last two days, latched firmly onto the idea that he 402

needed to get back into the dream in some way. He knew it was probably foolish, but to some degree everything seemed foolish now. Surreal. Hopeless. He hadn't gone home once in the past four days. He showered at the hospital and grabbed new scrubs to change into every morning, and he had a harrowing growth of stubble on his face. He looked gaunt, his eyes were set back in a sea of blood vessels, and he didn't have any appetite at all. His mother and sister visited everyday, and his mother had become increasingly concerned at his appearance. She had felt compelled to mention this a half dozen times this afternoon before Rachel had gently but firmly told her to back off. His brother and father had come to visit last night. By now, he had spoken with several of the residents as they passed through the ICU to check on other patients. But for the most part, he had been sitting alone in this room for four days, alternating between standing at the window and holding Kaitlyn's rigid hand. Even in his waking hours, the memory of the dream kept returning forcefully, rhythmically like an ocean wave, thundering through his thoughts, and then soothing him as it receded, and he was becoming increasingly obsessed with it. It's ridiculous, I know, he thought. The dream always came 403

when he didn't want it too, and now it wouldn't come when he needed it to. He thought that perhaps something in the medicine was impeding his dream from materializing, and so tonight, he was determined to try and fall asleep without any pharmaceutical assistance. But as he lay hour by hour in the recliner and watched the white moon rise higher and higher into the summer night sky, he was losing his resolve. His mind, as well as his body, was utterly fatigued. But thoughts kept whirring away through his brain, reviewing and regurgitating all of the news of the last two days. None of it was good. The neurologist had concurred with the tech about the EEG. Kaitlyn was in a deep coma, showing signs only of rudimentary brain activity. He ordered a repeat MRI the following morning, which had showed no further bleeding but significant swelling in the middle portions of her brain. The rigidity had diminished over the last few days, which Joe thought could be a good sign. But with the increased swelling, it was probably a bad sign. Then yesterday afternoon she had developed a low-grade fever, and an x-ray suggested she was developing an aspiration pneumonia. Dr. Graves had started her on two high-powered antibiotics, and her fever was down 404

again tonight. She would have another x-ray in the morning. She also had continued to have heavy vaginal bleeding, which wasn't necessarily abnormal after delivery, but was worsened by the altered blood clotting brought on by the overall trauma to her body. If her blood count dropped lower by the morning, she would likely need to be transfused. And finally, Kaitlyn had begun having some runs of irregular heart rhythms earlier that afternoon. The cardiologist had come immediately to evaluate her, but didn't seem overly concerned. Artificial ventilation was placing heavy strains on her heart, he stated, but “I think that's the least of her concerns right now.” He had started her on some new IV medicines, and the irregularities had for the most part subsided. Given all of that, it was amazing she was still alive, but it combined to create an increasingly bleak picture. In these situations with other ICU patients, the residents referred to it cynically as “circling the drain,” and Joe was struggling to hold onto any shred of hope. That was probably why he had so strongly latched on to the memory of the dream. It wasn't much—if fact, the dream was, if history was any indication, typically a bad thing-- but Joe was no longer looking at things logically. At least it was something other 405

than the grim procession of unbearable realities that he was otherwise facing. But Joe had found a surprising source of hope that evening when the nursing shift changed over. Kaitlyn's care was assigned to Brad, a short, muscular, slightly obnoxious ICU nurse whom Joe knew well. Joe had worked with him on dozens of patients. Brad was thorough, quick and competent, and Joe was glad he was on duty. Tonight, especially, he was a breath of fresh air in the otherwise gloomy room. As the evening wore on and he came into the room periodically to check on Kaitlyn, Brad was relentlessly positive, even bordering on cocky. “You bet she'll get better,” he said. “No doubt. I've seen a lot worse. You give her some time, and she'll come around.” Then he tried to joke, “We'll have her all fixed up by morning,” but at that he realized that he may have been pushing the optimism too far, and he saw that Joe didn't find anything too humorous in the comment. From then on, he became a little more sensitive to the reality of the situation and a little less exuberant. Ironically, Joe suspected that Brad had previously harbored a secret crush on Kaitlyn, as he was known to do with all of the attractive hospital nurses. But he was harmless, and he was professional, and really, Joe thought as he 406

looked longingly at Kaitlyn's obscured face, if it was true that he had been sweet on her, who could blame him? Brad came back to the room around ten p.m., checked her vitals and told Joe that she looked great, was having just a few irregular heartbeats. He asked if Joe needed anything. Joe mentioned that he was thinking about bringing Melody into the room, and Brad said he thought that was a great idea. After he left, Joe spent several moments in the moonlit recliner, looking at Kaitlyn's face that reflected the blue moonlight and the dark green shadows of the monitors. Every time he looked at her now, he was having a harder time recognizing her face as it was, obscured and contorted by the equipment. She was unresponsive, and he realized that she, or at least her physical body, had become something almost inhuman, robotic, an appendage to the machine. What would happen if there was a power outage? he thought. When he looked at her, he felt he was looking beyond the woman strapped to the machine, and instead could see the incorruptible, timeless vision of her face, her smile, her beautiful blue eyes, just as she had appeared 407

in the first dream. He stared at her in the moonlight in this way for a long time, and eventually he dialed the nursery and asked if they would bring Melody up to the room. He knew it was about time to bring her here. He had swung by the nursery only a few times over the last two days. He had her brought to the ICU once for a grand total of five minutes before she started fussing loudly, and when she hadn't wanted to take the bottle from Joe, he asked for the nurse to come and take her back. But tonight, he was feeling an urge to have her close, to hold her in his arms and feel her heart beating, and maybe in some way they could be a little family in the room, just the three of them, just for a few moments. Melody was sleeping when they pushed her cart through the curtain, and Joe looked at her tiny angelic face in the light of the moon. Even with the dark hair, her face looked like Kaitlyn's, especially her nose. He picked her up gently, and she didn't wake. He stood with her in the shadows for a few moments, staring at the moon, and then he walked silently over towards Kaitlyn. He brought Melody close to Kaitlyn's face, supporting her gently as he placed her on her 408

