His friends laughed, and the man continued, “Now I know why you were always big talk and no action.”
When he turned toward her, Grace’s back and shoulders clenched. She’d successfully concealed her disappointment that they couldn’t explain the truth either, but she wouldn’t be able to field any questions about a mythical courtship.
“Cruz is like a brother. If there’s anything you need from my wife or me—” he broke off, squeezing his eyes shut, and Grace suspected he was close to tears.
Not the moment to tell him his best friend was a liar.
Theresa immersed herself in the clipboard’s papers. “This is good.”
Anything that could possibly be called good about the half-empty bed and flailing speech imposed on this man eluded Grace.
The other woman flipped pages and periodically muttered “I see” and “oh.” She must not have realized she had Grace and both men transfixed. “You are one lucky—”
“Gonna share your findings with us?” her husband asked.
She gave him the type of look that flowed between people who didn’t need to use words with each other. “Apparently the explosion was an old Soviet anti-personnel mine, not a modern IED. Either because of water damage or age, they estimate it expended half its rated force. Because Rey-nal-do—I do like saying that name—was in water over his waist, it slowed the blast wave. Debris wasn’t driven as far into his body. The ditch had some fecal coliform—” she shrugged like the only words Grace understood were no big deal, “—but that’s responded to antibiotics and it’s not the variety of infections caused by particles in a ground-based explosion.” She stopped and blinked. “I hope that’s clear.”
“As the dulcet tones of archaic Icelandic, Madam Wife.”
Rey snorted at his friend’s comment, and Grace realized she wasn’t the only one lost. The way these two obviously cared about the man in the bed made her reluctant to expose Reynaldo’s lies. Because a real fiancée would presumably expect details, she asked, “What’s going to happen next?”
“Best guess, they’ll close the wounds this week and if all goes well, after six months of physical therapy, he’ll go home,” Theresa answered.
The nearest doctor to Salito was at the county hospital in Brewster, or down in Chelan. She couldn’t recall if their town hadanyservices for the disabled. “No way.”
Theresa’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t you live there?”
“I’m in Seattle.” And she didn’t go home much except holidays, but her schedule was irrelevant. “Besides the…” She waved a hand at the empty space in the bed. “Why can’t he speak?”
Wanting an explanation this much felt selfish, but she needed him to be able to talk.
The other woman flipped pages. “TBI—traumatic brain injury—can manifest different symptoms. Rey’s exhibiting acquired apraxia of speech.”
More pages.
“His tests don’t show aphasia—that’s language processing problems, basically understanding input. Apraxia can be described as the opposite, a disconnect with the link between his brain’s language center and his mouth muscles.”
“Not sure those two were ever connected,” Wulf said.
Rey lifted his middle finger to reply.
“See? You still manage output, dickhead.”
“And it looks like you’ll get to start swallowing a lot more tomorrow.” Theresa grinned. “In rehab therapy, I mean.”
Wulf burst out laughing and Rey added his other middle finger.
Grace didn’t allow the conversation to sidetrack her. “How long until he’s better? At speaking, I mean.”
“I practiced internal medicine, not neurology, so I can’t say.” The woman’s eyes narrowed at Grace. “How well do you know Reynaldo?”
Grace had been half-prepared for the interrogation shift since Rey’s friends had arrived. She wrapped her arms around herself and glanced at Rey to see if he wanted her to reveal the truth. His half-closed eyes and shallow breathing made him look exhausted. Part of her wanted to place her hand on his forehead but touching him with an audience would be too awkward. “We’re from the same town. Everyone knows everyone.”
“How long have you been engaged?” The other woman’s gaze focused where Grace’s ringless left hand protruded from her crossed arms.
The direct question filled her with dread because she’d been a crappy liar her whole life, unable even to blame a dirty floor on the dog when she’d forgotten to remove her shoes inside. “Since the news announced it.”
Instead of throwing accusations, Wulf punched his friend lightly on the shoulder. “Cruz, man, there are easier ways to get a woman to say yes.”
