Chapter 13

 Chapter Thirteen:  Everything I Do, I Do For You

Early March arrives like a promise kept. The cold finally loosens its grip, sunlight lingering a little longer, the air softer. At Wawa, Mark and Allan stand with coffee cups warming their hands.  “The girls are so excited,” Allan says, shaking his head with a smile. “First day back on the pickleball courts.”  

Mark laughs. “They’ve been counting down.”

At home, Kimmy is already planning ahead, sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop open.

“Let’s start making a list for Alumni Weekend this afternoon,” she says brightly. “I don’t want to forget anything.”  Mark nods, smiling at her energy.  Kimmy heads off to the courts.  

An hour his phone rings.  The caller ID stops him cold.

Sally.

“That’s odd,” he mutters as he answers. “Sally?”  There’s a pause on the line — not silence, but hesitation.  “It’s Kimmy…” Sally says carefully.  Something inside Mark drops away.

“They’ve taken her to Westside Memorial,” she continues. “She—”

He doesn’t hear the rest.  Mark is out the door before the call ends.

The emergency room smells like antiseptic and fear. When he reaches her room, Kimmy stretches her arms toward him immediately, relief flooding her face. He gathers her into a tight hug, holding on longer than he means to.  The doctor comes in calmly, professionally.  “The MRI doesn’t show anything serious,” he explains. “But we do need to scrape and clean the knee. She’ll stay overnight.”  

Mark sits upright beside her bed all night, never once leaning back.  Home again the next day, Kimmy is quiet — not withdrawn, just tired.  “Let me help you, baby,” Mark says gently.  He fixes lunch and brings it to the bedroom. Ice packs. Pillows adjusted. She eats slowly, then looks up at him and smiles.  “I’m okay,” she says. “Actually… I don’t have much pain at all.”  Mark nods, but doesn’t move far.

When he steps into the living room, his phone rings again.  “This is Mark.”

A pause.

“No, I won’t make it. My wife had surgery. I need to stay home.”  Another pause.  “Two weeks? Yeah… I can do the injection then.”  That evening, Kimmy sits on the sofa, leg elevated, and they watch Traitors. Mark sits close, one arm around her, the familiar comfort of shared silence settling in.  “I’m ready for bed,” she says finally. “I’m wiped. Bring my meds in case I need them.”  He walks with her, then sits beside her in bed, the glow of a hockey game lighting the room as she drifts off.

At 2 a.m., Mark wakes instantly at the sound of crutches.  “I’m okay,” Kimmy whispers when she sees his eyes open. “Bathroom.”  

He waits, listening.  

At 4 a.m., it happens again. The soft scrape of crutches. The bathroom door.  She’s okay, he tells himself, easing back.

Then—

The sound is wrong.

A crutch hits the floor.

Slides.

“Mark,” Kimmy says softly — not scared yet, just confused.  His head snaps up.  “MARK?” Her voice fades.  He’s moving before thought catches up.  Her eyes roll back. Her body goes slack. The crutch clatters against the wall.  Mark is there in two leaps, one arm behind her head, the other pulling her close before she can fall.

“Kimmy… honey?” His voice shakes. He searches her face desperately.  “Please… Kimmy… Kimmy…”  Time stretches into something unbearable.

Then she gasps.  Her eyes fly open.  “What are you doing, baby?” she asks weakly. “Did I faint?”

Mark breaks.  “Oh my God… honey…” He clutches her, tears slipping down his face. “Oh my God…”

“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “I’m just so tired.”  He helps her back to bed, then pulls up a chair and holds her hand, eyes never leaving her face.  An hour passes.  She stirs.  “Mark… I’m so cold.”  Her body starts to shake — uncontrollably.

“Baby… baby, are you okay?” His chest tightens, panic roaring back.

“I’m so tired,” she whispers — and slips back to sleep.  Mark doesn’t hesitate again.  “Enough,” he says aloud, already dialing.  

As the EMTs walk him back to the bedroom, one of them stops suddenly.  “Did she have knee surgery?” the medic asks.  “Yes,” Mark replies, heart pounding.  The medic nods. “Happens all the time. It’s the meds. Does she have an appointment tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Good. She’ll be okay.”

The next morning, the doctor changes her prescription.  “Not uncommon,” he says.  Kimmy insists on starting physical therapy immediately. Mark waits as she goes through orientation, watching her every step like a hawk.  

The next two weeks settle into routine.

Morning PT.

Mark driving.

Mark waiting.

Mark pampering.

One week in, Kimmy hobbles toward the kitchen on one crutch.  “Here,” Mark says quickly. “I’ll do that.”

“I CAN DO IT,” she snaps. “Stop babying me!”  He freezes — then backs off.  Give her room, he tells himself.  Moments later, he hears a pan drop. Silence.  Kimmy hobbles into the bedroom.  Mark makes her lunch anyway and carries it in.

“Thanks,” she says quietly.  He checks on her later. She’s asleep.

That evening, she comes out wearing the shirt, settles beside him on the sofa, quiet, leaning against him.  Give her space, he thinks.

“Are the Panthers playing?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says. “Just starting.”

They watch the first period.  “I’m tired,” she says. “Going to bed.”

“Okay, honey.” A quick kiss.  Give her space.  Then, softly from the bedroom—

“Baby… Mark? Can you come in here?”

She’s crying.  He climbs into bed and wraps her in his arms.  “Need ice?” he asks gently.  “I’m so sorry,” she sobs. “I’ve been such a jerk… and we missed the MU weekend…”  

“Oh, baby,” he whispers. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Hold me.”

“I’ve got you,” he says, pressing her close. “I’ll always have you.”  She falls asleep in his arm.  Mark stares into the dark.  This is my girl, he thinks. Under any and all situations.

Three weeks later, morning light fills the room.  “How are you feeling today, baby?” Mark asks.  Kimmy snuggles closer.  “I feel good.”  He smiles. “Coffee coming up.”  As he starts to move, her hand grips his shirt firmly.

“No,” she says, smiling knowingly. “I feel really good.”  Mark grins. “Oh…”

Later, she sits on the edge of the bed.  “Watch me,” she says. “I can walk to the kitchen.”  He walks beside her, holding her hand, smiling the whole way.  

A month later, Allan and Sally are over for dinner, wine glasses clinking.  They tell the story. How scared they were. How they missed the weekend.  “That had to be so scary…..for both of you,” Sally says.  Kimmy shakes her head gently.  “It was harder on him than me. I was scared… but Mark was great, he had my back.”

She smiles. 😊  “And I think I’ll be back on the courts in a month,” Kimmy adds. “And ready for the trip in two.”  Mark reaches for her hand under the table.

And doesn’t let go.