From the Corner of His Eye

Chapter 73

WALLY HAD NOT gone home with Death, but they had definitely been at the dance together.

When Celestina first entered his ICU cubicle, the sight of his face scared her in spite of the surgeon's assurances. Gray, he was, and sunken-cheeked-as though this were the eighteenth century and so many medicinal leeches had been applied to him that too much of his essential substance had been sucked out.

He was unconscious, wired to a heart monitor, pierced by an intravenous-drip line. Clipped to his septum, an oxygen feed hissed faintly, and from his open mouth rose the barely audible wheeze of his breathing.

For a long time, she stood beside the bed, holding his hand, confident that on some level he was aware of her presence, though he gave no indication whatsoever that he knew she was there.

She could have used the chair. Sitting, however, she wouldn't be able to see his face.

In time, his hand tightened feebly on hers. And a while after that hopeful sign, his eyelids fluttered, opened.

He was confused initially, frowning at the heart monitor and at the IV rack that loomed over him. When his eyes met Celestina's, his gaze clarified, and the smile that he found for her brought as much light into her heart as the diamond ring he had slipped onto her finger so few hours before.

Frown quickly followed smile, and he said thinly, “Angel ... ?"

“She's all right. Untouched."

A matronly nurse arrived, alerted to the patient's return to consciousness by the telemetry device associated with the heart monitor.

She fussed over him, took his temperature, and spooned two chips of ice into his parched mouth. Leaving, she gave Celestina a meaningful look and tapped her wristwatch.

Alone again with Wally, Celestina said, “They told me that once you regained consciousness, I can only visit ten minutes at a time, and not that often, either."

He nodded. “Tired."

“The doctors tell me you'll make a full recovery."

Smiling again, speaking in a voice hardly louder than a whisper, he said, “Got a wedding date to keep."

She bent down and kissed his cheek, his right eye, his left, his brow, his dry cracked lips. “I love you so much. I wanted to die when I thought you weren't with me anymore.

“Never say die,” he admonished.

Blotting her eyes on a Kleenex, she said, “All right. Never."

“Was it Angel's father?"

She was surprised by his intuition. Three years ago, when first she moved to Pacific Heights, Celestina had shared with him the fear that the beast would find them one day, but she hadn't spoken of that possibility in perhaps two and a half years.

She shook her head. “No. It wasn't Angel's father. You're her father.

He was just the son of a bitch who raped Phimie."

“They get him?"

“I almost did. With his own gun."

Wally raised his eyebrows.

“And I hit him with a chair, hurt him some."

“Wow."

She said, “Didn't know you were going to marry an Amazon, huh?"

“Sure did."

“He got away just as the police arrived. And they think he's psychotic, plenty crazy enough to try again if they don't find him soon."

“Me too,” he said worriedly.

“They don't want me to go back to the apartment."

“Listen to them."

“And they're even worried about me hanging around St. Mary's too long, 'cause he'll expect me to be here with you."

“I'll be okay. Lots of friends here."

“You'll be out of ICU tomorrow, I bet. You'll have a phone, I'll call. And I'll come soon as I can."

He found the strength to squeeze her hand tighter than before. “Be safe. Keep Angel safe."

She kissed him again. “Two weeks,” she reminded him.

He smiled ruefully. “Might be ready for a wedding by then, but not a honeymoon."

“We've got the rest of our lives for the honeymoon."