Malan entered the waiting room alone.

The waiting room was empty. The sound on the TV had been turned down where it was the barest of whispers.

His eyes drifted to the TV mounted in the wall in the far corner of the room. Stories about Lathal's accident were plastered all over the 5 o' clock news.

He angrily shook his head. Couldn't they have been more sensitive? Lathal would have been if she had to report about this situation. Matter of fact, she probably wouldn't have deemed such a story newsworthy. The only reason this TV station had it on was because Lathal was a well known and respected journalist in the community.

He expelled his frustration; his fingers rubbed the slight throbbing in his right temple.

"Malan," a warm, familiar voice called to him.

He turned his head. Paul Lerm and his wife, Jayne, stood there. Their grave expressions indicated they'd heard about Lathal's accident.

"We came as soon as we heard the news," Paul said hugging his former student.

Malan nodded silently. His thoughts were elsewhere ... on the fourth floor, in the operating room where Burchski was surgically inserting a metal rod in his wife's right leg.

"There's nothing you can do, Malan," Paul said. "Let us take you home."

"What for?" Malan said bitterly.

Paul digested Malan's bile. It was understandable for his former student to be upset. His wife was in surgery. She had been in an accident. Malan's life had gone to hell in a hand basket.

"Paul, I'm sorry," he expelled a heavy sigh. "I can't leave until I know Lathal's OK."

Nodding, Paul added supportively. "We'll stay with you then."

*

The lights of the operating room glared brightly. Machines, monitoring Lathal's vital signs, bleeped. A thin metal rod and two screws lie on the sterile steel table that was positioned between the operating table, a nurse and Dr. Burchski.

The nurses finished shaving Lathal's right leg, then handed Dr. Burchski a scalpel. Placing the instrument on Lathal's knee he carefully made an inch long incision.

Burchski gently pulled back the skin near the knee cap. A nurse handed him the nine-inch metal nail. He slowly eased it along the fractured fibilia/tibila in Lathal's leg.

His white sterile gloves picked up the medical screw, placing it through the hole in the metal rod to secure it against the bone. He cleaned the blood on his hands in a steel basin near the operating table, then he made a nickel-sized incision near her ankle. He inserted the last screw, tightening it so the nail braced the bone.

He tightly squeezed the flesh at her knee, stapling the wound closed. He closed the incision at her ankle with invisible, dissolving thread.

Burchski finished the job by wrapping Lathal's leg in flexible badges and adding an air brace for protection and support. Then he sent her to recovery, where they'd keep her under observation for a while before they took her to the ortho ward on the second floor.

He peeled his surgical gloves off and removed his mask and paper skull cap, throwing them in the trash can. As he scrubbed out, he consulted the clock on the wall. The operation had lasted an hour. Not bad, he thought to himself, it was about usual.

He had a few more duties to attend to before leaving for the day. He headed down the corridor toward the waiting room.

**

Malan's fist rested against his head as he leaned against the wall.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw sudden movement and a familiar blur of colors near the waiting room entrance. Dr. Burchski, garbed in his blue scrubs, strode into the room.

Malan looked at him expectantly. "Is she OK?"

"She came through with flying colors," Burchski said with a half crescent smile hanging in the left corner of his lips. "The operation was a complete success."

Malan nodded. He grabbed his black back pack sitting on a plastic chair and moved toward the door.

Burchski blocked his path. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I...," Malan stammered, his eyes conveying his desire to see his wife.

"I'm sorry, Malan," Burchski said. "But you can't see her until tomorrow."

Malan looked crushed. He wanted to determine for himself that Lathal was alright. He didn't want to rely on Burchski's word.

"Those are the house rules, not mine," Burchski said sympathetically. "She's going to be here for a few days, so you might want to bring a few of her things with you when you come to visit her tomorrow."

Malan nodded.

"There's nothing more you can do tonight," Burchski said. "Why don't you go home?"

"Come on, Malan," Paul said, his hand on his former student's shoulder. "We'll take you home."

Malan silently acqueised, following his former professor and his wife out of the waiting room to the parking lot. He climbed into Paul's black BMW.

It was a quiet ride to their house on Stewart Way. Their house was dark and quiet. It felt weird coming home when she wasn't there.

"Malan," Paul said driving up their driveway. "Let us know if you need anything."
"I will," he promised.

"Hang in there, Malan," Jayne said finding his hand and squeezing it. "Tell Lathal we love her and we all want her to get better soon."

"Thanks," he said.

The Lerms didn't leave until he'd unlocked the door and walked inside.

He flipped his wallet on the coffee table and threw his keys on the ledge counter connecting the kitchen and den.

The light on their answering machine blinked demandingly. He sighed. He didn't feel like dealing with the calls about Lathal's accident now.

Dejected he shuffled toward their bedroom. He tugged his shirt over his head, shed his jeans and tennis shoes and then put on a worn, faded pair of black sweats.

Overwhelmed by recent events, he sank tiredly to the bed. His fingers brushed Lathal's pillows lying next to his. She wasn't there, and he missed her like crazy.

She was supposed to be here sleeping beside him, not lying in a hospital bed. What if she woke up in the middle of the night? She was going to be alone and hurting without any idea of what had happened to her.

But what could he do? Nothing ... and it was frustrating him. At least they could have let him tell her what happened, that she'd be alright.

But they wouldn't let him talk to her. He couldn't hold her. He couldn't kiss her.

He couldn't even make love to her.

He furiously grabbed Lathal's pillow. The light aroma of her scented shampoo tickled his senses. He clutched it against his chest fiercely. Oh, Lathal, I miss you.