City Beautiful

by CM Foss

“That’s a really long story,” I responded as I walked back toward the bull. Ben followed at my heels.

  “Well, maybe you could tell me about it sometime over dinner.”

  I stopped short, and he almost ran into my back he was so close on my heels. I let out an incredulous laugh. “I’m assuming you reside in New York, correct?”

  He shrugged. “Distance is nothing. I fly somewhere every other day.”

  “Sounds exhausting.” I continued toward the gates to release Moto. Just as he was halfway out of the chute, his foot slipped off the rubber mat, sliding beneath it. The thick edge flipped up, getting stuck in the pipe railing. He began to scramble to stay on his feet, panicking slightly. I ignored Ben in favor of soothing Moto, speaking quietly so I could extricate him. He wasn’t in any danger, but from the look in his eyes, he wasn’t quite sure of that. I looked up to see Matt and Luke in discussion with the rest of the suits, and I didn’t want to yell over at them. With one hand stretched to hold his lead line, I bent to try to push the corner of the mat back through the rail so Moto could get his foot out. I held the edge and tugged on the lead, trying to get him to step backward. Just as he was about to comply, the rope was tugged in the opposite direction as Ben grabbed hold.

  The next moment happened in slow motion, in a swirl of colors and noises. Ben’s misguided offer of help, his very misguided attempt to help without my compliance, the weight of a bull stepping forward, trapping my hand between the heavy mat and the pipe corral, the suction of the mud on my boots as I lost my balance, and the slick and gritty feel of it as I landed on my arm. I automatically curled into the fetal position, my trapped hand twisting and crunching painfully beneath the mat as my free arm wrapped around my waist in a vain attempt at protection. Moto scrambled above me, his shadow ominously blocking out the sun. I heard hollering voices growing closer, but as his hoof popped free, he executed a quick hop step to land square in my stomach, flinging my arm out of the way. The breath was forced out of me in a rush, and spots danced behind my eyes. Blows struck me from all sides as I tried to block out the pain and survive the onslaught. The last one grazed my cheek, burning and scraping, but with it the voices blissfully faded away.

  Chapter 25

  Patrick

  “She’s going to be all right. She’s resting right now, which is the best thing for her. Her right hand was crushed and will need surgery. She’s suffered numerous abrasions and bruises to her extremities. There was… significant trauma to her abdominal region. She had some internal bleeding which we expected after an accident such as this. We were able to stop it easily and repair the damage. But the placenta was damaged and the fetus… was unable to make it.” The young doctor, probably sent out to practice her skills at such a moment, shook her head tiredly. “I’m very sorry.”

  Fetus?

  “Dr. Thompson”—Dr. Hitchen swallowed nervously—“your girlfriend. She was very emotional about the loss of the pregnancy. We’ve kept her sedated lightly for the time being. But we’ll need to know what to do with the remains. She was insistent about it, but she was not very coherent so…”

  I held up my hand, stopping her from burying herself further as my blood began to boil. “I don’t understand. Why don’t you know what to do with the remains?”

  “Well it’s just… with a miscarriage… usually…”

  “You need to stop speaking.” I almost didn’t recognize the sound of my own voice, it was so hard with barely restrained fury. My hands began to shake, and I steadied myself by pinching the bridge of my nose. Hard.

  All color drained from her face, but she nodded and shut up.

  “My son… was a baby.” I looked at the girl in front of me. She was just a girl in a white coat that looked like she’d slept in it, and she probably had. I deflated, pity washing over the anger. “Listen, doctor, don’t let this job jade you so much that you see a life as a medical term. If you want to be any good at this, and if you want to survive this with your self intact, you won’t forget that. In the meantime, if you could get me information on funeral homes and services, I’ll take a look later.”

