by CJ Lyons
The room was dark except for the glow of the clock radio. Jerry sat on the edge of the bed, hands dangling between his knees as he leaned forward, staring into space.
“Why’d you leave?”
“You weren’t saying anything.” He looked up at her, his face a sick greenish hue in the light of the clock. “You don’t even know the truth yourself, do you, Gina?”
She shook her head. Slowly, as if trying to shake off a bad dream. “No. I think that’s the problem.”
Jerry reached for her hand, and she let him take it. He rubbed his thumb along the base of her ring finger. “I can wait. Will you let me know when you find out?”
“What if—” She swallowed hard. “It’s bad news. For us.”
“I’ll still be here. I can’t turn my feelings on and off just because you’re not sure.”
“I don’t want to drag things out, give you false hope.” She thought she was being noble, but the words sounded hollow and trite.
He stood, still holding her hand in his. “No such thing as false hope,” he whispered, his mouth close to her cheek. He brushed his lips against her skin. “There’s only hope.”
It took all her willpower to step away from him. “Good-bye, Jerry.”
Whether by temperament or training, surgeons were morning people. For Seth, it didn’t come naturally. Which was why Nora was surprised when she woke at 4:50 to find him already awake, watching her as his fingers feathered her hair.
“What?” she asked, sitting bolt upright, dislodging his hand, hugging the sheet to her chest as if it would protect her from the next disaster. Adrenaline flashed through her, depositing a bitter taste in her mouth. “What’s wrong?”
His forehead creased, but he said nothing. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her tenderly. “I missed this,” he whispered. “I missed you.”
Panic eased from Nora’s muscles. She returned his kiss, tentative at first, a hint of fear undermining her passion. Did she really want to get involved with him again, open herself up to that kind of pain? Last night was great, but it was just one night.
DeBakey whomped his head against the door, rattling it in its frame. A canine alarm clock. Seth jumped out of bed, sliding into a pair of boxers as he went to let the dog outside. Nora also left the sanctuary of sleep behind, grabbing one of Seth’s T-shirts, falling into their old routine: he’d take care of feeding DeBakey, she’d take care of feeding the humans.
“You don’t have to get up,” he said from the doorway, where he harnessed DeBakey’s morning joviality. “Go back to sleep.”
“I have to be at work by seven.”
He stopped, ignoring the dog as he turned to face her. She couldn’t make out his features in the dim light, but his voice carried his dismay. “Nora, you can’t. Are you crazy? There’s a madman stalking you; you can’t go back to work. It’s the first place he’ll look.”
“If he’s after me, he’s going to keep looking until he finds me. Better to stay in a crowded ER with people watching over me than here alone.”
“How could he find you here?”
She shook her head at his naïveté. She’d spent all night—well, part of the night—thinking about it, following everything Jerry had told her about the rapist to its logical conclusion. “He knows about us, Seth. This will be one of the first places he’ll look.”
“Oh shit.” The expletive rang through the empty air, startling DeBakey into a low growl. The dog paced between its two humans, seeking the hidden threat. “I never should have brought you here. I should have taken you out of town, gone to some motel in the middle of nowhere—”
“If I wanted to leave town, I would have gone. I can take care of myself.”
“I know. But we’re together again, I’ll look after you. I want to.”
“Together again?”
“Sure, after last night—”
“One time—”
“One? Excuse me, it was four times for you, three times for me. And neither of us was faking it.”
“You’re keeping score? What is this, some kind of competition?” She should have expected this of him, so typical. “This is serious, Seth. Oh, I forgot, you’re never serious about anything.”
“I am serious. And last night was important.”
“One night of sex doesn’t mean everything goes back to the way it used to be. I’m not even sure I want that.”
“What? Nora, how can you say that?”
He reached for her, but she dodged him. His touch was too addictive, and she needed a clear head. “I don’t know what I want. I’m so tired of all the lies and secrets, but now they’re gone and I can live my life again.”
