“You’re standing in a pool of your own blood. You’re not fine.” She starts peeling back my shirt. “This needs proper cleaning and fresh dressings.”
I let her work. I’m too tired to fight. Too empty to care.
She cleans the torn skin. Applies antibiotic ointment. Wraps fresh gauze around my shoulder and applies bandages to my face.
“You tore through healed tissue,” she says quietly. “This will set back your recovery.”
I bite back a bitter laugh. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to your daughter,” she states.
Ben.
Fuck.
“Jess quit,” I hear myself say. The words taste like ash. “She’s gone. Invoked her exit clause. I need you to cover until I can find someone else.”
Neli’s hands pause. “Mr. Fiore, I’m a wound care nurse. Not a nanny.”
“I know what you are.” I grab my checkbook from the dresser. Scribble numbers with my good hand. “One hundred thousand dollars. For extended care. Ben and the household. Until I figure this out.”
I hold out the check.
She stares at it. At the amount.
Then she shakes her head. “This is too much.”
“It’s for Ben,” I tellher. “Not you.”
She finally takes the check. Folds it carefully. Tucks it into her pocket.
“I’ll do it,” she says. “But only until you find proper help. As I said, I’m not a nanny.”
She finishes bandaging my shoulder and then packs up her supplies. She pauses at the door.
“You should rest,” she says. “I’ll send someone up to clean this mess.”
After she leaves I shut the door and return to my corner.
I slide down the wall.
The house is quiet now.
No Jess.
Just me and the blood and the knife.
Exactly what I deserve.
48
Jess
I’m wiping down table seven for the third time this hour because apparently when you have nothing better to do with your hands you just keep cleaning the same sticky surface over and over until someone orders something or you have a complete mental breakdown.
Day four of my exciting new career as a diner waitress.
“Order up!” Danny calls from the kitchen. He’s the cook. And the own owner.
