In Her Shadow by August McLaughlin Page A

says, then plants himself outside the door.
    Claire enters Grandpa’s room, relieved to feel a normal level of apprehension and concern—no more panic.
    “Hi Grandma.”
    “Hello dear,” Grandma barely mumbles. She sits beside him, her head taking up half of his pillow.
    Claire places her hand on his arm, careful not to look at the IV machine nearby. He doesn’t even look like Grandpa. His wrinkled face has sunken in, as though all of the smiles he’s ever worn have fallen from his spirit and are pulling down on him. But his chest continues to rise and fall. He’s breathing. Focus on that .
    Unsure whether he can hear her, she says what comes to mind: “I’m sorry this happened to you, Gramps... You’d better get well soon. We have more fishing to do.” She smooths his arm with her hand, noting its dryness, then leans down and kisses his forehead.
    She walks around the bed and kneels beside Grandma. “How are you doing? Can I get you anything? Some water or coffee?”
    Without saying a word Grandma pats Claire’s arm with her hand, then rises and walks to the restroom.
    Claire considers the studies she’s read regarding spouses passing away shortly after losing their husbands or wives, presumably the result of grief and depression. She drives the thought away. Grandpa is not going to die . And Grandma will be fine.
    Claire pulls a chair to Grandpa’s bedside, sits down and rests her head on his bedrail. Alone with him for the first time in the hospital, Claire sheds tears. She places her hand on his chest, noting the strong sound of his heartbeat—a sign, she hopes, of stubbornness.
    “I know you’ll wake up when you’re ready, Gramps. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about many things—especially about Mom. Maybe if I opened up more to you, you wouldn’t feel so stressed. Is that what’s happened?” She grabs a tissue from the bedside table and wipes her tears. “I’ve decided that from now on, my birthday will be a celebration of Mom and Dad, not just the anniversary of the accident.”
    She clutches his hand and feels a responsive squeeze. “Grandpa?”
    His body stiffens, his back arches, his face crumples into a grimace. His hand tightens around hers, nearly crushing it. He makes a sound—a guttural yelp without words.
    “Nurse!” she cries.
    The bathroom door opens as his heart machine starts beeping. Grandma gasps. Two nurses and a doctor rush in, pushing past Claire and her grandmother. They stand outside his door, clinging to each other as Grandpa clings to life.
     

Chapter Twenty-Five
     
    Hours later, a tall doctor in his late forties enters the waiting room. Claire and Hank stand while Grandma remains seated. This is it, she thinks, clasping Hank’s arm tighter.
    “Mr. Adolfsson is stable,” the physician says then introduces himself as Dr. Paul Schrieffer.
    “Thank God.” Claire feels the tenseness in her shoulders soften. “What happened?”
    “His heart rate increased, but not to a dangerous level. It lowered back down on its own and seems stable. Did he talk to either of you? Seem responsive in any way?”
    “He squeezed my hand,” Claire says.
    He nods. “He likely regained consciousness briefly, which caused his heart rate to accelerate.”
    “He seemed rather…upset.” She chooses her words carefully, aware of Grandma’s frail presence.
    “When stroke victims awaken they’re often frustrated, particularly when they aren’t able to communicate,” Dr. Schrieffer explains. “Agitation is no cause for concern.”
    Grandpa’s distraught face fills her mind. He seemed far more than agitated.
    “His condition, though serious, is no longer critical. We’ll keep him in the ICU for monitoring. He may be moved to a regular room soon.”
    “So his prognosis is good?” Claire asks.
    “It’s difficult to say for certain, but since we caught the stroke early, we were able to use a plasminogen activator to reduce the clotting. He still has a lot of plaque buildup,