Free All the Time in the World by Caroline Angell

scrubs, and she points us out. She does not come over to greet Scotty, however; she disappears back through the doors like her tail’s on fire. The man approaches and shakes Scotty’s hand.
    â€œI’m Doctor Russell. Are you Mrs. McLean’s husband?”
    Scotty nods once in a stony, deliberate silence. I want to attribute it to apprehension, but it isn’t a huge stretch to imagine it as a strategy of intimidation. The doctor turns toward me, but I don’t offer my name.
    â€œDo you want me to go sit with the kids?” I ask Scotty.
    â€œI think they’re okay.” Does that mean he wants me to listen? I should have asked that instead. But I assume he would have told me to bug off if that’s what he wanted, and I stay.
    â€œMrs. McLean was hit from the right by a taxi that apparently had no intention of stopping for the red light. She sustained internal injuries, most critically to her liver, and so far, we have been unsuccessful in our attempts to stop the bleeding. She also has several broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and a bit of swelling in the brain. We’ve induced a coma to see if we can stop the swelling from progressing, but she will need to go back into surgery in a few hours to see if we can repair the affected organs.”
    Scotty nods as the doctor speaks, as if he is processing the information appropriately, but I am totally lost. Internal bleeding that they can’t stop? They’re going to let her bleed for a few hours while they wait to see if her brain stops swelling?
    â€œThat sounds like bullshit,” Scotty says, startling both me and the doctor. I’m mostly startled because he has voiced the words in my head, and it’s so surreal that I wonder a little bit if it is actually me who spoke. “I’m sorry, Doctor Russell. It just seems unbelievable to me that you’re going to let her keep bleeding until you see what her brain’s going to do. Doesn’t that sound crazy to you when I say it?”
    The doctor is much gentler than Rosie Ramsay. “I understand how difficult this must be to hear, Mr. McLean, but your wife’s body is not in any condition to withstand another surgery until we can get a handle on her brain.”
    Scotty’s face turns gray. I’ve never seen such a thing before, not ever, not from anyone. “I have two little boys,” he says in a low, steady tone that I would fear if I were in a boardroom with him.
    â€œWe’re doing everything we can for her, sir,” Dr. Russell says. “I’ll send my scrub nurse Rosie out with periodic updates, and I will talk to you whenever I get the chance.”
    â€œThank you,” Scotty says, and Dr. Russell disappears through the same double set of doors that Rosie Ramsay disappeared through earlier. Rosie, the scrub nurse. The mystery is solved.
    I stand and Scotty stands. After a few minutes, Scotty sits down in the nearest chair, slowly, like you would if you were doing some thigh-strengthening exercise at the gym. He rubs his hands over his eyes and leaves them there long enough to make me nervous. It’s not a posture I want the boys to see. But he seems much calmer and of a more normal color when he looks up at me.
    â€œI think I’d better call her parents.”
    â€œOkay,” I say. “Can I help? Phone calls, or anything? Do you want some coffee?”
    â€œWhat’s that you have?” he asks, indicating my half-empty Diet Coke.
    I give it to him. “It’s still cold. You can finish it.”
    â€œGretchen hates it when I drink this shit. I’m surprised she hasn’t broken you of the habit yet.” He finishes my soda in two swallows.
    â€œMany have tried,” I say. “Gretchen equates it to shooting processed poison directly into my veins.”
    â€œShe truly believes that. She’s determined to save you from a life of addiction,” he says.
    â€œI don’t have any of