“You look like a very sick penguin.”
The nurses in the doorway wiped their eyes on their sleeves.
When the chaplain pronounced us husband and wife, Ben pulled me down gently and pressed his forehead to mine.
“Best day of my life,” he whispered.
“Mine too.”
I didn’t know then that we both meant those words for very different reasons
“Best day of my life,”
Afterwards, people drifted out with quiet congratulations.
Someone brought a grocery store cake.
Ben dozed with my hand in his, and I sat watching the slow rise and fall of his chest.
I was memorizing him the way you memorize a song you’re about to lose.
I finally slipped out to find coffee.
That was when a nurse caught my elbow in the hallway and told me something shocking.
I was memorizing him
She was young, maybe my age, with tired eyes.
She glanced toward Room 407, then back at me, and lowered her voice.
“Don’t tell him I told you this.”
“Told me what?”
“Before you leave tonight,” she whispered, “look under his mattress.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Look under his mattress.”
