Page 45 of Playing for Love

She brought her hand to her mouth as if checking to see that it hadn’t melted. There was nothing I could say to her as my pulse roared in my head. I couldn’t apologize because there wasn’t a sorry bone in my body. After a few beats of intense silence, I walked away, went back to the private dining room cocooning my family and took my seat. Not as if there’d been no seismic shift in my emotional universe, but in spite of it. Because I needed to repair the cracks.

Controlling my breathing, calming my heart and the spike of excitement that Mia always seemed to stir, I forced myself to eat a forkful of homemade ziti. I took three forkfuls in a row so I wouldn’t be expected to talk, before Mia returned to the table.

Mia was about to take her seat, when I saw my mother clutch at her chest and fall back against her chair. She’d just been laughing at something Dad had said—probably something naughty. It took a beat for alarm to register in me, to absorb what I was seeing. I watched as my father caught her, then I jumped up from my seat.

“Mom!”

“Maria, Maria—what’s wrong?” Dad said. Everyone was out of their seats. Mom was on the other side of the table from me and I sprinted around to her. Mia raced with me and I grabbed her hand on the way and squeezed. I calmed from the seizure like panic to heart-racing adrenaline levels. Mia was a nurse. She could help.

Heart pounding out of my chest, we reached Mom’s side. My father held her against him, cradling her. She was awake, struggling to breathe, and I wondered if she’d choked. Mia took over, loosening Dad’s grip on her. Speaking calmly and clearly, she asked some questions. Could she breathe? Did she have chest pains? Could she feel her left arm?

“I can breathe . . . my chest . . . tight.”

Mia nodded and unbuttoned Mom’s blouse. But then Mom’s eyes fluttered close and she passed out. I called nine-one-one for an ambulance though I wasn’t sure what was wrong. Blocking out the commotion, the sobs, the shouts around me, I gave the emergency operator Louie’s address.

In a tight voice, Mia said to me, “She’s had a heart attack. I need to do CPR.” She instructed us to clear the table, which we accomplished quickly, then Dad and I lifted Mom onto the surface. Mia went to work, leaning over her, pressing on her chest and then blowing into her mouth. It seemed like forever, but when I checked my phone, it had only been three minutes until the ambulance arrived because we were down the street from a fire house.

The EMTs rushed in and took over. Dad went with them in the ambulance and I drove everyone else in my Escalade, racing wildly through the streets behind the ambulance, and traveling the relatively short distance to Mass General Hospital.

I couldn’t sit. Pacing around the small waiting area outside the emergency operating room, I kept my eyes on Mia. Or tried to. She’d gone into professional mode and ducked in and out of Authorized Personnel Only doors intermittently, consulted with doctors and nurses, helped Dad with the paperwork, and reassured us all with her soothing voice.

Once, briefly, I’d clutched her hand and she squeezed back, meeting my eyes with depthless concern, kindness, and pain. She was reflecting my own pain, I knew, feeling it for me. She must have been because I could hardly feel a thing except my pounding heart, jumpy nerves, and dry-eyed numbness as my sisters took turns crying in my arms.

Later, finally emerging from the operating room door one more time, Mia came to us with a doctor at her side, the one who’d performed emergency surgery.

“Mr. Wyatt,” Dr. Oki said, “Your wife had a serious myocardial infarction, a heart attack caused by a blockage in her coronary artery, which led to cardiac arrest. We put a stent in to open up the blocked artery. Although she’s stable now, with mild damage and no a-fib, she’ll need to remain hospitalized for a few days. We’ll watch her and take further tests to check for additional blockages and make an assessment for future surgery.”

“What’s her prognosis?” I asked, tensing for the answer but needing to know. It seemed like my entire family held their breath.

“It’s good. She’s relatively young and her heart was strong. With some diet and lifestyle changes, she should do well and live a long, full life.”

I breathed out

My father said, “Thank you so much, doctor, for saving my wife.” There were murmurs of gratitude from everyone. I kept my eyes on Mia.

“I can’t take all the credit. Mia’s quick and expert actions saved your wife before I got to her.”

Watching Mia blush as my father hugged her in thanks, my jaw clenched and the reality of the situation came crashing down on me. Mom almost died. And Mia saved her. After the others were finished with their hugs, drying their tears and allowing smiles of hope to shine, I zeroed in on her.

She came toward me, unsmiling, eyes on mine.

“Can we find a private spot to talk?” She spoke quietly. I nodded, giving her a hug, not trusting my voice.

As Mia led me to a separate space, not too far from the waiting area and her official role, I breathed, deep and long, letting go of some of the fear and anxiety and allowing myself to appreciate the idea that Mom was stable and being cared for now. That she was all right. That she would be all right.

Taking a quick glance at my family, I saw that they were more animated, relieved. Dad was talking with the doctor as my brother Joe stood at his side, my two sisters were on their phones, not happy, but no longer crying. Turning away from them, I faced Mia where she stood against the pale green wall near a water fountain.

“You were great today, amazing,” I said. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough.”

She waved a hand, looking uncomfortable. “I have something to confess to you,” she said. “I know this isn’t the best time.” She paused to gather herself. In spite of my curiosity turning to concern, I waited.

“It’s not about your mother. She’s through the tough part.” Mia put a hand on my arm. “It’s about us,” she said.

My heart picked up on the idea there was an us, but she didn’t look happy, so I held back, cleared my head and nerves of anticipation.

“Something’s been weighing on my mind. I can’t have you thinking I’m some hero or saint or—” She waved a hand around again, flustered.

“What is it? How bad could it be?” I smiled at her, wanting to steal another kiss, wanting a hell of a lot more but knowing all of it was a dead end, unhealthy. Knowing I should let her go.