Read Online Angel Falls by Kristin Hannah - Free Book Online Page A

now, turning the cars into white humps. He parked in his spot and reached under the seat for the two things he’d brought, a photo album and a small wrapped box. Without reaching for his coat, he flipped up the flannel collar of his shirt and headed for the hospital.
    The center’s electronically monitored glass doors whooshed open. Inside, a few candy stripers were putting up the first Christmas decorations.
    He paused at the threshold, then forced himself to plunge into the antiseptic environment that used to be as welcoming to him as his own living room, but now brought him instantly to despair.
    He nodded hellos to the familiar faces but never stopped, never slowed. Too many of the doctors and nurses wouldn’t meet Liam’s eyes.
    They no longer believed that Mikaela would wake up … or if she did, they thought, whispering among themselves late at night in the midst of a surprisingly quiet shift, she wouldn’t be
Mikaela
anymore. At best, they imagined a diminished imitation of what she had been, at worst … well, no one wanted to think about the worst possibilities.
    He passed the nurses’ station and waved briefly at Sarah, the head nurse. She smiled back, and in her eyes he saw a hope that mirrored his own. Ragged, a little worn at the edges, but there all the same.
    He paused at the closed door to Mikaela’s room, gathering his strength, then he turned the knob and went inside. The curtains were closed—no matter how often he opened them on his visits, he always found them closed when he returned. He walked past her bed and pulled back the blue fabric.
    At last he turned to his wife. As always the first sight of her was difficult; it simultaneously made him breathe too hard and not at all. She lay as still as deathon the metal-railed bed. A single strand of hair fell across one eye and stuck to her lip. Her chest rose and fell with deceptive regularity; she breathed. The only sign of life. He could see that her hair had been recently washed—it was still a little damp. The nurses took extra care of Mikaela; she’d been one of them. They’d even exchanged the utilitarian, hospital-issue gown for a soft, delicate, hand-sewn version.
    He settled into the chair beside her bed. The hard, vomit-colored plastic had molded to his shape in the past weeks and was now almost comfortable.
    “Heya, Mike,” he said, putting new potpourri in the dish beside her bed. Bayberry this week, to remind her of the passing of time. To let her know that Christmas was on its way.
    Bit by bit, he carried out his daily ritual—the potpourri, the careful placement of one of the kids’ shirts on Mikaela’s chest, the music that seeped softly from the tape player in the corner.
The Eagles’ Greatest Hits
to remind her of high school.
The Phantom of the Opera
to remind her of the time they’d gone to Vancouver to see the show. Even the
Rocky Horror Picture Show
soundtrack … just to make her smile. He did anything and everything he could think of to engage her senses and remind her that life was still here, that
they
were still here, her loving family, waiting for her to open her eyes and join them once again.
    In the corner, the small electric pond he’d placed on a wooden box pumped the music of falling water into the room.
    “Hey, Mike …” He took hold of her foot and began gently manipulating it the way the physical therapists had taught him. When he’d run through all the exercises on both legs, her ankles, and all ten toes, he reached for a bottle of expensive, perfumed body lotion and began smoothing it on her calves.
    Then he set to work on her left hand, starting with the thumb. A careful, precise movement, bend … extend … bend … extend.
    He set his actions to the music of his voice. “It was a quiet day at the office,” he said in a throaty voice, the only kind he seemed able to manage when he was beside her. “Jimmy McCracken came in again, this time with a marble stuck up his nose, and old Mrs. Jacobsen