In a moment of kindness, she reached across the table and put her hand over mine and squeezed.

"Come on, Wes. You're going to be fine. They do this surgery all the time."

I knew this was a stupid thing to say, but I said it anyway. "You know, Leslie, this is going to cut back my sperm production like crazy."

"Excuse me," she said. "Do you really want more kids? You're kidding, right?"

And then we started to laugh, laugh like we had not laughed since college. Leslie had such a great sense of humor. Why did I always tell her it was lame?

"Oh, God! That was good, Les. Can you imagine more of them?"

"Seriously. I look at these families that have five kids or more and I just wonder how much the parents drink."

"If there was ever anything that could drive you to the bottle, five children would do it."

"No kidding. Can you imagine the laundry?"

"And the expense! Whew! I feel better. I do. Thanks. You're funny, you know?"

"Good. Look, why don't you get yourself upstairs to bed," she said. "I'll close up down here."

"You're a gem, Les. Thank you for everything. I'll see you in a bit?"

"Wes, you just go on to bed and go to sleep. You don't need me tossing and turning and kicking you if you snore. I'll stay in the guest room tonight."

And suddenly it hit me. She wasn't coming home to be with me. She was doing this out of some sense of duty, not because she loved me. I'd lost her.

"You're never coming back, are you?" I said.

Quiet hung in the room like something dark and terrible, and I really didn't want to hear her answer.

"Oh, Wes, right now we're going to take care of you. We can talk about us when this is all over."

"Les, if I come through this, there's someone I want us to go and see."

"Let's talk tomorrow."

I realized then that everyone in the house had hugged and kissed her except me, yet it felt awkward for me to touch her.

I stood and put my glass and plate in the sink. "You're probably right," I said. "We can talk about everything later. Please say a prayer for me, Les."

"You know I will, Wes. Now, stop worrying and go get your rest."

"Okay," I said. "Thanks, Les."

"For what? The sandwich?"

"For everything."

She got up and said, "Come on, you old bear, let's have a hug."

I felt so much better. It was awesome and amazing just how much better I felt.

CHAPTER 17.

Les the Nurse I woke up at five and dressed quickly. It wasn't like I'd had the best night's sleep anyway. Every time I rolled over and realized I was back in Atlanta, sleeping in my own guest room no less, I felt my chest tighten with anxiety. For as determined as I was to be kind to Wes and our children, I was completely annoyed with them all. Forgive me if this sounds petty. It wasn't just Wes who dropped his plate and glass in the sink, it was that Charlotte and Bertie too had been leaving their dirty dishes in there all day long. Now, did they not know that the dishwasher was strategically located exactly next to the sink? Just who was supposed to clean it all up? Had they left it for me? Obviously, they had.

Last night on the way upstairs with my bag that neither Wes nor Bertie had bothered to take up for me, I opened the door of the laundry room and immediately wished that I had not. There were wet towels, sheets, and clothes piled up to the sky. Who was supposed to wash, dry, and fold this mountain? Well, since Martha's unfortunate departure, it was waiting for me! Was this to show me how much I was needed?

But it was a new day, and I had other priorities. I'd get Wes through his surgery and then I'd raise hell. I started a pot of coffee and began to empty the loaded dishwasher. As soon as I finished putting everything away, I poured myself a cup of coffee and went upstairs to wake Wes.

"Time to shake a leg, Wes."

"Okay, thanks. How much time do I have?"

"Twenty minutes."

"Okay, I'll meet you in the kitchen."

I went back downstairs, turned off the alarm, and went outside to see if the newspaper had arrived. It had not, so I walked around to my backyard to see how it was doing. It did not appear to have suffered very much from the heat or my neglect. Amazing. I had thought the July heat would have fried it to a crisp, but it looked pretty good. At least our landscaper had not jumped ship. The flowerpots looked a bit dry, and the edges of my hosta were brittle. If I had time I'd get out my shears and clean it all up. Then I thought, Why, this isn't my garden anymore!

I heard the familiar slap of the newspaper as it slid across the bricks of our front walkway, so I went back around front and picked it up. The Wall Street Journal. No Atlanta Journal Constitution except on Sundays.

"Not necessary," Wes used to say. "We don't need two papers. Waste of money."

Okay, Wes, I thought. Why didn't you ever care about what I might enjoy? Truth? I bought the AJC and the New York Times every day for years and threw them away before he got home.

Charlotte had practically avoided me last night, which was fine with me. She probably thought I was permanently angry with her for telling Wes about the picture in the newspaper of Jonathan and me smiling and having dinner. Well, I wasn't happy about that, but that wasn't it, really. I could not have cared less if the entire population of the earth saw it. What bothered me was that in my mind I saw Charlotte riding the prevailing winds, thoughtful to placate her benefactor. With me out of the picture, she'd apparently do anything to ingratiate herself to the one who would provide her with what she needed. A babysitter, a roof over her head, spending money . . . It was a pretty pathetic state of affairs. I was not angry. I was just deeply disappointed in her behavior. Daughters were supposed to stand by their mothers. Charlotte had chosen sides.

And Bertie? What was that smell in his clothes and his hair? Well, I'd fumigate him and then we'd see. It was time to have a serious talk about his future whether he wanted to have that talk or not. Actually, it was long past time to talk to both of them.

