Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas by James Patterson Page A

don't believe it. Love between two people can last a long time if the people love themselves some and are ready to give love to another person.
I was ready, and so was Matt.
Your father is starting to embarrass me. He is too good to me and makes me so happy. Like today. He did it to me again.
The house was filled with friends and family when I came downstairs this morning, in floppy pink pajamas no less, with a sleepy expression on my face.
I had almost forgotten that today was my birthday. My thirty-sixth.
Matt hadn't. He had made a surprise breakfast . . . and I was surprised, all right. Unbelievably surprised.
“Matt?” I said, laughing, embarrassed, wrapping my arms around my wrinkled pajamas. “I'm going to murder you.”
He weaved through the people crowded into the kitchen. He was holding a glass of orange juice for me and wearing a silly grin. “You're all witnesses. You heard my wife. She looks kind of harmless and sweet, but she's a killer. Happy birthday, Suzanne.”
Grandma Jean handed me her present, and she insisted I open it then and there. Inside was a beautiful blue silk robe, which I put on to hide my flannels. I gave Jean a big hug for bringing the perfect gift.
“The grub is hot, pretty good, and it's ready!” Matt yelled, and everyone moved toward the groaning table, which was filled with eggs, several varieties of breakfast meats, sweet rolls, Jean's homemade babka, plenty of hot coffee.
After everyone had their fill of the sumptuous breakfast--and, yes, birthday cake--they filed from the house and left us alone. Matt and I collapsed onto the big, comfy couch in the living room.
“So, how does it feel, Suzie? Another birthday?”
I couldn't help smiling. “You know how most people dread a birthday. They think, Oh God, people will start looking at me like I'm old. Well, I feel the exact opposite. I feel that every day is an extraordinary gift. Just to be here, and especially to be with you. Thanks for the birthday party. I love you.”
Then Matt knew just the right thing to do. First, he leaned in and gave me the sweetest kiss on the lips. Then he carried me upstairs to our room, where we spent the rest of my birthday morning and, I must admit, most of my birthday afternoon.
Dear Nicky,

I am still a little shaky as I write about what happened a few weeks ago.
A local construction worker was rushed into the ER about eleven in the morning. Matt knew him and his family. The worker had fallen eighteen feet from a ladder and had suffered trauma to his head. Since I had previously been the attending physician on out-of-control nights at Mass. General, I had seen my share of trauma. I had the emergency room functioning on all cylinders, full tilt, snapping orders and directives.
The man's name was John Macdowell, thirty years old, married, with four kids. The MRI showed an epidermal hematoma. The pressure on his brain had to be alleviated immediately. Here was a young man, so close to dying, I thought. I didn't want to lose this young father.
I worked as hard as I have since I was in Boston.
It took nearly three hours to stabilize his condition. We almost lost him. He went into cardiac arrest. Finally, I knew we had him back. I wanted to kiss John Macdowell, just for being alive.
His wife came in with their children. She was weak with fear and couldn't stop tearing up every time she tried to speak. Her name was Meg, and she was carrying an infant boy. The poor young woman looked as if she were carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. She probably felt that she was on this particular day.
I ordered a mild sedative for Mrs. Macdowell and sat with her until she could gather herself. The kids were obviously scared, too.
I took the second smallest, two years old, into my lap and gently stroked her hair. “Daddy is going to be okay,” I said to the little girl.
The mother looked on, letting my words seep in. This was meant for her even more than for the children.
“He just fell down. Like you