After the Fall by Patricia Gussin

displayed muted shades of orange. Sunset comes early in February in Philadelphia, earlier than in Tampa. She must have slept the entire afternoon. What day must it be? She tried to raise her head just a fraction, pleased that at least her head did not throb.
    â€œStill here?” Her voice sounded raspy and weak but, she hoped, not unappreciative. Truth be told, she’d never been so grateful to see anyone.
    â€œYou kicked out your kids, but not me.” Again, that smug grin. “But I did have to promise to call them the minute you woke up.”
    The last thing she remembered was being wheeled into the operating room; the pain in her hand was agonizing, but not to the excruciating point she had feared. “Tim, can you help me sit up? And before you talk to the kids, can we talk?”
    â€œAre you okay? Your pain, do you—?”
    â€œI don’t want any pain meds. Not now.”
    Tim added a pillow, gently elevated her head to a forty-five degree angle, careful to stabilize her right arm.
    â€œYou can’t imagine how good that feels, just to sit partwayup.” Laura inspected her IV line. “Guess I’m getting my nutrition. Foley catheter, so no bathroom trips. What’s to complain about?”
    Tim puttered around, arranging pillows, straightening her sheets, adjusting her thin blanket. Finally, she said, “Please, Tim, will you sit down?”
    He pulled a chair up to the bed opposite her elevated right arm. “Laura, I did promise—”
    â€œThey can wait,” she said, reaching with her good hand to touch his.
    â€œDr. Hanover was in not long ago,” Tim said. “You were out cold, but he checked the wound—”
    â€œHow did the procedure go?” she asked.
    Tim glanced upward at her suspended, heavily bandaged hand. “The surgery went well. As far as they could tell, they got all the necrotic tissue. They don’t think they will have to go back in. They’ll keep you pumped up on antibiotics. Physical therapy later. Overall, good news.”
    Laura knew it was. If the necrosis had not been controlled, she would have lost her hand. But good news was relative, wasn’t it? Her right hand would remain attached to her arm, but even with rigorous physical therapy, it wouldn’t be able to do much of anything. Not enough to sustain her career. She’d made up her mind. She’d take the Keystone Pharma job. No reason that a hand injury would affect an administrative job. A head injury, another story, but her thinking was clear, concussion symptoms waning.
    â€œTim, I want you to be the first to know. I’m going to take that Keystone vice president job.”
    Tim stood up, went to the window, his back to her.
    Laura’s heart sank. She had no illusions about Tim’s commitment to her under these new circumstances, but she hadn’t anticipated this degree of desperation to escape his recent marriage proposal.
    When he returned to her bedside, tears filled his blue eyes.
    â€œTim, I…I can do this on my own, I’m—”
    â€œLaura, I’m sorry, I’m just so overjoyed, I can’t—”
    â€œTim? Are you okay?” Laura pulled back her words. Had she totally misjudged his reaction? He was not trying to back out?
    â€œI’m more than okay, Laura, but please, please tell me this means that you and I will be together. I want that more than anything else in the world. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. Much, much more. More than I can even imagine wanting. For the first time in my life, I’ve been praying. First, that you’d be okay; then, that you’d be with me.”
    â€œTim?” Laura felt tears gathering. Tears of what? Guilt, that she’d been so lacking in comprehension? Guilt, that she’d so underestimated his love for her? Guilt, that he’d be stuck with a maimed wife? “Tim?” she repeated.
    â€œI want to take you in my