abdomen beneath the tubes and monitors attached to her chest, which was rising and falling with the unnatural motions of artificial respiration. Joe noted that Kaitlyn's body felt cold, and then he felt some wetness across the front of her hospital gown, and he realized that she was leaking milk from her breasts. This realization sunk in deeply, and it at once made him feel both hope and despair. After a moment, Melody began to stir uncomfortably at the noisy whooshing and jerky motion, and Joe lifted her up and rocked her gently and she quickly fell back asleep. Joe moved to the recliner, lay back carefully, and held his daughter on his chest. He watched her peaceful breathing for a while, then looked to the white moon, then to Kaitlyn, and then back to Melody. The room was quiet and still, and he felt his own chest rising and falling slowly. Melody was breathing lightly in her own irregular rhythm across his chest, and he could hear the constant murmuring of the Kaitlyn's ventilator. Three different patterns of breathing, three different threads of life all intertwined, occupying the same space. Joe felt his heart aching suddenly at the exquisite nearness of his daughter, and at the terrible distance of Kaitlyn, and he soon felt 409

overwhelmed, shuddering with wonder and terror, with the miracle and fragility of life. He could feel Melody's heart thrumming through her swaddling blanket, and he stared at the risen moon. After several moments, he noticed a calmness spreading over the room. After the horrors of the last two days, he was amazed to feel a moment of peace. He looked to Kaitlyn, saw her tattered letter partially folded on the metal stand by her bed, and reviewed in his mind her words. Within them, she seemed very alive. He looked to her laying there, and it was easy to imagine that she was only sleeping, that at any moment she could stretch and yawn, pull the tube out of her throat, smile coyly, and scoot over to cuddle up with him and their daughter and share in this moment of peace. Melody began to awaken. Joe stood and bounced her gently, then silently changed her wet diaper and fed her a bottle, which she gratefully took. Then she fell back asleep as he paced with her in the blue room. When he was certain she was asleep again, he gingerly placed her back in the cart, situating her blankets carefully. He reached down to stroke her cheek, and then bent down and kissed her. Her lips moved in a sucking motion briefly, and she turned her face and resumed her breathing. 410

He wondered if the brightness of the moonlight would awaken her. He walked over to the blinds and began to close them, but stopped. He looked back at Kaitlyn. A blue glow surrounded her bed, and she had a translucent appearance in the moonlight. He left the blinds alone and stared at her. He walked to her bed, sat on the side, and then leaned past the tubing and kissed her on the cheek. Her face was gray and cold, and there was no response, but there remained a luminance about her that extended deeper than her skin. Perhaps he was just getting used to her this way, but he thought she looked beautiful in the moonlight. He grasped her fingers with one hand, and felt for her covers with the other, then lifted them carefully and lay down beside her. He carefully adjusted her limp arm to the side, and he placed his face next to her shoulder. He could hear the unnatural rushing of air through the tubing, up and down her throat. He lay still and listened for a moment, and then he exhaled with her, then inhaled, trying to breathe with the same rhythm. Easy, he thought. Twelve times a minute. Soon, the forced rushes of air from the machine blended into the 411

sound of his own breath, and he closed his eyes, saw the image of her face, her smile. Her body felt cold next to him, but her memory was warm. He yearned exquisitely for her, wherever she was, and he turned into her as his mind slowly drifted away beyond the moonlight of the room.

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Chapter 45 Their steady, synchronized breathing faded into the whispering of fog past his ears, and into the cadence of the soft pull of his paddle through the dark, still water. Joe opened his eyes slowly and felt relieved to find himself in the canoe on the lake. There was a new heaviness to the air that he noted, and then simply surrendered to without resistance. He glided without effort into the dock, and walked slowly out towards the valley, as if not entirely under his own power. The valley was cast in softer hues this time, less dramatic lighting, and it appeared to be late afternoon. Again there was no storm, and he was drawn onto the path and then steadily and certainly towards the cabin. He came to the deck and then to the door, which opened easily, and he walked in. The furniture was uncovered and the fire blazed, and he looked around for a moment and then was drawn up the stairs. The room at the top was empty. There was no green glow, only a plain white crib with Melody stirring in it, and dark vacant corners. He heard a slightly mewing from the baby, but otherwise it was silent. The doorway on the far side was slightly ajar, and a thin beam of sunlight angled across the floor towards the crib. But 413

he didn't enter the room. He was drawn past it and down into the hallway, which was no longer as dark. Small candles flickered from recessed sconces on the walls. Heavy wooden doors lined both sides of the hallway that extended back into the shadows. He continued down the hall for a long time until it abruptly ended at a stone staircase that spiraled down out of sight, lit dimly by candles. He hesitated momentarily at the top stair, then began descending as if he knew this was where he was supposed to go. He curved around and around the stone stairway, dropping deeper and deeper, shadows of flame bouncing off the stone walls. He continued down until he forgot how long he had been descending and why, and then he began to hear what sounded like the murmuring of an ocean, the steady roar and retreat of waves crashing on a rocky shore, growing louder as he descended further. He came around a turn and saw sunlight dancing off the lower curves of the staircase, growing brighter as he continued down. He came around a final turn and saw the stairs ending at a rectangle of late afternoon sunlight. Joe shielded his face as he stepped to the sill of the door, grasping the 414

cool stone on each side and peering down into a large body of water, a spacious rocky inlet criss-crossed with modest waves. Sheer stone cliffs encircled the water on three sides. In the falling sunlight, the water appeared dark and the crests and valleys of the waves shone like silver furrows. A small stone ledge extended from the doorway. The sea roiled fifty feet below the threshold of the door. He looked around the bay. To the right the cliffs opened into an ocean, frameing a golden sun setting over a silver horizon. He scanned back along the soaring cliffs of the enclosure. They were dark and jagged and lined with faults and crevices, extending up and nearly out of sight. Near the small semi-circle of sky visible through the top, a few white clouds circled softly. Then Joe saw a faint line of red extending down from the heights of the cliffs along the opposite walls. The clouds hid its origin, but with effort, he could trace it down until he saw the end dangling free, fifty feet above the rolling surface of the water. It was the rope. Joe felt a creaking at his feet, then heard of crack of stone. He looked down, and suddenly the stone ledge crumbled, and Joe plummeted through the salty air towards the water. 415

