The Imperfect Marriage novel · Chapter 11 of 24

Chapter 11: Surgery

We were in the surgical waiting room by 5:40.

I was in yesterday's jeans and Ross's sweater, and I had not brushed my teeth.

He had.

He was the kind of man who would brush his teeth during an earthquake.

"They said four hours," I said.

"They said four to six."

"I'm a respiratory therapist. I've been on the other side of this door a hundred times. I know what four to six means."

"What does it mean?"

"It means they don't know."

He sat down and pulled me into the chair beside him.

He put my head on his shoulder and kept one hand on the back of my neck.

I watched the clock on the wall.

Every minute felt like a month.

At seven, a volunteer brought a cart with coffee and little foil packets of shortbread.

Ross bought both of everything and divided it into four piles.

"Eat something," he said.

"I can't."

"You can eat a cookie."

I ate a cookie.

It tasted like paper, and it was the best thing I had ever eaten.

At nine he took my hand and turned it over and traced the lines in my palm with his thumb.

"What are you doing?"

"Keeping you here."

"I'm here."

"No. You're in the operating room."

I swallowed.

He was right.

At ten-twenty the surgeon came through the double doors, still in his cap, and I stood so fast my chair tipped over.

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