by B. G. Thomas
“I’m going to be ugly now,” he said, and the tears welled up again.
“You’ll never be ugly to me,” Kevin said and bent and carefully kissed his chest, but lower, down a bit and on the left. Such careful kisses. “And when these bandages are off, I promise to kiss your scar every single day.”
Wyatt tried hard to believe him.
It turned out that when they began the laparoscopic procedure, the surgical team pretty quickly saw why the nuclear procedure hadn’t worked.
Finally Dr. Lyons and his fourth-year medical student (resident? Intern? He wasn’t sure of the correct terminology) came to talk to him. They explained what had happened. The surgeon even brought photographs from the operation to illustrate, and Wyatt surprised himself by being able to get past his usual squeamishness to look at them.
Wyatt’s gallbladder was bright red (when it apparently should have been a robin’s-egg blue) and swollen and filled with gallstones. Lots and lots of gallstones. Dr. Lyons had to switch from the planned laparoscopy to full-out abdominal surgery, which meant a bigger incision—and gods!—a longer recovery time.
The thing that had interfered with the nuclear medicine test?
A gallstone “the size of a shooter marble” had blocked what was essentially the intake valve of his gallbladder—that’s how Kevin helped him understand it more fully later—and that had prevented the radioactive stuff from going into his gallbladder. The big problem, though, was that this gallstone had been blocking its intake for quite a while.
Long enough that it had atrophied and then died from disuse.
His gallbladder had been rotting inside of him. It had actually been gangrenous!
Wyatt shuddered at that.
When Dr. Lyons had lifted his gallbladder to remove it, it shredded. He and his team had to use a tremendous amount of sterile water to flush his abdominal cavity and make sure they’d gotten rid of all the necrotic tissue. Otherwise, it would be even more icky, although later Wyatt doubted that anyone had used the word “icky.” But by then he was getting so grossed out that he had actually grown faint. Something about how there could have been further infection and decay, a possibility of sepsis and more.
Not good stuff.
Dr. Lyons left after that, but to Wyatt’s surprise, the medical student lingered behind.
“I just wanted to tell you that I’ve worked with Dr. Lyons for a year now,” she said, “and he really is a brilliant surgeon even if he… well, even if his bedside manner is a bit lacking.”
She went on to say that it was the worst gallbladder she’d ever seen, that it had felt so large and hard and there were so many stones in it….
Wyatt paled at that and decided he’d really heard far more of this icky stuff than he wanted to hear.
Then she told Wyatt something else. “It’s just that…. What I wanted you to know is that I’ve never seen him take as much time and care during a closing.”
Wyatt could only blink.
“Mr. Owens-Dolan—”
And confused or not, that made him smile, even if it was only the smallest one.
“—he usually has me or someone else close for him. But he did it this time, and he put in so very many teeny, tiny stitches.”
Wyatt shook his head, and she explained that he usually put in bigger stitches and didn’t even worry if they were 100 percent even.
“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Wyatt confessed.
Then she gave him a truly lovely smile, leaned in, and said very clearly…
“In other words, ‘pretty scar’!”
Wyatt had to laugh at that. He couldn’t help it.
But he cried again after she left.
Only this time the tears weren’t so bad.
As Kevin held him as best as he could, Wyatt found he was feeling a little bit of hope.
KEVIN CALLED Wyatt’s mother after Wyatt slipped off to sleep once more. He was dreading it. Dreading telling her that he still hadn’t told Wyatt about his father, but what could he do?
He couldn’t tell Wyatt the night before his surgery.
And now? After the trauma of today?
What was he supposed to do?
And more, how did he drop all this in the woman’s lap? She had just lost her husband. Did she need to know how serious the surgery had been? How Wyatt might have quite easily died?
Thank God that lady in the ER—Doris, he remembered—had found a room for Wyatt and gotten him admitted. Wyatt’s gallbladder had been rotten! Kevin knew without a shadow of a doubt that Wyatt could have died.
So make the call he did.
He thought about calling on his own cell, but thought that in a time like this, it was pretty damned likely that she wouldn’t answer the phone if she didn’t recognize the number.
“Wyatt?” she cried into the phone on the second ring.
“No, Mrs. Dolan. It’s Kevin again.”
“Wyatt’s… friend.”
“Yes, Mrs. Dolan,” he said. “Wyatt does have friends. Lots of them.” He immediately regretted his tone—This is why I have Theresa do all my talking for me—but not what he’d said.
“So you’re not that kind of friend.” There was no question in her tone. She wasn’t asking. “Because I know that Howard is finally out of his life and—”
“And thank God for that,” he replied. “Howard is a—” He almost said “motherfucker” but changed his tack. “—a despicable person.”
“I… I…. How is my son? How did the operation turn out?”
So Kevin told her. His tone softened a bit, but not much. He didn’t tell her how Wyatt’s gallbladder shredded and dumped necrotic tissue into his abdominal cavity or the possibility of sepsis and more. Or stones the size of shooter marbles. But that was about all he left out. Her husband had just died, after all.
“But he’s okay?”
