“Do you get the feeling we’re being stared at?” Vicky began to giggle as she made the first incision of the day, carefully dissecting a big sheet of yellow waxy skin, still matted with the wiry black hair that had inspired “Harry’s” name.
“I think they’re dazzled by those diamonds you have dangling from your ears,” Susan said with an exaggerated wink. “And, Susan gestured to Rosie’s open lab coat. “A little cleavage never hurts.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Rosie grinned. With a blunt hemostat she began to scrape away the connective tissue between the ribs. “Hey, two of you are married anyway. And Susan doesn’t have time for men. Study, study, study. Except maybe for Dr. Will Cunningham.”
Susan glanced up at their young lab instructor, a tall man with toffee colored skin and close cropped hair. Flustered as he caught her eye and flashed a toothy smile, she leaned forward, concentrating on the neurovascular bundle beneath Harry’s ribs. “Quit embarrassing me,” she said. “Here, give me a hand.” It was time to expose the intercostal bundles that lay beneath each rib.
“You know, that scar on Harry’s belly mystifies me.” Vicky picked up her scalpel, pausing to inspect the gnarly white scar, which traveled all the way down the cadaver’s belly to his pubic bone after taking a slight curve to the right around his umbilicus. “Hmmm, must be some gastrointestinal surgery?”
“Maybe an ulcer? Or some kind of malignancy?” Susan suggested. “He’s skin and bones.”
“Laura, what do you think? Why so quiet?” Vicky inquired. “Kids keep you up at night?”
Laura shrugged.
“Hey, don’t these ribs make you ravenous?” Rosie quipped as her instrument made scraping sounds against the underlying bone. “If only we had some barbecue sauce right now.” She looked up for a reaction to her ghoulish attempt at levity.
“Oops, sorry, Laura, you don’t look too good. I mean, you look like you just got diagnosed with an incurable disease.”
Laura flushed. “Just distracted, I guess. That extra assignment.”
“You’ve gotta get more sleep, girl,” Susan stopped to scrutinize Laura’s face. “Even with those glasses, your eyes look red and puffy.”
“I have a three-month-old baby,” Laura sighed. “And, yes, I am exhausted.”
“That lipstick helps,” Rosie said. “You should wear it more often.”
“How did you get that information about head trauma? The bullet wound in your patient?” Susan pursued. “You have a medical library at home?”
“Maybe her husband is a secret neurosurgeon,” Vicky said.
“Very funny,” Laura replied, realizing this to be an opportunity to establish her whereabouts last night. “After your dad picked you up, Susan, I realized that I would be going home to a noisy house, and I panicked about the report.” She tried hard to sound convincing. She’d set her course: a life of lies. “So I turned around and headed to the library. Lots of good it did me. I was terrible. I just froze up. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Well, my father, for one, was worried about you,” Susan said.
A confused expression crossed Laura’s face. “Why?”
“Because he’s a cop, that’s why.”
“Your dad, a policeman?” Suddenly she remembered. Orientation, when they’d all introduced themselves. A detective, Susan had said. Laura’s heart started to pound. Keeping her head down, she sensed that they were all staring at her.
“That reminds me. Laura, do you think you could give me a ride into school?” Susan asked. “With all the riot problems, Dad’s hours are crazy.”
“Uh, sure,” Laura said. “You live by Mount Carmel Hospital, right?”
“Right. About a mile from you,” Susan said, deftly changing blades on her scalpel.
“It’ll be good having somebody to ride in with. This city’s scary.”
Susan nodded. “With all the curfews and ongoing violence, the city’s a mess.”
Quite the understatement, Laura thought, desperately trying to process the impact of Susan’s dad seeing her as she ventured out of the hospital last night.
“Raymond talked to Mayor Cavanaugh last night at a fund raiser. The Detroit Free Press is all over the administration, probing into each and every death,” Vicky announced. “One of the perks of med school is I don’t have to attend all that bullshit stuff. Not that last night was bullshit. It was for the families of cops and firemen killed in the riots.”
The girls nodded sympathetically.
