The Choice

451/571the speed limit, racing past cars with driverswho were more cautious about the dangersof the weather outside. That was mistakenumber three. Gabby asked him repeatedlyto slow down; more than once, he did as sheasked, only to speed up again as soon as hecould. By the time they reached Goldsboro,still an hour and a half from home, she’d be-come so angry that she’d stopped speaking tohim. She leaned her head back and closedher eyes, refusing to talk, frustrated at theway he was tuning her out. That was mistakenumber four. The accident was next, and it could havebeen avoided had none of the other thingshappened. Had he brought his umbrella orwalked with his friend, he wouldn’t have runto the car in the rain. His feet might havestayed dry. Had he slowed the car, he mighthave been able to control it. Had he respec-ted Gabby’s wishes, they wouldn’t have ar-gued, and she would have been watching

452/571what he intended to do and stopped him be-fore it was too late. Near Newport, there’s a wide, easy bendin the highway intersected by a stoplight. Bythat point in the drive—less than twentyminutes from home—the itch in his feet wasdriving him crazy. His shoes had laces, theknots made tighter by the moisture, and nomatter how hard he tried to push them offhis feet, the toe of one foot would slip fromthe heel of the other. He leaned forward, hiseyes barely above the dash, and reached forone shoe with his hand. Glancing downward,he struggled with the knot and didn’t see thelight turn yellow. The knot wouldn’t come free. When it fi-nally did, he lifted his eyes, but by then itwas already too late. The light had turnedred, and a silver truck was entering the inter-section. Instinctively he hit the brakes, andthe tail began to swerve on the rain-slickedroad. Their car careened out of control. At

453/571the last instant, the wheels caught and theyavoided the truck in the intersection, only tocontinue hurtling through the bend, off thehighway, and toward the pines. The mud was even more slippery, andthere was nothing he could do. He turned thewheel and nothing happened. For an instant,the world seemed to be moving in slow mo-tion. The last thing he remembered before helost consciousness was the sickening soundof shattering glass and twisting metal. Gabby didn’t even have time to scream.Travis brushed a loose strand of hair fromGabby’s face and tucked it behind her ear,listening to his stomach as it gurgled. Ashungry as he was, he couldn’t bear the ideaof eating. His stomach was perpetually knot-ted, and in those rare moments it wasn’t,thoughts of Gabby would come rushing backto fill the void.

454/571 It was an ironic form of punishment, forduring their second year of marriage, Gabbyhad taken it upon herself to teach Travis toeat things other than the bland food he’dlong favored. He supposed it had come aboutbecause she’d grown tired of his restrictivehabits. He should have realized that changeswere coming when she started slipping in theoccasional comment regarding the tastinessof Belgian waffles on Saturday mornings orhow nothing was more satisfying on coldwinter days than a plate of homemade beefstew. Until that point, Travis had been the chefin the family, but little by little she beganedging her way into the kitchen. She boughttwo or three cookbooks, and in the evenings,Travis would watch her as she lay on thecouch, occasionally folding down the cornerof a page. Now and then, she would ask himwhether something sounded particularlygood. She’d read aloud the ingredients of

455/571Cajun jambalaya or veal Marsala, and thoughTravis would say they sounded terrific, thetone of his voice made it obvious that even ifshe prepared these dishes, he probablywouldn’t eat them. But Gabby was nothing if not persistent,and she started making small changes any-way. She prepared butter or cream or winesauces and poured them over her portion ofthe chicken he cooked nearly every night.Her single request was that he at least smellit, and usually he had to admit the aromawas appetizing. Later, she took to leaving asmall amount in the serving bowl, and aftershe’d poured some on her plate, she simplyadded some to his whether he wanted to tryit or not. And little by little, to his own sur-prise, he did. On their third anniversary, Gabby pre-pared a mozzarella-stuffed, Italian-flavoredmeat loaf; in lieu of a gift, she asked him toeat it with her; by their fourth anniversary,

456/571they were sometimes cooking together.Though his breakfast and lunch were as bor-ing as usual and most evenings his dinnerswere still as bland as always, he had to admitthere was something romantic about prepar-ing meals together, and as the years rolledon, they started to do it at least twice a week.Often, Gabby would have a glass of wine, andwhile they cooked, the girls were required tostay in the sunroom, where the prominentfeature was a Berber carpet the color of em-eralds. They called it “green carpet time.”While Gabby and Travis chopped and stirredand conversed quietly about their day, hereveled in the contentment that she hadbrought him. He wondered if he’d ever get the chanceto cook with her again. In the first weeksafter the accident, he’d been almost franticabout making sure the evening nurse had hiscell number handy. After a month, becauseshe was breathing on her own, she was

