“Mr. Grey, it’s difficult to say at the moment. It’s possible he could make a complete recovery, but that’s in God’s hands now.”
“How long will you keep him in a coma?”
“That depends on how his brain responds. Usually seventy-two to ninety-six hours.”
Oh, so long! “Can I see him?” I whisper.
“Yes, you should be able to see him in about half an hour. He’s been taken to the ICU on the sixth floor.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Dr. Crowe nods, turns and leaves us.
“Well, he’s alive,” I whisper to Christian. And the tears start to roll down my face once more.
“Sit down,” Christian orders gently.
“Papa, I think we should go. You need to rest. We won’t know anything for a while,” José murmurs to Mr. Rodriguez who gazes blankly at his son. “We can come back this evening, after you’ve rested. That’s okay, isn’t it, Ana?” José turns, imploring me.
“Of course.”
“Are you staying in Portland?” Christian asks. José nods.
“Do you need a ride home?”
346/551
José frowns. “I was going to order a cab.”
“Luke can take you.”
Sawyer stands, and José looks confused.
“Luke Sawyer,” I murmur in clarification.
“Oh . . . Sure. Yeah, we’d appreciate it. Thanks, Christian.” Standing, I hug Mr. Rodriguez and José in quick succession.
“Stay strong, Ana,” José whispers in my ear. “He’s a fit and healthy man.
The odds are in his favor.”
“I hope so.” I hug him hard. Then, releasing him, I shrug off his jacket hand it back to him.
“Keep it, if you’re still cold.”
“No, I’m okay. Thanks.” Glancing nervously up at Christian, I see that he’s regarding us impassively. Christian takes my hand.
“If there’s any change, I’ll let you know right away,” I say as José pushes his father’s wheelchair toward the door Sawyer is holding open.
Mr. Rodriguez raises his hand, and they pause in the doorway. “He’ll be in my prayers, Ana.” His voice wavers. “It’s been so good to reconnect with him after all these years. He’s become a good friend.”
“I know.”
And with that they leave. Christian and I are alone. He caresses my cheek.
“You’re pale. Come here.” He sits down on the chair and pulls me on to his lap, folding me into his arms again, and I go willingly. I snuggle up against him, feeling oppressed by my stepfather’s misfortune, but grateful that my husband is here to comfort me. He gently strokes my hair and holds my hand.
“How was Charlie Tango?” I ask.
He grins. “Oh, she was yar,” he says, quiet pride in his voice. It makes me smile properly for the first time in several hours, and I glance at him, puzzled.
“Yar?”
“It’s a line from The Philadelphia Story. Grace’s favorite film.”
“I don’t know it.”
“I think I have it on Blu-Ray at home. We can watch it and make out.” He kisses my hair and I smile once more.
“Can I persuade you to eat something?” he asks.
My smile disappears. “Not now. I want to see Ray first.” His shoulders slump, but he doesn’t push me.
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“How were the Taiwanese?”
“Amenable,” he says.
“Amenable how?”
“They let my buy their shipyard for less than the price I was willing to pay.” He’s bought a shipyard? “That’s good?”
“Yes. That’s good.”
“But I thought you had a shipyard, over here.”
“I do. We’re going to use that to do the fitting-out. Build the hulls in the Far East. It’s cheaper.”
Oh. “What about the workforce at the shipyard here?”
“We’ll redeploy. We should be able to keep redundancies to a minimum.” He kisses my hair. “Shall we check on Ray?” he asks, his voice soft.
The ICU on the sixth floor is a stark, sterile, functional ward with whispered voices and bleeping machinery. Four patients are each housed in their own separate hi-tech area. Ray is at the far end.
Daddy.