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her husband. She smiled wistfully, lowered Gabe’s bed rail and sat next to him. Hip pressed tightly against his side, she raised his slack hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. She nuzzled his hand, wishing he would cup her cheek as he often did before kissing her.
    “Gabe? Can you hear me?” Jenny stared intently at his face, but Gabe didn’t so much as twitch. Heart heavy, she sighed and gently placed his hand on the bed. If she hadn’t run from that stupid fight, he wouldn’t be lying in that hospital bed. Her lips trembled. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
    She reached for the rough tissues on Gabe’s bedside stand and blew her nose. Her gaze dropping to the helmet and bag on the floor, she slid off the bed, opened the plastic hospital bag and looked inside. Lying on top of Gabe’s jeans was the vintage Tissot doctor’s watch George gave Gabe for his graduation from medical school.
    George claimed the watch had been given to grandfather Harrison in nineteen thirty-eight when he graduated med school—a real family heirloom. She stared at the watch until it blurred. She couldn’t remember a time when Gabe didn’t wear it. She scooped it up and stuffed it in her pants pocket. Gabe would be upset if anything happened to his beloved watch.
    Jenny returned her attention to the bag and his wallet, peaking out of the neck of his navy knit shirt. His wallet was brown leather, creased and worn, like all Gabe’s favorite things.
    Taking the billfold out, Jenny sank into the nearby chair. She moved her thumb back and forth over the cool rawhide. One side was curved, bowed from years of being stuffed in Gabe’s back pocket. Maybe she’d get him a new one for Christmas.
    She slumped in the seat until her head rested against the chair back. Rolling her head sideways, she looked at Gabe. His eyes remained closed, his body still but for the rhythmic breathes the ventilator forced into his chest.
    She toyed with the billfold and looked at Gabe’s face. His eyelids didn’t even flutter. With a sigh, Jenny dropped the wallet to her lap and leaned forward to stroke Gabe’s warm, hairy arm. She laid her cheek on the back of his hand and laced her fingers through his slack ones. The wallet plunked to the floor. When Jenny’s back began to ache from the awkward position, she gave his hand one final pat, straightened and stretched her sore muscles. Picking up the wallet, she put it on his bed.
    The night crept on and the nurse brought Jenny a dinner tray. She tried to eat, knowing she’d need the strength, but could only force down the salty meatloaf and soggy green beans. At ten o’clock, Ken Stanley, the chief of St. Francis’s neurosurgery department, entered Gabe’s room. Tall and balding, wearing wide, wire-rimmed glasses, Ken exuded confidence, even casually dressed in navy corduroys and a cream cable-knit sweater.
    He put a warm hand to her back. “Jenny.”
    “Ken. Thanks for coming.” If anybody could help Gabe, it’d be Ken. Not only was he a friend but Gabe had always respected his skill as a doctor, so Jenny had asked Dr. Collins to call Ken for a second opinion. Surely he’d find something the others here had overlooked.
    “How’re you holding up?”
    “Okay.” Alone in his room, Jenny could pretend that Gabe was just like any other sick patient—just resting deeply—perhaps drugged by pain medication. But with the appearance of this doctor she recognized from social functions, reality suddenly came crashing back. Fear and impotence filled Jenny, like a dam broken loose. She grasped Gabe’s hand in a crushing grip. “They say he’s got no brain function, but they’re mistaken, right? There must be some medication, some surgery, something you can do to help him. Please , tell me there’s something you can do.”
    “I’ll try.” He squeezed her shoulder. “I talked to the admitting doctor and looked over his chart. Let’s see if there’s been any improvement.”
    Jenny watched