457/571moved from the ICU to a private room, andhe was certain the change would wake her.But as the days passed with no change at all,his manic energy was replaced by a quiet,gnawing dread that was even worse. Gabbyhad once told him that six weeks was thecutoff—that after that, the odds of wakingfrom a coma dropped dramatically. But stillhe held out hope. He told himself that Gabbywas a mother, Gabby was a fighter, Gabbywas different from all the rest. Six weekscame and went; another two weeks followed.At three months, he knew, most patients whoremained in a coma were moved to a nursinghome for long-term care. That day wastoday, and he was supposed to let the admin-istrator know what he wanted to do. But thatwasn’t the choice he was facing. His choicehad to do with Kenneth and Eleanor Baker,and though he knew he couldn’t blameGabby for bringing them into their lives, hewasn’t ready to think about them just yet.

Eighteen The house they built was the kind ofplace in which Travis could imagine spend-ing the rest of his life. Despite its newness,there was a lived-in quality from the momentthey moved in. He attributed this to the factthat Gabby had worked hard to create ahome that made people feel comfortable assoon as the door was opened. She was the one who oversaw the detailsthat had made the house come alive. WhileTravis conceived the structure in terms ofsquare footage and building materials thatcould survive the salty, humid summers,

459/571Gabby introduced eclectic elements he’d nev-er considered. Once, while in the process ofbuilding, they were driving past a crumblingfarmhouse, long since abandoned, andGabby insisted he pull over. By that point,he’d grown used to her occasional flights offancy. He humored her, and soon they werewalking through what was once a doorway.They stepped across floors carpeted with dirtand tried to ignore the kudzu that wovethrough broken walls and gaping windows.Along the far wall, however, was a fireplace,thick with grime, and Travis rememberedthinking that she’d somehow known it wasthere. She squatted next to the fireplace,running her hand along the sides and be-neath the mantel. “See this? I think it’s hand-painted tile,” she said. “There must be hun-dreds of pieces, maybe more. Can you ima-gine how beautiful it was when it was new?”She reached for his hand. “We should dosomething like this.”

460/571 Little by little, the house took on accentshe’d never before imagined. They didn’t justcopy the style of the fireplace; Gabby foundthe owners, knocked on their door, and con-vinced them to let her purchase the fireplacein its entirety for less than it cost to clean it.She wanted big oak beams and a vaulted, softpine ceiling in the living room, which seemedto match the gabled roofline. The walls wereplaster or brick or covered with colorful tex-tures, some that resembled leather, all ofthem somehow resembling works of art. Shespent long weekends shopping for antiquefurniture and knickknacks, and sometimes itseemed as if the house itself knew what shewas trying to accomplish. When she found aspot in the hardwood floor that creaked, shewalked back and forth, a big grin on her face,to make sure she wasn’t imagining it. Sheloved rugs, the more colorful the pattern thebetter, and they were scattered throughoutthe house with generous abandon.

461/571 She was practical, too. The kitchen, bath-rooms, and bedrooms were airy and brightand sparkly modern, with large windowsframing the gorgeous views. The masterbathroom had a claw-foot tub and a roomy,glass-walled shower. She wanted a big gar-age, with plenty of room for Travis. Guessingthat they’d spend a lot of time on the wrap-around porch, she insisted on a hammockand matching rockers, along with an outdoorgrill and a seating area located in such a waythat during storms, they could sit outsidewithout getting wet. The overall effect wasone in which a person didn’t know whetherhe or she was more comfortable inside orout; the kind of home where someone couldwalk in with muddy shoes and not get introuble. And on their first night in their newhome, as they lay on the canopy bed, Gabbyrolled toward Travis with an expression ofpure contentment, her voice almost a purr:

462/571“This place, with you by my side, is where I’llalways want to be.”The kids had been having problems, even ifhe didn’t mention them to Gabby. Not surprising, of course, but most of thetime, Travis was at a loss as to what to do.Christine had asked him more than oncewhether Mommy was ever going to comehome, and though Travis always assured herthat she would, Christine seemed uncertain,probably because Travis wasn’t sure he be-lieved it himself. Kids were perceptive likethat, and at eight years old, she’d reached anage where she knew the world wasn’t assimple as she’d once imagined it to be. She was a lovely child with bright blueeyes who liked to wear neat bows in her hair.She wanted her room to always appear justso and refused to wear clothes that didn’tmatch. She didn’t throw temper tantrumswhen things weren’t right; instead, she was

