Page 3 of Letting Go
We love you, sweet girl. The Cavalry is coming. Call me as soon as you can or when you know something.
By the time Savannah gets here with our brother Jack, I’m sure this will all have been cleared up. Our other brother Liam can join us for cake as we celebrate our birthday girl. I can just tell Eloise that her aunt and two of her uncles flew in to visit for her birthday.
But right now, I still have more questions than answers. Dan insists Trent wasn’t here, nor was he operating, but that’s not what Trent told me. Did Trent lie to me? No, my husband wouldn’t do that. Someone else is confused. There has to be a logical explanation, even if nothing is adding up. I sit and stare at my phone as if Trent is going to call me back and clear everything up.
But my husband doesn’t call or text me back.
The clock moves agonizingly slow if I watch it, so I continue to pace the small waiting room with clammy hands that started to shake at some point, despite my unsuccessful attempts to steady them. The familiar sterile scent of a hospital is anything butcomforting right now, and the harsh aroma is only contributing to my rolling stomach. Although I appreciate Dan waiting with me, I wish one of my friends from back home was here with me.
Other people are talking in the room, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I feel like I’m in a tunnel far away from anyone else. At some point, I faintly hear someone tell me my husband is in critical condition, and they are doing everything they can.
Trent is a great surgeon and he should be operating on someone right now, not in an operating room as a patient in critical condition. My husband said he was on call last night but … if he wasn’t, then where was my husband texting me from at midnight saying he had an early morning surgery? How did he get shot? And who would shoot my husband?
“Where was he? Where was the ambulance coming from?” I ask to anyone willing to answer me in the private waiting room.
Dan picks up his phone and starts texting with someone before shaking his head. “I don’t have that answer right now, but my head nurse is calling the dispatch center to see if she can find out for us. Things have been chaotic since he came in and everyone wanting to help, especially since he’s one of our own. I’ll tell you as soon as I can get an answer.”
Another hour creeps by before the door to the private waiting room swings open. I recognize the surgeon walking into the room from last year’s holiday party, along with Trent’s head nurse, Lisa. My initial relief at seeing Lisa is fleeting once I see her face. Their expressions are somber and stoic as they knowingly approach me.
“Can we clear the room, please?” Dan announces to the few colleagues of Trent's who joined us waiting for news. I stand as I notice Lisa avoiding making eye contact with me, which sends chills down my entire body.
“Mrs. Stone, I’m Dr. Robert Carlisle. I’m not sure if you remember me, but would you please take a seat?” The surgeon isusing a polished soothing and calm tone, but I know that’s not necessarily a good thing. Trent always said the eyes give away the truth when a doctor has bad news. Dr. Carlisle’s eyes appear to be troubled and tense. If he had good news, he would be smiling—but no one in this room is smiling right now.
“I’d rather not. I’m just waiting to hear from my husband to clear this misunderstanding up,” I reply.
Dan gently places his arm around my shoulder, easing me back into the chair, and reaches for my clammy hand.
“I’m the head cardiothoracic surgeon at Fairview North, ma’am. I was called in once the patient was identified as one of our own. Mrs. Stone, we did everything we possibly could to repair the damage to his heart from the bullet, but it was far too extensive. I am so sorry, but Trent passed away a few moments ago.” Dr. Carlisle continues, but I can’t hear anything else he says. I can’t breathe. This can’t be happening. This must be a bad dream, and I just need to wake up. I reach over and pinch my forearm. It doesn’t help, so I pinch myself again. Why can’t I wake up?
“Vivian, did you hear what Dr. Carlisle said?” Dan places his hand over mine to stop me from pinching myself once more.
“No, no, no. I just need to wake up,” I murmur to myself.
Dan gently squeezes my hand. “I’m so sorry, Vivian. This isn’t a bad dream. It’s a horrible nightmare, but Trent is gone.”
Gone.
My husband, my best friend, the father of my child is gone.
No.
This can’t be happening.
I have so many questions. Tears begin streaming down my face as I struggle to breathe. My shaking hand presses against my lips as I try to clear the bitter taste flooding my mouth.
Did Dr. Carlisle say there was bullet damage to Trent’s heart? Someone shot my husband in the heart?
Why can’t I take a deep breath? Why is this room so hot? Why are these people all looking at me like I hold any answers right now? I don’t even know most of the people in this room. And my biggest question as I try to take a breath that isn’t shallow and jagged: how is this real? I just wanted to run some errands before Eloise’s perfect pink cake arrived, but instead, my entire world has just been shattered.
Dan walks with me to see his body. The dim lights of the room slightly flicker above the hospital bed as he carefully pulls the sheet back. My husband’s beautiful face looks so peaceful, like when he falls asleep on the couch watching football on a Sunday afternoon. I hesitantly brush his blonde hair off his forehead as a wave of fresh tears break free.
I shake my head, as if I can deny what’s right in front of me. A stark feeling of frigid cold expands from my gut and engulfs my entire body.
“He wouldn’t leave us. He wouldn’t leave me and Eloise. He can’t leave! We were supposed to have so much more time. Eloise deserves more time with her daddy. I deserve more time with you, Trent! You can’t fucking leave us!” Devastated, I can’t help but sob as tears stream down my cheeks. I gasp as I try to catch my breath, but all I can do is wail as I stand over his body. My hand automatically reaches out to grab Trent’s hand, but the moment I do, an eerie chill goes down my spine—his hand feels unnaturally cold and just … wrong. I would know. I’ve been holding this hand for the last fourteen years of my life. My stomach churns; dizziness causes the floor to feel unsteady, and I think I’m going to be sick. Collapsing into a chair next to his bed, I pull my hand away from his and wrap my arms around myself.
My sorrow is briefly interrupted as a nurse enters the room. “We have his personal effects and I’m so sorry, but there are detectives that want to ask you a few questions when you’re ready. Take yourtime, though. They can wait, Mrs. Stone.” Dan steps forward to take the bag of Trent’s things as I try in vain to take a deep breath. He walks around the bed to where I’m seated and hands me the clear bag as something lights up inside.
Dan’s phone dings at the same time, and he pulls it out to read a text message. I hear him cursing under his breath and look up to meet his apologetic gaze. “Vivian, I don’t know how to say this, but Trent was transported from a crime scene in front of the Plaza Hotel.”
