Wife and Ex-Wife

They were approaching Nina and Patrick's first wedding anniversary (June 8). Amelia had been adamant in saying she should be left out of any festivities, but both of them vehemently said, "Not on your life!" And they made reservations for three at one of the best French restaurants in the city, in the International District.

But about two weeks before the event, Nina got a call that turned their world upside down.

It was a Thursday night, and they were in the midst of watching a bubbly comedy that they had rented from Netflix. Nina was at first inclined to ignore the call that came to Nina's cellphone; but when she saw who the call was from (one of her oldest and dearest friends, a college friend named Ashley Dumont), she reluctantly decided to pick up.

The first few words that Ashley spoke were so alarming that Nina gave the others a wide-eyed look and rushed out of the room. A few minutes later she returned to the living room, looking ashen and shaken.

Patrick, quick to sense his wife's disturbance, turned off the TV and said, "What is it, dear? Something the matter?"

Nina could hardly get the words out. "It—it's Larry."

Patrick frowned. "Your ex?"

Good God, don't tell me he's dead.

"Yes," she said in a tiny voice. "He—he's been in a horrible car accident." Then in a wail: "It was on the news!"

Both Patrick and Amelia leaped up from the couch and approached Nina, who was already typing in something on her phone—presumably an online clip of whatever had been on the local news.

There it was:

Motorist severely injured by out-of-control truck.

It told of how Larry Wilkerson, 41, had been driving along I-5 South, just before the exit to 45th Avenue NE, when an eighteen-wheel truck's tire exploded, causing the vehicle to swerve wildly in the direction of the Kia Sedona that Wilkerson was driving. The result was that the truck had all but crushed the car against the concrete guard-rail. Wilkerson would almost certainly have died if his car, a compact, hadn't somehow slid

under

the immense truck soon after impact. But although alive, Wilkerson was seriously injured; the report didn't specify the nature or extent of his injuries. He had been flown by helicopter to Harborview Medical Center.

"Omigod, Nina!" Amelia whispered. "How horrible!"

"Yeah, bad luck," Patrick said, clearly moved.

Tears welled up in Nina's eyes. "What an awful thing to happen to him! Poor guy . . ."

The others didn't entirely wonder at Nina's attitude. She may have been traumatized by Larry's desertion of her, but no one wants to see a person experience this kind of injury.

"I—I should go see him," she said.

"I'll go with you," Patrick said decisively.

"No, Patrick, there's no need. I mean, you don't even know him."

And I'm not sure he knows I've remarried.

"Nina, you're pretty upset. I'm not sure I want you driving alone all the way down to Harborview."

"It's not that far; I can manage," Nina said.

"Maybe I should go with you," Amelia volunteered.

"You guys!" Nina said, losing patience. "I can handle this perfectly well myself, okay? Just let me be!"

And she fled upstairs to change.

Patrick and Amelia grudgingly agreed that this was something Nina should do on her own. They had no idea what she felt about Larry, but they knew she wasn't so cruel as to wish him harm.

She came down quickly, gave a quick and plangent glance at the others, and rushed out to her car. She had to take several breaths before summoning up the courage to head out of the driveway: she didn't like driving in the dark, and she certainly didn't want to end up getting into an accident of her own.

But she got to Harborview safely and in good time.

She had a feeling that Larry might be in intensive care, and she wondered if she would even be allowed to see him. Maybe he was heavily sedated, or even unconscious? She didn't like to think of any other alternatives. Gazing confusedly at the various subdivisions of the large hospital, she threaded its labyrinthine corridors and found her way to the ICU.

There was a very young male attendant at a desk just in front of double doors that ominously announced: "INTENSIVE CARE UNIT." Then, in smaller letters: "Authorized Persons Only Allowed."

Nina approached the desk tentatively and said, "Um, I'm looking for a Larry Wilkerson. He must be here."

"How do you know?" the attendant asked gruffly.

"Well, there was a news report that said he was brought here. He's been in a serious car accident."

The attendant wrinkled his brow. "Oh, yeah—that guy. I think he's just come out of surgery."

"Oh, that's great!" Nina said, boldly heading toward the double doors.

"Wait a minute, lady," the attendant said sharply. "Who are you? What's your relationship to the patient?"

Nina paused in thought.