“Hey, Susan,” Vicky looked up, scalpel in mid air. “Is it politically okay to refer to the police as ‘cops’?”
“‘Cops’ is okay,” Rosie jumped in as if an expert in “politically correct.” “I’ve heard worse. Hey, you guys been listening to Stokely Carmichel? Calling for Total Revolution? H. Rapp Brown talking ‘Black Power’? Now that’s a bit unsettling.”
“Yeah. You know, it’s not easy being a black detective in this city, especially now. Dad tries to be a good role model for the ones coming up.” Susan looked up from her dissection, placed her scalpel on the tray and picked up a forceps. “On the bright side, he does love his job. Thinks he makes a difference. Like your husband, Laura.”
Laura said nothing. She’d been going over last night one more time.
“Talking about making a difference,” Rosie added. “The mayor’s office put out a commendation on City Hospital. Very complimentary, how the hospital pulled together, worked around the clock, that sort of thing. Lots of quotes from Dr. ‘Charming’ Monroe.”
“I heard that 80% of the riot victims were taken to City Hospital,” said Vicky. “Here let me retract that rib. And that they ran out of beds in the prison wards.”
“True,” Susan reported with an authoritative nod. “Dad said that even the doctors were carrying guns.”
“I don’t believe it,” Vicky looked up from her dissection. “Doctors with guns? No way.”
“It’s true,” replied Susan. “The violence hasn’t stopped…last week a nurse’s aide was stabbed right outside the hospital.”
“Susan,” Laura interrupted. “Are the police doing anything? About the doctors and guns?”
“Don’t know,” Susan said. “Strange times. Dad said they put panic buttons at all the nursing stations, but you know my concern right now?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. “The Tigers. This three-way race between us and the Red Sox and the Twins is driving me crazy.”
“You sound like Steve,” Laura said, trying to steady her scalpel. Chat about Steve and the kids, she told herself. That’s what they expect. “Any sport will do.” She fought the urge to talk too fast like she did when she was scared. “Baseball’s his passion. He’ll go crazy if the Tigers win the pennant. Did I tell you he was at Tiger Stadium for that double header against the Yankees the Sunday the riots broke out? The mayor called the game.”
“I can’t stand sports talk,” groaned Rosie. “Hey, Vick, I saw you get picked up in a white stretch. Must be tough to have such a rich husband.”
Laura didn’t hear Vicky’s response. For the rest of the session she remained silent. By the time they had finished their work with Harry that morning, she’d run through the details of her alibi three times.
CHAPTER SEVEN
At 6:30 Thursday night, traffic crawled on the Lodge as Laura exited the Ford Expressway. All day long with the exception of her morning presentation, she hadn’t stopped trying to consider her current situation in an objective manner. Though it still seemed so unreal, she knew that she couldn’t simply wish the horror away. All she could do was move forward, just like the traffic. She had to face the facts and decide.
The facts. Yesterday she had been raped. She had killed the rapist with a gun her husband got from a hunting buddy, a gun with no legal registration. Yes, she had gotten through a whole day undetected. But there were bound to be problems ahead. Laura wanted to sort them out, and for once, she welcomed the tedious traffic as she drove home.
First, Steve. At some
point tonight, she would have to undress. Steve might notice the bruises on her ribcage, legs, and arms that had turned a blotchy blue. She had to come up with a believable story to explain them. How about a fall down the back stairs of the med school building? She could tell him that she was in a hurry, missed a step and was lucky not to have broken anything. She’d cut her lip in the fall. At the very least, she decided, she’d undress in the bathroom.
Next — much more horrible — sex with Steve. Tonight he would be expecting it. Even if she could put him off, tomorrow night would be a certainty. Steve couldn’t go more than two nights without sex. Laura had found this endearing throughout the entire five years of their marriage, but now it frightened her. The fact was, she might even have some type of venereal disease, and she had not yet had a chance to get the penicillin she’d read about. The mere thought of intercourse made her stomach churn. She felt defiled, like she could never be clean again. What would she do?