“And you don’t want me in it, is that what you’re saying?”
“No. Please, Seth, don’t make this harder.”
“I want to take care of you, Nora. Be with you. Is that so awful?”
“You’re smothering me. I need time. I can’t handle facing every decision and thinking about what’s best for you or us. I need to think about what’s best for me.” The words shocked her—she felt dirty, guilty just saying them. How selfish, how self-centered. Putting herself first? That had never happened before.
A tingle of anticipation soared through her, almost as exciting as the way she’d felt last night. Free, she felt free. And damn, it felt good.
“I’m done hiding, Seth.” The calm in her voice surprised her. She felt like she did in the middle of a trauma—adrenaline buzzing through her veins but not distracting her, instead centering her on her mission. What did Lydia call it? In the zone. “I’m not running anymore. It’s exactly what he wants, and I refuse to give it to him.”
“Even if it kills you?”
39
The argument continued in the car on the way to Angels. Seth trying to persuade her to stay home, angry that the police couldn’t guarantee her safety, threatening to turn the car around and drive out of the city.
Nora ignored him. He hadn’t had as much time to think things through, get used to the fact that he wasn’t in complete control of his life. She’d had three years of living that way. Three years too many.
A strange calm had fallen on her, displacing the fear that usually ruled her existence. As if, despite everything—because of everything?—she was ready to reclaim her life.
Or maybe it was simply the endorphin rush that cornered animals experienced when there was nowhere left to run.
Seth’s phone buzzed. He drove one-handed and answered it. She heard Lydia’s voice. “It’s for you,” Seth said, handing her the phone.
“Why aren’t you answering your phone?” Lydia said. “I’ve been trying to reach you all night.”
Nora smiled as she remembered exactly why she hadn’t been near the phone. She took it from her purse and glanced at the screen. Eleven missed calls? She never got that many in a week. “Why is Pete Sandusky trying to call me?”
“Don’t answer him,” Lydia instructed. “Where are you?”
“In the car with Seth. Driving to Angels. Why?”
“You have time before your shift starts, right? Tell him to drop you off at my place. You can pick up your car after.”
“Lydia, what’s going on?”
“We need to talk.”
Amanda woke five minutes before the alarm went off with a sense of Eureka! on her lips. But the feeling was short-lived, as she couldn’t remember what answer had come to her during sleep. She remembered snippets of a dream about her dreadful OB-GYN rotation last year. The attending, Dr. Koenig, had pimped her mercilessly every chance he got, asking her questions about arcane historical points, obscure case reports, and studies published in foreign journals.
What the heck did Dr. Koenig have to do with Narolie? Or was it Zachary for whom her tangled dreams had found a cure?
Nine hours of sleep had barely touched her exhaustion, and she found herself almost succumbing in the shower. Prying her eyes open, she dressed, grabbed breakfast, and headed back to Angels for another lon
g day and night on call, praying that her fatigue wouldn’t kill someone.
Without Tank and Dr. Frantz to disrupt them, rounds went quickly. It was only Amanda and the PICU fellow, Terry, getting the sign out from the postcall team, along with the weekend PICU attending, Dr. Anthony, who joined them, wearing jeans and loafers, sipping a cup of Starbucks as they strolled from one patient to the next. No pimping, but also little teaching, not with the ranks reduced and so much work to be done.
She wasn’t surprised to see Lucas waiting for them when they arrived at Narolie’s bedside. He wore the same clothes as yesterday and looked even more worried. “No improvement,” he told them. “Her EEG shows diffuse slowing. She’s had some autonomic dysregulation; her BP’s been bouncing all over the place, heart rate, too.”
Dr. Anthony glanced at the nurses’ notes. “She’s a ticking time bomb. Look at these BP spikes—if we’re not careful, she’ll stroke out for sure.”
“She might have already,” Lucas admitted. “I wanted to get another MRI today, but she’s too unstable.”
