Free Waking Up in Dixie by Haywood Smith

death?”
    “Whoa,” he said, deftly evading the majority of her blows. “I didn’t intend to scare you, just surprise you. I swear.”
    “You know what’s paved with good intentions,” she shouted. He tried to put his arm around her, but she didn’t let him, stomping toward Houston’s. “Leave me alone. I mean it! Scram.”
    “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. Really.” He came up beside her, maintaining a respectful distance. “At least let me buy you dinner to make up for it. I promise, I’ll behave.”
    After that juvenile stunt, Elizabeth wasn’t in the mood for male company, period. “Just go home, P.J. I’m tired, and I’m hungry, and I didn’t need this. Go home.”
    P.J. reached over and drew her close to his side, his touch gentle but insistent, and his tone convincing when he said, “Really, Elizabeth, I’m sorry. I was stupid. Insensitive. I never,ever want to scare or hurt you. Please, can you forgive me?” Her posture relented before she could. Taking it as a sign, he cradled her in his arms. “I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t forgive me.”
    Her anger let down, leaving her almost too exhausted to stand on her own. So she put her arm around his waist and leaned on his strength, giving him one last little poke in the stomach. “Okay. But you’ll have to buy me an appetizer and dessert.”
    He stroked her back, his pace matching hers. “Okay. And it’s a small price to pay for your company.”
    It felt so good to be with someone who valued her, even though he’d pulled that stupid stunt. But he was a guy, and guys did things like that. Except Howe. Howe never did anything rash. Maybe things would have been better if he had. “Believe it or not, P.J.,” she said, “it’s really good to see you. I get so lonely sitting by Howe’s bed day after day.”
    P.J. gave her a squeeze. “I’ll always be here for you. Always.”
    To her surprise, Elizabeth took great comfort in that. “Thanks. Let’s eat.”

Chapter 6
     
    Though the new facility worked diligently on Howe’s body to keep his muscles from atrophying, after five months there, Elizabeth finally saw that he was losing ground. Charles, who had managed to graduate with flying colors and pass the bar in spite of everything, helped her summon up the courage to let the doctors try the experimental procedure they’d recommended.
    P.J. had argued for it all along, saying she had to free herself from limbo so she could consider a new life with him. As the months had dragged by with nothing to do but sit beside Howe’s bed and mull over the wreckage of their marriage, the prospect of freedom and a fresh start looked better and better.
    But that wasn’t why she decided to let the doctors experiment on her husband. Deep inside, something still bound her to Howe in a way he hadn’t been bound to her for years. She made the decision for his sake, and the children’s. If there was any hope they could have their father back, she had to take the chance.
    So she was there by her husband’s side the morning of June fifth when the first treatment was administered. She hadn’t told the children, not wanting to disappoint them if the treatment failed. And she certainly hadn’t told Augusta.
    The doctors, residents and interns in tow, set up a camera to record what happened—or didn’t—then warned her for the jillionth time that it often took several treatments to see results, and even then, reactions varied from minor to manic.
    “Just do it,” she said, worn out with second-guessing herself.
    After the injections, Elizabeth took Howe’s hand and settled in to wait and pray.
    The doctors left a resident to monitor Howe’s reaction. Quiet minutes ticked away, then stretched to hours, and nurses came in to change the videotapes, but nothing happened.
    By the time two o’clock rolled by, both the resident and Elizabeth had begun to doze. Leaning forward, she laid her head on Howe’s bed. She was just on the verge of tumbling down