Should I just lie and say I'm still his wife? Would they know that that's a fib?

"Um, I'm his ex-wife."

"

Ex

-wife?" the attendant said, as if she were a criminal. Then he shook his head. "Can't go in there. Only relatives are allowed."

"Oh, but please!" Nina begged. "Just let me see him for a few minutes! I just want to know how he is."

"You can ask one of the doctors that."

"But I really want to

see

him!" Nina couldn't explain even to herself why she was so insistent on the point.

"Lady, the anesthesia is only now wearing off, and he's probably all doped up on painkillers."

It wasn't entirely out of a desire to manipulate the emotions of the poor attendant that her eyes filled with tears and started coursing down her face. "Please . . ." In spite of her blurred vision she saw that the nametag on the attendant's chest read "Don." "Please, Don, just a minute or two. I won't make a fuss."

Don was one of those many man who live in perpetual terror of a woman's tears. As he saw Nina crying, his own face got blotchy with mortification and embarrassment, and he said, "Okay, go." He was unable to look Nina in the face. "Just be quiet—I could get into big trouble about this."

She gave him a broken smile and fled through the double doors into the ICU. She had barely heard Don's cry, "Fifth bed on the left," not entirely sure what that meant. When she entered the ICU, she saw that, instead of being broken up into a number of smaller rooms, it was one huge expanse with beds on either side of a central hallway, each of them capable of being enclosed by a curtain that could entirely encompass the bed and the hapless patient on it. Counting quickly, she noted which one was the fifth one on the left.

She was glad she did; for she would never have recognized the man on the bed if she hadn't.

Larry was lying flat on his back; both arms and both legs were in thick casts, and all his extremities were suspended in air as if he were some huge marionette. There was also a bandage around his head and another around his midsection. What could be seen of his face had various cuts and scratches that looked as though some madman had randomly cut him with a knife.

Nina almost fainted at the sight. After putting a hand over her mouth, she stumbled over to a chair next to the bed and sat in it, crying, "Oh, Larry, what's happened to you?"

At the words, Larry's eyes fluttered open but didn't seem to focus on anything. He tried to speak, but at first no words came out of his mouth. Then he managed to say: "Nina? Is that really you?"

She leaped up from the chair and extended a hand in Larry's direction. Suddenly she became afraid that touching him anywhere on his body might cause him pain, but she decided to give his shoulder a tentative squeeze as she said, "Yes, Larry, it's me."

He gave her a broken smile and said, "What are you doing here?"

The question stung her. "Larry," she chided, "I was worried about you. You're all over the news." Well, that was an exaggeration, but there certainly was at least

one

news report about him.

"Thank you," he said with as much fervency as he could manage.

But then reality sunk in—to Nina, anyway. As she had gone into the ICU, she had had a momentary fear that the young woman Larry had run off with might be there.

God, that would have been horrible! That would be worse than when Amelia and I met for the first time.

Surely the woman knew what had happened to Larry—so where was she?

That was exactly what Nina now asked. "So where's . . . what was her name again?"

"Wendy," Larry said tightly.

His tone of voice intrigued Nina. "Ah, yes, Wendy. So where is she?"

Larry didn't answer for what seemed like minutes. Then he croaked: "She—left."

"Left? What do you mean, left?"

"We're not together anymore," Larry said wretchedly.

Nina looked at the poor injured man.

I guess I could gloat, but this surely isn't the right time. Maybe it's never a good time to gloat about something like this.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said evenly. "What happened, if you don't mind my asking?"

Larry seemed to have lapsed into a state of exhausted resignation. "She . . . seemed to think I wasn't interesting enough—I wouldn't go to the parties and nightclubs she wanted to spend practically every evening going to."

"She was pretty young, wasn't she?" Nina said, with just the faintest hint of malice.

"Twenty-six," Larry said shortly.

"Yeah. . . . So when did this happen?"

"About six months after—" He couldn't finish.

After I left you.

"Mmm. I'm really sorry about that." As Larry curled a lip, thinking Nina was being sarcastic, she went on: "No, really, I am. I know you like female companionship. Anyone else in your life?"

"Not right now."

"That's too bad."

