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What’s the secret sauce?
    Not only was David in a coma, he was likely paralyzed from the waist down. May I have combo #3 please? A chicken sandwich with paralysis—partial, please—and a side of coma fries.
    Shirley said it was a miracle that the injuries from the crash had not killed David. No “yet” existed with Shirley. David would live and be okay, and that was all there was to it. “It’s a sign from God,” Shirley argued. “God’s telling us David is a miracle. There will be more miracles.” Whenever Shirley went on like that, Richard looked away, a shadow in his eyes.
    Celia did not buy the spiel either. She wondered what exactly her mother-in-law saw. Was she in denial, thinking that as long as she prayed and praised God, David would be okay? Shirley’s religion was as newfound as a baby’s smooth bottom. Before the accident, Celia had never heard Shirley use the word “God” except in occasional phrases such as “God damn it!” Foxhole atheist. As for Celia’s religious inclinations, she was not sure and was in no hurry to find out. She was drained, exhausted. She was a girl Pinocchio going through the motions, yearning to be human—yearning to connect with her son and yearning to understand the person she had married.
    “Bye,” Celia said, and David’s eyelid trembled goodbye.
    *****
    Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Mark Lucas said: “Not only are you a brand new mother, your husband is in the hospital, unresponsive. He had been emotionally abusive. And probably cheating.” A deep frown imprinted Dr. Lucas’s face. Maybe because Celia had been thirty minutes late. “So, you’re dealing with a lot of emotions.”
    Einstein. “Right.”
    “Were you satisfied with David before the emotional abuse began?”
    “Uh…” Celia’s knee-jerk impulse was to say yes. “I think so. David used to do many things right. He massaged my feet. Helped with dinner. Made me feel loved. Looked at me with deep brown eyes and made the world safe.”
    “What drew you to David?”
    “His sharp mind. He could analyze the hell out of anything.”
    Dr. Lucas quirked an eyebrow as if to say: That’s all?
    Celia sighed. “David projected stability. He was a rock.”
    “Why was that an issue?”
    “When I was a child, my mother and I always scrimped and scrounged. She was an alcoholic. Money went toward her drinks. I don’t know who my father is. She blacked out and woke up pregnant.” Celia clenched her right hand, hating how she made herself sound. “The whole package drew to me to David, okay? On our first date, he told me about his first wife, who died of leukemia. I could tell he was a man who treasured love.”
    “Interesting.”
    “My stepson thought, maybe still thinks, I was a gold digger. Oh, he never said so out loud, but it was pretty clear. But I wasn’t a gold digger! I loved David. I love David.”
    “Go on.”
    “David used to be a good listener. I miss telling him the little things. Like, you know, the other day I saw a poodle wearing a pink shirt and with pink bows in its hair. Really? Come on. Why do people feel the need to give poodles these ridiculous frou-frou haircuts? And names like Rocky or Keifer or Tiffany?”
    Dr. Lucas did not laugh. Damn , Celia thought. That was probably his poodle.
    “How was your sex life?” Dr. Lucas asked.
    “Okay.”
    “You were satisfied.”
    Celia hesitated before answering. “We didn’t have sex after my fourth or fifth month of pregnancy. If that. Our last time, David couldn’t…you know. He threw a fit, blaming me. He said I needed to work on my bedroom skills and that I was a lousy lover.”
    “How did you respond?”
    Celia ignored the lump at the bottom of her throat. “I don’t remember.”
    The timer on Dr. Lucas’s desk went off, playing a Beethoven sonata. His frown imprint conveyed: Please be on time next week.
    *****
    The next morning, Celia and Janet packed up Caleb and headed to the mall.
    “You excited to buy real clothes