Before he could be alarmed, he plunged into the bay. It was warm. He opened his eyes and the water was clear, but dark in the late afternoon sunlight. Small fragments of stone showered lightly down and fell beyond him into the depths and out of sight. He couldn't see the bottom. He was submerged and looked around, looked up and saw the sunlight dancing off the surface of the water twenty feet above him. He felt a warm swell beneath him, pushing him, and soon he was moving towards the opposite end of the inlet, surging with the invisible power of waves towards the cliffs where the rope had been dangling. He stayed deep under the surface, feeling no need to breathe. The rhythmic swells seemed to breathe for him as they carried him along. Through the clear dark water, he began to discern the outline of the submerged cliff walls on the opposite side, and he noticed a green glow. As he neared the cliffs, the glow increased swiftly, filling the surrounding water with green light, and he could see that it emanated from an underwater cave below the surface. He began to swim now, pulling himself towards the cave, mesmerized by the intensity of the green light, pushed by the swells of waves. He began 416

to squint as he approached, light streaming from a large, irregularly shaped cavity in the side of the cliff, oblong and ten feet wide with smooth, curving edges. The light was so intense that it became a barrier to his vision, and he couldn't see beyond the entrance. He reached the opening, and, shutting his eyes against the green light, he kicked forward, one hand in front of his face, feeling for rock, but there was nothing. The water swelled behind him, pushing him forward, and he knew he had passed beyond the entrance of the cave as the water became abruptly cooler. He opened his eyes and saw nothing. It was completely dark. He reached toward his face and couldn't see his hand. He reached to the side and could feel nothing but cold water. He looked behind him and there was no green light, only darkness, and he began to feel panicked. He put his arms over his head and kicked upwards carefully, but he didn't strike any surface. He swam in a circle with his arms extended and felt nothing. He whirled around and thrust back towards where the entrance had been but there was nothing there. He began to struggle in exasperation, suddenly gasped for air, and he began to flounder. The pressure of the water became immense, crowding his chest. He felt a crushing pain in his head and 417

a ringing in his ears. He became desperately hungry for air, fighting the urge to open his mouth and breathe, and the pressure began to wrap around him, and he felt as if he was going to drown Then he saw a glimmer of white light far above him. He stopped flailing and felt a heavy calm descend over him. Above, an oval of white light shone in the distance, a cool and crystal clear beam piercing through the blackness of the water like a spotlight, and Joe stared in wonder. Tiny specks of debris shimmered in the long rays of its intense light. There was no murkiness, no green color. The air hunger left him, and Joe felt water rushing softly past his face. He made no effort to swim, but something pulled him towards this brilliant light, and the oval grew wider as he neared, until he could see that it was coming from a doorway, an arch lined with rough stones that opened directly over his head. He kicked upwards towards the opening, could see water undulating where it met with the air above. The smooth waves of water scattered the white light that came through it, casting amorphous refractions, and through them Joe saw a figure dressed in white. He stopped swimming for a moment and blinked his eyes. He waited to see if the waves would settle, if the water would clear. It didn't, but 418

through the hexagons of light and water, he could see Kaitlyn seated on a stone bench, suspended upside down from the ceiling of the room above him. He yelled out impulsively when he saw her, but the underwater echoes of his voice were diluted in the endless water around him. The figure didn't move. He gathered himself, and then stroked ferociously upwards, but something pushed back. He swam towards the opening into a sudden tunnel of current. He kicked harder and harder, thrust one hand out and grasped the side of the arch, then thrust his other hand to the other side. The current strengthened, and his hands were slipping. He reset his grip, and with monumental effort he put his face down and pumped his legs like a dolphin, pushing upstream towards the surface of the water. He breached the barrier and his chest surged forward through the doorway. Water poured off him, and he felt a wave of warm, humid air. He opened his mouth and gasped for air. He noticed the water spilling off of his head, but it dripped horizontally towards the flat edge of the doorway. He raised his hand to clear the dripping water from his eyes, desperately scanning the room when he suddenly felt gravity pulling him towards what 419

he thought was the side. His chest dropped against the stone sill of the door and settled there, and after a moment he looked up through his wet hair and saw Kaitlyn moving cautiously towards him. Joe tried to look up, but he was struggling to drag the rest his body through the doorway, the outward current still pulling at his legs, and Kaitlyn was improbably walking down the side of the open cavern towards him. He lunged himself forward, spilling into the room in a soggy heap. He breathed heavily, sputtering out water that ran into his mouth, looking out through thick streams that dripped and clouded his vision. He saw the ceiling and walls, and felt dizzy, and then his perception of gravity kicked in and the room seemed to settle and he reoriented himself. Kaitlyn was walking towards him across what had appeared to be the wall but was actually the floor of a large cavern. The side and floor of the cave were hewn roughly out of black rock. Joe looked back towards the watery portal through which he had entered and saw water undulating vertically along the threshold of the door, defying gravity. He turned over quickly and braced his arms beneath himself, felt the firmness of the rock, and Kaitlyn was beside him. His heart raced at her 420

nearness. He shook water from his head, brushed wet hair from his eyes, and then he could see her face. She had a sad, frightened appearance, and her eyes seemed to regard Joe with some sense of disbelief. He pulled himself to his knees and reached out to her. “Kaitlyn?” he said urgently. Hearing his voice, she reached forward and carefully touched his forearm, felt the flesh of his hands, and looked to him. Her eyes seemed a darker blue, and sadder, but she forced a relieved smile to her lips, and whispered in reply, “Joe.” They reached out to each other. He cupped her face in his palms and leaned in to kiss her, but her eyes darted to the floor, and she wrapped her arms around his chest and buried herself within his wet embrace.

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Chapter 46 After a long, silent embrace in the black walled cave, Kaitlyn pulled away and asked, “Where are we, Joe?” “In the dream,” Joe replied. “In an underwater cave. Are you okay?” “I don't know.” Her voice was laced with sorrow. “I've been here so long. I'm having a hard time remembering anything. I can't get out.” She looked to him skeptically and asked, “How did you find me?” “I'm not sure. I fell asleep and woke up in the dream. It brought me here.” “Did you come through the cabin?” she asked. “Yes. I came through the cabin and down a hallway and down a very long staircase. I fell into an ocean and swam to an underwater hole, and then I saw a light and I swam towards it, and it was you.” Kaitlyn was listening sadly and asked simply, “Tell me what happened, Joe.” Her voice was full of fear and frustration. “Kaitlyn, sweetheart--” He couldn't figure out what to say. He wasn't sure what she knew. How could he even know this was real? But she looked 422

at him imploringly, and he began, “Do you know what happened after Melody was born?” She looked at him sadly and shook her head, and he continued, “Something terrible happened. You-- you had a stroke. A ruptured aneurysm.” Her eyes looked down but she didn't seem surprised. He continued, “Now you're in the ICU, in a coma.” He reached to pull her towards him, but she resisted, and he said, “I'm so sorry.” She was looking to the rough stone floor of the cave and said softly, “Is Melody okay?” “Yes, yes. Melody is fine. She’s perfect.” He looked around the cave, towards the doorway and the shimmering wall of water, and said, “She's in a crib--” Joe realized that he had passed her in the hallway before the spiral stairs, but then added, “In fact, if we were awake, she'd be only a few feet away from you right now. I had them bring her up to the room tonight. I held her on your chest earlier.” Kaitlyn wasn't looking up, and Joe continued, “She's beautiful, Kaitlyn. She has dark hair like me, but she has your nose, your lips.” Kaitlyn finally looked at him again and managed a smile, then brought her hands to her face and wiped away a tear. Joe reached for her and 423

