The Golden Visit, Page 2

center of the room. The nurse indicated Lance should make himself comfortable in the chair. It was made from butter soft leather and had an elaborate headrest that stretched along the sides and top of the head, almost like a helmet.

  “Now you just relax as I go over a few ground rules with you,” the nurse instructed. “First and foremost, no physical contact of any kind is allowed with your wife during the visit. This is very important.”

  “I understand.”

  “Secondly, try not to upset your wife. You may talk to her, of course, but make no mention of her condition and don’t bring up any unpleasant topics.”

  “Okay. Happy times only.”

  “Right,” the nurse laughed quietly. “I am going to put your wife down the hall, in the only room with a blue door. When she is ready, you will be summoned by overhead page, at which time you may leave this room, take a left, and enter the room with the blue door to begin the visit with your wife. Once the allotted visiting time is up, you will hear another overhead page, at which time you must leave the room with the blue door and return to this very chair. Do you have any questions?”

  “No, I think I’ve got it,” Lance replied carefully, the excitement of the moment creating a slight tremor in his voice.

  The nurse reached along the bottom of the chair and flipped a switch, making it come alive with a comfortable massage vibration that applied waves of blissful pressure along Lance’s neck, shoulders, and back. At the same time, it emitted a therapeutic heat that made Lance sigh with contentment. His sense of well-being was heightened and he had never felt more relaxed.

  “This feels so good,” Lance mused, relishing the calming effect of the heated massage. “I’m afraid I might fall asleep in this chair and miss the overhead page.”

  The nurse only smiled at him, and closed the door softly behind her on the way out.

  With the nurse gone, Lance closed his eyes and fully appreciated the unexpected treat he was receiving in the large leather chair. He let his mind drift eagerly toward Melanie, and tried to imagine what it would be like to see her after all that had happened. Being able to visit with her today was a priceless gift - one that he did not take for granted.

  Unsure of how much time passed, Lance had almost drifted off to sleep when he finally heard his name on the overhead page. In slow motion almost, he pulled himself from the calming oasis of the chair and left the room. The hall was brighter and longer than he remembered, but Lance could see the room with the blue door at the very end of the corridor and he moved toward it, excitement and trepidation warring within him, equally matched.

  When Lance made it to the end of the hall he actually hesitated outside the blue door, battling with nonsensical, fleeting thoughts of turning around and going back, so nervous to see his wife that he wasn’t sure if he could go through with it. Taking a deep breath, he eventually worked up the nerve to turn the knob, and he cautiously entered the room.

  There she was: Melanie – his wife, his lover, his best friend, his heart. They had her seated in a stuffed lounge chair near the window, and Melanie’s head was turned away from him, observing the garden view. The room itself was a typical hospital arrangement, with complicated-looking machinery flanking a now empty bed in the center. A soft white light bathed his wife, but Lance couldn’t quite determine how the fluorescent overheads seemed so cleanly muted.

  He stood there for a minute, taking her in, not wanting to mar this perfect first moment. But his entire being ached for her, and after a while he could no longer stand the bittersweet suspense. He called her name, his voice cracking with emotion. “Melanie.”

  She turned to him immediately, her face beaming with recognition, joy leaping to her alluring brown eyes. “Sweetheart,” she said in a voice that was music to his ears. It had been so long since he heard anything other than the faintest breath against her rosebud lips. She looked so beautiful to him. Her face was peaceful and unlined, the fine new wrinkles she had grown around her eyes and mouth over the last several years had been mostly erased. In the last 6 months her hair had grown at an alarming rate, falling past her shoulders in soft, dark whorls. She was thinner, but not in a bad way, and her small frame looked almost capable of supporting the body weight currently folded into her chair. He wondered briefly if she could stand, walk, run. This place was good for her.

  “Babe, how are you feeling?” he asked, awkward, unsure of himself and feeling as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands, his body. He remained rooted to the spot, staring. She was like a mystical creature, he could hardly believe she was real; for such a long time he had been able to do nothing more than dream of being able to interact with her.

