Ana gasps, sagging against me some more.
“It’s standard procedure in these cases. For now, we just have to wait and see.”
“And what’s the prognosis?” I ask, trying to mask the distress in my voice.
“Mr. Grey, it’s difficult to say at the moment. It’s possible he could make a complete recovery, but that’s in God’s hands now.”
“How long will you keep him in a coma?”
“That depends on how his brain responds. Usually seventy-two to ninety-six hours.”
“Can I see him?” Ana’s breathless with anxiety.
“Yes, you should be able to see him in about half an hour. He’s been taken to the ICU on the sixth floor.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Dr. Crowe nods a good-bye and leaves us.
“Well, he’s alive,” Ana whispers, trying to sound hopeful, but tears pool in her eyes and spill down her ashen face.
No. Ana, baby. “Sit down,” I tell her, easing her back to the seat.
“Papa,” José says to his father, “I think we should go. You need to rest. We won’t know anything for a while. We can come back this evening, after you’ve rested. That’s okay, isn’t it, Ana?” José turns to Ana.
“Of course,” she responds.
“Are you staying in Portland?” I ask, and José nods. “Do you need a ride home?”
José frowns. “I was going to order a cab.”
“Luke can take you.”
Sawyer stands, while José looks confused.
“Luke Sawyer,” Ana says.
“Oh. Sure. Yeah, we’d appreciate it. Thanks, Christian.”
Ana offers Mr. Rodriguez a careful hug, and a less careful one to José. He whispers in her ear, but I’m close enough to hear. “Stay strong, Ana. He’s a fit and healthy man. The odds are in his favor.”
“I hope so,” she replies, her voice distressingly small. Her words slice through me like a scythe, because there’s nothing I can do to help. She shrugs off José’s pungent jacket and hands it back to him.
Thank God.
“Keep it, if you’re still cold,” he offers.
“No, I’m okay. Thanks,” she says, and I take her hand. “If there’s any change, I’ll let you know right away.”
José gives her a faint smile and wheels his father toward the door that Sawyer props open. Mr. Rodriguez raises his hand, and José stops. “He’ll be in my prayers, Ana.” The older man’s voice cracks. “It’s been so good to reconnect with him after all these years. He’s become a good friend.”
“I know,” Ana says, her voice strained with emotion.
The three of them exit, and we’re finally alone. I caress her cheek. “You’re pale. Come here.” Taking a seat, I gather her onto my lap, folding my arms around her. She burrows into my chest, and I kiss her hair.
We sit.
Together.
Each of us with our own thoughts.
What do I say to comfort her?
I have no idea. I’m helpless and I hate it.
Taking her hand, I offer her what I hope is a reassuring squeeze.
Ray is a strong man. He’ll pull through; he’s got to.
“How was Charlie Tango?” she asks eventually, and I marvel that even in this situation she’s thinking of me. I think my spontaneous grin is answer enough.
My EC135 is back. And what a joy she was to fly. “Oh, she was yar.”
She smiles. “Yar?”
“It’s a line from The Philadelphia Story. Grace’s favorite film.”
“I don’t know it.”
“I think I have it on Blu-Ray at home. We can watch it and make out.” Brushing my lips against her hair, I inhale her fragrance, sweeter now that José’s jacket has left with him. “Can I persuade you to eat something?”
“Not now. I want to see Ray first.”
I don’t push her.
“How were the Taiwanese?” she asks, and I think she’s steering the conversation to stop me from brooding about food.
“Amenable.”
“Amenable how?”
“They let me buy their shipyard for less than the price I was willing to pay.”
“That’s good?”
“Yes. That’s good.”
“But I thought you had a shipyard over here.”
“I do. We’re going to use that to do the fitting-out. Build the hulls in the Far East. It’s cheaper.”
“What about the workforce at the shipyard here?”
Good question, Mrs. Grey.
“We’ll redeploy. We should be able to keep redundancies to a minimum.”
I hope.
I kiss her once more. “Shall we check on Ray?”
Raymond Steele is in the last bed in the ICU ward. It’s a shock to see him out cold and hooked up to a range of high-tech medical equipment. This man intimidates me more than anyone I know, but right now, he looks vulnerable and sick. Real sick. He’s in an induced coma and on a ventilator; his leg is in plaster and his chest is wrapped in a surgical dressing. His modesty’s protected by a thin blanket.
Jesus. Ana is stunned when she sees him and blinks back tears of shock.
Her anguish is hard to witness.
What do I do? What do I say?
I can’t make this better for her.
A nurse is checking his various monitors. Her badge identifies her as KELLIE RN.
“Can I touch him?” Ana asks, and she reaches for Ray’s hand without waiting for a response.