“He’ll be in here at least another three days or so. I don’t think he’s going to make the funeral.”
“Who gives a da—dang about that?” she said, surprising him. “I might have to miss it myself.”
Kevin’s eyes went wide in more than surprise. In shock, even.
“My son is alive. My husband is dead. Charles has had his entire funeral planned out for years. Everything is taken care of. He doesn’t need me. But Wyatt? Maybe he does.”
Kevin could have dropped the phone. Wyatt hadn’t talked much about his mother in their days trapped in the snow, but from what he had said, Kevin hadn’t been prepared to hear the woman talking that way.
“Hello? Are you still there, Mr.—”
“Kevin. Just call me Kevin.”
“Can I talk to my boy?”
Kevin opened his mouth, shut it, opened it, and shut it again. Geez. “He’s out again, ma’am. Like I said, this took a lot out of him. A whole lot.”
“Oh my.” Pause. “And you think he’ll be there for at least three days?”
“Yes.”
“All right, then. Please tell me which hospital.”
Kevin told her.
She took a long breath. “I’m coming, then, Mr.… Kevin. The funeral isn’t for five days. I’m coming.”
“But—”
“I’m coming. I’m his mother and I have the right…. Well….” Her voice hitched. “I guess I don’t know if I do have the right. But I’m coming.”
“Mrs. Dolan,” Kevin said then. “I haven’t told him about his father. I don’t even know how. With all he’s going through….”
“Then don’t. I will. Maybe that’s best.”
“I….” Kevin didn’t know what to say. “I don’t… I don’t know what to s-say.”
“I’ll figure that part out. Don’t tell him I’m coming either. It might upset him. No, it probably will. Especially given what happened the last time we saw each other. Better the upset of me showing up unannounced than him fretting while waiting for me to arrive.”
“You realize…,” Kevin said, then swallowed hard. He heard the c
lick in his throat. “You realize you’re putting me in quite a predicament. He told me not to call you.”
“Well, the first time you didn’t. I called, now didn’t I? And now you’re in this either way. So let’s just see where the cards fall.”
Kevin didn’t like the idea.
But then, what else was there really to do?
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
WYATT WOKE to pain. Some of the worst pain yet. He couldn’t believe the pain and dammit, with his fucking gallbladder out, shouldn’t this be done with?
And he was hungry. So hungry.
How could he be both?
But Kevin was there, thank the gods—all of them. Kevin was there and holding his hand and telling him he’d get the nurse.
Then he dashed out of the room even though Wyatt was struggling to find the damned call button. Where the fuck was it? Morphine! Oh gods, he was afraid of the stuff—he’d heard so many tales of people getting addicted to the shit—but this was terrible. This pain was enough to make him scream, and it was all he could do not to do exactly that.
Only then did he realize that the morphine administrator was at his wrist. Kevin had attached it to his ID bracelet with a little clip, the kind that always reminded Wyatt of a little black leather purse for Barbie.
He was crying then, crying that it hurt so damned much, and Kevin was back—
“Oh Kevin, it hurts!”
—and how could anything hurt this much? He thought he had experienced the worst pain on the planet, but it was nothing compared to this!
Big Nurse came in, was at his side in a flash touching him, and he swatted at her and then burst into tears and apologized and told her, “It hurts so bad, Big Nurse! It hurts!” Through the fog of pain, he realized what he’d called her and tried to apologize, but she was acting as if she hadn’t noticed.
She took his hand again and said, “Mr. Dolan.”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out but a half-strangled shout.
“Mr. Dolan-Owens.”
He shook his head, and it wasn’t to correct her. He was trying to beam it to her. Beam to her how—much—this—hurt!
“Wyatt!” she shouted. And she did shout, and his eyes flew wide, and she took his hands, pulled one right out of Kevin’s, and she squeezed—squeezed hard—and said, “Look at me!”
He tried. He did. But everything was blurry and was that fucking morphine ever going to kick the fuck in?
“Look at me!” This time as loud as her previous shout and his eyes went wide and he saw her.
“Aaarrghhh…,” he groaned.
“Look at me,” she said again.
“It’s killing me, Big… Janis. Janis.” Tears were running down his face and into his ears, and he thought he just might—lose—his—mind!
She squeezed his hands again. He could feel her nails in the heels of his palms, and Christ on a crystal crucifix, that hurt.
But he could see and hear her now—and he could hardly believe that was an accepted medical procedure!
“The morphine will kick in, honey. It will.”
“Why does it hurt this bad?” he somehow managed to get out.
She shook her head. “I don’t know, sweetheart, but I am going to call someone. But I want you to look at your husband here. Look into his eyes.”
Husband?
“Kevin, take his hand and tell him you love him and get him to listen and calm down, and I’ll be right back.”
And he did. Kevin came around and took his hand, and he got right on the edge of the bed and leaned over so his face was very close to Wyatt’s and told him he was there for him. “I love you, Wyatt. I love you so much. I’m here for you, baby. I’m here. Look in my eyes.”
Wyatt did and they were so big and so beautiful and oh, it still hurt so bad, but at least this way it seemed to be bearable and then—ooooohhhhh—was… was that… the morphine at last?