brought her to his shoulder. He held her for a long time, kneeling, looking over the top of her head. He noticed that on the far side of the cave there was a small stream of water pouring from a crack in the wall, and a pool was forming on the floor. Joe asked over her head, “Tell me what's happened to you.” “I don't know, Joe,” Kaitlyn replied. “I remember being in so much pain. I remember seeing you holding Melody, but then everything went white, and the next thing I knew, I was falling. I fell through the sky and the clouds for a long time, and finally I landed in warm water, surrounded by cliffs. I saw a green light beneath the water and swam towards it, and through a cave, and then I started drowning. Then I saw a white light, and something pushed me towards it, and I crawled in here. I've been here ever since. You said it's only been five days, but it feels like years. I'm trapped. I've tried a dozen times to swim through that wall of water, but it always pushes me back in.” “Are you hurting? Are you in pain?” “No, not physically. But I feel so horrible, Joe. It's so awfully lonely in here. There's something wrong.” She wiped another tear and then looked 424

to him, asked, “Did you get my letter?” “Yes.” “When I wrote it, I thought if you read it, it would mean that I was dead.” “I know.” “But I'm not.” “No. You're not dead.” “Then what is this, Joe?” “I don't know, Kaitlyn. Your body is still alive. And if this is real, then it must mean some part of your mind is alive, too.” “I don't want to go on like this, Joe.” Her quavering voice was growing firm. “Do you think I can survive?” “Kaitlyn--” He looked away, but forced himself to look back into her eyes. “I don't know. It's not a good situation right now.” “If I survive, do you think I'll be impaired?” Joe didn't answer, and she asked again, more firmly, “Tell me the truth, Joe.”

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“Yes. You'll probably have permanent brain damage.” She looked away from him, and then back, and said fiercely, “Then you need to let me go, Joe.” “Kaitlyn--” “Let me go.” “Kaitlyn.” “I can't live like this.” She was adamant. “I'll never abandon you.” “What's going to happen when you leave? I'll be alone again. I can't do that. Who knows if I'll ever see you again?” “Maybe I don't have to leave. Maybe I'll never wake up. And if I do, I'll dream every night. I can meet you here. We can talk.” “Or maybe you'll never make it back. I don't want to be a vegetable, Joe.” “We don't know that you will be.” “We don't know anything, Joe, do we?” Her eyes flashed fiercely, 426

and then she looked at him with intense sadness, “If you love me, let me go.” “If, Kaitlyn? Don't say 'if.' You know I love you.” He felt confused at her coldness, couldn't stop her from pushing him away. “Please understand, I love you. I don't want to lose you forever. I can take care of you.” Joe thought of Melody, and added desperately, “Besides, you have a daughter you need to meet. She needs you. I need you.” Kaitlyn slumped her shoulders and her legs sunk lower to the floor. Joe looked and saw the stream of water on the other side of the cave. It was gushing out from the wall now, and the pool on the floor was lapping towards them. Joe rose to stand, and pulled her towards him. He said, “Look at us. We're together now. We can’t give up yet.” “It’s only a dream, Joe,” Kaitlyn replied sternly. “Hey, you're the big believer, aren't you?” Kaitlyn looked at him sadly. The water was lapping around their ankles now. Kaitlyn suddenly seemed to notice the rushing water on the far side of the cave. “Look, Joe,” she said, staring at the water. “I don't think we don't have much time.”

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Joe looked around him. “You said you've been here forever. I think we have time to at least talk here. It's just a dream, right? We can't drown.” At that, the back wall of the cave burst open and a torrent of rocks and water flooded into the room. It swirled around their waists, deepening by the second. Joe looked frantically at her as a rock whirled narrowly past her head. He grabbed her around the waist and tried to pull them towards the watery doorway, which seemed to be the only possible exit. But something had happened. Kaitlyn went limp in his arms. She raised her head weakly and said, “I love you, Joe.” He pulled her towards him. Her lips were turning blue, and he kissed her ferociously, breathing into her mouth, but she didn't respond. The water was pounding over them, and Joe dragged her heavily through the churning water towards the doorway. But she was limp, lifeless. “No,” he said. “Kaitlyn, no!” Then suddenly her body was seized by some unseen force around her waist, and she was wrenched backwards, slicing through the current of water 428

and loose rock towards the back wall. Joe grasped at her but came up empty. He plunged his head beneath the surface. Large rocks swirled past his face. He saw her limp body pulled impossibly fast into the dark depths of the cave. He futilely tried to swim towards her. Rocks smashed into him, and then the back wall collapsed on top of her. The cavern reverberated with a rumbling underwater echo. The room went instantly dark, but rocks continued to pummel Joe's face. He was straining with weakening strokes towards where the back wall had been, when he felt an invisible force arrest him by the shoulders. He was pulled swiftly backwards through dark cold water, through the archway and into blackness, the grating of rock and rushing of water fading into a dark, endless silence all around him.

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Chapter 47 The alarm in the room was beeping quietly, almost serenely when Joe woke up screaming. He was drenched with sweat, and the room was still blue with the moonlight. His first motions were residual, frantic swim strokes, but then he sat up and looked to Kaitlyn. She was still lying unmoved next to him in her white hospital gown, the tube in her throat whooshing away. In his mind he could still see her being ripped away from him and out of the back wall of the cavern, plunging through the current of water and rock and disappearing into darkness. He rubbed his face and looked to the cardiac monitor when he saw the green line jiggling chaotically on the screen. He rolled off the bed and stood, and yelled, “No!” Hearing his voice, Melody began to whimper from her crib, and then to cry. Joe looked briefly out the window, where the moon had risen up and out of sight, and then back to Kaitlyn's bed, then back to the monitor and the subdued beeping. Brad burst through the curtain and into the room, and said urgently, “What've we got, doc?” He looked to the monitor and swore under his breath, and then rushed to the side of her bed. With one hand he ripped the 430

