town. He hadn’t cared much about college or a career.
That was until her father sat him down. He had thought he knew where the conversation was going, and he’d never been more wrong in his life.
“I think you like my Mary,” Harry had told him. “And she likes you. I like you too.”
Tad had smiled.
“We like you,” Harry had added, “because we know the man you could be. I think Mary would give anything to make you that man, Tad.” When he’d blinked, suddenly aware that this conversation was going sideways, Harry leaned forward and looked him right in the eyes. “I like you, Tad,” he’d said again. “And I like to think that if you woke up at forty-five and realized you’d made my daughter miserable because you never lived up to what she knew you could be, you’d hate that.”
Tad had braced for The Talk, the one all the boys his age expected—you hurt my little girl, and—
But all Harry had said was, “The thing is, Tad, Mary can’t ever make you that man. Only you can do that.” He’d clapped Tad on the shoulder and offered him a beer.
It was a story he had waited to tell Justin since he’d first learned he was having a son. He’d had ideas about him coming to him with girl problems, about throwing a football, about glowing reports from teachers and the young man’s ambitions—would he be a doctor? An entrepreneur? A lawyer?
But nothing had turned out like he wanted. The man he’d worked so hard to be had made his wife proud, but it hadn’t been enough of an example for his son.
Mary’s blue eyes were sad. She hadn’t cried yet and had held herself together, on the brink, until now. “You’re blaming yourself,” she said. She could always see what was happening inside his head.
Tad found he couldn’t say anything to that. His voice would break if he did.
“It’s not your fault,” she told him. “It’s hers.” Her voice had changed now. She looked at the bed with the angriest expression he’d ever seen on his wife’s face. Tears rolled down her cheeks at last, but her expression wasn’t one of grief.
It was one of rage.
“Ninety,” she said. Her face twisted at the number. “Ninety miles per hour and—”
He reached out but she didn’t lean into his arms.
“And she’s fine!” She slammed her hand on the arm of the chair. At last, she collapsed, her face in one hand, and rocked slowly. “She’s fine—she’s sleeping, just sleeping, and he’s—”
Tad leaned forward to wrap his arms around her. His eyes were tightly closed and all he could think was that he couldn’t cry because she needed him right now.
“It isn’t fair,” Mary whispered, her words barely coherent around the sobs. “And it’s my fault. I set him up on the date and he never would have met her if I hadn’t.”
He cupped the side of her face and leaned his forehead against hers. “None of this was your fault,” he told her. “Imagine what Father LeMarc would think if he heard you say that.”
She pressed her lips together and took a shuddering breath.
A knock at the door made them draw apart and they both looked at the entrance as it opened to admit a doctor. She was quiet and watchful, her black hair streaked with grey, brown eyes deep-set, and a distinct arch to her nose.
“Mr. and Mrs. Williams.” Her voice was quiet. “I’m Dr. Goli, the attending physician. May I come in?”
“Yes.” Mary wiped her face. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”
“There is no need to apologize.” The doctor crossed the room to them. “I was here when your son came in, and I am happy to say that he stabilized quickly and has remained stable since then. There were two dislocations but no breaks, and there are no signs of internal bleeding.”
They both nodded.
When the doctor hesitated, however, Tad braced himself.
“Unfortunately, your son suffered extensive trauma to the head,” Dr. Goli said. “At this point, his prognosis is not clear.”
Mary grasped his hand harder than he knew she could. “When will you know?” Her voice was level.
The doctor folded her hands around the clipboard. “I wish I could say, Mrs. Williams. Unfortunately, there’s very little we can do for traumatic brain injuries at this stage. The brain sometimes heals itself, but there’s no way to know if it will or how long it will take. It’s entirely possible that your son could wake up tomorrow and be completely