He returned with two warm blankets and a clipboard. "I need to ask you a few questions. Do you remember what you were doing when your headache started this morning?"

"Yes. I-I was in my kitchen baking cookies."

"So you had no intense physical activity? Just a normal morning?"

"Yes." She watched as he jotted down notes.

"Is there any possibility you could be pregnant?"

"I don't think so."

"Are you allergic to any medicines?"

"No."

He finished his note taking, then laid the clipboard on a nearby table and picked up a needle. "Have you had a CT scan before?"

"No." She shook her head, rousing the pain.

He thumped her left forearm. "Okay, you're going to feel a little stick."

She closed her eyes when he inserted the tip of the hypodermic needle into a vein. Seconds later the sensation of heat scurried up her arm. It dissipated when it reached her shoulder.

"You should be feeling a little warmth. It's a benign dye we need to view the arteries in your neck and head." He laid a heavy quilt across her midsection. "As a precaution against the radiation, I'm covering you with a lead blanket."

The weight of the blanket heightened Beth's awareness of breathing. Or trying to breathe. Everything she had once taken for granted seemed now to be in question. Would she live or die? And would she ever see Josh's face again?

Dear God, please bring my husband home to me.

Within seconds the platform underneath her began to move.

"Try to relax," the technician spoke from behind a glass booth. "After we're finished, the doctor can give you something for pain relief. Now I need you to lie very still. On the count of three, breathe, exhale, and hold. One . . . two . . . three."

The giant metal ring encircling her head began to rotate.

"Good. Now breathe and relax. Let's try it again."

The whir of the machine reminded Beth of airplane landing gear being lowered, the memory taking her mind momentarily off the pain. Her thoughts took her back a year and a half. She and Josh were on their honeymoon, flying toward Jamaica and . . .

"Mrs. Harrison, are you awake?"

"Yes-s-s." Beth bit her lip.

"I'm Dr. Abrams. I've given you something for pain. You may drift in and out for a while."

She stared at the stranger dressed in white, not quite comprehending his words.

"We've completed your CT scan and located the source of your problem. I believe you have suffered a spontaneous dissection in the left carotid artery."

Beth searched his face for better understanding.

"This is a serious condition. I want to schedule another test to confirm it."

She tried to sit up. "M-my husband is coming home today. Is he here?"

The doctor gently pushed her back down. "I'm sure you'll see him soon. First, I need you to tell me about your headache. Do you still have pain?"

"Yes." She raised her left hand to her head.

"On a scale of one to ten, how bad would you say it is?"

"It's the worst headache I've ever had in my life. A ten."

"We're doing our best to make you comfortable. Relax as much as you can. That will help."

"Josh? Where are you?" Alex asked.

"We're pulling up to the hospital now. Where can I meet you?"

"I'm on the sixth floor. Beth is in a room."

"I'll meet you at the sixth-floor elevators." He snapped his phone shut and hit the button on the outside air lock doors. The bus was still rolling as he leaped to the parking lot. His knees buckled when his Nikes hit the pavement, but he managed to stay upright.

When had he eaten last?

He sprinted into the lobby and pushed the elevator button twice. Seconds later, the doors opened to an empty lift. He stepped inside, jabbed at the faded number 6, and waited for the metal room to ascend. His heart poked at the wall of his chest, and his pulse quickened.

When the doors opened to the sixth floor, Josh breathed a sigh of relief to see Alex waiting for him. She was still wearing her church clothes. Her red hair fell in tired ringlets around her face. But just seeing her encouraged him.

His relief dissolved quickly when he realized they were standing in the lobby of the critical care unit.

"How's she doing? Can I see her?"

"I don't know. They won't let me go in, but maybe you can." She pointed toward the waiting area. "There's an attendant over there. Let's ask."

They hurried to the desk and explained the situation.

Josh paced the floor while the woman made a phone call.

"Mr. Harrison, you can see your wife now. Her room is down the hall, past the elevators. Take a right, and then a left."

Josh waved a thank-you to the receptionist and then turned toward the hallway. "I'll be back," he said to Alex.

He followed the corridor signs to the nurses' station and asked for Beth's room number. "I'm her husband," he said, his voice sounding thin.

While the nurse scrolled through records on a computer screen, a middle-aged man wearing a white coat and a stethoscope took note of him. The doctor closed a file and stepped around the huge square desk. He extended his right hand.

"I'm Ben Abrams, your wife's physician. I'm on my way to her room now. Why don't you join me?"

"How is she?" Josh walked beside the doctor down a nondescript hallway.

"Your wife is a very sick woman. I would not ordinarily allow family to visit so soon. However, I understand she hasn't seen you in six weeks." The doctor stopped in front of Room 607.

"Thank you."

"Please keep your visit upbeat and relaxed. Stress, or even excitement, could cause her to have a stroke-or worse."