One thing was clear. She would do what she had to. Steve and the police must never find out what happened last night. If they did, she’d never be a doctor and much, much worse, she’d risk losing her kids. Just that thought made her so lightheaded that she considered pulling off to the shoulder. Instead she reached into her purse for Mylanta to calm her churning stomach.
Laura eventually turned off the highway and made her way into her own neighborhood.
“Mommy’s home!” Mikey shrieked as he saw Laura drive up to the curb and step out of the car. He dropped the toy cars he’d been playing with and rushed from the small front yard to her car, insisting, as usual, on carrying her heavy books.
“Hi, Mikey,” she called, leaning down to stack two medical texts in her son’s small arms. Each time she looked at Mikey she marveled that she could be the mother of such a wonderful little child. Everywhere she took him people would turn to remark at how cute he was — floppy blonde hair with bright blue eyes, and such a sunny, affectionate personality.
Laura smiled down at him. “Thanks for helping me. You’re so strong. I don’t know how you can carry so many big books.”
“I’m not going to drop them either,” he announced proudly as she reached above him to open the door to the unassuming two-story house.
“Thanks, Mikey.” Laura glanced inside to the living room. A small couch, a wooden coffee table, and two armchairs in front of the television and stereo console practically filled the room. Where was Steve?
“Did you guys have dinner yet?”
“Nope. We waited for you,” Mikey announced, as if that were a great accomplishment. “Mommy, what happened to your mouth?”
Her lipstick had obviously faded. “Oh, just a little fall. That was so nice of you to wait on dinner for me,” she said. Secretly she had hoped that Steve would have fed Mikey and the baby so she could just sit down and play with them, forgetting everything else for a while.
“Where’s Daddy?” she called, walking toward the kitchen. No Steve. Heading down the hall to their bedroom she found him napping on the bed, Kevin asleep beside him.
“Hmmm, hey babe,” Steve groaned.
Laura lifted Kevin and carried him to his crib, hoping he would continue sleeping for a while. Mikey raced into the kitchen to decide what they wanted for dinner as Laura stopped off in the bathroom to gulp down two tablets of Tylenol. Mikey chose grilled cheese sandwiches, and Laura quickly prepared coleslaw and opened a can of applesauce. She then went into the bathroom and changed into jeans and an old sweatshirt before calling Steve into the kitchen for dinner. As usual, Mikey dominated the conversation as they ate the simple meal, excitedly talking about Uncle Ted’s new Mustang convertible. Uncle Ted, Laura’s brother, had even sent a picture of the car to Mikey. At age three, Mikey knew every make of car and was very proud of his expertise.
Kevin woke up as Laura cleared away the few dishes. She quickly warmed a plastic bottle of formula.
“Steve, honey, I’m not feeling well. Could you run out and pick up some groceries for the weekend?” Laura improvised. She wanted to keep Steve occupied as long as possible. “We’re pretty low on everything.”
“You do look a bit peaked. I think you’re pushing yourself too hard.” He grinned. “I don’t feel much like going out tonight. I want to go to bed early. I missed you last night.”
“Me too, Mommy!” Mikey chimed in.
Forcing a smile, Laura appealed to Steve’s sense of paternal responsibility. “We’re short on milk, and we really do need more baby formula, the one with iron. Why don’t you pick up a few jars of strained fruit to start Kevin off on solid food. Just look at him attack this stuff. I think he’s ready, don’t you?”
“Daddy, can I go with you?” Mikey cut in. “Maybe I’ll see one of those new Mustangs in the parking lot.”
Steve’s hands rose into the air. “Okay, okay,” he conceded.
Laura tried to smile. “Thanks, hon.”
“Mikey, let’s roll. I’m outnumbered. See you soon,” he said. “Don’t forget that my parents are coming this weekend.” Steve stopped to grab the car keys off the side table. “That’s why tonight is our night.” He winked, then hesitated as he opened the door to leave.
“Hey, what happened to your lip, babe?”
“Just a little fall,” Mikey answered.
Laura smiled. She explained hastily, embellishing the lie.
