Page 117 of Requiem

Matthew 48

My wife is almost unrecognizable as I hold her limp hand in mine. It reminds me of a night, not so long ago, when I sat by the side of her hospital bed. The night we found out she was carrying Jeremy’s baby. Now, she is unconscious. There are tubes and monitors everywhere. It is nearly five in the morning when, from somewhere in my dozing brain, I sense that she’s awake. I sit up, startled to find her watching me through the eye that isn’t swollen shut.

“Oh, thank Jesus,” I murmur, pulling her hand to my face so I can feel it against my cheek. “I’ve been so, so scared, Julia. You’ve been unconscious for hours. They didn’t know if …” my voice breaks off and I start to cry.

“David?” she whispers.

I look up and wipe the tears from my face. I need to get myself together. This is not the time to fall apart.

“He’s fine, Julia. He’s at home, asleep in his own bed. Trudy is there with him. She insisted on staying on the couch in the nursery.”

I see her battered face loosen with relief.

She mouths the next word, “Nat?”

I nod.

“She’s going to be fine. She feels incredibly guilty, but she’s okay,” I assure her.

Julia closes the one eye and frowns for a moment, gathering the strength to ask the next question. I squeeze her hand. “The baby is fine, Julia.”

She looks at me again, a look of total bewilderment crossing her battered face.

“She has a strong heartbeat.”

“She?” she croaks.

I nod and she tries to smile, but stops, wincing with the pain of the effort.

“Yes, our daughter is going to be fine. They don’t know how, but she’s fine. I told the doctors that she’s obviously a fighter, just like her mother.”

I give her a moment to let this miracle soak in before I tell her the rest.

“Jeremy is dead, Julia,” I say at last. If she’s surprised by this news, she doesn’t show it. “He smashed his head in when the two of you fell down the stairs. Thank God Trudy came in when she did, or you would have died there, too.”

It’s clear that the IV drugs are kicking in again as Julia fights to keep her focus on me and what I’m telling her.

“He was begging her to help him,” she mumbles.

“Who? Trudy? No, baby. You were unconscious. Jeremy was already dead when Trudy got to the house with David. She called the police.”

Julia is shaking her head as if she doesn't agree with this version of events.

“Sweetheart, you had been beaten so badly by the time you went down the stairs, I doubt you ever regained consciousness after you hit the floor.”

“How bad am I?”

“The doctors say you have a fractured skull, a broken jaw and nose. You also have three broken ribs and one broken arm, incase you hadn’t noticed.”

I guess she hadn’t noticed, because she seems surprised to find a cast on her right arm.

“I won’t lie to you,” I explain softly, “you’re looking a little rough right now. You’re going to need some plastic surgery down the road. And the broken bones are going to be a challenge, especially with you being pregnant. They have to be careful about the heavy-duty pain meds.”

Her one good eye wells with tears.

“I tried, but he was just too strong …”

“I know, Julia. I know. You didn’t do anything wrong. You convinced him to not to take David, didn’t you?”