There was a silence. Then, unexpectedly, Larry's face crumpled in misery as he exclaimed, "Oh, God, Nina, I'm so sorry! I've made such an ass of myself! I never meant to hurt you—I really did love you, you know! You were such a good wife to me. . . . I must have had some kind of early midlife crisis—I didn't know what I was doing! That silly woman seduced me, and I fell for it. I didn't want to break up our marriage, really I didn't!"

He was crying now.

Nina, ever intent on what that attendant, Don, had told her—"Just be quiet," a warning that was clearly meant to apply to Larry also—said quickly, "Larry, please! Don't trouble yourself right now about all that. There's lots of time to think about it when you're better. You just need to take care of yourself." And she rubbed his shoulder gently to get him to calm down.

But it was too late. Larry's sobbing had apparently been heard by someone else, and that person—an elderly nurse of substantial proportions and a face rather like that of Sergeant Carter on

Gomer Pyle, U.S.M.C.

—burst in on them. Quickly surveying the scene and looking daggers at Nina, she said: "What on earth is all this racket? What are you doing here?"

Nina, flustered, managed to say: "I'm—I'm Nina Wilkerson."

The nurse looked at Nina and said incredulously, "You're his

wife?"

Nina was so terrified of this apparition that she couldn't find the wherewithal to lie. "Well, no—his ex-wife."

"Then what the hell are you doing here? This is for family only."

"I

am

family!" Nina cried.

"Not anymore you aren't," the nurse said shortly. "You need to get out of here."

It was at this point that Larry intervened. Struggling to get a grip on himself, he said, "Please, nurse, let her stay. I don't have any other family here." That was true enough: Larry was an only child, and his parents lived in Illinois. What's more, his mother was largely an invalid and couldn't travel, and her husband had to stay at home to take care of her.

"Mr. Wilkerson," the nurse lectured, "you've just had major surgery. You need rest—and you certainly don't need to be

bothered

"—she glared at Nina—"by someone you're not even related to anymore. I really think she should leave."

"Please, nurse," Nina said plangently. "I won't be a bother. He—he doesn't have anyone else."

The nurse continued to glare at Nina, but then her features softened. She wasn't entirely hard-hearted. "I don't know what's going on here, but you really do need to have some consideration for this man's state of health. He nearly died today, and he's not out of the woods yet. There were some internal injuries, and he's going to be here for at least several more days, maybe longer. But"—and she said this as if she were a queen making a supremely magnanimous bequest upon an utterly unworthy churl—"you can visit him for a few minutes at a time if you like. But right now, I do think it's best if you let him rest."

"Okay," Nina said, looking at her feet. "Thank you. I'll leave in a minute."

Without a word, the nurse gave a significant glance at the two of them and turned on her heel.

"Man, what a gorgon," Larry said as he watched her go.

"Oh, she's just trying to do her job. I guess I shouldn't have, um, upset you." She couldn't recall ever seeing Larry cry before.

"You didn't upset me. I'm just kicking myself for my own stupidity and thoughtlessness."

"Okay, okay," Nina said hastily, fearing he might lapse into tears again. "Just don't worry about that. Maybe I'd better go. But I'll try to come back after work tomorrow. How does that sound?"

"It sounds great," Larry said, choking up.

Nina stood next to him, irresolute. It was not surprising that the many memories of her life with him—most of which were pretty nice—flooded over her. He had never spent a day in the hospital in all the years she had known him—and look at him now! Her own eyes brimmed with tears as she bent down and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth. Then she gave him another kiss—not so quick this time.

Two tears leaked out of his eyes and rolled thickly down his cheeks.

Nina hastily grabbed a Kleenex from a nearby table and dabbed his face. She smiled at him and left.

*

It was difficult to speak to Patrick and Amelia about Larry's condition. What the nurse had said worried her far more than she cared to acknowledge. Initially she thought it was merely a matter of repairing his broken bones—but the talk of "internal injuries" was not at all reassuring. Amelia and her husband realized that Nina was upset, even traumatized, and didn't press her on details. Even though it was her night to be with Patrick, Nina drifted into the guest bedroom to spend the night by herself, with her own thoughts.

She dutifully visited Larry after work the next day, a Friday. Even after a single day, he looked better. The anesthesia had worn off, and he wasn't entirely doped up on painkillers, although no doubt he was having to take them. He greeted Nina with a bright smile, although one tinged with melancholy.