code cord on the wall, and he yelled loudly towards the ICU nurse station, “I need some help! Now!” Brad sprung into action. He felt Kaitlyn's wrist for a pulse, shook his head, and then jumped to her bedside, ripped the gown off her chest and placed his hands there. He looked to the monitor, breathed deeply, and then began chest compressions at a rapid rate, crunching down into her chest again and again. Joe stood stunned at the bedside and winced when he heard the snapping of her rib bones. Another nurse poked her head into the room. “Oh, gosh,” she said, and then disappeared. Within seconds there were three other nurses in the room and a crash cart. Joe watched in horror from beside the window. Melody was shrieking from her crib, and Joe picked her up absently. Kaitlyn's body heaved under the strain of the CPR. Air whistled wetly through the tubing in her lungs. Joe cringed at the sight of her, and as Brad pumped away, Joe squeezed his eyes shut and looked to the floor and uttered softly, “No.” No one heard. Brad shouted over his shoulders to another nurse, who flung open a drawer and ripped out the defibrillator. Melody was screeching, 431

but all Joe could hear was the echo of the miserable sadness of Kaitlyn's voice saying, If you love me, let me go. He raised his voice and said loudly, “No.” Without interruption, everyone in the room turned to look at him. The commotion lessened, and Joe said firmly, “Stop.” Brad did not stop, continuing with compressions. He looked at Joe in bewilderment and asked, “What's that, doc?” “I said stop--” Joe choked on the words, but finished. “Stop the code, Brad.” Melody's crying intensified. Brad paused for only a second. He was sizing Joe up, and then looked back to the monitor and to Kaitlyn and thrust his hands back into her chest, and said panting, “She's in pulseless V-fib, doc.” Joe said it again, more forcefully, “I know that, Brad. She doesn't want this. I said stop.” Brad looked at him defiantly. “Can't do that, doc. She's a full code.” The other nurses were hustling around the room, but remained silent. Brad revved up the compressions, and Joe could hear the grinding of 432

Kaitlyn’s broken ribs. Joe lowered his voice, “Stop, Brad, please. You're hurting her.” “No, I'm not, doc. I'm saving her life.” “She's already dead.” “Not for long.” “Brad, she doesn't want this.” “Then you're going to have to discuss it with the doctor, my friend.” “I am a doctor, Brad.” He was raising his voice now, “And this isn't what she wants. Get your hands off of her.” Brad paused briefly again, and Joe reached over and grabbed his wrist forcefully. He secured Melody in his other arm, who continued to shriek. Brad ripped his hands away from Joe's grip. Joe stepped forward towards him defiantly, and Brad said sideways to the nurse. “Kerri, call security please.” Kerri stepped backwards out of the room. Joe breathed sharply and tried to collect himself. He didn't want a confrontation. He lowered his voice, and asked firmly, “Brad, don't do this. I want her to be a no code. She wants to be a no code. She's suffering. I want 433

you to stop.” “Doc, with all due respect, you're in no shape to make a decision like that.” He was looking at Joe's face, his wild red eyes and his scraggly beard, and said, “Besides, she's not ready to abandon ship yet.” The other nurse had wheeled the defibrillator to the beside. Brad grabbed the electrode pads from the machine and peeled the backs off of the sticky sides. “I'm not abandoning her. But she doesn't want this. You don't know her. I do.” “Doesn't matter right now. She was a full code ten minutes ago, she's a full code now. You want to change it, take it up with Dr. Graves in the morning. Not now, not in the middle of the night when you haven't slept in a week, not in the middle of a code.” Brad's eyes were fierce, and then softened just a bit. “Now, just let me do this, okay? It's my job. Let's see if we can shock her out of it.” Joe dropped his eyes. He was trying to think clearly, but it was all muddled in his mind. The one clear image was of Kaitlyn's eyes, pleading to him to let her go. When had that been? Years ago, or only minutes? He looked down to her as Brad quickly placed the pads over the skin above her 434

swollen breasts. Joe gripped his hair, and he turned away from the bed and looked out the window. He held Melody tightly to his chest as her crying continued. One of the nurses walked over to him and gently plied the baby from his arms, and said, “Let me take her, doctor.” Joe let her go, and stared through tearful eyes out the window at the moon-washed trees. He heard the beeping of the defibrillator, and then Brad called out, “Clear,” and there was a zap, and a horrible shuddering of the bed, and Joe flinched. “Okay,” he heard Brad say. “Let's try two hundred. Get some amiodarone ready. Where's the resident?” The machine was charging again, a shrill series of beeps crescendoing over the other muted alarms. A blue light flashed outside the room. This isn't what she wants, Joe thought. Wasn't that true? Hadn't she told him? Or was it all some fabrication of his own delirious mind? Kaitlyn lay lifeless in front of him, pulseless, graying with every second. She had capacity to tell anyone anything. So did he really believe she had talked to him a few minutes ago? He wasn't sure. Maybe it was better to do a full resuscitation and sort it out later. 435

But a voice came into his mind and said, You coward. It was his own voice, but it sounded like it came from outside himself, and he looked up from the window and around the room. You know what she wants. Be man enough to stand up for her when she really needs you. Joe whirled around. The defibrillator had finished charging, and Brad yelled again, “Clear!” There was a zap, and Joe saw Kaitlyn's naked torso convulse and jerk above the bed, which shuddered loudly. She came to rest back on the bed, and all eyes turned back to the monitor. The chaotic pulsing of the green line continued. Brad yelled, “Let's do three sixty,” and the shrill charging began again. Joe stepped resolutely back to Kaitlyn's bed. He grabbed the electrode pads stuck to her chest and ripped them from her body. Brad looked at him for a moment, then slammed his palms into Joe's ribs, knocking him towards the far wall. Joe crashed into it, straightened himself, and came back at him. But something pulled at his shoulders. Someone grabbed him, forcing him back towards the wall. Joe looked up and saw Travis pinning him back, and Joe eyes blazed with fury. He struggled to free himself, but Travis pushed him firmly back. 436

“Get off, Travis,” Joe screamed, “Let me go.” “Joe,” Travis said calmly, “Just settle down, dude.” “Shut up, Travis.” He heard the charging of the defibrillator again, and he looked to see Brad hovering over her, placing the pads back on her chest. “He's hurting her.” Joe choked on his words and stopped pulling away. He began sliding down the wall, towards the floor, heaving with anger that became sobs into Travis's shoulder. Two security guards barged through the curtain and asked what the problem was. Brad looked to Travis, who was supporting Joe as he slid to the ground, and Brad said, “I think we're alright, guys. Just stay close.” Joe heard Brad call out, “Clear” again, and then there was another zap and a shaking of the bed. A new rhythm beeped from the monitor, and Brad said loudly, “We did it!” There was a pause, and a nurse said, “We've got a pulse.” Travis let go of Joe and stood up, asking if they'd given any meds. He ordered amiodarone and asked a nurse to call Dr. Graves. The room bustled with commotion as a wave of techs and other 437

nurses spilled into the room. Brad pulled the sheet up over Kaitlyn's chest. The ventilator whooshed relentlessly, and Joe sat on the floor in the corner, shaking, face buried in his hands.