“Only six inches,” he sighed.
“What?” Kevin asked and gave him a comical look.
Oh! Wyatt laughed. “M-my scar. They said only… o-only s-six inches. Could h-have been twelve, they said.”
“Pretty scar,” Kevin said, and he smiled, but oh, oh, Wyatt could see the tears in his eyes.
“S’all riiiight,” he muttered and then fell into the night.
WYATT WOKE again to pain, pain, pain… and this time Kevin was there, and he was holding his hand and telling him to look in his eyes, and he promised that he would push the damned dispenser from now on and for him not to worry about it.
Because that was a part of it, they said just a little while later. When he fell asleep, he wasn’t able to press the button fast enough to make sure the pain didn’t come back and, “Please, please, please, can something be done?” He tried not to cry—what was Kevin thinking about him? That he was the silly little faggot that Howard always said he was?
“Oh no! Is the wittle bear-wah gonna cwy?”
No! Wyatt shouted back to the voice in his mind. You’re done! I’ve put you behind me. I will not listen to you. And the voice went away, thank Morpheus.
After that he was afraid to sleep because what if the pain came back?
But Kevin assured him that wouldn’t happen.
“I’m here for you, lover,” Kevin said, and Oh, that sounded nice. Lover. And, I’m here for you.
And Wyatt trusted him.
THEY WOULDN’T let him eat.
Nothing.
Because all the pain might be because he had another infection.
And no eating if they had to do another procedure….
How long would this last?
How long?
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
WHEN WYATT woke the next time, Katherine was there.
Oh, thank you, Goddess, he thought. “Thank you, Kath—”
But then with a shock he saw it wasn’t her.
It was his mother.
A chill swept over him.
She came to the edge of the bed and reached out, and he flinched and then so did she.
“Oh, my boy, my sweet boy….”
“M-Mom?” he asked, wondering if this was some kind of morphine-induced illusion.
“Yes, Son. It’s me. Kevin?” She looked away. “Can you get me a chair, please?”
Kevin. She knew Kevin’s name?
They met while he was out, Wyatt realized.
“You can have this one.”
She shook her head, her graying hair swaying at her shoulders. “No. I want to be able to get close. And my back hurts. That drive. It was a long one.”
“Mom?” Was this real?
“Of course, Mrs. Dolan.”
Kevin moved as fast as he always did, and he helped her sit in one of those awful plastic chairs, but his mother only told him how grateful she was.
Then she laid her hand on one of Wyatt’s. “Oh, my poor sweet Wyatt.”
“What—what are you doing here?” He pushed at the morphine button. If this was real, he couldn’t face it sober.
“I called. And Kevin answered. And he told me what happened. Don’t be mad. I’m a mother. I made him.”
Wyatt flashed a look at Kevin—who looked miserable—and of course he couldn’t be mad, even though a part of him really, really wanted to be.
I love him too much.
For a moment Wyatt found himself swept up in the marvel of it all.
I love him!
A week ago he had been alone. Well, not alone. But without love. No! Not without love. But without a special love.
And now he’s here.
It was unbelievable.
It was magick.
“Wyatt?”
He turned slowly back to his mother. She looked even bigger than he remembered when he’d seen her back home. Could she really be bigger or was it the drugs?
Her eyes were red, and there were dark shadows the color of bruises under them.
She looks like Kathleen Turner, he thought quite suddenly. An older, heavier Kathl
een Turner.
“Son, I am so sorry. Sorry for so many things. I know you probably can’t forgive me, but I am saying it, and I will say it a million-million more times. I can’t say it enough. I can’t say it as many times as you deserve for me to.”
Wyatt tried to shake his head, but it was too heavy and he was just too tired. “Mom?” was all he could manage.
“I wanted to do more. I wanted to be better. But your father….” She closed her eyes and when she opened them, they were full of raw pain. “I couldn’t….” She swallowed hard. “A woman must obey her husband.”
“What?” he asked, his voice cracking.
“For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church.” It was her quoting voice. Wyatt recognized it, even though it had been a long, long time. He’d heard it enough. “And he is the savior of the body. Therefore, as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in everything.” She closed her eyes again, tightly, pursed her mouth, her lips turning into a thin line. “Everything,” she whispered.
A rage rose in Wyatt then that was huge and red and hot and violent, and he thought his head might explode—erupt like a volcano. Fucking blow to the sky like Mount Vesuvius.
She was going to let her fucking Bible make it okay for her to let his evil bastard father kick him out of the house and his family?
Then she opened her eyes again, and they were so red and the tears ran freely down her round cheeks.
And Wyatt was just… too… tired to be angry.
“Evil” tumbled out of his mouth, unbidden. And, “Lightning should have killed him.” And that was all he had left.
He watched her draw in a deep, long breath, her shoulders lifting, and he was sure she was about to tell him some bullshit like how he shouldn’t say such things, but then she surprised him more than even her sudden appearance had done.
“Maybe so,” she said so quietly he wasn’t sure he’d actually heard her.
He sucked in a breath. What had she just said?
“Maybe you’re right.”