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He took a sip of the coffee. It wasn’t as good as home-brewed espresso, but it wasn’t bad either.
“I guessed you took your coffee dark like your disposition,” Dr. Modorovic said. “Was I right?”
“You were.”
“Cheers.” She tapped her cup against his. “Now eat.”
Ordinarily, Alek would resent being told what to do, but he really was hungry and the salmon looked delicious. It was sprinkled with fresh lemon zest and there were little crackers to sandwich it between.
“What’s your name?” Alek asked between bites.
“You can call me Jane,” she said with no hesitation.
“Is that really your name?”
“Is Alek Katin yours?”
He wasn’t surprised she noticed. Katin was not a Bulgarian surname. That had been the point.
The doctor set down her croissant on a napkin and said, “I propose a trade. I’ll tell you my Croatian first name if you’ll tell me your Bulgarian one.”
That was easy. “Aleksandar.” His name was so common it was hardly identifying.
“Jana.” She reached over and took the other half of his croissant. Alek’s mouth opened in a scandalized ‘O’ but she ignored him. “Most of the staff and patients just call me Dr. M. Easier to pronounce.”
“Are you married, Jana?”
The only impression Alek had of Jana thus far was that she was, essentially, a lonely woman who forced love onto a terminally feral cat. It was depressing.She wasn’t wearing a ring, but were surgeons even allowed to wear rings?
She nodded. “I was. He died a few years ago.”
Alek refused to entertain the thought of outliving Ian. Preferably, Ian would never die, but if he did, Alek had better alreadybe dead and dust. He was not above pulling a Romeo and Juliet if Ian went first. Ian would be furious, but they’d both be dead so what could he do about it?
“I’m sorry about your husband,” Alek said.
She shrugged. “There are things worse than death.”
It wasa real dick move for Ian to leave Alek with no way to pass the time. Alek had nothing to read, no one to talk to, and the mere idea of watching TV gave him a headache. He’d already cataloged the items in his room, nearly all of them out of his reach except for a plastic jug urinal that hung on the side of his bed, displaying the contents to any passersby. He wished he had magic and could summon the phone to him so he could call Ian and beg him to come back in the only language he had.
Thinking was all Alek had left to entertain himself with, but his thoughts were stormy and sad and told him things likeIan is never coming backandHe would have been better off if you died.Alek would have been better off too.
Without music, without Ian, he had nothing.
According to the clock on the wall across the room, Ian had been gone an hour and a half. Alek rolled onto his side, facing away from the door, because the last thing he would do was stare pathetically out the sliding glass door, pining away after his scorned lover. It was bad enough that the nurse forgot to close the curtain so that anyone walking by could inspect him like an exhibit at the Museum of Natural History.
When the door slid open, Alek didn’t bother to see who it was. It was probably the nurse stopping by to ask him the same asinine questions she asked him every hour.What’s your name? What year is it? Where are you?It was annoying. He didn’t like to talk to people, especially strangers, and the nurse had a knackfor arriving whenever he’d just fallen asleep. He was sure that she was fucking with him.
The mystery intruder stepped closer and Alek smelled spun sugar and orange blossoms. He snapped his eyes shut and slowed his breathing. Why was Ian’s mother here?
Sarah’s footsteps tiptoed closer and then, “I know you’re faking it. Your eyes are too tense.”
When Alek opened his eyes, her face was a few inches away from his. He’d never understood how a woman could be called handsome until he met Sarah. She had bold eyebrows, a patrician nose, and a jawline almost as strong as Ian’s.
He wrote,Ian sent you?
“Yes. I would have come anyway, though. I was waiting to be invited.”
Like a vampire.
