Chapter Seven
Sleep-deprived, I was up at 4:30. It made no sense to lie in bed with so many things running through my mind. Worrying about Trip was hard enough. The first of the year was looming, and I had one new course to develop, possibly two, depending on which of Dr. Harrisons’ courses I was assigned. Fortunately, three of my classes are repeats from last semester, and reworking the material for the new semester is not as time-consuming as starting from scratch. Getting started this morning will take my mind off my troubles. It was early, and there was plenty of time before I needed to call the Evans.
I shut down my computer at 8:00 and placed the dreaded call to Trip’s parents. Trip’s dad, Clarence, answered the phone.
“Is this a good time to talk, Mr. Evans? It’s Maggie, Trip’s fiancé?”
“Yes, Maggie. What can I help you with?”
“Sorry to call so early, but I have some disturbing news I need to tell you. I didn’t want you to hear an account on a news channel first. Trip was shot during an incident at the hotel last night. I haven’t talked to him yet; the doctor sent me home last evening with instructions to call or return today. I am going to the hospital after I speak to you.
“Maggie, please call me after you see him today, and let me know when we can come to visit him. We will stay as long as Trip needs us. If you need anything or there is something we can do to help you, please let us know.”
I hung up, glad that call was over, reminding myself I needed to prepare for a second call later today. I hate feeling so distrustful. I genuinely hope our relationship improves.
I dressed in my go-to, no-brainer look: a pair of black slacks and a red turtleneck sweater. Pulling my hair into a ponytail, I added a pair of gold hoop earrings. Sliding into my black Sketchers and grabbing my purse and a jacket from the closet, I was on my way to the hospital by 9:00.
Asking for Trip at the front desk, I received a room number in the intensive care unit. I opened the door and peeked in. Trip was sleeping, and a nurse was present. She quietly introduced herself simply as Nancy and said she would summon Doctor Nevins; she knew he wanted to speak to me.
I sat in a chair, staring at Trip, who was connected to a pretty scary IV machine. Dr. Nevins entered the room a few minutes later, and I stood to greet him. Openly studying me before saying, “I realize this must be an awful experience for you, young lady. When Trip arrived at the hospital yesterday, the surgical team determined that Trip’sgunshot wound required immediate surgical intervention, meaning the removal of the bullet. The location of the bullet was a promising sign that there was a likelihood of improved neurological function.”
I asked, “What does the recovery process entail?”
“Trip will be hospitalized for roughly a week and discharged to his home after that. He will receive home rehab therapy to facilitate mobility in his lower extremities, followed by rehab at a local facility if needed.”
Dr. Nevins took my hand, saying, “You must prepare yourself; gunshot victims often need counseling. He was heavily sedated last night because of the pain. I will know more once he wakes up.”
Dr. Nevins asked, “Do you have any questions for me?”
“I can’t think of any right now, Doctor.”
He handed me his card and said, “Don’t
