My Dearest Darling

Chapter 41

Uneasy.

That's how his sleep could be described. Or at least that's the word Mary would use as she watched him lie in the metal bed pushed next to her mother's bedside. He had taken off his suit jacket and tie before lying down, but even so. Sleeping in a suit in that bed could not be comfortable. Least of all with everything troubling him. But that bed was a thousand times better than the chair. Anything was, she had to say, now that she had spent a few hours sitting in it.

Her father kept turning in his sleep, from his side to his back and back to his side again. And yet, in all his tossing and turning, his hand never let go of his wife's, no matter how much he moved around. Mary had, in all the weeks and months that had passed since her grandmother's death and her mother's initial diagnosis, never seen her father like this. Not even on the day of his mother's funeral. He had been dewy-eyed as they watched her be lowered so close to Sybil, but he had been collected nonetheless; they all had been considering the circumstances and the immense loss they had suffered. She had admired him for how well he had seemed to be coping, how he had tried to do everything he could to help their Mama and put his grief aside. It was what gave her the strength to keep going as well. If her father could care for his ill wife when his mother had just passed away, then she could just as well organise a funeral and keep making business decisions in everyone's best interest. But maybe that had not been the whole story.

Mulling these things over again and again, Mary's eyelids began to feel quite heavy after a while, and eventually, she dozed off, too, sitting in her hospital chair with one of the two blankets draped over her that the nurse had brought in earlier.

Her light slumber did not last long, though. Soon, whispers woke her up, almost silent mentions of a name that seemed to linger in the air, waiting to be heard.

Mary opened her eyes, but she could not make out much in the dim light; only the faint glow of the waning moon outside illuminated the room. Her eyes slowly accommodated to the lack of light and she saw her mother move slightly in the bed. She had woken up. Finally.

She should wake her father, shouldn't she?

But even before she could get up and move to wake him, she saw her father stir as well.

"Robert?"

Someone called out his name. Very lightly. Almost inaudible.

"Robert?"

Someone called out his name again. But he did not want to wake up, not when he had finally found sleep what felt like only a few seconds ago. This was surely a dream, what else could it be?

"Robert?"

He felt someone lightly, so very delicately, squeeze his hand. Or was that just part of the dream as well?

"Robert?"

Oh, this must definitely be a dream, a very vivid one at that. The voice sounded so familiar in the way she called out his name, so inimitable. He knew that voice, that lovely, lovely voice. It must be a memory from long ago, a cherished one that his subconscious dug out.

Someone squeezed his hand yet again.

"Robert?"

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and looked over to the other bed, expecting to see his wife still sleeping. He was looking straight into her face that was turned to him, expecting her to lie there still in her deep sleep, her eyelashes fanning out across her cheeks.

But only she wasn't asleep. Her eyes were wide, searching for him in the relative dark of the room.

"Robert?"