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Chapter 48 Later that morning, Joe looked around the call room. The florescent lights sucked the life out of everyone's faces, so that they all looked like something out of a black-and-white “Twilight Zone” episode. The pipes and machinery hummed in the back of the room. The only color came from the screensaver on the computer that twirled and read, Anybody seen my life? It was ten o'clock, and the hospital conference room was occupied with a seminar on, ironically, sleep disorders, and the resident's call room was the next largest meeting place. It was crowded. Seated around the oval table were Joe, Dr. Dave Johnston, Malia, Joe's sister, Rachel, Dr. Graves, Dr. Leavy, and Dr. Strumph. Travis stood against the wall. There was a knock at the door, and Dr. Richard Cutler, the medical ethicist, entered the room, limping with his cane. He looked around the room. The tension in the air was palpable, and he offered, “Good morning, everyone.” He looked at Joe's red eyes and tossled hair, saw the profound sadness that registered involuntarily on his face. He caught Joe's gaze for a second and said in his deep baritone voice, “I'm so terribly sorry, Joe.” Joe said nothing in reply, but looked to the floor uncomfortably and twisted in his 439

chair. Rachel reached out and put her hand on his arm. Dr. Graves began, “Is this everybody we're expecting?” Dr. Johnston looked to Malia, who nodded, and said, “Yes, this is it. Is that right, Joe?” Rachel nodded affirmatively for him as Joe looked to the floor. Dr. Graves said, “We all know why we're here. In my twenty-three years at this hospital, I can't recall a more awful situation, and trust me, I've seen many.” Everyone was staring at different spots along the wall, and Dr. Graves continued. “We all know that Kaitlyn had a ruptured aneurysm after delivering their daughter.” Dr. Graves looked around the room. This was nothing new to anyone, but he wanted to make sure there was misunderstanding. Joe was still staring at the floor. Dr. Graves added, “She coded again last night. V-fib. We're here to talk about what to do next.” He waited a second and then said, “I'll go ahead and tell you my opinion. I believe it is too early to withdraw support.” It was silent in the room. Nobody made a motion to speak. After a few moments, Dr. Johnston spoke, “Joe, you're the most important one here. What do you think we should do?” 440

“We should let her go,” Joe said curtly. Again, silence. Dr. Cutler ventured authoritatively, “Tell us your thinking, Joe.” “My thinking?” Joe looked up fiercely, and said, “My thinking is that my wife is suffering.” He halted in his speech, gulped on the words. “I know what she wants here. Look, I understand all of your concerns. But none of you know her like I do. You don't love her like I do. What we're doing to her right now is not what she wants, and that makes it wrong.” After a long pause, Malia spoke. “Joe, we all want to help you here, you know that. We're just concerned that you are too exhausted and maybe not in the best frame of mind right now to make this sort of decision.” “You're right. I’m exhausted. But I'm thinking clearly about this.” Dr. Graves asked abruptly, “Then tell us what changed, Joe. She was a full code. Everyday you've been hopeful she'll improve. But now you've changed your mind?” Joe looked around the room carefully. He knew he couldn't mention the dream, so he said, “What changed? Well, for one, she's getting worse, not better. And unlike I told you the other day, she and I did have a conversation 441

about this situation. I've been ignoring it, trying to do what I wanted, not what she wanted.” He leaned into the table and flicked a sheet of paper away. It fluttered to the floor. “If it was my choice, I would fight this to the last breath. But it should be her choice, and she doesn't want to suffer any more.” “You talk as if you know what she's thinking right now,” said Dr. Graves. Joe didn't answer, and he continued, “What if you're giving up too soon? What if she were to get better if with only few more days?” “She won't.” “We don't know that.” “We don’t know anything, do we?” retorted Joe. He put both palms firmly on the table. “She's coded. Twice. She was already dead. She will have permanent brain damage.” Dr. Graves wasn't looking at him. “What would you say are her chances of surviving?” “Poor.” “And what are her chances of surviving without permanent brain damage?” 442

Dr. Graves looked grimly at Joe. “It's slim, Joe. Very slim. But not zero. You know how I feel about flailing at death's door. But that’s usually in the case of the elderly. Kaitlyn is young. She's a mother. And I've seen worse cases than hers turn around.” Joe glowered, turning back to the floor, and Dr. Cutler broke in, “I understand that she never signed a medical power of attorney or a living will, correct?” “No, but that doesn't matter here,” said Joe. “I'm her husband. By state law, I'm her proxy decision maker.” “Right, Joe, but that doesn't mean that you can make decisions in the absence of good judgment.” Joe looked hurtfully at him, and he added, “I'm not questioning your judgment here, mind you. I'm just mentioning that your proxy decisions must still be defensible. Am I correct in assuming that you are basing your decision on a specific conversation you had with her?” “Well, partly,” Joe said. He couldn't entirely hide the enigma in his voice. “But mostly this is based on my knowledge of what her values are.” “Tell us what her values are.” 443

“She expressed to me that . . .” He stopped and sat up straight. “Actually, it was in regards to Jesus Macias.” He looked around the room and everyone except Rachel knew who he was talking about. “Kaitlyn told me she would never want to be in that situation. She wouldn't want to survive a severe injury if it meant she would be permanently disabled.” As he said it, he wasn't sure if he was lying. She hadn't actually said those exact words in real life. But he was extrapolating from the dream and from the fragments of their conversation by the river, and he needed to persuade the group. Dr. Leavy jumped in, “But of course we can't know that, Joe. We can't predict what sort of recovery she may have.” “Oh, we can be pretty certain.” “And you're willing to risk the life of your wife based on that hunch?” asked Dr. Graves. “It's not a hunch. It's a fact. She has severe brain damage. Her odds of surviving are, in your words, very slim. Of not being severely disabled? Next to nothing. Don't tell me we should err on the side of caution. That just as easily an excuse for cowardice.” 444

