More Than Paradise by Jennifer Fulton Read Free Book Online

shaking hands with Dr.
    Winterton.
    “Yes, and you have no idea how I’ve mourned that love seat.”
    Ash grinned, a little surprised that such a busy man would have
    • 40 •

    MORE THAN PARADISE
    remembered their previous banter about the awful peach upholstery with the Cupid pattern. The sofa had been a legacy of his predecessor, whose tastes ran to pastels and sentimentality. Ash glanced around again. The walls were now a quiet shade of dove that looked good with the art and a new chrome and glass desk.
    With a quick look at her bandaged ankle, Dr. Winterton said, “How is the world treating you, Ms. Evans?”
    “With the contempt I deserve,” she answered lightly. “You look rested.”
    “Blame my wife. She Þ nally divorced me.”
    “Hell, I’m sorry.” Ash was startled by this lapse into the personal.
    Normally Dr. Winterton was a closed book. She supposed people who had to hide unhappiness cut loose a little once the charade was over.
    “Don’t be. We’re friends now.” He pinned up the usual diagrams and X-rays, signaling an end to their introductory pleasantries.
    “I got your report,” Ash said. “Thank you for making time to see me during your week off.”
    “There’ve been some developments,” he said. “That’s why I’m here today.”
    Ash’s lungs froze against her heart. “I see.”
    He came to the point by degrees. “Emma’s grand mal seizures have become more frequent and about an hour ago we believe she suffered a stroke. I’m sorry to be telling you this now. We tried your cell phone number as soon as we stabilized her.”
    “I keep it off when I’m driving.” Ash felt dazed. “She’s only twenty-eight. How can she have a stroke?”
    “Unfortunately her brain is not that of an average healthy person her age. As you know, the TBI left her with permanent frontal lobe damage and while we have achieved progress with her cognitive deÞ cits and behavioral issues, we are seeing a deterioration of her physical condition.”
    “You’re saying she’s getting worse, not better?”
    “In some important areas, yes. And the stroke is a serious concern.”
    “What about decompression?” Ash felt embarrassed as soon as she’d asked. It wasn’t like Dr. Winterton and his team were sitting on their hands wondering what to try next and just hanging out for advice from a helicopter pilot. To spare him the need for a diplomatic reply, she said. “Dumb question. I’m sorry.”
    • 41 •

    JENNIFER FULTON
    “There are no dumb questions, Ms. Evans. I’m here to explain Emma’s condition and to talk with you about the options.”
    “So…the deterioration. Does that have to do with the aneurysm from the original injuries?”
    “I don’t think they’re directly related.”
    “Then what’s happening?”
    “Let me Þ rst say this.” He spoke gently. “Neurology is not a perfect science. The brain remains a mystery even to those of us who have devoted a lifetime to its study. In Emma’s case, some things are known, some things we can only guess at.”
    Ash’s eyes ß ooded and she stared down at her hands. She had always envisioned a time when Emma would be well enough to leave the Grove and come live with her. She now had enough money invested that she could hire a full-time nursing team from New Zealand or Australia, semiretire, and work in the tourist sector somewhere like Thailand or Sri Lanka. Pilots were always in demand, especially those who weren’t fussy about the quality of their clientele.
    “We’ve adjusted her medication,” Dr. Winterton said. “But I’m not going to beat around the bush. At this time we can only be cautiously optimistic.”
    “What are you saying?”
    “She may not regain consciousness. And if she has another stroke…”
    Ash tried to clear the fog swirling in her mind so she could interpret the doctor’s face and tone. He was trying to reduce the shock of bad news, circling around the naked truth while he prepared her for it.