“That’s putting it mildly.”
“What happened to your clothes?”
“The ones I was wearing were no match for the patient who bled out, despite being covered by a surgical gown. So...” I held my arms out to show off my too-big attire. “Here we are.”
She winced. “Sorry. You okay otherwise? I saw Mac. He looked a little shaken.”
I shrugged. “It was terrifying. I’ve never been that close to...”
The word wasdying. But I didn’t want to say it and she nodded, understanding.
“Well,” she said. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“You have any trouble?” I asked, and she shook her head.
“Nah. Looks like you guys cleared the way for us.”
“You’re welcome,” I said and then pointed down a line of beds. “These are our guys.”
“How do they look?”
“We lost one in the past hour. The rest should make it okay. Especially with two of us onboard.”
At her silence, I looked over at her. I sighed at the empathetic look on her face.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Really. It was awful but... I’ve recovered. Mostly.”
She reached out and squeezed my hand.
When Char, Paulette, Tilly, and I had first met and agreed that the four of us were going to be friends, Tilly had asked in her quiet way what we all needed when times were tough. We’d been sitting on Paulette and Tilly’s lower bunks, Char and Paulette on one, me and Tilly on the other, playing cards on an overturned box, laughing, and sharing bits about ourselves when the question arose.
“At the last hospital I worked at,” she’d said, shuffling the cards like a pro, “the lead nurse had a policy that we could come to her if the job was ever too much. She asked us each what we needed to feel safe and comforted. I thought we could do the same here. For each other.”
We’d all looked at one another and shrugged. Seemed like a good idea to us.
Char liked to be hugged when she had a bad day.
“A good long one,” she’d said.
“Not me,” Paulette had said. “Just leave me be. No touching. No sad smiles. Ignore me. I’ll come around when I’m ready.”
“Tilly?” I’d asked.
“Just sit beside me for a while,” she’d said. “Don’t say anything. Just be there.”
“What about you, Kate?” Paulette had asked.
I’d thought about it for a moment. I wasn’t much for physical touch, thanks to cold parents whose only forms of affection were the tight, satisfied smiles they gave when I brought home good grades or displayed excellent manners in front of their friends during one of their stuffy dinners. It wasn’t until I was living with my aunt and uncle that I saw genuine joy and love between a couple. It had initially made me uncomfortable. And embarrassed. But after a while I’d begun to crave the feel of a simple hug. A hand run over my hair. The squeeze of my hand in a moment of joy. I grew comfortable enough receiving that kind of affection from my aunt and uncle, but I was still wary of it with others. I’d steered away from having a boyfriend in my late teens and early twenties because of it, but in the three years before shipping out for the New Hebrides, I’d had two. Neither of whom had fulfilled any sort of desire in me. I wasn’t even sure I had desires like other women, seeing as I hadn’t felt much for either man, and had told them as much in the end. But it had felt like something I should try. The normal course of action for a woman my age. Most of the women I knew were keen at the idea of being attached to a man. I’d never really understood the draw. I was most happy by myself.
“You’re so frigid,” Calvin, the most recent, had said as he’d dropped me off in front of my aunt and uncle’s house.
I’d considered the word and then nodded.
“Perhaps I am,” I’d said. “Or perhaps you just do nothing for me.”
The look on his face, a bewildered sort of disbelief, amused me to this day.
“I’m not sure,” I’d said to Paulette, looking from one friend to the next over my hand of cards. “I’m not one for a lot of physical affection. Maybe just a squeeze of the hand?”
