Chapter 15

 Chapter Fifteen:  Love Will Keep Us Alive

Doctor, Doctor Give Me the News

Morning light spills across the bed.  Kimmy stirs first, eyes half open. “Morning, honey-bun,” she murmurs. “You going to Wawa for coffee? See Allan?”

“No,” Mark says.  The word is deliberate. Heavy.  Kimmy’s eyes open fully.

“Baby…” She studies him now — the way he’s sitting, the way his gaze isn’t quite focused. “Mark… what is it?”  Her thoughts race ahead of her words. No… no… it’s nothing. He’s just worried about—about what? He doesn’t look right. Oh no. Please.  “I think,” he says slowly, “you need to drive me to Westside Memorial.”  Tears come instantly, uninvited. She grips his arm. “Oh no, baby. What’s wrong?”  He tries to smile, channeling her steadiness from before. Be brave, he tells himself. Be like Kimmy.

“I’m sure it’s not a big deal,” he says. “But my back… it’s different today. Like I twisted it or something.”  She exhales, just a little. Okay. He wouldn’t want the hospital if it was just a twist.  “I’ll be ready in less than five,” she says, already moving.

The ER room is quiet except for the hum of machines. Mark sits on the bed, legs stretched out. Kimmy stands beside him, holding his hand. Her thumb traces slow circles against his skin while her other hand twists absently in her hair.  The doctor enters with a calm smile.  “Okay,” he says gently. “So… good news and bad news.”  Kimmy’s eyes fill. Mark inhales deeply.

The doctor notices. “It’s okay. We caught it.”

“Caught what?” Kimmy whispers.

“Mark has blood clots in his lungs.”

Mark frowns. “But the pain’s in my lower back. That doesn’t—”

“Let me ask you,” the doctor interrupts kindly. “Do you have a cough? Even a little one?”

“Well… yeah,” Mark says. “But we were in the Swiss mountains, then hours on a plane. I figured it was just a cold.”  The doctor nods. “Those are classic symptoms. When clots settle in the lungs, the pain often presents in the back.”  Kimmy’s breath stutters. Blood clots. Her mind flashes images she can’t stop — hearts, strokes, endings.

She squeezes Mark’s arm. He looks up at her. “I’m okay, baby. Let him finish.”  The doctor glances at the chart. “Blood clots can be dangerous. They can have serious, life-threatening consequences.”  Now Mark takes her hand.  “But,” the doctor continues, “we caught this early. The MRI shows they’re tiny — microscopic. Manageable.”  

They exhale together, shallow and shaky.  “So we wait it out?” Mark asks.

“No,” the doctor says. “We don’t take chances. We’re putting you on blood thinners.”

“And that dissolves them?” Kimmy asks.

“Well… not exactly,” he says honestly. “It will probably prevent them from growing and probably keep things at bay.”

Mark nods, already shifting into planning mode. “Side effects?”

“Yes,” the doctor says. “Any cut or scrape — bleeding will take longer to stop.”  Kimmy steels herself. Be brave. Be here.

“The bigger concern,” the doctor adds, “is a serious accident. Internal injuries while on these meds can be very difficult to control.”  Kimmy’s hand flies to her mouth.

“Well,” Mark says, forcing a nervous chuckle, “guess I’ll avoid serious accidents.”

“It’s not funny,” Kimmy whispers.  He squeezes her hand.

“So,” Mark says, sitting straighter, “meds, be careful, life mostly as usual.”

“Yes,” the doctor says. “One last thing. There will be moments when you feel chest sensations. Many patients think they’re having a heart attack.”

Kimmy’s eyes mist again.  “But it’s not,” Mark clarifies.

“Correct,” the doctor says. “It’s normal. Difficult at first — but normal. Call me if anything changes.”

“Thanks, doc,” Mark says. “You’re a lifesaver. Literally.”  Driving home, the countryside rolls past. Mark watches quietly until he hears a sniffle.  Kimmy wipes at a tear.

“I’m okay,” he says softly, covering her hand with his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I couldn’t—” she starts, voice breaking. “When he said blood clots… my whole life flashed in front of me. I didn’t know what I’d—”

“But you won’t have to,” Mark says gently. “I’m right here. Good as ever.”  She turns toward him, a sad, relieved smile through tears.

“Now,” he adds lightly, “let’s go home, have lunch, and start looking at our Ohio trip for Alumni Weekend.”

She lets out a shaky laugh. “Oh my God, Mister… we just got home.”  He smiles.

Baby Be Mine

Fall had arrived without asking permission. The kind that slips in quietly overnight and announces itself by color alone. Mark stood on the back porch with his coffee cooling beside him, watching the maple at the edge of the yard turn shades of amber and fire. The air smelled faintly of damp leaves and something sweeter—wood smoke drifting in from somewhere down the street. It never got old.  Behind him, the screen door opened. He heard the soft scrape of sneakers, then the unmistakable scent of bacon hitting hot metal.

