“What?”
When the other woman continued speaking, she realizedhimdidn’t mean the man sharing their elevator. “Go ahead and hold your fiancé’s hand or kiss him, within reason. Touch helps them heal and think of themselves as still men.”
At the ninth floor, the doors opened onto a man in a motorized wheelchair.
“Hey, Mike!” They exited, and her escort held the doors while the smiling blond entered and swiveled to face them. “Looking good!”
“Back at you, Boichek.” This soldier’s shirt read Some Assembly Required and his grin was like any twenty-year-old’s, except he didn’t have legs. “Going dancing tonight?”
“If you’re coming.”
“Next week I’m due C-legs. Try keeping me away.”
The two stared at each other, and Grace realized she was watching a crush play out.
“You up here visiting?” Boichek finally asked, sounding as if she’d been running.
“Checking on the new arrivals.” His grin slipped. “One doesn’t have family in yet.”
The petty officer nodded at her. “She’s a fiancée. For Sergeant Cruz.”
“That’s him.” He looked at Grace for the first time. “Those snake-eaters never quit. I had to tell him to knock off trying to do arm curls with his water jug. Your man is a crazy dude.”
“You have no idea.” If Reynaldo Cruz was like this soldier, they’d share a laugh, and then he’d explain, and her life could return to normal.
With Mike gone, Boichek patted her lightly on the shoulder to urge her forward. “You should feel free to kiss him.”
She knew where Boichek’s imagination had been, but kissing Reynaldo Cruz was so far down her list, it wasn’t there. As she lifted her arms for a disposable hospital gown, she almost laughed at her escort’s suggestion, then she noticed a nurse push a wheelchair toward her. This soldier’s face had scabs. His shaved head showed a jagged set of Frankenstein staples. No grin, no laughter or chat like Mike. For a heart-stopping moment she searched for features she recognized from pictures, but then she saw that his stubble was reddish-blond. He wasn’t Reynaldo Cruz, but he could have been.
“Help me.” The plea to her escort burst out. “I don’t want to make a mistake.”
“You won’t.” The petty officer rested a hand on her shoulder. “Like I said, say his name, look him in the eye, touch his arm, then do what feels right.”
Nothing felt right, nothing, but with her surgical gloves and hair cap on, delay was futile.
Reynaldo Cruz looked terrible. Two fat rolls of bandages stopped above where legs and feet should fill the bed. Tubes emerged from the wrappings and disappeared under the sides. He’d lost both legs, that was obvious. He also had an oxygen tube taped under his nose and an intravenous line in his hand. Dark hair stuck to his head, and his tan skin shined as if coated with lotion or sweat. His eyes were closed.
She’d studied the pictures she could find, including one of him on the Salito football team as a junior in 2003 and one printed in theQuad City Star Tribunewhen he’d completed basic training. Ten years ago, he’d been a skinny boy in an oversized army hat, but the arms and shoulders of this man were too muscled to be labeled boyish. Her stomach lurched over the contrast of his upper body filling the space between the bed rails and the empty mattress at the foot of the bed.
When the nurse looked over her shoulder and connected with Grace, she jerked her head at the bed, as if she’d been waiting for Grace to enter. Maybe some visitors fled without stepping inside, but taking the easy route wouldn’t give her answers about the engagement photo.
To get her life back, she’d have to come all the way in.
Despite the monitors arrayed around the top of the tilted bed, the room was quieter than she’d expected. No repetitive beeps, just the generic white noise of electronics and humming ventilation.
“Hello.” She swallowed and tried again, but the new greeting sounded too loud.
The man in the bed fluttered his eyelids and turned his head, and then his mouth fell open and his skin flushed to his hairline. She might have no earthly idea why he’d fabricated anengagement, but even with the robe and hairnet, he recognized her.
“Surprise, Sergeant.” The nurse stood. “Your fiancée’s here!”
The whole world believed the lie.
Standing at the head of the bed, if she focused on his face, she could keep the bundled stubs out of her peripheral vision. “Hello, Reynaldo.”
The nurse gathered a tray of dishes. “Buzz if you need me.”
After the other woman left, the silence absorbed the energy Grace’s nerves had supplied on the way to the room. She could almost graph how the longer she stood five feet from the bed, the smaller she became. Eventually, if neither of them spoke, maybe she would disappear.
