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“No, baby, you’re not. You’re wearing your boxers and a hospital gown. They had to take off your clothes for the MRI.”
“Aw, fuck.”
“Why?”
“I’ve a nodge of hash in my jeans,” I mumbled drowsily. “I could really use a smoke.”
“Oh, Joe.” A broken laugh escaped her. “Trust you to think about getting high in your condition.”
“Can I come in?” a strange voice asked ,and suddenly we were bathed in an abnormal amount of light as the sound of a curtain moving filled my ears. “Are you next of kin?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Is his mother or a guardian around?”
“No. It’s just me.”
“I can come back when his mother—”
“He’s over eighteen,” I heard her say. “I’m down on his paperwork as next of kin. He’s my baby’s father. We’re a family.” Cupping my face between her hands, she lifted my face to hers. “Can you see me, Joe?”
Wincing from the pain the bright lights were causing me, I forced myself to focus on the only face I’d been able to see since I was twelve. “Molloy?”
“The doctor’s here, Joe.” She smiled and my vision blurred in and out before settling on her green eyes. “We’re going to talk to the doctor, okay?”
“Okay.” I forced myself to nod and then winced in pain. “Whatever you say, queen.”
“His MRI results show three separate linear fractures to the skull,” the voice was telling her. “He has a nasal fracture, an orbital fracture, and a hairline fracture to his left zygomatic bone.”
“Zig-o-what-ic?” I heard Molloy croak out. “In plain English please, doctor.”
“Aside from three hairline fractures on Joseph’s skull, he also has a broken cheekbone, a broken nose, a broken eye socket, and a grade three concussion,” I heard the man say. “His MRI also showed up several old contusions, extensive damage to his humerus, not to mention signs of multiple metaphyseal-epiphyseal fractures that seem to have healed remarkably well without causing any major deformation or debilitation to his skeletal frame.”
“I don’t know what any of that means,” I heard my girlfriend strangle out. “What do you mean they’ve healed remarkably well?”
“May I be frank?”
“Yeah, yeah, be frank.”
“Joseph, may I be frank?”
“Be whoever the fuck you want, Doc. I’m not your keeper,” I mumbled, enjoying the feel of Molloy’s fingers in my hair so much, I leaned in closer and rested my chin on her shoulder. “You be Frank and I’ll be Joey.”
“No, Joe, he meant… Never mind. Go ahead, Doctor.”
“In cases like Joseph’s—”
“Joey,” I grumbled. “It’s Joey, Frank.”
“In cases like Joey’s, when patients present under these kinds of circumstances, there’s generally a long history of domestic violence, and to break it down for you, your partner’s test results reveal a pattern of child abuse that clearly stretches back to infancy.”
A pained sob escaped my girlfriend. “Infancy?”
“No, no, no,” I tried to coax, nuzzling her. “Don’t be crying, Molloy.”
“I’m okay, Joe,” she whispered, stroking me. “How can you tell, Doctor?”
“The results of his scans clearly show evidence of malunion fractures that went untreated and healed improperly. There’s very clear evidence of a poorly healed midshaft fracture to his right humerus. Unfortunately, this is something commonly seen in infants under the age of eighteen months who have been exposed to physical abuse. In your partner’s case, while his bones may have healed over time, many of the injuries his body sustained left residual shadows. Or blemishes, if you will.”