  She nodded, her previously pale face now red, and made her escape. As I watched her retreating back, a mixture of emotions began to drown me, gut me. Relief that Ivy was okay. Profound grief over the child I’d barely had a chance to get used to but had already fallen in love with. Anger at every single element that allowed this to happen. And I was infuriated at Ivy. Fuck, I was mad. I didn’t know what exactly happened, but she put herself and our child at risk. I didn’t want to see her with this sort of rage coursing through me.

  I’d gotten a call from Emily earlier in the day. I’d been irritated that Ivy hadn’t called me after her appointment, but I wasn’t really worried. I figured she was busy. But when my phone buzzed with Emily’s number, dread settled into the pit of my stomach. This horror story, however, I wasn’t expecting.

  I’d dropped everything and hopped on the first available flight. By the time I’d arrived, Ivy was out of trauma surgery and spending the night in the ICU. Emily had sent a text letting me know she and Connie were going to check in on the farm before coming back, and she’d talk to me then.

  I paced the waiting room, trying to sort my thoughts and calm my emotions before going into Ivy’s room. I went into the bathroom and washed my hands, splashing water on my face and scrubbing it dry. Resting my hands on the edge of the sink, I looked into the mirror. I looked like I’d been drug through a hedge backward, with dark circles underlining red-rimmed eyes and a five-o’clock shadow that looked days old. I ran my fingers through my hair to push it back and sighed heavily. And just like that, I wasn’t mad anymore, because if I looked and felt this horrible, I could only imagine what Ivy was going through.

  I left the bathroom and walked down the eerily silent hall. You’d think I’d be used to this scenery by now, but it was different when you weren’t in a place of authority, when it was your loved one in harm’s way instead of a nameless stranger. I automatically reached up as if to adjust the stethoscope around my neck and ended up tugging on the collar of my shirt instead. I unfastened my tie and stuffed it into my pocket. I couldn’t believe I’d been wearing it this whole time. When I reached Ivy’s room, I took a deep breath and cautiously pushed the door open.

  She was so still, so small, so colorless. I quietly pulled up a chair by her bedside and lowered myself into it. I wanted to hold her hand, but the one nearest me was wrapped in a splint and thick gauze. So I rested my elbows on the edge of the mattress and clasped my hands in front of my face. My eyes were burning as I looked down at the girl who had me in knots from the first time we met. Or maybe she untied me.

  Her face was drawn and tight, her eyebrows drawn together even in her sleep, and I knew it wasn’t just from the physical pain. Slowly I reached to smooth the hair from her forehead and away from her oxygen line. I swallowed hard when I noticed there was still a little mud crusted onto the ends of the blond locks.

  I retracted my hand and ran it back through my own hair. Slumping back in my chair, I succumbed to the exhaustion settling over me, letting my eyes fall shut. But actual sleep eluded me as I listened to the rise and fall of her breathing and the steady beeping from the machines surrounding us. I opened my eyes and settled for watching her. I’d never seen her look so lifeless. Fear and regret gnawed at my gut as I sat there, willing her wake up, to be okay. If that was possible.

  She must have felt my stare, because within a few minutes, her eyelids began to flutter open. She blinked up at the ceiling a few times to orient herself before turning her head to look at me sleepily. Her eyes immediately welled with tears, and she looked away. I stood and dragged my chair around the bed to her other side so I could link our hands together.

  “You think I’d be used to it now,” she said quietly, still not looking at me.

  “Used to what?”
I asked.

  “Losing people. Losing family.”

  I bit down on my lip and squeezed my eyes shut. I wanted to take the pain and loss away from her, to make it all just go away.

  “I don’t think that’s something you get used to.”

  “Guess not.” Her shoulders lifted in the barest of shrugs, and she finally looked at me again. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault.” I shook my head.

  “It was.” One side of her mouth curled up in a sad smile. “I was careless and hurried. It’s my fault.”

  “You can’t blame yourself, Ivy.”

  “But I do. How can I not?”