They chatted idly on this and that, and then Nina got down to more serious subjects.

"Do you know how long you're going to be here?"

"Haven't really been told," he said. "I'll be in the ICU at least a day or two more, then they'll put me in a regular room—and I'll probably be there for at least a week or more. And these casts—well, I can't say when they'll come off."

"You poor man," Nina said. "How are you going to manage?"

"I'll manage somehow," he said unconvincingly.

"But

how?

I mean, you can't even feed yourself."

"Oh, I can just put things in the microwave."

"Ycch! That sounds awful. You need to have good, solid meals if you're going to recover properly."

"Nina, that's very sweet of you, but you don't have to worry about me. I'll get by."

She looked at him disapprovingly, as if he were a disobedient schoolboy. "Larry, there comes a time in everyone's life when they need to accept help from others. I think this is one of those times."

He was unable to endure her gaze, muttering, "What did you have in mind?"

"Isn't it obvious? You should stay with us—I mean, me." She was so used to using the plural pronoun that she had trouble regarding herself as a person independent from Patrick (and, now, Amelia).

The prospect seemed almost to terrify Larry. "I couldn't do that," he said at once.

"Sure, you can! Why on earth not? Do you have anyone else who can take care of you?"

"Not that I can think of," he admitted.

"Well, then, what else can you do?" She threw that remark at him like a gauntlet.

"I don't know."

She licked her lips. "Um, you do know I've married again, don't you?"

"Yes," he whispered.

She was surprised. "You do? Who told you?"

"I don't know. Some friend of yours." He made it sound as if that friend had spilled the beans out of spite.

"Well, at least you know."

Something approaching a sneer came over Larry's face. "I'm sure your new husband isn't going to want me invading his house."

"It's

my

house—at least it was. He was the one who moved in." She stopped short.

Oh, wait: this was

our

house—Larry's and mine.

The thought hadn't failed to cross Larry's mind either. "I—I don't think I want to be there."

"Oh, Larry, you're just being silly. What does it matter? Anyway, you need someone to look after you until you're better, and I want to do it."

She said the words with such emphasis, and with such an intense glare at her ex-husband, that he was moved to silence. It took him many moments to say: "Okay."

But then, another thought at once occurred to him. "Does he know about this idea? What does he say about it?"

"He doesn't know, but that doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters! What if he says no?"

"He's not going to say no," Nina said with incredible resolve. "He'll accept it, and he'll like it."

"Nina, I don't want to make trouble for you."

"Put that out of your mind. Patrick's not that sort of guy. He'll be happy to take you in."

Larry wasn't at all convinced of that, but he couldn't find anything to say that would dissuade Nina from what she took to be her Florence Nightingale imitation.

As Nina fully expected, Patrick was pretty blasé about the prospect of her ex-husband residing in their household for what promised to be an extended stay. Amelia received the news with wide-eyed fascination, her head almost spinning over the strangeness of the situation.

Husband, wife, and two ex-spouses—who ever heard of such a thing?

But she was interested to meet the mysterious Larry, whom Nina had over the past months spoken of in tones alternating from furious anger to wistful regret.

When he finally did arrive, about ten days later, the casts on his arms had been mercifully replaced with soft casts that allowed him greater mobility—and, as Nina reflected with huge relief, the ability to perform certain delicate bodily functions that she would have found it quite difficult to perform for him. Nina had picked him up at the hospital and somehow bundled him into her car: Larry had to sit with his legs lying at full length on the back seat, since those casts wouldn't come off for several more weeks. His arms were pretty weak and he hadn't gotten the hang of managing crutches, so he had to cling to Nina as she led him up the steps to the front door.

When they entered, Patrick was there to greet them. As the two men exchanged glances for the first time, their expressions were unreadable—at least to Nina, who was watching them with silent trepidation. Then Patrick cracked a smile out of the side of his mouth, extended a hand, and said: "Hey, Larry. How ya doin'?"

Larry decided to take the remark literally and not sarcastically. "Not so well, at the moment."

"You'll get better—I'm sure of it," Patrick said charitably.

"Well, if I do, it'll be thanks to you folks," Larry said with sincere gratitude.

It was then that Larry noticed Amelia gliding in his direction. He turned to Nina for an explanation. "And this is . . .?"