  “I’m wonderful,” Melanie breathed, smiling. “It seems like I’m always cold, but other than that I feel great. Well-rested.”

  “I miss you,” he blurted before he could help himself.

  A pretty groove of confusion nicked her brow. “Silly. You just saw me, we haven’t even had time to miss each other.”

  “I know,” he amended quickly, remembering he was not supposed to allude to her injuries in any way. “But you know how I am. Any time away from you is too much time.”

  She grinned and shook her head appreciatively. “You always have been a hopeless romantic.”

  He moved to sit in the chair opposite her, careful not to brush against her. It was difficult to be so close to her, yet prohibited from making physical contact, and every cell of his being yearned for her touch. “Only when it comes to you,” he said quietly, his throat constricting with sorrow.

  “Why do you seem so down, sweetie?” Melanie asked, concerned.

  He looked up at her then, and his eyes burned with the effort of holding back the barrage of tears that threatened to fall. “I just love you so much,” he was able to say. “You know that right?”

  “Of course I know that,” she replied lightly, affection and understanding and humor skirting across her features. The expression on her face revealed that she was keenly aware her husband had a soft spot for her, and she basked in that knowledge.

  “From the moment I first noticed you, I knew I would make you my wife.”

  “Oh, is that right?” she snorted, still smiling, knowing how the story goes but wanting to hear it again anyway.

  “That’s right,” Lance confirmed. “You and I were involved in a heated debate in Professor Hill’s psych class. You were so passionate, so beautiful, and so smart. There weren’t too many other students who had the guts to argue with me, but you weren’t at all afraid to take me on. You were just my type - you had confidence and spunk and I was instantly drawn to that about you. Even if you did lose the debate.”

  She threw her head back, peals of laughter reaching to the ceiling. “Something’s wrong with your memory, babe. I won that debate.”

  “Whatever,” Lance smirked, knowing it was true. “I’ll let you believe that. Either way, I knew instantly you were the one for me.”

  “Well, you were cocky and rude,” Melanie teased him, winking. “Not my type at all.”

  He grinned. She clearly didn’t mean it, and he was overjoyed that despite everything she hadn’t lost her sense of humor.

  Growing somber, Lance said, “I adore having you as my wife. I want us to grow old together.” By not mentioning her injuries in that fervent wish, he was trying to plant a seed that would do no harm, but would still flourish to bear the fruit of her recovery, bringing her back home to him, nonetheless.

  Matching the serious expression on his face, Melanie assured him, “We will.”

  Just then, they both heard Lance getting paged on the overhead system. He couldn’t believe the time with his wife was already up. He felt like he had just entered the room with the blue door mere seconds ago.

  He swallowed the lump lodged in his throat. “I have to go now,” he said, regret smothering him with the feeling of wanting something different, something more.

  “I know,” she said warmly, unconcerned, viewing this as nothing mo
re than a ‘see you later’, like always.

  But Lance was afraid, knowing full well that even though he has been with her today, nothing is guaranteed, especially with her injuries. This visit, while something akin to a modern miracle, was still just the first mile marker on her long road to recovery; and if that journey doesn’t go smoothly for any number of reasons, it may end up being the very last time he ever sees her. “I love you, Mel,” he said, wanting to embrace her, kiss her, make love to her - even though logically he knew none of those things were possible.

  “I love you, Lan,” she replied, and she smiled a beautiful, carefree smile that lit up her entire face and cleaved his heart in two.

  Lance stood up to go, and Melanie returned to her garden view outside the window, as if he were no longer even there. When he stepped past her to leave, she didn’t move a muscle or acknowledge him in any way, and this almost hurt him more than the prospect of never seeing her again.

  With heavy steps, Lance made his way back to his original room and the huge leather chair, consumed with thoughts of Melanie, immune to everything else around him. He felt ecstatic to have seen his wife, but at the same time disoriented by certain aspects of her demeanor and fraught with the worry that he may not get another chance like this. In a daze, he collapsed into the familiar chair, the soothing heated massage a welcome respite from his