Fields of Home Page 23

  Dr. Shubacker’s lips pressed together briefly before giving a quick nod of assent. “I’d be honored.” A sardonic grin spread over his face. “Guess I’ll have to tell my wife I’m not taking her out tonight.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Dr. Shubacker said something more, but Brandon was already elsewhere in his mind and barely noticed when the other doctor left the room. Brandon studied Wayne’s face. He was a good man and had been a great husband and father. If it had been anyone else, Brandon would have felt the sorrow he normally worked so hard to keep at bay. But this situation was impossible. If he was honest, he’d have to admit that he wanted Wayne out of the way. Saving Wayne would ultimately mean pushing Mercedes away permanently.

  But was there any other choice?

  “I wish it could be different,” he said aloud in the quiet of the room.

  Wayne lay there motionless.

  Brandon found Mercedes in the waiting room. The boys and Austin were gone, and she was alone. Her eyes went to his eagerly as he entered, hoping for good news. He understood that she wanted desperately for him to tell her everything would be all right, but such a guarantee wasn’t within his control.

  She started to stand, but he shook his head and slid into the metal-framed chair next to her. The cushion was stiff, made of a glossy, impenetrable green material. “Tell me,” she said.

  “He must have surgery—tonight. Tomorrow will be too late.” For a moment, he pondered that if he’d gone home last week after his hospital stay, he wouldn’t be here now to save Wayne. Why hadn’t he gone? A little time away from Mercedes and Darrel wouldn’t have hurt anything.

  “But you can save him?” The hope in her voice stung.

  “I can’t promise anything. The truth is, I may not be successful. It was a bad attack.”

  She was quiet a moment as she considered this. “You’re his best chance, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. “If you wait, he’ll die for sure.” He wanted to add “I’m sorry” but couldn’t.

  She closed her eyes, her face drooping toward her chest, tears leaking from under her already swollen lids. Had she cried for him that way? Her bottom lip was bruised and swollen, but her teeth bit into the same spot again and again.

  He ignored the urge to free her lip. “I’d better get ready.”

  Her eyes opened and looked in his direction. “Thank you.”

  He nodded, not trusting his voice, knowing that he still had a choice before him.

  * * *

  In his hands lay the power over Mercedes’ future—and his son’s. One slip, one subtle movement that would go undetected by his fellow doctors or the nurses. Or he wouldn’t have to do even that. Just work a little slowly, perhaps without his usual brilliant skill. No one would fault him, and Wayne would be gone. No pain, never waking. Mercedes would be free, and Brandon believed he could convince her—eventually—to let him back into her life. Not soon, but sometime, and he would take her and their son away to the life they should have had. No one would know. Except himself. He would feel guilty for a time, but what was that to being with Mercedes?

  Yet what of the love and care Wayne had given to Mercedes over the years, the deeply devoted way he’d raised Darrel as his own? What about the other two boys? Brandon certainly wouldn’t choose to leave them fatherless.

  There was also another issue at stake. In all the years he had worked as a surgeon, he’d always given his best, continually pushing himself beyond all limits to save lives. He couldn’t give any less to the man who had done for Mercedes what he himself should have done thirteen years ago.

  Swallowing hard, Brandon lowered the scalpel until it pressed into Wayne’s chest, leaving a fine line of blood. Hold on, Wayne, he told him silently. I’ll do my best. I promised Darrel I’d try to make his daddy well.

  What he couldn’t promise was that his best would be good enough. It would be in God’s hands after that. Or in Wayne’s and the will he had to live. Brandon knew that if he were in Wayne’s place, he would fight with every bit of strength in his body to remain with Mercedes. At least he would now. He wouldn’t throw away his chance as he had when he was young and stupid.