Dr. Cutler jumped in, “Not cowardice, Joe. Merely a respect for uncertainty, and for the finality of death. I think I speak for everyone when I say that we can see your point here. We have deep sympathy for you. No one here could possibly understand exactly what you're going through--” “Exactly, Richard,” Joe interrupted. “You don't understand. You can't possibly understand. Even if you know what it means to love someone as deeply as I love her, you still couldn't ever understand. We had something--” He stopped to swallow and lowered his voice, “We had something so powerful, so magical in our relationship. It defies any possible explanation that you could ever accept.” Everyone in the room was looking at him, and he continued, “The easiest thing would be to keep doing what we're doing, resuscitate her again if she codes. We could keep flogging her with medicines and machines for who knows how long. But are we maintaining her life or just prolonging her death?” He asked the question fiercely, rhetorically and looked around the room. He continued, “She trusts me. She trusted me enough to marry me. Trusted me enough to have our child. For better or for worse, right? In sickness and in health. In sadness and joy. To love and comfort.” Joe looked 445

strongly around the room. “She trusts me now. She told me she's suffering, and . . .” His voice trailed off. Dr. Strumph sat forward and said, “You said it again, Joe. You sound like you've been talking to her.” Joe looked at him and said carefully, “Well, what I mean is, she is suffering. I can’t objectively prove that. But I know it’s true. She trusts me to make the right decision, not the selfish one.” But Dr. Strumph looked around the room skeptically and continued, “So have you been speaking to her, Joe?” Joe knew it was a trap. He didn't want to give reason for them to believe he was delusional. But in his own mind, he had no doubts. She had spoken to him, and that made it relevant. He paused and looked around and said, “I can't explain how, but yes.” He looked into his hands. He saw the scab across the middle of his palm and said, “She told me she's suffering.” Dr. Strumph looked towards Dr. Cutler like an attorney just finishing his cross-examination, but Joe kept explaining, “You wouldn't understand. Nobody could. I could never explain it in a rational way. But last night,” he looked around the room, “Kaitlyn spoke to me. It was in a dream. She 446

asked me to let her go. When I woke up, she was coding.” Everyone contemplated this surprising confession, and Joe continued, “Maybe you think that's crazy. I probably would, too. But I'm not crazy. I love her. Last night she was as real to me as you all sitting here. And she wants me to let her go.” The room was silent for several moments. Nobody spoke. Everyone, even Dr. Strumph, respected Joe as a person and a doctor. When he spoke with such clear fervor, it was hard to think he was delusional. “I understand, Joe.” It was Dr. Johnston, and he sat forward in his chair and addressed the room, “I believe that Joe is thinking clearly here. He loves her, we all know that. He knows better than any of us what she would want here. However he has arrived at his conclusion, I think we are obligated to respect it.” Dr. Graves looked to Dr. Cutler, who looked to Joe and responded somberly, “I agree, Joe. You know that I am just a professor. I don't make decisions. I'm also an atheist and don't believe in metaphysical things like dreams, except that they can reflect what is swimming beneath the surface of our conscious minds. Perhaps this dream you had was a way of convincing 447

yourself of the right course of action, something that correlates with what you know her true wishes to be.” Heads nodded around the room, and Joe looked at his hands. Dr. Cutler finished, “I think your ethical framework here is sound. You’re basing your decision on previous discussions and on what you believe she would want if she could speak to us. You’re right. As her husband, it is your decision, not ours. I believe the rest of us should leave, and this discussion should now be between you and Dr. Graves.” Dr. Cutler rose slowly, and everyone else except Joe and Dr. Graves stood. Rachel wiped tears from her eyes and let her hand trail on Joe's shoulder as she walked away. Malia gave Joe a hug as she passed. Dr. Johnston patted him on the back, and Travis put his hands in his pockets of his white coat and looked away. When the room was finally clear, Joe looked up at Dr. Graves and said, “Please understand what I'm saying.” “I do, Joe,” Dr. Graves replied. “I do. I feel better after talking through it with you. We are just looking at her differently.” Joe had never heard sympathy in his voice before. “You're looking at her as her husband, trying to keep her from suffering. I'm looking at her as a doctor, doing everything in my power to keep her alive. I guess I just didn't understand 448

why you wanted to surrender before the fight was over.” “I'm not surrendering. I'm respecting her wishes.” “Do you really know that? Do you really think it was her that talked to you in that dream? Is that rational, Joe?” “Life isn't rational. You know who taught me that? Kaitlyn.” He sat back in his chair and put his hands in front of his face. “Life, love, medicine . . . it's all a big hash of ambiguity and uncertainty. You think in the ICU you have some measure of control over it, but you don’t. We never have complete control.” “We can always control what's in front of us, Joe.” “Always? I don't think so. Sometimes, maybe. That's why I'm telling you that I want to withdraw support from her. I—she— wants the suffering to stop.” Dr. Graves was silent for several moments, then said, “I disagree with you, Joe.” He sat forward and continued, “But I believe in good faith you are doing what you think is best, and I'm bound to comply with that.” He looked to the wall and asked, “What if we just changed her to a no code? That way 449

she still has a chance to improve, but we withhold any resuscitation should she worsen.” “What would be the point? She is suffering now, as we speak. I don't want it to last another hour, much less another week. Besides, she doesn't want to survive, not with brain damage.” Dr. Graves considered these words, and then said, “Okay, Joe.” He rose to stand. “Then when should we withdraw support?” “Give me a couple of hours.” “Okay.” Dr. Graves walked somberly from the room, and Joe sat in his chair and stared at the clock on the wall.

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Chapter 49 The ventilator whooshed harshly as Joe entered the room with Melody in his arms. The blinds were raised and warm summer sunlight spilled into the room. The sky outside was a brilliant blue with scattered high clouds, and Joe couldn’t help thinking of Kaitlyn's eyes, which were now taped shut. He walked slowly to her bedside. Melody was slurping at a pacifier, her eyes open and staring inquisitively around the room. Rachel was standing on the other side of the bed, holding Kaitlyn's hand, and she looked at Joe. She offered a solemn smile, crossed over to give him a silent hug, and then she turned to walk out of the room. Joe sat on the side of Kaitlyn's bed, holding Melody close to his chest. He could feel the drumming of her little heart, heard the strong sucking sounds from her mouth around the pacifier. He looked at Kaitlyn. After all of the commotion of the code last night, she looked remarkably peaceful right now. Her chest continued to rise and fall with the machine, the air whooshing in and out of the tubing that was invading her lungs. He placed his hand above her chest and felt the rapid, feeble beating of her heart. 451

“It's time, sweetheart,” Joe said quietly. After a few moments, Dr. Graves opened the curtain and walked in reluctantly, along with Carol, the ICU nurse. When Joe looked up, Dr. Graves asked, “Joe, are you ready? Do you need more time?” “No,” said Joe softly. “We're ready.” He held Melody tightly. She felt warm and soft. “Okay. I'll have Carol give her a bolus of morphine and ativan for comfort.” He nodded at Carol and she leaned over and injected two syringes into her IV, then began unhooking tubes. “I'll turn off the machine and withdraw the airway. She may breathe on her own, you realize.” “I know. But I don't think she will.” “I think you're right. I'll leave the cardiac monitor on. We can see what's happening from the station. Then I'll leave you two alone.” Dr. Graves looked at Melody nestled in Joe's arms, and managed a smile that quickly faded into sadness. “I mean you three. When you're ready, you come let us know and we'll do the official pronouncement. If she is still breathing after I remove the tube, then we can decide what to do next.” 452

