“I was leaving after your set,” I go on. “Saw a guy follow you down toward the waterfront. He was creepy so I followed both of you. He attacked you and ran before I caught up.”
Her eyes sharpen for a moment.
“I called it in.” I heave out a breath. “Now we’re here.”
Silence. Except for the machine keeping a steady rhythm.
“You don’t…know me,” she ekes out.
“No.”
Another pause. Her focus wavers, drifts past me, returns.
“Why?” Her question comes out skeptically.
I decide to keep it simple. “Because you needed someone there.”
She breathes out, slow. “This could…be bad.”
“I’ll deal with it,” I promise.
Her eyes stay on mine a second longer. Then her hand shifts against the blanket slowly. It takes all her effort.
I don’t move.
After a second, her fingers brush mine. I turn my hand enough so she can take it if she wants.
She does.
A day ago I couldn’t make myself say hello to her at a bar. Now I’m sitting in a hospital room, committed to an impossible insurance fix, holding the hand of a woman who is still a stranger.
I look at her, the tape on her wrist, the mess of her hair against the pillow, quiet trust sitting between us in spite of every insane part of this situation.
How did my lie turn into the most honest thing I’ve felt in years?
I don’t say this out loud. Some thoughts are too absurd, even for me.
Still, when she closes her eyes and her fingers stay wound through mine, one more thought pushes in right behind it.
Impossible to ignore.
This will be one heck of a story for our grandkids.
Whoa.
eight
Two Days Later
GoodGod,makeitstop.
The lights in this room never stop flickering. They buzz over my head, drilling straight through my skull until each pulse in my temples picks up the same miserable rhythm. Even with my eyes closed I can’t escape the sensation.
White glare bleeds through my lids. The pillow under my head has gone flat. The blanket weighs too much across my legs. Even the sheet scraping my skin is annoying.
I lie here and count breaths, lose count. Start over.
Somewhere beyond the pounding in my head, Dr. Felix speaks in his calm, measured voice. He has a permanently concerned face built for hospitals. Nothing rushed. Nothing dramatic. Hegives bad news and good news in the same tone, which ought to make me trust him more than I do.
