Page 59 of The Wedding Party

I rub the back of my neck. “I’m ready to have my head stop hurting anytime now.”

“Of course you are,” she says. “You took quite a knock on the head. You know from your own experiences caring for patients, I’m sure, that time is your best friend. Each day it will get better.”

I like Ava. There’s a worldliness that comes with her gray hair and the deep lines fanning her green eyes. Green eyes that tell a story, too. She understands pain, and it shows in that indescribable way that only a good nurse offers in support. I’ve always tried to be one of those nurses.

“I know the answer,” I preface my next question as she wraps a blood pressure cuff around my arm, “but just because I need to hear your answer, Could the concussion be causing my memory loss?”

“It’s a good question to ask the doctor.”

The answer is frustratingly evasive, but understandable. She’s not a doctor, and I’m tied to my damn IV pole like a criminal. I’m not exactly the person you want to get involved with right now. Therefore, I don’t pressure her. I simply ask, “When can I do that? When will the doctor be around again?”

“In about an hour,” she answers, reading my vitals and removing the cuff from my arm. My blood pressure is 120 over 70. Perfect. Nothing will ever be perfect, or otherwise, for Oliver. My chest squeezes with emotion, and when Ava goes to move away, I catch her hand. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t do this.”

She settles back into her kneel beside me. “I’m not assuming you did anything. I see how much you loved him.”

“But?”

“There are no buts,” she says. “At least not from my perspective. My job is not to judge. You know that. You’re a nurse as well.”

“Funny how I can remember everything I learned in nursing school, but not the events of last night.”

“You’ll remember. Have faith.” She fans herself. “They have the heat up so high. Are you hot?”

“Very.”

“I’ll get you a little fan, too, and crack the door just to get some air in here.”

“Will they let you?”

She nods. “Of course. I’m in charge of my patients’ comfort.”

Someone knocks on the door and Ava pops to her feet. “That’s probably the dessert I ordered for you. That broth you had earlier and a little bread wasn’t much. I’m hoping to entice you to eat a bit more with chocolate cake. Believe it or not, it’s really quite good. I’ll be right back.”

She rushes away, exiting the room and leaving the door ajar.

And for just a fleeting moment, I think about running.

Chapter Fifty

I actually stand up as if I might really make a run for it, but pain erupts, like thunder in my head, and sits my butt right back down. Not that I want to run, but as my fingers grip the armrests, I amend that thought. Well, maybe I do. I want to run away from my new reality. The one without the man I love. And I do love him. Forever. I will always love him. Always.

Willing tears and the thunder in my head away, I lay my head back and shut my eyes, counting again. One. Two. Three. Four. I get to ten when I hear, “Chocolate cake has arrived.”

I lift my head to blink Ava into view. “I’m still trying to find a fan,” she adds. “Apparently, we all agree—the heater is on overdrive today. Everyone wants a fan.” She pulls the tray up in front of me and sets the cake down. “But everyone doesn’t get cake. I had your piece set aside special. Try that. If that doesn’t make you feel better, we need more testing.”

“I’d laugh,” I say, “but it would hurt. Imagine me laughing. And thank you, Ava.”

“No thanks needed, honey. Eat. You need to eat.”

I need Oliver, I think, but in silent submission, I pick up the fork.

Ava watches me closely, and satisfied that I’ve complied, she announces, “I need to get vitals on another patient, but I’ll be back to check on you in a few.” She fans herself. “And hopefully with a fan.” She hurries out of the room and leaves the door open a bit wider than last time.

I don’t consider running this time. Where would I go? I’m in hell, and I’ve always felt that no matter how many I help, I doubt I’ll ever make it into heaven. And yet, I try to change that feeling. I do try.

For no reason but to please Ava, I jab my fork into the cake and slide a bite into my mouth. It’s a thick, rich chocolate, with a bittersweet icing. I don’t want to like it. How dare I like anything right now. But I do. I like it, and for that reason and that reason alone, I set my fork down and slide the tray away.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I reach for my memory of last night, desperately trying to remember something, anything. And a few little details splatter across my mind, a bit like spilled sour milk, hard to digest. I’m back at the party and I’m laughing with the girls, feeling a bit light-headed from the champagne, when normally I handle my champagne quite well. Next thing I know, the girls are dragging me to the stage in front of the male dancers. My eyes pop open, and despite the ache of my stitched belly, I sit up straighter. Oh God. I was sticking money in one of the dancers’ G-strings. Why would I do that? That’s not like me at all. The dancer, a bald, muscular man, had even grinned at my fingers at his hip and blown me a kiss.