463/571the sort of child who organized her toys orpicked a new pair of shoes. But since the ac-cident, she got frustrated easily, and tempertantrums were now the norm. His family,Stephanie included, had recommendedcounseling, and both Christine and Lisa wenttwice a week, but the temper tantrumsseemed to be getting worse. And last night,when Christine went to bed, her room was amess. Lisa, who’d always been small for her age,had hair the same color as Gabby’s and agenerally sunny disposition. She had ablanket she carried with her everywhere, andshe followed Christine around the house likea puppy. She put stickers on all her folders,and her work in school usually came homecovered in stars. Still, for a long time she’dcry herself to sleep. From downstairs, Traviscould hear her weeping on the monitor, andhe’d have to pinch the bridge of his nose tokeep from joining in. On those nights, he

464/571would climb the stairs to the girls’ bed-room—since the accident, another changewas that they wanted to sleep in the sameroom—and Travis would lie beside her,stroking her hair and listening as shewhimpered “I miss Mommy” over and over,the saddest words Travis had ever heard. Al-most too choked up to speak, he wouldsimply say, “I know. I do, too.” He couldn’t begin to take Gabby’s place,and he didn’t try; what that left, however,was a hole where Gabby used to be, anemptiness he didn’t know how to fill. Likemost parents, each of them had carved outfiefdoms of expertise when it came to childcare. Gabby, he knew now, had taken a fargreater share of the responsibility than hehad, and he regretted it now. There were somany things he didn’t know how to do,things that Gabby made seem easy. Littlethings. He could brush the girls’ hair, butwhen it came to braids, he understood the

465/571concept but found them impossible to mas-ter. He didn’t know what kind of yogurt Lisareferred to when she said she wanted “theone with the blue banana.” When coldssettled in, he stood in the aisle of the grocerystore, scanning the shelves of cough syrup,wondering whether to buy grape or cherryflavoring. Christine never wore the clotheshe set out. He’d had no idea that Lisa liked towear sparkly shoes on Fridays. He realizedthat before the accident, he hadn’t evenknown their teachers’ names or where in theschool, exactly, their classrooms werelocated. Christmas had been the worst, for thathad always been Gabby’s favorite holiday.She loved everything about the season: trim-ming the tree, decorating, baking cookies,and even the shopping. It used to amazeTravis that she could retain her humor as shepushed through frenzied crowds in depart-ment stores, but at night, after the girls had

466/571gone to bed, she’d drag out the gifts with agiddy sense of glee, and together they’d wrapthe items she’d purchased. Later, Traviswould hide them in the attic. There was nothing joyous about lastyear’s holiday season. Travis did his best,forcing excitement when none was evident.He tried to do everything Gabby had done,but the effort of maintaining a happy facadewas wearying, especially because neitherChristine nor Lisa made things any easier. Itwasn’t their fault, but for the life of him, hedidn’t know how respond when at the top ofboth their holiday wish lists was the requestfor Mommy to get better. It wasn’t like a newLeapster or a dollhouse could take her place. In the past couple of weeks, things hadimproved. Kind of. Christine still threw hertantrums and Lisa still cried at night, butthey’d adapted to life in the house withouttheir mom. When they walked in the houseafter school, they no longer called for her out

467/571of habit; when they fell and scraped their el-bows, they automatically came to him to finda Band-Aid. In a picture of the family Lisadrew at school, Travis saw only three images;he had to catch his breath before he realizedthere was another horizontal image in thecorner, one that seemed added almost as anafterthought. They didn’t ask about theirmom as much as they used to, and they vis-ited rarely. It was hard for them to go, forthey didn’t know what to say or even how toact. Travis understood that and tried to makeit easier. “Just talk to her,” he would tellthem, and they would try, but their wordswould trail off into nothing when no re-sponse was forthcoming. Usually, when they did visit, Travis hadthem bring things—pretty rocks they’d foundin the garden, leaves they’d laminated,homemade cards decorated with glitter. Buteven gifts were fraught with uncertainty. Lisawould set her gift on Gabby’s stomach and

468/571back away; a moment later, she’d move itcloser to Gabby’s hand. After that, she’d shiftit to the end table. Christine, on the otherhand, would move constantly. She’d sit onthe bed and stand by the window, she’d peerclosely at her mother’s face, and through itall, she’d never say a single word. “What happened at school today?” Travishad asked her the last time she’d come. “I’msure your mom wants to hear all about it.” Instead of answering, Christine turnedtoward him. “Why?” she asked, her tone oneof sad defiance. “You know she can’t hearme.”There was a cafeteria on the ground floor ofthe hospital, and on most days Travis wouldgo there, mainly to hear voices other than hisown. Normally, he arrived around lunch-time, and over the past few weeks, he’d cometo recognize the regulars. Most were employ-ees, but there was an elderly woman who