Steve was right. She had forgotten all about Steve’s parents coming to town for his birthday. Gently squeezing Kevin, who sucked his bottle contentedly in her arms, Laura tried not to cry. She considered her options: Steve could never stay awake past eleven, so she could count on study time after that to do that coma report. She decided to start the research now and hold Steve off for as long as she could. She took a deep breath, holding Kevin close.
Steve arrived back at the house a few minutes before ten as Laura was tucking Kevin into his crib. Mikey had fallen asleep in the car and together they took him straight to bed, Laura wiping away the chocolate smeared all over his hands and face. She had changed to a pale green, full-length nightgown in spite of the humid night, the most unsexy one she had. She had put rollers in her hair, something she almost never did since her hair was naturally wavy and looked best hanging naturally.
Steve came into their bedroom and undressed to his boxer shorts. He headed directly for the double bed. Lying there, he hummed “Happy Birthday” and waited impatiently as Laura busied herself with folding laundry. Finally, she climbed in and turned off the bedside light, lying quietly until Steve tried to remove her nightgown. “No, I’m cold,” she whispered. As he began to make love to her, Laura hugged her nightgown tightly around her and endured the weight of Steve’s body on top of hers. Their sex was mercifully quick, and while she was relieved that Steve had not noticed her disinterest, she also reflected how so much of the romance had seeped out of their marriage. But then, what did she expect? The stress of Steve’s career and the crushing demands of med school were bound to affect them both. With two young children on top of it all. The question forced itself on her: maybe she was attempting too much. And now having to live with being raped and almost being killed.
Later, hunched over her report, tears flowing, the incident played over and over in her mind. She’d been raped by a very angry, very strong man. Somehow it didn’t seem random. He wanted to hurt her. Said he would kill her, slit her throat. She rubbed her eyes, wiped off her glasses and tried to tackle her assignment, but she just couldn’t do it. Even though she knew that Steve would be annoyed, she’d just have to steal some time out of the weekend to get her work done.
Eventually, Laura crept back into bed. As she lay against Steve’s strong, warm body, she began to feel safe. As much as she wanted to, she knew she would never tell him what had happened last night. She had made her decision. There was no going back.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Steve’s parents were seated on the worn living room couch when Laura arrived home the next afternoon. Kevin napped as Mikey zoomed his Matchb
ox cars around the dining room. Jim Nelson stopped fiddling with the TV long enough to meet her with a hug. Helen didn’t even get up, but remained seated on the sofa, a mug of coffee in front of her. Sitting down next to her, Laura attempted to chat with her mother-in-law, but she detected tension immediately. There was really something wrong between Steve and his parents, especially his mother. When she excused herself to go change, Steve joined her in the bedroom. “Same old agenda,” he said. “Mother thinks you should stay home with the boys. You know, quit med school.”
“Your mother’s disapproval doesn’t phase me. She’s a traditional woman who lives mostly in isolation. I wonder if she even knows what’s going on in the world.” What Laura didn’t say was that whatever Steve’s mother’s parenting skills were, she didn’t want them. She swore that her relationship with her sons would be diametrically opposed to that between Helen Nelson and Steve.
“Mother’s never worked. She’s as old-fashioned as they come.”
“At least your dad’s normal.”
Steve paused before agreeing or disagreeing. “Yeah, I guess. He’s slipping though. Not even going deer hunting on the Upper Peninsula this year.”
“I hardly know your parents,” Laura sighed, slipping into shorts and a T-shirt.
“Neither do I. I didn’t choose my parents. But I can choose not to be like them.”
“And you’re not.” Laura went to Steve and hugged him. “You’re a terrific dad.”
Laura walked back into the living room. She tried to smile and not stare at Steve’s plump mother. Her grayish-blonde, shoulder-length hair was slightly disheveled, and she was clasping her hands together tightly. His father had moved to the easy chair in front of the television set, watching the hosts of a local sports show discuss the batting averages of the American League’s top players: Carl Yastrzemski, Frank Robinson, and Detroit’s own Al Kaline. As she sat down next to her mother-in-law, Laura couldn’t help but long for her own mother. She stifled a sigh, anticipating a stressful weekend.
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