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He’s my husband.
There’s been an accident.
Where is he? Take me to him.
Ma’am . . .The one talking paused just a little too long to take off his hat, like in tear-jerker movies neither she nor Harris liked. Only this one was real. The officer’s mouth continued to move, but her wails drowned out the rest of his words.
Alex brushed her arm as he stood up, bringing her back to the present. Doors slammed, and an EMT knelt to check her out.
An officer took a report and told the three of them what Quinn already knew from having married an attorney-turned-judge. Asking a question, smirking, creeping her out wasn’t a crime.
Still, he assured them the local precinct would step up patrols on the block. And she had Harris’s old contacts she could call, although that would require explaining what she had been doing here.
When they were done, the EMT helped her up, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder and elbow as they walked to the waiting gurney.
“I’ll go with her,” Octavia told him.
As she climbed into the back of the ambulance after Quinn, Octavia teased in a furtive whisper, “You don’t have a medical fetish, do you?”
Quinn appreciated the attempt at levity. “Not that I was aware of, but now I kind of wish I did.”
Octavia laughed, her smile instantly soothing, and sat on the bench beside the gurney. She scraped off an overlooked piece of wax from Quinn’s collarbone as one of the EMTs closed the doors.
In the emergency room, round after round of nurses and residents in various specialties asked her the same litany of questions.
When they were done, a woman came into the bay, drawing the curtain behind her. She introduced herself as a social worker.
“Who else can I call for you, Mrs. Layborn?” she asked after another battery of questions. She kept a disdainful eye trained on Octavia, who was dressed like, well, the owner of Octavia’s.
“No one,” Quinn answered. Leigh was not an option.
“Well, you let me know if you change your mind. I’ll check back with you later.” She patted Quinn’s shoulder condescendingly and cast another disapproving glance in Octavia’s direction before pulling the curtain open to leave. So much for social work.
“I’ll go so I don’t raise more eyebrows and embarrass you—I didn’t have time to change, I’m sorry. But one thing before I go—I’ve set up a meeting first thing tomorrow to review our security system and policies. I feel terrible about this—we’ve never had trouble before. Safety is so important to us, and then . . . this.” She shook her head ruefully.
“It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.” Quinn reached out and touched her forearm. “Would you mind staying for a bit?” Octavia was anything but embarrassing. She was strong and caring, a calming, welcome presence.
“Not at all. I’ll stay as long as you want. But I really think . . .” They both listened as the noise level rose on the other side of the curtain. Quinn braced herself for a group of med students to tromp in and gawk, as if she were a test tube specimen.
Not medical students—she was definitely wrong about that.
Alex came in first, followed by a bunch of people she had seen at the club tonight, some dressed in everyday clothes, some in slinky black tops and pants and skirts and kinky boots.
She lost track of how many streamed in and surrounded her on the gurney. The people she hadn’t met introduced themselves; the ones within arm’s reach stretched to shake or squeeze her hand. Those further away gave her knee or her shin a friendly jostle.
Preet, a member she had met a few nights ago, spoke up. “If you’re comfortable giving us your number, we’ll each text you ours. Youalwayshave people to hang out with at the club—to play with or just tobe.” She closed her eyes and made a chill, meditative gesture with her hands that made Quinn giggle. “We can meet up and go together or walk you to Penn Station when you leave—you never have to be alone at Octavia’s. Not unless you want to be.”
She gave the group her number and thanked them, again squeezing the hands of those she could reach just as the nurse came back with an orderly. His eyes widened at the crowd in the tiny space.
Preet held up her phone and shook it—we’ll be in touch—and the group, except for Octavia, shuffled out of the bay.
“Someone isverypopular,” the nurse said, “and now it’s time for your MRI. By the time you’re done, the plastic surgeon should be here. We’ll get you all stitched up, good as new, and into a room for the night, for observation.”
The orderly was about to release the brake with his foot, but Quinn stopped him. “Could you give me a minute?”
“Sure, but they’re waiting for you down in Radiology, and it’s a busy night.”
“I know, just a second, thanks.” She held up her index finger to show she’d be fast and looked toward Octavia. “Can I use your phone to send a quick text? Mine’s . . . hopefully around here somewhere.” She had it with her in the ambulance, so it must be with her clothes and shoes.