469/571seemed to be there every time he arrived.Though he’d never spoken to her, he’dlearned from Gretchen that the woman’shusband had already been in the intensivecare unit when Gabby was admitted. So-mething about complications from diabetes,and whenever he saw the woman eating abowl of soup, he thought about her husbandupstairs. It was easy to imagine the worst: apatient hooked up to a dozen machines, end-less rounds of surgery, possible amputation,a man barely hanging on. It wasn’t his busi-ness to ask, and he wasn’t even certain hewanted to know the truth, if only because itfelt as though he couldn’t summon the con-cern he knew he’d need to show. His abilityto empathize, it seemed to him, hadevaporated. Still, he watched her, curious about whathe could learn from her. While the knot inhis stomach never seemed to settle enoughfor him to swallow more than a few bites of

470/571anything, she not only ate her entire meal,but seemed to enjoy it. While he found it im-possible to focus long enough on anythingother than his own needs and his daughters’daily existence, she read novels during lunch,and more than once, he’d seen her laughingquietly at a passage that had amused her.And unlike him, she still maintained an abil-ity to smile, one she offered willingly to thosewho passed her table. Sometimes, in that smile, he thought hecould see a trace of loneliness, even as hechided himself for imagining something thatprobably wasn’t there. He couldn’t help won-dering about her marriage. Because of herage, he assumed they’d celebrated a silver,perhaps even golden, anniversary. Mostlikely there were kids, even if he’d never seenthem. But other than that, he could intuitnothing. He wondered whether they hadbeen happy, for she seemed to be taking herhusband’s illness in stride, while he walked

471/571the corridors of the hospital feeling as if asingle wrong step would send him crumplingto the floor. He wondered, for instance, whether herhusband had ever planted rosebushes forher, something Travis had done for Gabbywhen she’d first become pregnant withChristine. Travis remembered the way shelooked as she sat on the porch, one hand onher belly, and mentioned that the backyardneeded flowers. Staring at her as she said it,Travis could no more have denied her re-quest than breathed underwater, and thoughhis hands were scraped and his fingertipsbloody by the time he finished planting thebushes, roses were blooming on the dayChristine had been born. He’d brought abouquet to the hospital. He wondered whether her husband hadwatched her from the corner of his eye theway Travis watched Gabby when their kidsfrolicked on the swings in the park. He loved

472/571the way Gabby’s expression would light upwith pride. Often, he’d reach for her handand feel like holding it forever. He wondered whether her husband hadfound her beautiful first thing in the morn-ing, with her hair askew, the way Travis didwhen he saw Gabby. Sometimes, despite thestructured chaos always associated withmornings, they would simply lie together ineach other’s arms for a few more minutes, asif drawing strength to face the upcoming day. Travis didn’t know whether his marriagehad been especially blessed or whether allmarriages were like his. All he knew was thatwithout Gabby he was utterly lost, while oth-ers, including the woman in the cafeteria,somehow found the strength to go on. Hedidn’t know whether he should admire thewoman or feel sorry for her. He alwaysturned away before she caught him staring.Behind him, a family wandered in, chatter-ing excitedly and carrying balloons; at the

473/571register, he saw a young man diggingthrough his pockets for change. Travispushed aside his tray, feeling ill. His sand-wich was only half-eaten. He debated wheth-er to bring it with him back to the room butknew he wouldn’t finish it even if he did. Heturned toward the window. The cafeteria overlooked a small greenspace, and he watched the changing worldoutside. Spring would be here soon, and heimagined that tiny buds were beginning toform on the dogwoods. In the past threemonths, he’d seen every kind of weatherfrom this very spot. He’d watched rain andsun and seen winds in excess of fifty miles anhour bend the pine trees in the distance al-most to the point of snapping. Three weeksago, he’d seen hail fall from the sky, only tobe followed minutes later by a spectacularrainbow that seemed to frame the azaleabushes. The colors, so vivid they seemed al-most alive, made him think that nature

474/571sometimes sends us signs, that it’s importantto remember that joy can always follow des-pair. But a moment later, the rainbow hadvanished and the hail returned, and he real-ized that joy was sometimes only an illusion.

Nineteen By midafternoon, the sky was turn-ing cloudy, and it was time for Gabby’s after-noon routine. Though she’d completed theexercises from the morning, and a nursewould come by later in the evening to do an-other workout, he’d asked Gretchen if itwould be okay if he did the same thing in theafternoon as well. “I think she’d like that,” Gretchen hadsaid. She walked him through the process,making sure he understood that everymuscle and every joint needed attention.

