April stopped outside Tom's room and made a quick self-inspection, smoothing her clothes and running her hands through her hair. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

The room was dark except for a light over the bed. Tom lay under a green coverlet, an I.V. needle in the back of his left hand, the tube snaking up to a drip bag hanging from a metal stand. His eyes were closed and his hair lay flat against his forehead. His lips were parched and slightly parted, and he was breathing raggedly.

A young blonde nurse came in the room and pulled the blinds. It was dark outside and the room light made the window into a mirror. Tiny raindrops spattered against the glass. April sat on the edge of the bed and took Tom's hand in hers, stroking it gently. He opened his eyes and smiled weakly. "Hi ya."

"Hi, sweetie," she said.

Tom tried to move but the pain in his abdomen sent out warning shock waves. Beginning of round fifteen. "Pillow," he croaked.

The nurse held Tom up while April adjusted the pillow. He gasped at the pain, his eyes watering. They eased him back slowly. “Is that better?” asked April.

Tom nodded. “Better. Thanks.”

April noticed the nurse's name tag: JANICE MONROE. The door opened and Dr. Gardener came in. Monroe went over to him. They began talking quietly. April looked back at Tom. “They told me.”

“Good. I asked them to.”

“What are we going to do?”

“What everyone does...deal with it.”

“Oh, Tom.”

“But I want you ask you a favor.”

April nodded. “Anything.”

Tom looked into her eyes, so unlike his own. His were narrow and squinty, sensitive blue eyes. Hers were large, deeply brown, with tiny flecks of gold that he actually counted once as they lay on the beach at San Onofre. He had leaned over her, poised on one arm, his head and shoulders shadowing her face, and counted seventeen flecks in the right iris and forty two in the left. He had said that she was “left-eyed,” which he explained was why she saw the world in her sinister fashion. She reminded him that sinister meant “left-handed” in Latin and so it was he, not she, who was sinister, because he was left-handed. He smiled and kissed her deeply and she tasted the salt on his lips, the smell of the ocean pushed away by her coconut oil tanning oil.

He came back to the present, lying in a hospital bed, hearing the drip of the I.V. “You should go home,” he whispered.

She shook her head vigorously.

“I want you to.”

“I don't care what you want!” she said emphatically.

“But, honey--"

She placed her finger over his lips. He kissed them and nodded. She raised her hand and placed it over her own mouth as tears welled in her eyes.

“I didn't want you to go through this,” he said gently. “It must be hard for you.”

“For me?” she asked. Her nose was red and stuffy now, running a bit. She dug in her pocket for a tissue and blew her nose. “It couldn't be any harder than it is already.”

“Then I guess it makes sense for you to stay,” said Tom. “Like I said.”

“No question.”

“So I guess you will.”

“Got nothing else to do.”

“Slow day?”

“The slowest.” She smiled a little.

“I've got some excitement ahead of me, I think.”

April slapped her thighs, hard. “You can't! I forbid it!”

Tom took a deep breath. “I've been called.”

“Called? How can you say that? What kind of God would `call' you away from your wife and son?” She looked out the window. “Your God is a miserable son of a bitch,” she said evenly.

“Please, April, don't.”

“He is. If he exists at all, he is cruel. A world of suffering people, children murdered, junkies shooting drugs, armies butchering millions...” She took a breath. “...Husbands taken.”
 

“He doesn't cause the suffering, April. Life is a test and suffering is part of it.”

“Through suffering we learn to love. I can't hate God—he gave me you.” He took her hand. She wouldn't meet his gaze. “Even if it was only for a short time.”

April tried to keep her hot tears from falling.

“I don't know why this happened, but I'm willing to go when I'm called home.”

“You are home! You belong here! What will we do without you?”

“God will watch over you, like he always has.”

“Oh, sure,” she said.

“April,” Tom said. “I know you believe you're an atheist—”

”Agnostic,” corrected April. “I'm not saying there is no God, I just don't see any evidence of one.”

Tom sighed. It was getting harder and harder to speak. The drugs were clogging his tongue. He touched her hand.

She looked at her lap. “Sorry.”

“I know you,” he said. “And I know your heart, how good it is. I know that no matter what you think you believe, the power of faith is in you.”

She shook her head. “I wish that were true.”

“Know what I think?” he said. “It's not that people don't believe in God—I think they do. It's just that people don't think God believes in them; they don't think he knows who they are.”

“I don't see any evidence of it.”

“Oh, honey, I do. My love for you is as much a gift from God as this world is. And no matter what you believe, God is mindful of your tears and sorrows. He weeps for your pain. He knows and remembers you.”

April leaned forward and hugged him tightly. “I can't go on without you.”

Tom raised his free arm and hugged her and was rewarded with a blinding vision of red streaks. He struggled for consciousness, whispering in her ear. “If he loves you half as much as I do, he would do anything for you.”

April pulled back. “Then promise me something.”

“Anything.”

April looked at Dr. Gardener and Nurse Monroe, who were talking, their backs turned.

“When you get on the other side—if there is one—and there is a God, promise me you'll come back and tell me.”

Tom blinked. “Come back?”

“If there is a God, then I'm wrong and we won't be together in the end because I'm an unbeliever.”

“Oh, honey—”

”That's what all the religions say. So, if he or she or it or whatever exists, then you must come back and tell me, so I can make some changes.”

“Wow,” said Tom.

“Is it a deal?” said April, holding out her hand.

Tom squeezed it weakly. “Deal.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart...”

“You'll come back?”

“Yes, sweetheart, I promise.”

She leaned forward, cradling his face in her hands. She kissed him tenderly and then put her cheek next to his. He whispered, “He remembers you. Don't ever forget that.”

She nodded, still holding her face to his, blinking back tears, feeling his stubbly beard, smelling faint traces of his shampoo over the mediciny hospital smells. She closed her eyes and gauged his slow rhythmic breathing, feeling his hand at her back, his chest moving slowly up and down. Then something within him eased and his hand fell off her back. His chest settled and didn't rise again. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. They were glazed and dull, open yet empty.

The EKG shrieked, a shrill, continuous tone. Dr. Gardener switched it off. Silence filled the room. April lay across Tom's chest, her arms around his neck. “No, no! Oh, Tom!” she sobbed.

Outside, cold rain struck the window.