  “Because it was an accident. And you’re never careless. You couldn’t have known what was going to happen. I know you.” She started to shake her head in protest, but I leaned over and stopped her with a kiss to her lips. “I know you,” I repeated as I pulled away.

  Her eyes were once again brightened by tears she wouldn’t let fall. I waited for her to say something or to cry, but the moment was interrupted by the door swinging open. I sat back in surprise when Dimple trotted in, followed by Emily. The dog went straight to Ivy’s side and sat, resting her head on the bed. Gingerly, Ivy placed her bandaged hand on top of the dog’s head and let it rest there. Dimple closed her eyes at the gesture, seeming to find her own relief in comforting her owner. Ivy closed her eyes as well, blocking out the rest of the room.

  Emily gestured for me to follow her out, but I shook my head no and leaned my elbows on the edge of the bed. She tried again, pointing toward the waiting room, but I ignored her until she left.

  “How did you get the dog in here?” I asked Ivy, even though she clearly didn’t want to speak.

  “She’s a licensed therapy dog. Connie brings her to hospitals or nursing homes every week to see patients.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. It struck me as funny that even though Ivy hated hospitals, she still found a way to help out. A doctor at heart. Even though the process can be tiresome, the red tape infuriating, at the heart of the doctor is simply the desire to help others. Or at least, that’s how they started out.

  “Can I do anything?”

  She kept her eyes closed, slowly rocking her head back and forth. “Nope.”

  I sighed and rested my head in my hands. I wanted to help, to do something, anything.

  “You should go,” she whispered. “I’m fine.”

  My head snapped up. “What?”

  “I mean… you don’t owe me anything. We never would have even seen each other again if it weren’t for the”—her throat moved up and down as she swallowed—“the baby.”

  I grabbed onto her hand that she left limp. “No. We’re so much more.”

  As if sensing the tension, Dimple crawled up to curl at the foot of the bed, her spotted head resting alongside Ivy’s legs. Ivy opened her eyes, her expression tense and guarded.

  “I’m not leaving you like this.” I bent over and cupped her cheeks in my hands. She didn’t stop me when I brushed my lips over hers, using my tongue to tease her into opening to me. Her breath hitched, and I felt a hint of dampness on her cheeks as I continued my gentle assault on her mouth, stroking into her and pouring my heart into our kiss. Slowly, I pulled away and rested my forehead on hers. We were both panting shallowly, and neither of us was trying for eye contact. “I won’t let you throw us away.”

  Ivy

  The pain in my stomach was fitting, a physical representation of what my soul was going through.

  I was a mess. It was a wonder I hadn’t broken into more pieces, although my injuries were still plentiful. I felt like one giant bruise and held together with tape. Literally, my stomach was held together by tape at this point. Underneath would heal into a long and obvious scar, a harsh reminder of the events.

  They kept saying I miscarried. Miscarried? Like I carried him wrong.

  They kept calling him the fetus. The fetus? I screamed and railed at them that his name was David, though I almost passed out doing so. They didn’t mention him much to me after that.

  I looked down at my newly casted arm, encased in hot pink because Emily was an asshole and somehow convinced the tech to jazz it up. I was sitting in a wheelchair, waiting for Patrick to pull around and take me home. I was happy to be getting out of the hospital air and dreading being home all at once. Dimple was by my side and had been for this whole week. I used my good hand and buried my fingers into her coat, taking comfort in the softness and the warmth. It had gotten cold while I was locked away. That seemed fitting too.

  She rested her head on my thigh as we waited outside the automatic doors, her expressive eyes looking up at me. I smiled as I traced her eyebrows with my finger. She was the only one who could make me smile, probably because she couldn’t talk and had no expectations. She knew when to cuddle and when to simply be. She’d been the one to lie on my bed while my baby was buried. I was torn between relief and sadness that I was unable to attend.