476/571While Gretchen and the other nurses alwaysstarted with Gabby’s fingers, Travis startedwith her toes. He lowered the sheet andreached for her foot, flexing her pinkie toe upand down, then again, before moving to thetoe beside it. Travis had come to love doing this forher. The feel of her skin against his own wasenough to rekindle a dozen memories: theway he’d rubbed her feet while she’d beenpregnant, the slow and intoxicating backrubs by candlelight during which she’dseemed to purr, massages on her arm aftershe’d strained it lifting a bag of dog food one-handed. As much as he missed talking toGabby, sometimes he believed that thesimple act of touch was what he missed mostof all. It had taken him over a month beforehe’d asked Gretchen’s permission to helpwith the exercises, and during that time,whenever he’d stroked Gabby’s leg, he’d feltsomehow as if he were taking advantage of

477/571her. It didn’t matter that they were married;what mattered was that it was a one-sidedact on his part, somehow disrespectful to thewoman he adored. But this . . . She needed this. She required this.Without it, her muscles would atrophy, andeven if she woke—when she woke, he quicklycorrected himself—she would find herselfpermanently bedridden. At least, that’s whathe told himself. Deep down, he knew heneeded it as well, if only to feel the heat fromher skin or the gentle pulse of blood in herwrist. It was at such times he felt most cer-tain that she would recover; that her bodywas simply repairing itself. He finished with her toes and moved toher ankles; when that was done, he flexedher knees, bending them both to her chestand then straightening them. Sometimes,while lying on the couch and glancingthrough magazines, Gabby would absently

478/571stretch her leg in exactly the same way. Itwas something a dancer would do, and shemade it look just as graceful. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?” That feels wonderful. Thanks. I was feel-ing a little stiff. He knew he’d imagined her answer, thatGabby hadn’t stirred. But her voice seemedto arise from nowhere whenever he workedwith her like this. Sometimes he wonderedwhether he was going crazy. “How are youdoing?” Bored out of my head, if you want toknow the truth. Thanks for the flowers, bythe way. They’re lovely. Did you get themfrom Frick’s? “Where else?” How are the girls? Tell me the truth thistime. Travis moved to the other knee. “They’reokay. They miss you, though, and it’s hard onthem. Sometimes I don’t know what to do.”

479/571 You’re doing the best you can, right?Isn’t that what we always tell each other? “You’re right.” Then that’s all I expect. And they’ll beokay. They’re tougher than they look. “I know. They take after you.” Travis imagined her looking him over,her expression wary. You look skinny. Too skinny. “I haven’t been eating much.” I’m worried about you. You’ve got totake care of yourself. For the girls. For me. “I’ll always be here for you.” I know. I’m afraid of that, too. Do youremember Kenneth and Eleanor Baker? Travis stopped flexing. “Yes.” Then you know what I’m talking about. He sighed and started again. “Yes.” In his mind, her tone softened. Do youremember when you made us all go camp-ing in the mountains last year? How youpromised that the girls and I would love it?

480/571 He began working on her fingers andarms. “What brought that up?” I think about a lot of things here. Whatelse can I do? Anyway, do you rememberthat when we first got there, we didn’t evenbother to set up camp—just kind of unloadedthe truck—even though we heard thunder inthe distance, because you wanted to show usthe lake? And how we had to walk half amile to get there, and right when wereached the shore, the sky opened up and itjust . . . poured? Water gushing out of thesky like we were standing under a hose. Andby the time we got back to camp, everythingwas soaked through. I was pretty mad atyou and made you take us all to a hotelinstead. “I remember.” I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t havegotten so mad. Even though it was yourfault. “Why is it always my fault?”

481/571 He imagined her winking at him as hegently rolled her neck from side to side. Because you’re such a good sport when Isay it. He bent over and kissed her on theforehead. “I miss you so much.” I miss you, too. His throat clenched a little as he finishedthe exercise routine, knowing Gabby’s voicewould begin to fade away again. He movedhis face closer to hers. “You know you’ve gotto wake up, right? The girls need you. I needyou.” I know. I’m trying. “You’ve got to hurry.” She said nothing, and Travis knew he’dpressed too hard. “I love you, Gabby.” I love you, too. “Can I do anything? Close the blinds?Bring you something from home?”

