Before I Wake by Robert J. Wiersema

sweetheart,” I whispered. “Listening to Mozart this morning? Good for the brain.” I glanced up at Ruth as I settled myself into the chair next to the bed.
    â€œI’ll leave you be for a little while,” she said with something approaching a smile.
    Some mornings I would talk to Sherry about the weather or something from TV, or I’d tell her a story she used to like. If there wasn’t any music playing I would sing to her from my limited selection of lullabies and kids’ songs or the folk songs I used to play in university. Eventually, I would find myself just sitting, not saying a word, listening to the gentle in and out of her breath, unconsciously counting, only later noticing that I was doing so. I would listen to the familiar noises of the house around me, the sound of water in the pipes, the furnace, footsteps and distant voices.
    I would stroke her soft hair.
    KAREN
    After he had had a little private time with Sherry, I brought Simon coffee.
    I would probably have been better off to ignore him, to stay in the kitchen or my bedroom until he went off to work. But I wanted to be the bigger person.
    So I put on a happy face, stood ramrod straight in the kitchen and prepared myself for the meaningless pleasantries that should never come between a husband and wife.
    When I came in he was sitting in the chair alongside the bed, his hand resting on Sherry’s arm, just staring into the distance.
    â€œCoffee?” I asked, walking around the end of the bed so I wasn’t reaching across Sherry as I extended the mug toward him.
    He smiled a little. “Thanks.” He took the mug and held it on his lap. In the light from the window I would see that his hair was thinning. I wondered if that had started recently, or if I had just never noticed before.
    â€œHow’s work?” I asked, sitting down on the couch, maintaining my distance.
    â€œIt’s fine. Busy.”
    I nodded, wondering if he was still working as late as often as he used to, or if having Mary at home had solved that particular problem.
    â€œHow’s Mary?” In my mind, the question was dripping with venom, but he only shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe I was asking.
    â€œShe’s fine.”
    â€œGood. That’s good.”
    He touched the side of the mug with the back of his hand to check its temperature and blew across the surface to keep from burning his mouth. He took a sip. “Do you need anything?” he asked, somehow managing to be flat and earnest in the same breath.
    My daughter.
    My husband.
    My family back.
    My life the way it was.
    I shook my head. “Nothing I can think of.”
    â€œYou’ll—”
    â€œI’ll let you know.”
    He smiled. “Good. And Sherry’s…”
    In a coma.
    Gone.
    â€œNo change.”
    â€œShe seems a little warm to me.”
    â€œShe always seems a little warm to you. The chart’s here if you want to check it.” I handed him the folder.
    He looked at the top sheet. “She seemed warmer,” he muttered.
    Setting the file down on the table, he glanced at his watch, took another swallow of coffee and stood up. “I should go,” he said, sweeping the front of his suit for imaginary crumbs.
    â€œOkay. Do you want me to call you a cab?”
    Wouldn’t you rather stay?
    He shook his head as he crossed the floor. “That’s all right. I’ll walk. I didn’t get a chance for a run this morning.”
    I tried unsuccessfully to stifle the picture that rose in my mind. “Say hello to Mary for me.” Bitchy, bitchy, bitchy.
    He looked at me for a long moment, then shook his head. “You’ve got a very strange sense of humor. I’ll be by after work.” He closed the door behind him.
    At the clicking of the lock, my strength left me in a great rush. If he knew how difficult his visits were I could accuse him of being incredibly cruel. As it stood, all I