I went back inside and there was Wes, pacing the kitchen floor like a two-hundred-pound cat.

"You're ready?" I said.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"Here's the paper. Are the kids coming?"

"Thanks. They said they'd come down around ten. I should be dead by then."

"Wes! Stop! Read the paper to take your mind off this. Now, did you pack a little bag in case they want you to stay over?"

"If they don't kill me, I'm coming home. I hate hospitals."

I paused for a moment, deciding the lemon wasn't worth the squeeze. Either one of the kids or I could always run home and get him a pair of pajamas.

"Okay. We can always take care of that later. Now, are you sure you have your medical insurance cards?"

"Yeah, you want to drive? I'm too nervous."

"No problem. I'd planned to drive you anyway. Just go get in my car and relax. It's all going to be all right, Wes. I promise."

"Okay." He sighed over and over. "Thanks."

Surprisingly, there wasn't much to do to have Wes admitted, or at least it didn't take as long as I thought it would. He gave me his watch and his wallet and stowed the rest of his clothing in one of the lockers they provided for same-day-surgery patients. I stayed with him while he crawled up on a gurney in his skimpy hospital gown, paper shoes, and shower cap. They started his IV, and I felt so sorry for him then. His surgeon came in to say hello and see if Wes was ready to go. Naturally, Wes pretended he was fine and his surgeon looked Wes square in the face and told him not to worry.

"I do a dozen of these a week," Dr. Chen said. "No problem!"

"And I thought it was so rare," Wes said.

"Atlanta's a big town, and, besides, people come to us from all over the Southeast."

"Yep," said the orderly who was there to roll Wes down to the operating room. "Dr. Chen's got the magic touch."

"You ready to go, Mr. Carter?" Dr. Chen said.

"Yeah, in a minute. Hey, Les, come over here. I wanna tell you something."

"What, hon?" I leaned down to him.

He whispered in my ear, "You're a wonderful woman, Leslie. I've been a foolish man not to realize that. I've missed you a lot. Please don't leave me."

Big strong Wesley Carter reduced to a mere mortal by fear. I stepped back a little and brushed his hair away from his forehead.

"Don't worry, Wesley. I'll be right here when you wake up." I squeezed his hand and watched them roll him down the hall.

I knew he was asking me to stay with him for the rest of his life and I wished with all my heart that I could, but I let him think his request wasn't clear. Only Wes would ask something like that in this very dramatic moment. I knew in my heart he was trying to work me.

"The poor thing," I said to no one and went to find a spot where my cell phone would work.

I called Jonathan. "Well, they just took him off to surgery," I said.

"Look, I'm almost one hundred percent sure he's going to be fine, but I'm guessing he's nervous. You're awfully good to be there."

"It's probably a really good thing I am here. The house and the kids were pretty discombobulated. And I think me being here makes it somewhat less frightening for the kids and probably for him too."

"Well, hang in there. When are you coming home?"

I loved that Jonathan called Charleston home or maybe he just meant back to me, which was even better.

"I think I have to stay as long as he needs me."

"That could be forever."

"No," I said. "I'll call you soon."

Then I called Danette.

"So I'm in the cell-phone area down at Emory and they just took Wes in."

"Oh, Lord. How's he doing? I'll bet he's a mess."

"He's a wreck. Nobody's a big shot when you're lying in a hospital bed."

"Boy, is that ever the truth. But I'd bet the ranch he was glad to see you."

"Yes, he was. You were right. All those years together? I couldn't just leave him to go through this alone."

"I'm sure it's very emotional."

"Yes, it is. You know, I'm here with the kids and Holly, all of us together to see about Wes and I keep worrying that I'm making a huge mistake. Anyway, Bertie's here and I never get to see him. Maybe you could come by?"

"Of course I will and we'll talk! I have to see you, and Lord knows I haven't seen Bertie in ages. Let's see how Wes does. Call me when he's out, okay?"

"Will do. He's going to be fine. So can you give me Harold's cell? And Paolo's? Wes wanted me to call them to remind them that he's going under the knife this morning."

"Oh dear! High drama, huh?"

"Men make terrible patients. Big babies. We both know that. I'll call them as soon as he's in recovery."

She gave me their numbers, and I promised to call her back too.

"If you want me to come sit with you, all you have to do is squeak," she said. "I feel terrible not to be with you especially if you're feeling, you know, uncertain about things."

"Oh, thanks, babe, I'm okay. It's just hard. He should be out of recovery by noon or one, I'd think."

I settled down with a magazine and began thumbing the pages. An hour or so passed. My cell rang. It was Bertie.

"Hi, Mom. We're on the way, and we wondered if we could bring you anything?"

Really? They must've sensed my discontent when they saw the sparkling clean kitchen.

"I'll have whatever y'all are having. Thanks, son. Dad just went into surgery."

"Okay, good to know. See you in a few."

About twenty minutes later, Charlotte and Bertie arrived with Holly in tow. They'd brought bagels and cream cheese, still warm. And hot coffee.

"Well, this is nice," I said as I lifted Holly right up and onto my lap. She weighed considerably more than she had in May. And she was taller. "I think you've grown!" I said to her.