482/571 Will you sit with me a while longer? I’mvery tired. “Of course.” And hold my hand? He nodded, covering her body with thesheet once more. He sat in the chair by thebed and took her hand, his thumb tracing itslightly. Outside, the pigeon had come back,and beyond it, heavy clouds shifted in thesky, transforming into images from otherworlds. He loved his wife but hated what lifewith her had become, cursing himself foreven thinking this way. He kissed her finger-tips one by one and brought her hand to hischeek. He held it against him, feeling herwarmth and wishing for even the tiniest ofmovements, but when nothing happened, hemoved it away and didn’t even realize thatthe pigeon seemed to be staring at him.Eleanor Baker was a thirty-eight-year-oldhousewife with two boys she adored. Eight

483/571years ago, she’d come into the emergencyroom vomiting and complaining about ablinding pain in the back of her head. Gabby,who was covering a friend’s shift, happenedto be working that day, though she didn’ttreat Eleanor. Eleanor was admitted to thehospital, and Gabby knew nothing about heruntil the following Monday, when she real-ized that Eleanor had been placed in the in-tensive care unit when she didn’t wake up onSunday morning. “Essentially,” one of thenurses said, “she went to sleep and didn’twake up.” Her coma was caused by a severe case ofviral meningitis. Her husband, Kenneth, a history teacherat East Carteret High School who by all ac-counts was a gregarious, friendly guy, spenthis days at the hospital. Over time, Gabbygot to know him; at first it was only a fewniceties here and there, but as time wore on,their conversations grew longer. He adored

484/571his wife and children, and always wore a neatsweater and pressed Dockers when he visitedthe hospital, and he drank Mountain Dew bythe liter. He was a devout Catholic, andGabby often found him praying the rosary byhis wife’s bedside. Their kids were namedMatthew and Mark. Travis knew all this because Gabby spokeabout him after work. Not in the beginning,but later, after they’d become something likefriends. Their conversations were always thesame in that Gabby wondered how he couldcontinue to come in each and every day,what he might be thinking as he sat in si-lence beside his wife. “He seems so sad all the time,” Gabbysaid. “That’s because he is sad. His wife is in acoma.” “But he’s there all the time. What abouthis kids?”

485/571 Weeks turned into months, and EleanorBaker was eventually moved to a nursinghome. Months eventually passed into a year,then another. Thoughts of Eleanor Bakermay have eventually slipped away, if not forthe fact that Kenneth Baker shopped at thesame grocery store as Gabby. They would oc-casionally bump into each other, and alwaysthe conversation would turn to how Eleanorwas doing. There was never any change. But over the years, as they continued torun into each other, Gabby noticed that Ken-neth had changed. “She’s still going,” was theway he began to casually describe her condi-tion. Where there had once been a light inhis eyes when he spoke about Eleanor, therewas now only blankness; where once therewas love, now there seemed to be onlyapathy. His black hair had turned gray with-in a couple of years, and he’d become so thinthat his clothes hung off him.

486/571 In the cereal aisle or frozen food section,Gabby couldn’t seem to avoid him, and hebecame something of a confidant. Heseemed to need her, to tell her what was hap-pening, and in those moments they met,Kenneth mentioned one horrible event afteranother: that he’d lost his job, lost his house,that he couldn’t wait to get all the kids out ofthe house, that the older one had droppedout of high school and the younger one hadbeen arrested again for dealing drugs. Again.That was the word Gabby emphasized whenshe told Travis about it later. She also saidshe was pretty sure he’d been drunk whenshe’d run into him. “I just feel so bad for him,” Gabby said. “I know you do,” Travis said. She grew quiet then. “Sometimes I thinkit might have been easier if his wife had diedinstead.”

487/571Staring out the window, Travis thoughtabout Kenneth and Eleanor Baker. He hadno idea whether Eleanor was still in thenursing home or whether she was still alive.Since the accident, he’d replayed those con-versations in his head nearly every day, re-membering the things Gabby had told him.He wondered whether somehow Eleanor andKenneth Baker had been brought into theirlives for a reason. How many people, afterall, knew anyone who’d been in a coma? Itseemed so . . . fantastic, no more likely thanvisiting an island filled with dinosaurs orwatching an alien spaceship blowing up theEmpire State Building. But Gabby worked in a hospital, and ifthere was some sort of reason for the Bakersto have come into their lives, what was it? Towarn him that he was doomed? That hisdaughters would lose their way? Thosethoughts terrified him, and it was the reasonhe made sure he was waiting when his

