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"Okay. We'll remove the I.V. and I'll have them bring you some soft foods and liquids. You'll be a little dizzy for a while until you regain your equilibrium and your strength, but that will pass. And your right thigh will be sore for a week or so more. That's where the car struck you. The main thing is that you eat whatever you are given to eat and don't try to do too much at one time. Okay?" he said, patting my hand.
"Yes. Thank you."
He nodded at the nurse and she began to remove the I.V. He made some notations on my chart at the foot of the bed. Then he smiled at me again and left with the older nurse. The young nurse turned a lever and raised the bed so I was in more of a sitting position. Even that little movement made me dizzy for a moment and I had to keep my eyes closed until it was over.
"I'll be right back with something for you to eat and drink," she said. "And I'll
send your friend in."
"Thank you," I said. I took some deep breaths and tried to recall what had happened, but everything was a blur. I couldn't even remember going to Michael's apartment. All I was able to summon up were scattered images—an older man's face, Michael's bedroom looking different, and the little Christmas tree in the corner in the living room. Recalling it brought tears back to my eyes.
"Hi," Trisha said, stepping through the doorway. She had her dark blue wool jacket open and wore a white scarf. She had a small, gift-wrapped box in her left hand. Her hair was brushed back and tied in a ponytail. Her cheeks were still flushed from the cold weather, but she looked so fresh and bright, it was cheerful just looking at her within this white, bland hospital world.
"Hi," I replied and held out my hand. She took it quickly.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"Tired, confused and a little sore. I get dizzy every time I lift my head from the pillow, but the doctor just told me that would soon go away as I eat and get stronger."
"I brought you some candy," she said, placing the box on the table beside my bed. "So you can get fat and ugly."
"Thank you." My smile faded. When we stared at each other. "You know what happened to me?" I asked. She nodded and looked down, still holding my hand. "I went to his apartment, but he was gone; he deserted me," I said.
She looked up sharply.
"He's a horrible person to do this, horrible. I wish I had known it was Michael Sutton all the time. I would have warned you to stay away from him. Not that you would have listened to me, I guess," she added.
"Maybe he's just afraid of losing his career," I said.
"No. He's just selfish." She looked toward the doorway and then leaned closer to me. "Is the baby all right?"
"Yes." Using the doctor's words, I said, "Everything is fine in that department."
"What are you going to do about it now?" she asked quickly.
"I don't know. It's too late to do anything but have it. Anyway, I want it," I said firmly.
"You do?"
"I don't care what Michael is like now. I loved him and he must have loved me a little. The baby is a result of the good things, the nice things," I added, remembering. "The little Christmas tree is still there. We were going to have such a wonderful Christmas and New Year's together," I moaned.
"Don't," Trisha said sternly. "You will get yourself very sick and be in here longer."
I bit down on my lower lip and nodded. The nurse returned with a tray of juice and Jell-O.
"Start with this," she said, placing the bed table over me and setting the tray on it. She fit the straw into the container of juice. My fingers trembled as I brought it to my lips.
"I'll help her," Trisha offered.
"Thank you," the nurse said, smiling, and left us. Trisha held the straw for me while I drank. It seemed like ages and ages since my mouth and throat had experienced any food, and not just three days or so. I never thought it would be so great an effort to sip juice.
"What's going on back at the house?" I asked after taking a breath. "Agnes must be fit to be tied."
"Oh, don't ask. When the police came and told her, she went racing through the apartment house, wringing her hands and telling everyone that she thought we were on a ship that was going down. Mrs. Liddy had her hands full calming her. All she kept chanting was, 'Nothing like this has ever happened before. It's not my fault.' Finally, she changed into one of her mourning outfits and paraded about like a bereaved person. It got on my nerves because it was as if you had died. Whenever she spoke about you, it was always in the past tense, telling us what a shame it was. You had so much talent and you were such a pretty girl, but you were too spoiled.
"Finally, I lost my temper and screamed at her. 'She's not dead, Agnes. Stop talking like that!' I cried. But it didn't do much good. She looked at me sadly and shook her head as if I were the one who was crazy and not her. All I could do was walk away. I came up here every free moment I had and waited for you to wake up."
"I know. They told me. Thank you for caring so much, Trisha," I said.
