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Today is going to be long, demanding, and emotional, and I have the feeling that it is just the beginning.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT - KATIE
It’s been a week, and I haven’t slept or eaten as much in my life as I have at Eddie’s. Coffee and breakfast are ready for me each morning. Lunch is fully organized by a chef who comes in to prepare healthy meals. We have a warm dinner, glass of wine, and long talks well into the evening. I am still exhausted, but it has been extremely healing.
“How are you doing?” Shelley asks me for what feels like the hundredth time today.
“I feel like an animal in a zoo,” I tell her honestly. It is my first day back at work, and it is as bad as I thought it would be. People are staring at me everywhere I go. They whisper as I walk past. Media are milling around the hospital because Mrs. Rothschild is still here—not that I have seen her. I am giving her a wide berth, as per Eddie’s instructions. After my previous introduction to her, I am happy to follow Eddie’s advice.
“Hmmm, do you need security up here?” Shelley asks me, looking at me with concern. My smile is thin. Security following me around is just totally ludicrous, but Eddie and the hospital staff all still think it is a good idea, one I keep refuting.
“No.” I sigh. “I just feel like I am back in school and am the outcast. I even caught a patient trying to take my photo earlier. I have no idea what for,” I say, scrunching my nose up because it all feels just too weird. Like an invasion of my privacy.
“To sell to the media,” Shelley says, tapping on her computer.
“What?” I ask, looking at her in surprise.
“You are a hot topic at the moment. Everyone wants to know who the local nurse is who bagged the last billionaireandwho he loves so much that he hit a guy outside of this hospital protecting you,all whilehis poor mother is on her deathbed inside. That is what the media are saying, anyway," Shelley says, almost without taking a breath.
“Oh God,” I say, my hand wiping down my face, wondering when it will all just end.Will I ever have a quiet, non-eventful life?
“Excuse me?” I turn at the voice and see the familiar face of a woman standing behind us, no doubt hearing our entire conversation.
“Ohhh, hi. You’re back?” I ask with a half smile.
“Sorry, you must be getting sick of me. I was just hoping I might catch Dr. Wilson today?” she asks, cringing in hope. I hear Shelley sigh next to me and already know that this poor woman will be turned away again.
“I'm sorry, love, he is not available right now. You could wait on the seats over there, but you could be waiting a while,” Shelley offers, giving me a side-eye. We both know that Dr. Wilson will probably walk straight past this woman, but this is the fourth time she has been in over these past few weeks and clearly, she really needs to see him.
“Thank you. It may be a waste of time, but I might just wait for a little while.”
“No problem. We can let you know when he is coming through,” I offer, feeling sorry for this woman. I put her at about my age. Extremely polite, quiet. I am not sure why she needs Dr. Wilson, but it is obviously important as she is very persistent.
“Oh, that would be great, Thank you so much.” Flashing me a small smile, she retreats over to the chairs next to the elevator bank.
“What do you think she needs to see Dr. Wilson so badly for?” I murmur to Shelley as we watch her pull a book out from her bag and sit down, quietly reading.
“I don’t know. If it was anything to do with a patient or medical matter, then I assume his office would have helped her out already. If I had to put money on it, I would say it is personal,” Shelley says, and I have come to realize that Shelley loves a bit of work gossip.
“She brings that thick file in with her every time. It looks decades’ old,” I say, my eyes flicking to her tote bag that sits on the floor at her feet, the thick file full of paperwork sticking out.
“Maybe it is a malpractice waiting to happen,” Shelley murmurs before turning back to her computer and tapping on the keys. The woman looks up at me then, like she knows we are talking about her, and gives me another smile. Her cheeks are pink, looking a little awkward. There is something about her smile that is eerily familiar, but I return her smile and gather my paperwork, knowing that this week has been a lot, and I am probably imagining things. Or slowly going crazy. Either option is likely.
That makes me think of the past few days. I have spent hours with Ben and the police, recounting almost every interaction I have ever had with Steve. It has been tough. Tougher than I ever expected. I had to try to remember dates and times and situations. By the end of it all, once I had gone through everything, Ben and the police had pages and pages of notes. They looked astonished, and I felt instant relief. In those sessions, I just let everything out, and boy, it felt good to get it all off my chest. The heaviness that usually sits on my shoulders is almost nonexistent, and with plans to start regularly weekly counseling, I feel positive.
I know Eddie has a lot on his plate with his mother, along my issues arriving on his doorstep, and now the legal ramifications of that. My heart feels heavy, knowing that if it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t have to deal with all the issues.
Then I spot a tall, stunning, blond woman walking through the door, strutting like she is on a catwalk. Yet another society princess trying to stake her claim. My shoulders tense, and I bite my tongue as jealousy nips at my shoulders. As she walks past the chairs, the woman from earlier stands up for a moment, fixing her long skirt, and doesn’t seem to notice the society princess strutting past, and accidentally trips her. Shock covers her face as the woman stumbles, her designer handbag flying from her hands, landing on the polished tiled floor before she grabs a passing nurse and prevents herself from falling.
“Oh, I am so sorry!” the woman exclaims, looking horrified as she attempts to help the princess become steady on her heels.
“Ehhh, don’t touch me. I am wearing Chanel.” She scoffs, throwing her hands away as she straightens herself and I roll my eyes.
“Ohhh.” The young woman stands still, almost in shock, looking at her. She glances at me, and I roll my eyes, which enlists a small smile and a whole lot of relief from her, and we both watch as the polished woman starts limping away. I look down at her body, wondering if she is injured, but I soon smirk when I realize that she has broken the heel on what is no doubt a very expensive pair of shoes. She clearly does not want to meet Eddie or the Rothschild men without her shoes intact.
“One down, about twenty others to go…” Shelley murmurs, and I snort a laugh.
“Maybe we should keep our new friend around a little longer,” I say, looking at the pink-cheeked woman who again sits on the plastic chairs, waiting.