488/571daughters came home from school. It wasthe reason he would be taking them to BuschGardens as soon as school let out, and it wasthe reason he let Christine spend the night ather friend’s house. He woke every morningwith the thought that even if they were strug-gling, which was normal, he still insistedthey behave at home and in school, and itwas the reason that when they misbehaved,both of them were sent to their rooms for thenight as punishment. Because those were thethings Gabby would have done. His in-laws sometimes thought he wasbeing too hard on the girls. That wasn’t sur-prising. His mother-in-law, in particular, hadalways been judgmental. While Gabby andher dad could chat on the phone for an hour,conversations with her mother were alwaysclipped. In the beginning, Travis and Gabbyspent the mandatory holidays in Savannahand Gabby always came home stressed; oncetheir daughters were born, Gabby finally told

489/571her parents she wanted to start her own holi-day traditions and that while she would loveto see them, her parents would have to cometo Beaufort. They never did. After the accident, however, her parentschecked into a hotel in Morehead City to beclose to their daughter, and for the firstmonth, the three of them were often inGabby’s room together. While they neversaid they blamed him for the accident, Traviscould feel it in the way they seemed to keeptheir distance. When they spent time withChristine and Lisa, it was always away fromthe house—outings for ice cream orpizza—and they seldom spent more than acouple of minutes inside. In time, they had to go back, and nowthey sometimes came up on weekends. Whenthey did, Travis tried to stay away from thehospital. He told himself that it was becausethey needed time alone with their daughter,and that was partly true. What he didn’t like

490/571to admit was that he also stayed away be-cause they continually, if unintentionally, re-minded him that he was responsible forGabby being in the hospital in the first place.His friends had reacted as he’d expected. Al-lison, Megan, and Liz prepared dinners inshifts for the first six weeks. Over the years,they’d grown close to Gabby, and sometimesit seemed as if Travis had to support them.They would show up with red eyes andforced smiles, holding Tupperware contain-ers filled to the brim with lasagna or casser-oles, side dishes, and desserts of every kind.They always made a special point to mentionthat chicken was always used in place of redmeat, to ensure that Travis would eat it. They were particularly good with thegirls. In the beginning, they often held thegirls as they cried, and Christine grew espe-cially fond of Liz. Liz braided her hair,helped her make beaded bracelets, and

491/571usually spent at least half an hour withChristine, kicking the soccer ball back andforth. Once inside, they would begin to whis-per as soon as Travis left the room. Hewondered what they said to each other.Knowing Liz, he was certain that if she felt itwas something important, she’d tell him, butusually she’d simply say that Christinewanted to talk. Over time, he found himselfsimultaneously thankful for her presenceand envious of her relationship withChristine. Lisa, on the other hand, was closer toMegan. They would color at the kitchen tableor sit beside each other watching television;sometimes Travis would watch Lisa curl herbody against Megan’s in the same way shedid with Gabby. In moments like those, theyalmost looked like mother and daughter, andfor the briefest of moments, Travis wouldfeel as if the family were reunited again.

492/571 Allison, on the other hand, was the onewho made sure the girls understood thateven if they were sad and upset, they still hadresponsibilities. She reminded them to pickup their rooms, helped them with theirhomework, and always prompted them tobring their dishes to the sink. She was gentleabout it, but firm as well, and while hisdaughters sometimes avoided their choreson the nights Allison didn’t come, ithappened less frequently than Travis wouldhave guessed. On a subconscious level, theyseemed to realize they craved structure intheir lives, and Allison was exactly whatthey’d needed. Between them and his mother—who wasthere every afternoon and most week-ends—Travis was seldom alone with hisdaughters in the aftermath of the accident,and they were able to function as parents in away that he simply couldn’t. He’d neededthem to do that for him. It was all he could

493/571do to get out of bed in the morning, and mostof the time, he felt on the verge of crying. Hisguilt hung heavy, and not simply because ofthe accident. He didn’t know what to do orwhere he was supposed to be. When he wasat the hospital, he wished he were at homewith his daughters; when he was at homewith his daughters, he wished he were visit-ing Gabby. Nothing was ever right. But after six weeks of dumping excessfood in the garbage cans, Travis finally toldhis friends that while they were welcome tocontinue visiting, he no longer needed hisdinners prepared. Nor did he want themcoming by every day. By that point, with vis-ions of Kenneth Baker playing in his mind,he knew that he had to take control overwhat was left of his life. He had to becomethe father he once had been, the fatherGabby wanted him to be, and little by little,he did. It wasn’t easy, and while there werestill times when Christine and Lisa seemed to