Josh nodded.

"Let me be frank with you. Your wife should be dead right now. For whatever reason, she has managed to survive. She is still in grave danger." He opened the door and stepped inside.

Josh followed.

"Bethany, I have a surprise visitor for you." Dr. Abrams crossed the small room. "Please don't overdo your welcome. I think he will understand if you don't get up."

Beth began to cry when she saw Josh. "You're here!" she said.

Seeing her like this almost took him to his knees. His wife was surrounded by machines and immersed in wires. But thank God she was alive.

He rushed to her bedside, brushed her hair from her face, and kissed her on the forehead. Then, encircling her unfettered hand with his, he pulled her close to him.

Three days later, while waiting for Beth to return from another procedure, Josh fumbled through the cable television channels. His wife had been transferred from critical care into a private room yesterday, a reason for celebration. He was also relieved to have a quiet place to wait. He had done a lot of waiting since arriving at the hospital three days ago. Scheduled tests and the task of keeping up with doctor visits had taken priority over personal needs. Finally, prompted by a growling stomach, he decided to get something to eat while he had the opportunity.

The hospital cafeteria was located on the first floor near the main elevators. Although nutritionally adequate, the food tasted like cardboard. Josh walked to the dessert display and reached for a slice of cherry pie. Then he remembered the cookies he had stashed in his coat pocket. Beth's chocolate chip pizzazz cookies. He had found them on the kitchen counter after arriving home on his first night in town. They were a sweet reminder of his wife's love.

Guilt and doubt overwhelmed him. Was God nudging him to leave the tour, to stay at home with Beth? Dr. Abrams had said she would need around-the-clock care for a while. Neither he nor Beth had family living close enough to help.

Josh purchased a cheeseburger and carried his tray to a table in the rear of the cafeteria seating area, nodding to a table of familiar faces before taking a seat against the wall. He had made several acquaintances in the short time Beth had been in the hospital, and he had learned their personal stories. Some had family awaiting surgery, while others were recovering. Each person's expression changed daily, depending on the condition of his or her loved one. They were all riding the same emotional roller coaster. Except for a group of giggling student nurses, who sat at the corner table. Life went on for those momentarily unaffected by the temporal nature of this existence.

Josh had eaten half of his sandwich when his cell phone rang. It was Beth.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"In the cafeteria. Can I bring you something?"

"No." Her voice quivered. "Dr. Abrams came in a few minutes ago. He wants to talk to us together."

"I'll be right there."

He quickly disposed of his tray and headed upstairs to her room. Beth greeted him with an odd expression.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. But the look on the doctor's face scared me."

"It's probably nothing." He took a seat on the side of her bed and stroked her dark brown curls. "Most likely some instructions he's afraid you'll forget," he teased.

She smiled. It thrilled him to see her looking more like herself again.

A half hour later, while Beth was eating a light supper brought by the hospital staff, Dr. Abrams appeared. "I'm sorry to interrupt your dinner. Are you having filet or lobster tonight?"

They laughed.

The doctor's face sobered. "I'll get to the point. We've confirmed that you have a three-centimeter dissection of the carotid artery. As you know, this is a serious condition. However, there is a complication that concerns me even more." He exhaled deeply. "Mrs. Harrison, you're pregnant. Test results came back today."

Josh turned to his wife. Her eyes met his, and then she looked away. She refocused her gaze on her hands, which she held clasped tightly in her lap. When her shoulders began to shake, Josh walked to the side of the bed and put his arm around her, the possibilities of all that could be ahead for them swirling in his mind.

They had hoped for children. Perhaps in the next year or two. But not now, and not under such circumstances.

Finally, turning to Dr. Abrams, he broke the silence in the room. "What does this mean for my wife?"

The physician shook his head. "If you value Bethany's life, you must terminate the pregnancy."

4.

May 22, 1969 Isaac Ruben kicked a stone as he shuffled home from the yeshiva. Summer break had begun. Unlike most of his friends, who played softball or spent their afternoons in the library, he helped his grandfather at the flower shop each day.

Grandfather wanted him to learn the business, to make it his life's work and to carry it on for a second generation. But Isaac had other ideas growing in his head. Stripping thorns from roses left his hands swollen and sore, and sweeping the floors was a thankless task.

"Watch what you're doing, eynikl. Can't you do better than that? A lazy person must do a task twice."

"I'm sorry, Zayde. I will do better."

Although he tried, his heart was not in it.

Delivering flowers was the best part of his chores. He would stack three or four bundles in the handlebar basket of his bicycle and set out to explore the periphery of his world. His mind raced faster than his feet could pedal-as free as the wind blowing off the East River.

Sometimes he would sit on the bank of the waterway and look across to the Manhattan skyline, watching the planes take off for places he had never seen. Cities he could only dream about.

Someday he would fly away on one of those big airplanes.

And he would never return.

5.