“We’ll need to staff her one-on-one,” Dr. Anthony told the charge nurse. He shook his head grimly. “This one is going to be tough, Lucas. Does her family know?”
“Yes. It doesn’t help that Tillman is trying to have her transferred.”
“Transferred? She’s in no condition to go anywhere.”
“Mr. Tillman wants her deported back to her home country,” Amanda explained. “Somalia.”
“Is he nuts?” Dr. Anthony almost spilled his coffee as he gestured angrily. “That can’t be legal.”
“Actually,” Lucas said, “it is. I saw an article in The New York Times—hospitals all over the country are deporting patients who require long-term care or excessive use of their resources. One in Arizona run by nuns sent a traumatic brain injury patient in a coma back to his family in Mexico even though he was here legally.”
“Nuns?” Dr. Anthony scoffed. “They have a helluva lot more conscience than Tillman. We’re screwed unless you come up with something fast.”
Lucas ignored Dr. Anthony to send a resigned glance in Amanda’s direction. Then he straightened his shoulders. “Working on it.”
Lydia waited at the end of her driveway. Trey was still sleeping, and not only didn’t she want to risk waking him, she didn’t think it was fair to Nora to have this discussion where anyone else, even Trey, could hear it. She shouldn’t have told him about Nora’s rape—but somehow she couldn’t help herself. She’d needed him to understand, to hear it. But it was a betrayal of Nora’s confidence. Another one.
Damn, this was why she hated gossip, getting involved, tangled up in other people’s problems. This is what came of letting people get too close.
She was already regretting telling Trey about Maria. He looked at her differently, acted like she was fragile—or worse, broken. She hated that.
As she paced, she twisted Maria’s bracelet over the top of her glove. Each charm had a story to go along with it: a church, a brass key, a heart, a pair of ballet slippers, a bridge. They were silly singsong stories that Maria made up, but Lydia had never grown tired of them. Even as a child she’d understood that those stories were as close as she would ever get to the truth of Maria’s past. Tell me more, tell me more, she’d beg.
But Maria never did.
And then the past came roaring back, stealing Maria’s future.
Lydia jerked her head up, realizing that the rumble wasn’t only in her mind—Seth’s Mustang was turning around in the cul-de-sac, stopping with the passenger door level with Lydia. Nora opened the door and pushed out of the low-slung muscle car.
“You sure about this?” Seth shouted through the open door.
“Go to work, Seth.” Nora slammed the door shut. Seth didn’t look happy—in fact, he looked downright angry. And worried. He grimaced, threw the car in gear, and sped off.
“Everything okay?” Lydia asked. She didn’t want to get involved, she really didn’t, but she had been hoping that Nora and Seth would work things out. Nora needed someone to help her through this, and Seth was a good guy.
The taillights on the Mustang disappeared at the end of the block before Nora replied. “Yes. No.” She turned to Lydia. “Ever notice how every time you think you have life figured out, things get more complicated?”
Thinking of Trey, Lydia sighed and jammed her hands into her parka pockets. “Guess I’m going to add to the complications, then. C’mon, I’ll buy you breakfast.”
As they walked through the predawn darkness, Lydia explained about Narolie and Tillman’s attempt at deporting her.
“That’s awful,” Nora said. They reached Diggers and found a booth in the back. The waitress, used to hospital personnel, anticipated their needs and brought a full pot of coffee without asking as she dropped off the menus. “Can he do that?”
“Lucas is going to try his best to stop him, but, yeah, I think he could get away with it. Unless we stop him.”
“We? What do I have to do with it?” Nora sipped her coffee, using both hands to steady her mug.
“Well, that’s where it gets complicated.” Lydia pushed her coffee away. Usually she loved the stuff, but this morning even the smell of it was making her stomach turn. Probably had less to do with the coffee and more to do with the confession she was about to make. “Tillman was sleeping with Karen.”
