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“My parents weren’t great about taking us to the doctor growing up. For Cal and Len, that was kind of fine. They were both healthy. Or, at least, not always sick.”
“But not you?” he asked, skirting his eyes away from the road and onto mine.
I shook my head. “Anytime the temperature dropped, I’d turn blue. Not just a little blue. Blueberry blue. It didn’t hurt, but it looked kind of terrifying. Len swore I was dying once, and called the ambulance and the police. I was fine, but my parents weren’t there and we got carted off for a while.” I bit my bottom lip. “Anyway, after that, they had to bring me to the doctor as part of the protective services thing. Like, the state required them to get me treatment. That would have been fine, except we were all a little freaked out. Mom and Dad were afraid I’d get taken away, and all that stress made me stressed.” Sighing, I released all the built-up anxiety at just saying the words. “Anyway, they diagnosed me, and then the caseworker went away, and I didn’t go to appointments anymore.”
Andy’s stare turned hard, his eyes glittering. “But you were still hurt?”
“Sometimes. But it was more painful for everyone if I made them take me to the hospital, so I stopped asking. Until Bunny took us in.”
I risked turning to face him. Despite his stony demeanor, a question formed on his lips. “When was that?”
“Too late to make a difference,” I said with a shrug.
CHAPTER15
Andy
What feltlike the fiftieth episode of some house show blared on the TV in the tiny waiting room. I paced the room again, blocking the television and annoying the only other person waiting.
“Pacing won’t make the surgeon work any faster,” the elderly lady said calmly, her wrinkled fingers knitting a sock while her eyes remained glued to the TV screen.
I grunted, sitting on the corner of a chair and angling my head to get a clear view of the locked door leading to post-operative recovery. Pulling out my phone, I ignored the slew of emails and phone calls from the gym and pocketed it again. I pulled out Nora’s phone instead, opening dozens of well-wishes from friends and family.
There were a lot. I tapped out of a quick group text to Cal, Len, Bunny, Thea, and Becca, letting them know I was still waiting, and then assessed the rest of the texts. Tammy, the woman from the coffee shop, sent no less than four texts, while Gary, Nora’s ex-employer, only sent two that sounded like they were pulled from an online search of ‘get well wishes.’
“Mr. Stewart?” The wooden doors swung open and the surgeon called my name, stopping me from sending Gary a stream of expletives in response.
I sat up, fear clutching my chest. “Is Nora okay?”
The surgeon chuckled; the white mask over her face muffled the noise. She pulled it down. “Fine. Wonderful, even. By all accounts, the surgery was a success. She’s resting comfortably in the back. Would you like to see her?”
I nodded, following her down the hallway.
She walked us into a large open circular space with cloth curtains dividing the outer ring of the room into pods. The reassuring steady beep of the instruments competed with the four nurses gathered around a desk at the center of the room. The surgeon beckoned me toward a closed curtain, slipping inside.
Nora lay on a bed, tucked under a stack of stark white blankets, looking impossibly small and fragile. Her right hand sat propped up on top of them all, the bandages covering most of her hand and halfway up her forearm.
“She did great. She’s probably still a little loopy, but that should wear off by late this evening. Right now, she’s not feeling any pain, but in the next couple of hours, you will want to start her on the pain meds, at least for the first day or two.”
“When should I be able to talk to her?” I asked, my attention on Nora.
“She’s awake, just tired.” She stepped to the side of the bed and squeezed Nora’s shoulder. “Mrs. Stewart? Nora? Your husband is here.”
Her eyes fluttered open, brown eyes foggy and far away. “My husband? I don’t have one of those.”
Rather than distress, the surgeon only chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m sure that’s just the anesthesia. It knocks some patients on their butt.”
I nodded, sitting in the chair beside Nora on the side of her good arm. “Hey, Nora. It’s Andy.”
She turned her head at the sound of my voice, a light smile crossing her lips. “Oh, what are you doing here?”
“I’m here to take you home,” I said, returning my attention to the surgeon. “How long should that be?”
“Another hour, maybe two. A nurse will be by in a bit to get her vitals and ensure the anesthesia is wearing off like it should. After that, you’ll be good to go.”
I pulled out my phone, opening my notes, and the surgeon answered the bevy of other questions I’d come up with while researching Nora’s surgery. After answering them all, she slipped away, promising to follow up with Nora next week. I sat in the chair by the head of her bed, watching her chest rise and fall to the steady hum of the heart monitor.
“How are you feeling?” I asked when her eyes fluttered open.