  The heart was partially exposed, and almost immediately Brandon could see the damage was even more severe than the tests had shown. It would be a miracle if Wayne survived the surgery, regardless of Brandon’s skills. He would definitely have to separate the breastbone to get the access he needed to the damaged valve, and for the bypass he wouldn’t be able to use the mammary artery, which had a tendency to stay open for more years than the saphenous vein from the leg. Still, the vein would work well enough to connect the heart to the damaged artery, bypassing the part that was no longer working. What concerned him more was that he wouldn’t be able to do the operation with Wayne’s heart beating. Brandon was one of a growing number of doctors that believed a patient had a much better recovery if surgery could be accomplished without the heart-lung machine. Though it had saved countless lives, the machine simply couldn’t circulate the blood nearly as well as the human heart. The only good news was that Wayne needed a single bypass and not two or three.

  Reluctantly, Brandon nodded toward the heart-lung machine. Next to him, Dr. Shubacker nodded and began removing the vein in Wayne’s leg.

  Brandon stopped Wayne’s heart. Blotting out everything but the task before him, he went to work.

  * * *

  Five hours later, Brandon left the operating room. The valve was repaired, and the bypass complete. Brandon didn’t feel the mixture of elation and exhaustion that he normally felt when finishing an operation. He felt drained of emotions, energy—everything.

  “Good work, doctor.” Shubacker nodded at him as they shed their masks and gloves.

  Brandon acknowledged the compliment. He hadn’t used any new techniques, but he had no false modesty where his skill was concerned. He was simply the best, using his innate sense to perform tasks on a level that most doctors worked a lifetime to attain. It was what had drawn him to medicine in the first place. And eventually away from Mercedes.

  “We’ll know more in the morning,” he said to Shubacker. “You go on home. I’ll stay for a bit, just in case.”

  Brandon found Mercedes alone in the deserted waiting room. She was curled up on a sofa, with an arm on the armrest and her head on top of it. Her knees were pulled to her chest and her feet hung slightly off the edge, unsupported. Black hair spread around her face and over the sofa. She awoke instantly as he touched her shoulder, sitting up and dropping her feet to the carpet. Her eyes were muddied with sleep, and a mark on her face showed a patterned red where her cheek had pressed into the pink fabric of her sleeve. He noticed now, as he hadn’t earlier, that she was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt—her uniform for spending time in the sun. Had she been planning to work in her garden when the attack happened? Or had she intended to be in the fields with Wayne? He bet she was glad for the long sleeves in the slightly chilly waiting room. Or was the cold imaginary, coming only from his heart?

  She looked around for a moment, as if digesting her surroundings. He wondered why she was alone, even while being grateful for the opportunity to talk to her without watchful eyes.

  “Everyone went home?” he asked.

  “I made my brother take the boys. Darrel was having a really hard time. I don’t know what I’d have done if Austin hadn’t been able to fly in so soon. They’ll be back in the morning when Wayne’s awake.”

  He sat next to her and took her hand. “He might never wake up, Mercedes. There was a lot of damage, and I’m a little worried that you and the EMTs had to work as long as you did to get his heart started in the first place. If blood isn’t being pumped through the body, a lot of damage occurs.”

  She blinked and swallowed noticeably, her eyes dark and unreadable. “But he’s alive now, right? That means he made it through the operation.”

  “His heart is beating right this minute without help, but we won’t know the exten
t of the damage until he wakes. If he wakes.” He spoke as gently as he could.

  She blinked again, and this time the lid forced out a tear that wove slowly down her face. “Thank you,” she whispered into his shoulder. “Thank you, so much.” She sagged against him, and his arm went briefly around her, squeezing gently. The tightness in his heart diminished, and for a moment he was simply a friend comforting someone over the serious illness of a husband.

  “Can I sit with him?”

  “Mercedes, I—” He broke off and looked at her hand, which he still held in his. He’d meant it as a comfort to her, but he found he didn’t want to let go. “You can sit with him. I’ll walk you there—make sure they let you in. He won’t be anywhere near awake, but that doesn’t mean he won’t be able to hear what you say.”

  She pulled her hand from his and stood. He arose with her, feeling heavy and awkward. “I’m grateful for what you did tonight,” she said. “I can never repay you. I—I will keep my promise about Darrel.”