Nora’s eyes got big. “Really? You don’t think he’s the killer, do you?” Her gaze grew distant as if she were comparing the hospital CEO to everything she remembered about her attacker. “I don’t know. Maybe. He’s misogynistic enough.” She shook her head. “It’s so frustrating. I didn’t see or hear anything helpful. I wish I had; I could have stopped all this—”
“Nora.” Lydia’s tone was sharper than she intended, but it did the trick. Nora jerked her chin up. “Stop it. You did the best you could. You survived. You can’t blame yourself.”
“You’re right. I know you are. It’s just—”
“Pete Sandusky is going to run a story that you lost Karen’s evidence kit.” There, it was out. Lydia sat back, waiting for Nora.
“How does Pete know anything—” Nora’s eyes narrowed. “You told him?”
“No. He already knew. Whoever stole it sold him the photos of Karen from it. Told him that you found her body, lost the rape kit, everything. Including that Seth and Karen were involved. He came to me for confirmation.”
“And you gave it to him?”
“I gave him nothing. But I could have maybe stopped him, traded him the story about Tillman and Karen, tried to save you.”
“And you didn’t.” Nora set her cup down without looking, rattling the silverware and sloshing coffee that she didn’t clean up. Then she glanced up at Lydia. “You want to blackmail Tillman, make him leave Narolie alone.”
Lydia nodded. “I couldn’t think of another way, and Sandusky might have ended up running the story about you anyway. But I wanted to warn you before you walked into a hornet’s nest.”
“The nurses, everyone at Angels, they’ll think I did it on purpose, because of Seth and Karen.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I tried to think of something I could do to fix things, but,” Lydia opened her empty hands and laid them on the table between them, “I didn’t come up with anything.”
Nora didn’t make eye contact as she nodded. “You’re not even going to go through with it, blackmailing Tillman, are you?”
“No. But I’m going to tell Jerry. It might help his investigation.”
“Even if it might mean losing Narolie?”
Lydia closed her eyes as a wave of nausea overtook her. She hated gambling with a girl’s life, but it was the right thing to do. “Even if it means losing Narolie.”
“Then you’re doing the right thing.” Nora’s voice was strong, confident. “I can take care of myself. And we’ll think of some way to help Narolie.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“What
are you doing here?” asked Laurie, the night-shift charge nurse, as Gina walked into the ER on Saturday morning. “You’re not on the schedule.”
“Making up for hours I owe,” Gina mumbled in reply as she headed to the locker room to change. Laurie kept staring, like she was a freak or something. Since when was it a crime to work extra hours? It wasn’t so strange to show up, wanting to work when it wasn’t her shift, was it?
Gina banged her locker door. Of course it was. Residents worked eighty-hour weeks, why in hell would they come back for more if they had any place better to be?
But suddenly she had no place better to be. Not with Amanda on call and the house empty, Jerry’s place off-limits, and no way, nohow could she go home to her parents. . . . Suddenly the frenzy of the ER was her safe haven. A place where she didn’t have to think about how screwed up her own life was.
She returned to the nurses’ station to check the patient board and was surprised to see Tank sitting there, talking with Jason, the ward clerk. “What are you doing here?”
“Hoping to find you.” He stood, clutching a backpack, obviously nervous. He wore jeans—too expensive and pressed with a sharp crease—and a lightweight polo shirt under a heavy wool overcoat. He looked like a foreign kid dressing up as an American teen for Halloween and failing miserably. As if without his school uniform he had no idea how to fit in.
Gina could give him some pointers on that—she’d mastered the art of disguise. But apparently Tank wasn’t here for fashion tips. “My grandfather was going to throw out the medicine you gave us, but I kept it, used it just like the directions said. So I’m not contagious now, right? I can go see Narolie and not hurt her, can’t I?”
“Does your mother know you’re here?” He was silent, looking down at the floor. Guess that answered her question. “How’d you get here, Tank?”