  Finally, Patrick pulled up in my truck and the nurse helped me to stand. I held my breath as I straightened, holding a pillow tightly to my abdomen for support. That pillow was my favorite thing in the whole world. About three-quarters of the way to standing, I gave up and just shuffled to the car, hunched over. Patrick opened doors for me and Dimple to climb in with an expressionless mask on his face. I knew he wanted to help, to fuss, but he just stood back and let me huff and puff my way into the passenger seat. I let out a sigh of relief when I was back to a sitting position.

  Within minutes we were on the road and heading home. Patrick stayed blessedly silent for the entire ride, allowing me to stay lost in my thoughts, though his eyes checked on me multiple times.

  He hadn’t left my side all week, except when I went in for surgery, and I suspect he had asked—and was denied—for access to that as well. He questioned everything the doctors and nurses did, flipping through my chart and even ordering the interns around. He said he was my advocate. If by that he meant “person who embarrassed the shit out of me multiple times and made me want to punch him in the face,” then I guess he was spot-on.

  Probably I should have been grateful for the support. I mean, I had my own personal physician by my side for an entire hospital stay.

  Did I mention how much I hate doctors?

  If only I could hate him.

  We pulled into the drive and proceeded around the back of the barn to get as close to my house as possible. Never before had I so regretted the fact that the driveway was nowhere near it.

  “You can just drive on the grass.” I gestured in front of us.

  “You hate when people drive on the grass.”

  I shrugged. What did I really care?

  He slowly pulled forward, cringing noticeably until we were safely parked by my front steps.

  “What about food? Are you hungry? Connie’s been cooking like crazy for you, for days.”

  I clutched my pillow tightly as I tried to lower myself down to the running board. I froze halfway down, underestimating the amount of stretch necessary. He ran around to help, ignoring my protest as he scooped me into his arms. I didn’t want it to feel so good. I didn’t want the comfort. But it did… feel so good.

  “I’m not really hungry.” I sighed. “Maybe after a nap. For now, can you just help me to my bed? That’s all I can handle at the moment.”

  “You have to eat something. You’ve barely had anything all week.”

  He freed one arm to let Dimple out of her seat. I watched her with a small smile as she darted off after a squirrel, happy to leave me now that we were on our home turf.

  “Honestly, did you really think I’d eat hospital food?” I shuddered.

  “No. But you barely ate what we brought you either.”

  I shrugged, disinterested in tasting a
nything. The thought of flavor made my stomach clench, and that fucking hurt.

  He carried me into the house and walked me into the bedroom. I felt ridiculous being carted around like a child, needing help to get settled under the covers and propped with pillows. I kept my eyes away from his, away from anything, really. Just watched my fingers toy with the edge of my cast.

  Finally he stepped away. “Can I get you anything else?”

  I shook my head. “Nah. Maybe later. I think I just need to sleep for a while. I might get some actual rest in my own bed.”

  He left the room with a nod, quietly shutting the door behind him, and only then did I raise my eyes to look around. Funny how it all looked the same.

  My heart began to flutter erratically when my gaze led me to my closet. Taking several deep breaths, I ever so slowly and carefully pushed my way into a seated position. With a grimace and a barely concealed groan, I stood and shuffled toward it. I opened the door like something was gonna jump out at me, biting my lip and holding my breath. But of course, nothing did.

  My good hand gripped the door handle tightly, lending me a modicum of support. But I couldn’t reach for anything with my bad hand, so I slowly let go and turned to the nearest shelf. There, folded neatly, was the little onesie I’d bought with Emily. I ran my fingers over the soft fabric and picked it up, shaking it out. So small, but not as small.

  Without thinking, I held it to my chest and turned back to my bed, grasping for the door handle with my broken hand. Pain shot up my arm, all the way to my forehead and back down my spine. I broke out in an immediate set of goose bumps and fell to my knees, my abdomen screaming in protest at the sudden movement.

  I wanted to stay there, curled up on the floor of my closet, holding on to my only connection to the baby so horrifically snatched from me. Tears fell, soaking the cotton, soaking my hair and my face, drowning me.