“Thank you.” “Alright, Carol. Are you ready?” “Yes, doctor.” She looked to Joe sympathetically, and then down at Kaitlyn's face. “Okay, Joe, I'm going to turn off the machine,” said Dr. Graves. He reached over and turned a large knob on the side of the machine, and then flipped a switch along the bottom. The screen stayed on, but the whooshing came to an abrupt halt. Kaitlyn's chest stopped rising, and Dr. Graves reached around to her neck and removed the strap that held the tube to her mouth. Carol used a syringe to withdraw air from the sleeve of the tube, and Dr. Graves gave a steady, gentle tug and the tube slid up. It curved out of her mouth, and he placed it carefully to the side. He looked at Kaitlyn and saw that she was making no effort to breathe on her own. He looked at Joe and nodded, and then turned to walk out of the room. Carol followed. Joe looked at Kaitlyn's still chest, at her parted lips. He felt Melody breathing comfortably in his arms. Kaitlyn's skin was mottled and gray, but the shape of her face seemed beautiful and serene, unencumbered by the tubes and machinery. She made no effort to breathe. He could hear the 453

slowing of her heartbeat on the monitor. He reached and removed the tape from her eyes and her lids drifted slowly, slowly open, sliding up and there were her irises, as blue as ever, but thick, staring off unresponsively. He looked at her for several seconds, and began to feel a terrible ache in his chest, then a panic. No, he thought. This is a mistake. He suppressed an impulse to yell for help. Don't leave me, Kaitlyn, he thought. He shifted frantically on the side of the bed, looked up and around the room. There was no one there to witness his panic. He took a deep breath. Be strong, he told himself. He looked to Melody. She was getting sleepy, and her lids were drifting shut, her breathing slowing, noisier through some congestion in her tiny nose. Joe reached to Kaitlyn's eyes again. He wished he hadn't removed the tape. He took his fingertips and gently pulled down her lids and shut them. He looked to the monitor. He saw the slow green blip, then another one, and then the line went flat for several seconds, then another blip, and then it went still. The monitor emitted a quiet sustained alarm. From the station, the nurse shut it off. With his hand over her eyes, Joe held his own breath, and then gasped 454

quietly. He felt a welling of tears in his eyes, and through them he looked to Kaitlyn's face. The light looked different in the room, and then Joe felt the coldness of her eyelids. He removed his hand. “Goodbye, love,” he whispered. Her eyes stayed closed, and she lay still. He looked down at Melody's sleeping face, and wept.

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Chapter 50 There were no more dreams, only the memories of them, and Joe recalled them often in the first few months after her death. His sleep at night was fitful and dreamless, but in his daytime hours he lost himself in the memories of their dreams. He thought of their final desperate words in the underwater cave, thought of their sultry kiss by the cabin, but mostly he recalled how she looked in the very first dream, when he had turned around in the spacious mountain valley and seen her standing on the pathway, eyes sparkling blue, curious smile on her face, and her playful voice sounding out his name. “Hello, Joe,” she had said, and her voice echoed through his memories. He remembered that instant so vividly and so often that it began to supplant all of his other memories of her. That one image was captured in his mind, and though it was only a fragment of a dream, he had sensed there in the familiar look of her eyes all of the warmth and love that he could have ever imagined or needed. In that one image, it was as though her eyes were telescopes, apertures for him to look through forever to fathom the infinite depths of her spirit. 456

The more he focused on that one image, the more detailed it became, and the more meaning he could discern in the fresh curves of her face. He could see her goodness and her intelligence, her unconditional acceptance of him, her joy and exuberance, her unspoken yearnings for her child. He could see behind the curling of her smile the hint of portentous sorrow, but he also could see her defiance and courage in the face of that fear, her determination to push beyond it, her attempt to carve her own destiny from the architecture of her dream. For two months, Joe saw that image in his mind so frequently that at times, in drowsy moments, he had become confused, convinced that she was still with him. More than once, he found himself waking and talking to her, only to be heartbroken anew when she didn't respond. He had been given a six-week leave of absence from the residency, and during that time he spent most of his days at home in bed or perfunctorily watching ESPN. Darkness and gloom settled over him, broken only by occasional moments of brilliant remembrance, but gradually the fog started to lift. His mother called him often, and his sister drove up at least twice a week to visit him and help clean his house, and to bring Melody to visit. A week 457

after Kaitlyn's death, Rachel had taken Melody home from the hospital, to take care of her until Joe was capable of caring for her on his own, as he was determined to do. He had started work again two weeks ago, and finally Melody was coming home to his apartment to stay. The residency had worked with him to adjust his schedule to make it possible. In the mornings, he would take her to daycare for the first time, and then he would pick her up in the evenings. Tonight, he got off work at five p.m., and Rachel met him at his apartment with Melody. They ordered pizza, and visited for a couple of hours while Melody napped. Joe even laughed as Rachel told him a story of one of Melody's particularly bad diapers that happened in the grocery store. It felt good to laugh, and he was sorry when it was time for Rachel to go. But even as she left, Joe held Melody and the loneliness seemed to stay at bay. Now it was later in the evening. Melody had awakened and was somewhat fussy. Joe fumbled through changing her diaper and preparing her bottle, and now she was resting contentedly in his arms, sucking away. She was getting somewhat chunky around the cheeks and legs. Her hair was getting longer, too, long enough for Rachel to have put two pigtails on the 458

sides. Joe studied them and tried to figure out how he could reproduce such a feat in the morning. He looked at her nose, and couldn't help but think of Kaitlyn. Melody paused from sucking on her bottle and looked up at him. She had the familiar serious look on her face, as if she were scrutinizing him. He looked into her eyes and squinted. He reached up and adjusted the lamp shade behind him, and looked closely at her irises. They had always seemed dark since birth, but tonight he noticed the unmistakable hint of brilliant blue shining through the darkness. He laughed again. “I don't believe it,” he said to her softly, playfully. “You're going to have your mother's eyes, aren't you?” He smiled at her, and said, “Lucky girl.” He reached and tickled under her chin. She dropped the bottle out of her mouth, regarding his face critically. He grinned widely at her, and then the corners of her mouth quivered. Her gums began to show, and then her lips twitched and curled, spreading into a curious smile as her eyes sparkled in the dim lamplight.

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The End

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