494/571miss the attention from the others, it wasmore than offset by the attention Travisbegan to show again. It wasn’t as ifeverything had reverted to normal, but now,at the three-month mark, their lives were asnormal as could be expected. In taking re-sponsibility for the care of his daughters,Travis sometimes thought he’d savedhimself. On the downside, since the accident, he’dleft little time for Joe, Matt, and Laird. Whilethey still dropped by occasionally for a beerafter the girls had gone to bed, their conver-sations were stilted. Half the time,everything they said seemed to be . . . wrong,somehow. When they asked about Gabby, hewasn’t in the mood to talk about her. Whenthey tried to talk about something else, Trav-is wondered why they seemed to be avoidingtalking about Gabby. He knew he wasn’t be-ing fair, but while spending time with them,he was always struck by the differences

495/571between their lives and his. Despite theirkindness and patience, despite their sym-pathy, he would find himself thinking that ina little while, Joe would head home to Meganand they’d talk quietly while curled up inbed; when Matt put his hand on hisshoulder, he would wonder whether Liz wasglad that Matt had gone over or whethershe’d needed him to do something at home.His relationship with Laird was exactly thesame, and despite himself, he was often un-accountably angry in their presence. Whilehe was forced to live constantly with the un-thinkable, their concern could be switchedon and off, and for the life of him, hecouldn’t escape his rage at the unfairness ofit all. He wanted what they had and knewthey would never understand his loss, nomatter how hard they tried. He hated himselffor thinking these things and tried to hide hisfury, but he got the sense that his friendsrealized that things had changed, even if they

496/571were uncertain what was really going on.Gradually, their visits became shorter andmore infrequent. He hated himself for that,too, for the wedge he was creating betweenthem, but he didn’t know how to repair it. In quiet moments, he wondered about hisanger toward his friends, while he felt onlygratitude toward their wives. He would sit onthe deck pondering it all, and last week he’dfound himself gazing at the crescent moon,finally accepting what he’d known all along.The difference, he knew, had to do with thefact that Megan, Allison, and Liz focusedtheir support on his daughters, while Joe,Matt, and Laird focused their support onhim. His daughters deserved that. He, however, deserved to be punished.

Twenty Sitting with Gabby, Travis glanced athis watch. It was coming up on half-past two,and normally he would be getting ready tosay good-bye to Gabby so he could be homewhen the girls came back from school.Today, however, Christine was visiting afriend’s house, and Lisa was going to a birth-day party at the aquarium in Pine KnollShores, so neither would be home until justbefore dinner. The fact that his daughtershad plans for today was fortunate, since heneeded to stay longer anyway. Later, he had

498/571to meet with the neurologist and the hospitaladministrator. He knew what the meeting was about,and he had no doubt they’d be in full-sym-pathy mode, complete with moderate, reas-suring tones. The neurologist would tell himthat because there was nothing more thehospital could do for Gabby, she would haveto be transferred to a nursing home. Hewould be assured that since her conditionwas stable, the risk would be minimal andthat a physician would check in on herweekly. Additionally, he would probably betold that the staff who worked in nursinghomes were fully capable of providing thecare she would need daily. If Travis pro-tested, the administrator would probablystep in and note that unless Gabby was in theintensive care unit, their insurance coveredonly a three-month stay in the hospital. Hemight also shrug and mention that since thehospital was meant to serve the local

499/571community, there wasn’t room to keep herlong-term, even if she had once been an em-ployee. There was really nothing else hecould do. Essentially, by teaming up, theywanted to make sure they got their way. What neither of them realized was thatthe decision wasn’t quite that simple.Beneath the surface lurked the reality thatwhile Gabby was in the hospital, it was as-sumed that she would wake up soon, for thiswas where temporary coma patients alwaysstayed. Patients in temporary comas neededphysicians and nurses nearby to quicklymonitor changes that would signify the im-provement they’d known was coming allalong. In a nursing home, it would be as-sumed that Gabby would never wake up.Travis wasn’t ready to accept that, but itseemed as if he weren’t going to be given achoice. But Gabby had a choice, and in the end,his decision wasn’t going to be based on what

500/571either the neurologist or the administratorsaid to him. He would base his decision onwhat he thought Gabby would want. Outside the window, the pigeon wasgone, and he wondered whether it went off tovisit other patients, like a doctor making hisrounds, and if it did, whether the other pa-tients noticed the pigeon the way he did. “Sorry about crying earlier,” Traviswhispered. As he stared at Gabby, hewatched her chest rising and falling withevery breath. “I couldn’t help it.” He was under no illusions he would hearher voice this time. It happened only once aday. “Do you know what I like about you?” heasked. “Aside from pretty much everything?”He forced a smile. “I like the way you arewith Molly. She’s all right, by the way. Herhips haven’t given out, and she still likes tolie in the tall grass whenever she can.Whenever I see her doing that, I think about