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Chapter 13
Ihardly remember the next two days after Rory quasi-moves in with me. The pain from surgery has only gotten progressively worse, and I can do nothing but lay in bed.
Sleeping lets me forget about the pain, so I spend most of my time doing just that. I have a fleeting memory of Rory trying to wake me up. He had small, cool cubes of watermelon in his hands as he tried to feed me. The coolness of one pressed against my lips nearly tempted me, but ultimately, I pushed it away in favor of sleep.
The next vague memory is a blurry collage of the hospital lobby, Rory carrying me in, and a flurry of hospital images and sensations; the pinch of the needle going in, tubes of blood drawn, and the IV line set up.
When I wake, I’m not surprised to be at the hospital, knowing I would only be lucky if it had all been a dream, and luck is not on my side these days. It’s morning, and my room is empty. How long have I been out? Is he back at work? I thought he took vacation time for a while to stay with me.
I lick my dry lips with a dry tongue and wince a little at the stiff skin peeling off my lower lip. They are so cracked it almost hurts. My throat is shut tight, and I’m thirstier than I ever have been. How long was I out?
The hospital remote rests conveniently by my side. I pick it up and press the call-nurse-button.
“Valentina, you’re awake! That’s great.” A sunny Sara walks into my room and reads from some of the monitors next to me. “Welcome back,” she says.
“How long have I been out?” I rasp.
“Oh, you must be thirsty. One sec.” She comes back with a cup filled with water and adds a straw before handing it to me.
“Dr. Dennis brought you in last night. You don’t remember anything? You were somewhat conscious when he checked you in.”
I shake my head, trying to bring back memories, but nothing swims back. “What happened?” I ask.
“You spiked a fever. They think an infection from your incision. The docs put you on antibiotics, and you should be good as new soon. I’ll have Dr. Ramirez come in and explain in more depth later today.”
“Thanks.”
“It was lucky Dr. Dennis was there.” Sara places her hands on her hips and looks at me suggestively. “So you and Dr. Dennis . . . ?”
I glance away from her, then return my eyes to meet hers. “I don’t want to get him in trouble,” I say.
Sara smiles. “He’s not your doctor, and he can’t be involved in your treatment moving forward. It’s not exactly against the rules, but—”
“But what?” I ask with wide eyes.
“It’s frowned upon,” she says.
I nod, understanding. “If it helps, I didn’t know Rory was a doctor here when I first met him—”
“Listen, you owe me no explanations. I won’t judge you,” she pauses then adds, “for anything.”
Sara says the word ‘anything’ pointedly like she has caught me with the hands in the dough, as Mom would say.
“Thanks . . .” I’m not sure I should ask her what she meant by that comment, so I trail off, hoping the silence will force her to fill the void.
“It’s none of my business,” she says finally, “but Rory left.”
“Oh,” I say.
“He was here all night.”
“He stayed overnight?” I ask, and my heart swells.
“He did, until . . .” Sara trails off, and it’s her who can’t meet my eyes now.
“Until what, Sara? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Until your husband showed up.”
