The hospital room had a clock above the door.
I watched it more than I watched the television.
The hands moved steadily, no matter how long the doctors took or how little information I received.
I had never thought much about clocks before.
That day, I wished I could make time slow down whenever Maggie opened her eyes.
I wanted her to have a little more strength.
I wanted to hear her voice without having to lean forward.
Mostly, I wanted to know what had happened.
I kept thinking about the sweet tea.
Maggie had mentioned that Brittany brought it to her in the evenings.
At the time, it had sounded like a small kindness.
Brittany had been trying to make her comfortable in a new house.
There was nothing suspicious about offering someone a drink.
I knew that.
I also knew I could not stop thinking about it.
I did not know what Maggie had been drinking.
I did not know whether it had anything to do with her illness.
I had no evidence that it did.
Still, the memory stayed with me.
Then I thought about the telephone.
Maggie had always answered my calls when she could.
If she was busy, she usually sent a short message.
If she was tired, she told me.
That was how we had lived for decades.
The silence in Knoxville had been different.
At first, I had blamed the move.
Then I had blamed her charger.
Then I had blamed myself for worrying.
I had found a new excuse every time the previous one stopped working.
I was ashamed of that.
Not because I should have known exactly what was happening.
I could not have known.
But I should have trusted the feeling that something was wrong instead of spending so much time trying to dismiss it.
A member of the medical staff came to speak with me.
I listened carefully and answered the questions I could.
The investigation into Maggie's condition was continuing.
There were still uncertainties.
I did not push for an answer they could not give me.
I asked what I needed to know about her immediate care.
Then I returned to my chair.
I looked at Maggie.
For a moment, I remembered her in our kitchen, standing beside the cooler she had packed for the drive.
She had been excited to help Kevin.
She had talked about organizing the pantry and finding a proper place for the dishes.
I could almost hear her explaining that a kitchen worked better when everything had a home.
That was Maggie.
She believed most problems could be improved by paying attention.
She had spent her life paying attention to other people.
I wondered who had been paying attention to her.
Earl had.
That was the uncomfortable truth.
A neighbor who barely knew us had noticed that something was wrong.
He had tried to get help when he saw Maggie collapse.
He had not accepted Kevin's explanation.
He had watched long enough to understand that the situation was not being handled the way it should have been.
And he had spoken to me before I reached the front door.
I could not stop thinking about what might have happened if I had arrived later.
I did not know whether anything would have been different.
I only knew I was grateful that Earl had been outside when I pulled up.
I wished I could thank him properly.
I also wished I had never needed his help.
My phone remained quiet.
I checked it once more.
Nothing from Kevin.
Nothing from Brittany.
I could have called them.
I could have demanded to know why they had not come to the hospital.
But I had already heard enough explanations for one day.
I did not want another argument while Maggie lay in a hospital bed.
I wanted facts.
Until I had them, I would keep my attention where it belonged.
I moved my chair closer.
Maggie's eyes opened briefly.
She looked at me.
I took her hand.
“You don't have to worry about anything right now,” I told her.
She did not answer.
I did not expect her to.
I stayed beside her until her eyes closed again.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: Forty-One Years Had Taught Me Maggie’s Habits, but Nothing Had Prepared Me for the Questions I Could Not Answer
The Morning My Wife Stopped Answering, I Finally Understood That Silence Could Mean Something Far Worse Than Anger
Part 6 of 16