  He hoped she’d still feel that way in the morning. If so, within a few days his son would finally know who he was.

  They walked down the hall together, and Brandon left her in the recovery room with Wayne, ignoring the attending nurse’s protest. He knew he was doing the right thing by the gratitude in Mercedes’ eyes.

  He found Dustbottom waiting for him outside the door. As usual, his white coat sat askew on his shoulders, and tiny ink spots and what looked like a splatter of food marred the fabric. His graying hair stood on end in the front, as though he’d been pulling on it. Brandon was glad to see his old friend, though he wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened, how he’d saved his rival’s life, at least temporarily.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself.” Brandon indicated the door behind him with his head. “Guess you heard I operated.”

  Dustbottom smirked. “I know everything that goes on here.”

  “I wish you hadn’t told her to ask me.” Brandon felt a sudden, crushing exhaustion.

  “My job is to save lives, and you were his only chance. So, how’d it go?”

  “Pretty well, actually, considering the damage. Hardly any blockage at all—just one of those freak things.”

  “Stress.”

  Brandon looked away. “We won’t know if we were successful until tomorrow.”

  “How do you feel about it?”

  “I don’t know. It’s in God’s hands now.”

  “You did the right thing.”

  “I did the only thing I could.” Brandon started down the corridor, but Dustbottom stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “You’re still flying back to San Diego tomorrow?”

  “I canceled the appointment with my attorney. Mercedes and I have come to another arrangement.”

  “I was talking about your tests.”

  Brandon rubbed his eyes. “I forgot. But it doesn’t matter. I can’t leave my patient just yet.” Leave his patient—or Mercedes? Or Darrel?

  “We’ll do them here then. Tomorrow.” Dustbottom’s face brooked no argument.

  “I’m fine.”

  “In a few days you’ll know that for sure.”

  Brandon sighed. “Fine. Test me all you want. But I’m not coming in early. I’ve been in surgery for over five hours, and I’m sleeping in.”

  “I’ll schedule the tests.” With a flat smile, Dustbottom patted his arm and strode down the hall.

  Chapter 22

  Diary of Mercedes Walker Johnson

  December 10, 1996

  Darrel is nearly a year old. He is so smart and wonderful and makes me love being a mother. But I had an odd experience with him yesterday. He was toddling across the yard to the barn with me to gather the eggs. He’d insisted on walking with his new boots through the mud left by the last snowstorm, and suddenly he looked up at me with his head tilted just so. For an instant, he was Brandon—the smile, the set of the eyes, the shape of his face. I was startled and nearly dropped the egg basket in the mud. A powerful sense of something missing hit me, and I started to cry. I feel both mad and sad all at once. It seems no matter how hard I try, there is a piece of me that will always ache for Brandon and feel regret for losing him. Yet how can that be so when I feel truly happy? I love my life with Wayne and Darrel. I wouldn’t change it for anything. Not even for Brandon. I wonder if all abandoned women feel this way—a dark longing and hurt—and if the feeling ever leaves. I don’t think it will. But I’ll hide it deep inside. No one has to know it exists. No one but me.

  Mercedes sat by Wayne’s bedside, waiting for a response. He looked terrible. He had a tube down his throat to help him breathe, another smaller tube down his nose, three tubes connected to his body to drain off fluid in the heart area, an IV, a bladder tube, and wires that hooked to several different monitors that beeped or buzzed periodically, causing nurses to come into the room and adjust them. Under the two drainage tubes below his chest, other tiny wires that connected his heart to a pacemaker emerged from his stomach. She’d learned that all these wires and tubes were usual, but seeing her husband lying there seemingly so lifeless and confined kept reducing her to tears.

  Any minute he would open those blue eyes and search for her. “Please wake up,” she whispered, rubbing his hand. Bending, she kissed his cheek, and one of her tears fell onto his face. She wiped it away gently.

  Her greatest fear was that Wayne wouldn’t fight, that he would let himself succumb in order to free her, knowing she would never leave him while he lived. But she didn’t want to be free. “I love you,” she whispered.

