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impossible. Brilliant, yes. But impossible.”
Ellen’s eyes clouded. “If he can save Alex, I don’t care how impossible he is.”
“Of course you don’t, darling,” Valerie assured her. “None of us does. Besides, maybe he’s changed over the last twenty years. My God, if I had any brains, I’d marry him! This is some place, isn’t it? Is it all his?”
“Val,” Ellen interrupted. “You can slow down. You don’t have to distract us—we’re going to get through this.”
Valerie’s bright smile faded, and she sat down abruptly, reaching into her purse and pulling out a handkerchief. She sniffled, wiped her eyes, then determinedly put the handkerchief away. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that the thought of anything happening to Alex … Oh, Ellen, I’m just so sorry about all of this. Is there anything I can do?”
Ellen shook her head. “Nothing. Just stay with me, Val. Having you and Marty Lewis and Carol here is going to be the most important thing.” To know that her friends would be here to support her, to try to comfort her, would help.
The longest day of her life had just begun.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When the lounge door opened just after ten-thirty that evening, neither Ellen nor Marsh paid much attention. People had been in and out all day, some staying only a few minutes, others remaining for an hour or two. But now only her closest friends were still there: the Cochrans, Marty Lewis, and Valerie Benson. Only Cynthia Evans had not come.
Slowly she realized that someone was standing in front of her, had spoken to her. She looked up into the face of a stranger.
“Mrs. Lonsdale? I’m Susan Parker—the night person. Dr. Torres wants to see you and your husband in his office.”
Ellen glanced at Marsh, who was already on his feet, his hand extended to her. Suddenly she felt disoriented—she’d thought it was going to take until midnight. Unless … She closed her mind to the thought that Alex must, at last, have died. “It’s over?” she managed. “He’s finished?”
Then she was in Torres’s office, and the doctor was gazing at her from the chair behind his desk. He stood up, and came around to offer her his hand. “Hello, Ellen,” he said quietly.
Her first fleeting thought was that he was even more handsome than she’d remembered him. Hesitantly she took his hand and squeezed it briefly, then, still clutching his hand, she gazed into his eyes. “Alex,” she whispered. “Is he—?”
“He’s alive,” Torres said, his voice reflecting the exhaustion he was feeling, while his eyes revealed his triumph. “He’s out of the O.R., and he’s off the respirator. He’s breathing by himself, and his pulse is strong.”
Ellen’s legs buckled, and Marsh eased her into a chair. “Is he awake?” she heard her husband ask. When Torres’s head shook negatively, her heart sank.
“But it doesn’t mean much,” Torres said. “The soonest we want him to wake up is tomorrow morning.”
“Then you don’t know if the operation is a success.” Marsh Lonsdale’s voice was flat.
Again Torres shook his head, and rubbed his eyes with his fists. “We’ll know tomorrow morning, when—if—he wakes up. But things look good.” He offered them a twisted smile. “Coming from me, that’s something. You know what I consider success and what I consider failure. And I can tell you right now that if Alex dies in the next week, it won’t be from his brain problems. It will be from complications—pneumonia, some kind of viral infection, that sort of thing. I intend to see that that doesn’t happen.”
“Can … can we see him?” Ellen asked.
Torres nodded. “But only for a minute, and only through the window. For the time being, I don’t want anyone in that room except members of my staff.” Marsh seemed about to say something, but Torres ignored him. “I’m sorry, but that includes you. What you can do is take a look at him—Susan will take you over there—and then go home and get some sleep. Tomorrow morning’s going to tell the tale, and I want you to be here. If he wakes up, I’m going to want to try to determine if he can recognize people.”
“Us,” Ellen breathed.
“Exactly.” Torres stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going up to bed.”
Ellen struggled to her feet, and reached out to grasp Torres’s hand once again. “Thank you, Raymond,” she whispered. “I … I don’t know what to say. I didn’t believe … I couldn’t—”
Torres abruptly withdrew his hand from hers. “Don’t thank me, Ellen,” he said. “Not