“Hey, baby,” Kimmy called from inside, cheerful, moving fast the way she always did in the mornings. “Before I head to pickleball, want me to make you some bacon and eggs? You should eat something.”

“That’d be great,” he answered easily, still staring at the trees like they might change again if he blinked.  A minute later she stepped out onto the porch, plate in hand, dressed in a pale yellow jumper that matched the leaves better than she probably realized. She set the plate down beside him and leaned against the railing, close enough that her arm brushed his.  She followed his gaze for a moment, then smiled. “Pretty, huh?”

“Every year,” he said. “Still surprises me.”  She glanced back toward the house. “Oh—hey. I was thinking. Do you want me to ask Sally and Allan if they want to come to Ohio with us? For Miami?”  The word came out before he shaped it.

“No.”

The air shifted.  Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just enough.  Kimmy didn’t say anything right away. He felt it more than he saw it—the pause, the recalibration. When he finally turned, she was already moving back toward the kitchen, the brightness dimmed just a notch.  “No,” she repeated, flat. “Just… no?”

Uh oh, he thought.  She stopped, turned, crossed her arms. The smile was gone. “Breakfast is on the counter,” she said, cool and clipped. “I’m heading out.”  Before he could fix it—before the apology or the clarification could find its way to his mouth—the door closed behind her.  He stood there for a long moment, the bacon cooling, the leaves suddenly less interesting.

Not smart, he told himself. Why don’t you think first?  He walked inside, past the plate, past the coffee, opened his laptop, closed it again. Pacing.  

It’s my weekend… I mean our weekend.

She’d asked, not assumed.

She’d said want me to ask, not we should.

He stopped by the counter, staring at the eggs like they might offer guidance.  It was a Christmas gift. For me. For us.  He exhaled, rubbed the back of his neck. A quieter thought slipped in, unwelcome but honest.  But it’s not just about what you want anymore.  Two hours passed slower than they should have. When he finally heard the door open, his heart picked up speed like it always did when he knew something mattered.

Okay, he thought. Be the better person. You’ve got this.

Kimmy came in, dropping her bag, easing the brace off her knee with practiced care. She looked tired. Focused.  At the exact same moment, they both spoke.

“I was thinking—”  They stopped. Looked at each other.  He smiled. She half-smiled.

“You go,” he said quickly.

“No,” she replied. “I want to hear what you were going to say.”

She stood still now, arms folded, face neutral. Not angry. Not soft. A look he didn’t recognize.  I do not know this look, he thought. Is this a good look? No. This is a you-better-have-something look.  He swallowed. “Um… I was thinking that if you want to invite Allan and Sally, maybe that’s not such a bad idea.”

Nothing.  Really? he scolded himself. ‘Not such a bad idea’? That’s your pitch?

“Sooo…” he added weakly.

She stepped closer, rested her hand on the table, tracing a slow, deliberate circle with her finger. Then another. He braced himself.  Finally, she looked up. A sly smile crept in.

“Whew,” he thought. Dodged it.

Then she said, “Let me tell you something.”

Nope. Didn’t dodge it.

“I was on fire at pickleball today,” she continued, animated now. “Absolutely on fire. First game I skunked Sally. Smashing the ball everywhere.”  “Okay,” he said carefully. “Proud of you, baby.”  “And then it hit me,” she said. “Everything we planned. I could see it. You. Me. In our Miami polos. Just the two of us acting like college kids going steady.”  She stepped into him, arms sliding up around his neck. “That’s what I want. Just us. I’m sorry for how I acted this morning.”

Relief washed through him. He pulled her close. “No, honey. I should’ve handled it better. I’m really sorry.”  

She kissed his cheek lightly. “Okay. Then we’re good.”

She turned toward the kitchen. “So… what can I do for my hubby for lunch?”

“I was thinking,” he said slowly, “I’d like some… Special K.”

She stopped. Turned. “Cereal? I don’t think we have—”

Then she saw his eyebrow.

“Oh,” she said softly. A grin spread. “Ooooh.”  She took his hand, laughter bubbling up as she pulled him down the hall.  “I’m sure that can be arranged,” she said.  And the house, full of fall light and quiet understanding, closed gently around them.

Who Loves You, Baby

The flight into Cincinnati was smooth, the kind that makes you forget you were ever in the air at all. As the wheels touched down, the world below them unfolded in shades of copper and gold, the Ohio countryside dressed in its best fall colors. Kimmy pressed her forehead to the window, smiling.

“Look at that,” she murmured.

Mark watched her more than the view. “Just wait,” he said. “It gets better.”

The drive to Oxford took them through rolling farmland and sleepy towns, the road narrowing as it climbed. Then, as they crested the hill on Route 73, the campus appeared—red brick buildings, white columns, symmetry and tradition rising out of the trees like something imagined before it was built.

