“This is Wes,” Milly said, avoiding Sylvia’s eyes. “He’s completed medical school at UCLA and is going to be working at Hoag Hospital just up the road.”
“I’m happy to help,” Wes said. “I haven’t completed my residency yet but I have basic supplies.”
“Thank you, Wes,” Sylvia said. “We appreciate whatever help you can give him.”
“OK,” he said, “let me take a look.”
Within thirty minutes Wes had examined him, sutured him with three stitches above the right eye, and cleaned and dressed the wounds.
“Do you have anything in the house for pain?” he asked.
“We have a few leftover Percodan pills in the medicine chest.”
“That would help,” he said. “You’ve got at least two broken ribs,” he said, “but it seems they’re nondisplaced fractures.”
“What does that mean?” Sylvia asked.
“They don’t appear to have moved out of place or splintered, which could have caused a laceration of the lungs or kidneys, so you’re lucky in that regard. They should heal at home. There’s not much else you can do for them except take the pain medication to ease the discomfort, but switch to aspirin after tomorrow. Percodan is pretty strong stuff.” He started to pack up his things. “It’s going to be painful to take deep breaths for a while. Try not to cough—that will hurt.” He checked the stitches on his face. “I’ll stop by in a couple of days to change the dressings and check on these stitches. In the meantime, try to get some rest and drink plenty of fluids.”
“Thank you,” Walter said.
“You’re welcome.” Wes stood and picked up his bag.
“We won’t forget your kindness,” Sylvia said. “Really, we are so grateful that Milly asked you to come.”
“Anytime,” he said, and Sylvia watched him look back to Milly, nod, and head out the door. She didn’t know why Milly had stayed in touch with that young man, or how she even knew how to find him, but there was something between them; innocent or not, there was definitely something.
After Milly and Adele left, Sylvia slowly, very slowly, managed to get Walter from the kitchen to the bedroom, where he winced and groaned until he was lying flat on his back in their bed. When he was finally there, he lay with his eyes closed, as if it had taken every part of him to get that far. Seeing him like this, disfigured and swollen, made her want to cry. She knew every millimeter of that face; she’d known it and loved it for eighteen years. Every expression, every subtle movement of the eyebrow or tightening of the jaw, she could read. Lately, in their crisis, she’d read telltale signs of stress on his face too, but mostly, at least before their money troubles, he was happy, always smiling, always laughing. And their friends, neighbors—everybody—respected him, loved him, valued him for all he did for the island.
You made a mistake, Sylvia thought as she sat watching him on the edge of the bed,a huge, stupid mistake—and it changed everything for all of us.
But Milly was right. When you marry someone, you vow to spend the rest of your life with them, and there are going to be mistakes and missteps. There are going to be some wrong turns, some bad decisions, and she needed to decide, right now, what she could forgive and if there was a chance for them to find their way again. She had to let her anger go. She had to believe he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. She had to revive the trust that she’d put in him for so long. She had to love him.
“Walter?” she said in a whisper, placing her hand gently on his arm.
“Mmm,” he murmured, though she wasn’t sure if he was awake or just stirring.
“Walter, pay them the money, please; just give them what they want.”
Walter took great pains to reach over and take Sylvia’s hand in his.
“They could have killed you, Walt. And I”—she brushed a tear away—“I cannot live this life without you. I love you. Just pay them the money.”
She had never once imagined leaving here. Their life was on Balboa Island, they had built it together, planned for their future here, developed so many friendships, but, she realized now, as she looked at him, bruised and beaten, that he was her life, Walter and Judith. She lay down next to him.
“I know I have to hand it over,” Walter said, his voice faint and hoarse. “I’m worried what they’ll do if I don’t, but it’s going to empty us out. We’ll definitely lose the club. I’m already behind on loan payments. If we don’t make the next one, the bank will repossess it and we’ll lose it all.”
“We don’t need it, Walter,” she whispered. “None of it matters. As long as we are together, you, me, and Judith, that’s everything, and that’s all I care about.”
Walter looked over to her and a tear fell down his cheek. “I’ve failed you,” he said.
“You made a mistake,” she said. “None of us can be expected to walk through this life unscathed. But honestly, Walter, I failed you too.”
“How could you even think that?”
“Because I let you do all this alone—provide for our family, worry about money—it led you to do this, to take a chance with our money. I wish I’d let you know you could come to me, talk to me. Maybe I could have helped, but you should never have carried this burden alone, and for that I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t let you in.”