  Dr. Shubacker had been in to check on Wayne already this morning, as had the nurses. Brandon had been strangely absent, but one of the nurses assured her that he’d be called if he was needed.

  “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  Mercedes looked up to see a new nurse standing in the doorway. She was young, with long blonde hair and a cheerful face that made Mercedes want to smile. “Yes?”

  “Your brother and son are here asking for you.”

  “Only one of my sons?”

  The nurse nodded as her eyes went to Wayne on the bed. “I’ll keep an eye on him for you, if you’d like to talk to them.”

  “They can’t come in here?”

  “We’d prefer to keep it just to you until he wakes.”

  “Shouldn’t he be awake by now?”

  The young nurse faltered a moment, her face revealing a seriousness underneath the happy exterior. “It sometimes takes a while.”

  “He’s going to wake up. He has to.”

  The nurse nodded, but Mercedes wondered if she knew something more than what everyone had told her. “Would you like me to give your brother a message?” the girl asked.

  “No, I’ll go out. I need to stretch my legs, anyway.” Mercedes leaned close to Wayne, caressing his cheek with her hand. “I’ll be back in a minute, honey. Austin’s here with one of the boys. Probably Darrel. I know he wants to see you. As soon as you’re awake, they said I could bring him in.” Her voice broke on the last word, and Mercedes had to bite her already swollen lip to keep from crying. The lip throbbed.

  In the waiting room, Darrel popped up from his seat when he saw her, running into her arms. “How is he?”

  “His heart’s working, but he’s still unconscious.”

  Austin met her eyes over Darrel’s head, stifling a yawn. “He didn’t go to sleep last night until you called after the surgery, and he was up with the roosters this morning.”

  “I thought I had to do the milking, but Jimmy Pinkham was already out there.” Darrel glanced behind her. “Can I see Dad?”

  “I’m afraid not until he wakes up.”

  Darrel’s forehead wrinkled. “Shouldn’t that be soon? On the Internet, it said they should wake up after a few hours. Or maybe five.”

  Mercedes met Austin’s eyes, communicating as they’d always been able to do as children. When their father was on a drunken rampage, she’d have only to widen her eyes fo
r him to understand that he shouldn’t go into the house. Or to slightly move her head for him to know he was wanted in the barn. His face paled slightly at the knowledge of what she couldn’t say in front of Darrel: Wayne might never awaken.

  “I’m sure it’ll be soon,” he said, a hand on Darrel’s shoulder. “Your father’s a strong man. But remember, he’s been through a lot. He deserves a little shuteye.”

  Mercedes smiled at him gratefully. “Where are the other boys?”

  “Liana took them to get something to eat. You know how she is with cooking. And I didn’t have time.”

  Mercedes permitted herself a small smile. One of the greatest pleasures of having a new sister-in-law was cooking for her. Liana was always so appreciative.

  “Look, I know this isn’t a good time,” Austin said. “But you should know the problem with the cattle is serious. We’re going to lose a lot. With treatment, the vet thinks we can limit it to a third, and we won’t be permitted to sell any next year unless we have them tested.”

  A third. Mercedes felt sick. There went any profit they’d hoped to make on the calves this year, and they’d be further behind on the new tractor payments. And then there were the hospital bills. She felt dizzy with all the implications. At least it wasn’t half the cattle. And Darrel would have his space camp, thanks to Brandon.

  That reminded her—she still had to tell Darrel the truth. “I need to sit down,” she said faintly.

  Austin made a sympathetic noise in his throat and led her to a seat. “I’m such an idiot. You didn’t need to hear that now. But you do need to hear that I’m going to help out. I’ve arranged with work to do some Internet commuting so I can be here. I’ll still have to travel a lot, like I always do, but it won’t make too much difference, me leaving from here instead of Las Vegas. The important thing is, I know how much you love having Liana here, and she’ll be around even when I can’t be. She’s good at coordinating things.”