Kimmy sucked in a breath. “Oh my…”

Mark smiled, a familiar warmth settling in his chest. “Welcome to Miami.”

They pulled up to the bed-and-breakfast just a few blocks from campus, a stately old house with creaky floors and wide windows. As soon as the door closed behind them, Kimmy dropped her bag in the middle of the room, spun in a slow circle with her arms stretched wide, and laughed.

“Wheeeee!” she cried. “We’re two college kids in a dorm room, going to have the best weekend ever!”

She leapt into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist. He caught her easily, laughing, holding her close.  This, he thought, is the girl I dreamed about back then.  They changed into sweaters and jeans, the late fall air crisp enough to wake every sense, and headed toward downtown. The massive water tower loomed over Oxford like a sentinel as they wandered into the cluster of small shops and restaurants.  Inside the bookstore, Kimmy bounced from rack to rack, holding things up. “How about this?”

“Ooooh, this one’s cute!”  Then she reached for a RedHawks sweatshirt.  Mark gently pulled her aside, suddenly serious. “Okay. Lesson time.”

She blinked. “Uh oh.”

“We were the Miami Redskins when I was here,” he said. “And the tribe actually wanted the name kept. Took pride in it. The administration changed it anyway.”

Kimmy frowned. “That’s… not right.”

“Exactly.” He raised a finger for emphasis. “So in this house, we buy gear that says ‘Miami’ or, if we’re lucky, ‘Miami Redskins.’ No RedHawks.”

She saluted him crisply. “Yes sir. Got it, sir.” Then she kissed his cheek.  Lesson one complete, he thought, smiling.  When the total flashed on the credit card at checkout, Mark groaned inwardly—but the good kind. The kind that comes with happiness you don’t regret. Walking back toward the B&B, Kimmy suddenly stepped in front of him, one hand flat on his chest.  “Okay,” she said. “We’re on your campus. Spill.”

He blinked. “Spill what?”

She wagged a finger. “You know exactly what I mean. The girls. Names. Now.”

He laughed softly. “Honestly, honey… not many. And nothing that lasted.”

She narrowed her eyes, then plopped onto a bench. “Uh uh. Nope. Not buying that. Not moving until I hear a story.”

He sighed. “You asked.”  He told her about almost transferring, about homesickness, about coming back one last time and meeting Amanda—Mandy—from Chillicothe. His voice drifted as the memory surfaced, gentler now.  “Mandy, huh,” Kimmy said, amused. “Go on, mister.”  He explained how it ended quietly, how they stayed in touch, how he searched for her years later.  “Did you love her?” Kimmy asked softly.

Mark considered it. “I don’t know. I thought I did. I couldn’t quite let go for a long time.”

“What changed?”  He took her hands, rested his forehead against hers. Kimmy smiled, understanding without needing the words. They stood, fingers entwined, and walked back together.

Baby Be Mine

The next morning they slipped into their matching Miami polos and wandered campus hand in hand. Mark timed it perfectly, stopping beneath the Beta Bells just as noon struck, the chimes ringing out in layered harmony.  He showed her the North Quad, the arena, the dining hall. Then he pointed up at a dorm.

“Third window from the left,” he said. “That was my room. Three years.”  Kimmy squeezed his arm, picturing a younger Mark, hair longer, books tucked under his arm. She snorted.  “You stop. I can see it.”

“I was cool,” he protested. “We spelled it K-E-W-L.”  They laughed all the way back uptown and ate lunch at the Boar’s Head, dim and noisy and perfect. When Kimmy stood to dance, Mark begged, “Sit down. Everyone’s looking.”

“I don’t care,” she laughed. “I want someone to ask me to dance.”  He gently guided her back to her seat. “If there was a band with an organ, maybe. Not now.”  Then he led her to the brick columns at the edge of campus.  “This,” he announced, “is Slant Walk.”  She waited.

“Bars,” he said, pointing one way. “Dorms,” he said, pointing the other. “After partying, the sidewalk always felt slanted.”  She laughed, nodding.  They passed the library, then crossed the quad to a massive building.  “This is Upham Arch,” Mark said. “English building. Thought I’d be a writer.”

“I can see you at a book signing,” Kimmy teased.

“It’s tradition,” he added. “True Miamians propose here.”

On cue, a couple appeared. The man dropped to one knee. Phones came out.  “Ooooooh,” Kimmy whispered, clutching Mark.  

“Yes!” echoed across the plaza.  “That was so cool,” she said breathlessly.

“Come on,” Mark said. “One last thing.”  He led her through the arch, then stopped. Took both her hands.  “Kimmy—”

She giggled. “Don’t be silly.”

“KIMMY,” he said again, softer now.  She saw it then. The emotion. The meaning.  “Will you be my wife,” he asked, voice thick, “for all of eternity?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “A thousand times yes.”

Cheers erupted behind them.  They kissed beneath the arch as if the whole place had been waiting for them.