When she finally made it back to her room an hour and a half later, Bryan was waiting patiently, his hand stuck in a bag of chips.
“I guess I’m done for tonight.” Becky yawned loudly. “I can’t imagine they won’t let me go home in the morning.”
“I already told my boss I’d be in late. I can stay home with you if you want.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine. You can go to work. I have an appointment for a scan with Dr. Levine tomorrow.” She patted her stomach. “Need to make sure the fertility drugs are doing what they’re supposed to be doing.”
“I don’t think you’ll be doing any driving tomorrow.”
“Where is my car, by the way?”
“I had them tow it to the body shop. I guess you took the keys.”
Becky glanced around the room. “Where—”
“Oh, good thing you reminded me. You’d never be able to reach it.” Bryan walked over to the closet and grabbed her purse on the top shelf. “I put it out of sight when I left to get something to eat.” He unzipped the top and pulled out her keychain. “Yup, you had them.”
He put her purse on the chair and sat on the edge of the bed. “Let’s see how you feel tomorrow, and then if you’re up to it, we’ll figure out how to get you to your appointment with Dr. Levine. Deal?”
“Deal.”
He leaned in, placed his hands gently on the sides of her face, and gave her a goodnight kiss.
Becky settled in under the covers. “Don’t be jealous of my scratchy hospital sheets while you’re enjoying the eight hundred thread-count at home.”
“I don’t know if I can sleep without you, but I’ll try. Besides, you know Sherlock won’t share your side of the bed anyway.” Becky’s cat was bonded completely to her but had no use for anyone else. Bryan kissed her again. “Try to get some sleep. Love you.”
As the door closed behind him, she already missed him. She pulled back the covers and then slid out of bed and tiptoed to the chair that held her purse. She crawled back into bed and rummaged through it until she found her phone. The screen was black. She cursed softly as she visualized her charger still plugged in next to her desk at work.
This strange room made her uncomfortable. Outside in the hallway, there was the squeaky sound of carts rolling and muffled voices. She wanted to be home right now in her own bed instead of under this thin blanket in a room that smelled like sick people.
The nurse had already warned her that someone would check in with her later during the night. Cradling one of the understuffed pillows, she shifted in the small bed in an attempt to get comfortable. Her back to the noises in the hallway, she heard the faint click of the knob turning.
A smile crept across her face as the door creaked when it opened. Her husband had come back for one last kiss.
“Forget something?” Her voice lifted as she teased him.
Becky waited for the familiar voice to respond, but silence hung in the air. She spun around, but no one was there. Confused, she glanced around, confident she’d felt someone’s presence in the room with her.
She sat up and rubbed her eyes and then tried to dismiss it. After all, this was a hospital. She missed her husband in this strange place, and it had her imagination working overtime. She settled back under the covers, but this time, she faced the hallway. Heart skipping, her eyes were wide open as she kept watch on the closed door. It was probably just a nurse looking in on her, or maybe someone had the wrong room. Either was a perfectly logical possibility.
But then why were the little hairs on the back of her neck standing up?
Chapter Six
Becky
They drove home the next morning in comfortable silence, grateful that the accident hadn’t been worse. As they approached their house, Bryan offered a friendly wave. Their neighbor, Mrs. Ritter, was outside tending to her flowerbeds. The older woman yanked off her gardening gloves, wiped her hands on her jeans, and hurried across the street toward their driveway. A deep crease formed between her brows as she approached.
“Becky, how do you feel? That poor husband of yours was a mess last night. Oh, dear, is that a bruise on your forehead?”
“It looks worse than it feels,” Becky said, as Bryan extended his hand to help her out of the car. “Just a little sore, but I’m going to be fine.” She glanced at her husband and smiled. “Bryan’s recovery might take a bit longer.”
They both liked Mrs. Ritter. Her children were older and married with kids, and her husband had passed away before Becky and Bryan had moved in. They invited her for holidays, and she had even tried to teach Becky to cook. With everything going on with her mom, Becky had found herself confiding more and more in the older woman.
They always found time to chat when their paths crossed, but after spending the night at the hospital, Becky was impatient to get inside. She looked toward the house longingly as Bryan made small talk. She fixed a telepathic gaze on him. He acknowledged her look with a subtle dip of his head.
“Well, thanks for everything,” he said to Mrs. Ritter. “I need to get Becky inside to rest.”
As they entered the house, Becky’s anxiety eased a bit. A familiar, happy chirping sound headed toward her. She bent and scooped up Sherlock, her orange tabby cat.
She carried him into the bedroom and dropped him on the bed next to her as she laid down. “Momma’s home. I missed you, little buddy.”
As she ran her hand from the top of his head to the tip of his tail, Sherlock’s entire body vibrated. He rolled on his side so she could rub his soft striped belly, gazing at her through partially closed eyes of contentment.
One last scratch behind his ears and she glanced around for where she had deposited her purse. After plugging in her cell phone, she grabbed one of the pillows and laid down on the bed. Bryan took the spot next to her as the cat jumped off.
“Sherlock, was it something I said?” he asked and then turned his attention to his wife. “Maybe you should get some rest. I’ll call my boss and tell him you’re not ready to be home alone, and I’ll spend the day with you.”
Bryan had been with the ad agency for almost ten years, since right out of college. He had started as a graphic designer. While he still handled some of their more significant creative projects, mostly his boss left him alone to secure new business and manage the creative staff.
“Nah, go to work. I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep that well last night. I know it was only one night, but I missed you.” She was sure she hadn’t been alone in that hospital room. An icy chill still prickled her neck when she thought about it. “The doctor said I’m not supposed to drive for at least twenty-four hours. I guess I also don’t have a car.”