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I snort. “Not exactly.”
I’ve just been around plenty of wiseguys who got hurt, including Dante. You pick things up along the way.
Jimmy takes a sling out of his bag and gently places it on Aurora, tucking her arm into it. She makes a small sound in the back of her throat.
“I’ve got something that you can take for the pain, don’t worry,” he says, and takes out a pill bottle, shaking two pills into his hand before throwing me the bottle. “Every four hours, whether she asks for it or not, the first couple days,” he orders.
I scramble to the kitchen to get Aurora a bottle of water from the fridge and she takes the pills, looking up at me gratefully.
“Does your cheek hurt?” Jimmy asks. “I’ll take a look as soon as that kicks in.”
“I don’t even feel it,” Aurora comments.
Jimmy chuckles. “I wouldn’t either, with that shoulder of yours,” he comments.
She shifts on the couch slightly as he removes the bandage, but she doesn’t wince when he runs his fingers along the underside of the wound.
“Just a couple stitches should do it, but you’ll have a scar,” Jimmy says, and Aurora makes a face as he sets out the materials – a sewing needle and thread, rubbing alcohol to disinfect the wound, bandages.
“It could be worse. At least, you’re still beautiful,” Jimmy says. “You could always be ugly with a scar.”
I snort out a laugh. Jimmy has a certain way with words.
Aurora chuckles, too, and sits still and quiet while Jimmy stitches her up, just a few whimpers of pain here and there and grabbing tight to my hand when I offer it to her.
I hate watching Jimmy stitch her up, hate seeing the angry red wound, so I look away.
After he’s done, Jimmy hums in the back of his throat again, as if satisfied.
“She’s been sick,” I tell him suddenly.
“I’m fine,” Aurora says, just the edge of a slur in her voice, and when she looks up at me, her brown eyes are glassy. The drugs are working, which is good, but I want Jimmy to check her out.
Jimmy raises an eyebrow. “Sick how?”
“She’s been throwing up a lot,” I say. “Stressed out, I guess.”
“I’ll check her out,” he says. “In private.”
I frown. “Why in private?”
“Because I’m the doctor. You said you didn’t go to med school,” Jimmy says dryly.
He helps Aurora up and leads her to the bedroom, and I huff and go outside for my cigarette routine. Man, I really want to light this shit up.
What the hell could he be examiningprivately?
It’s so frustrating! I want to know what’s wrong, but at the same time, I guess Jimmy knows what he’s doing. It takes about half an hour before Jimmy comes out, gathering his things and putting them back into his bag. He walks outside without speaking to me and I follow him, yelling out his name.
He turns.
“What’s wrong with her?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says easily. “Just the shoulder and the cheekbone.”
“Yeah? She’s not sick?”
“She’s not sick,” Jimmy says, but there’s something in his voice I don’t like.
