Trees cracked as they were uprooted from the earth. Animals screeched as their homes were destroyed. And at some point in the howling, slashing rain, Della crawled into my arms and I hugged her close, keeping her safe from whatever crime we’d committed against Mother Nature for her to hate us so.
It took thirty-six hours for the worst to pass, and everything we owned—including us—was soaked.
The nylon of the tent and its rain sheet couldn’t withstand the torrent and I worried keeping Della from a sturdy house was the right choice.
Eventually, she’d want more than this.
And she’d be fully within her right.
What if she’d gotten hurt?
What if I’d gotten hurt?
What if I wasn’t around to protect her?
As we sorted through our littered and destroyed campsite, nibbling on things we salvaged and drinking fresh rainwater, we did our best to find the tent pegs and tangled guy-ropes, and at some point with our bodies muddy and spirits dull, I made the decision that we needed to be closer to civilisation and not a week’s walk from anywhere.
And thank God I did.
Because a day after we arrived at a campsite, only a few hours’ walk from a town, Della got sick.
Really sick.
Fucking terrify me and make me bargain with the devil sick.
We didn’t often get viruses, and if we did, it was mainly from our quick excursions into towns and touching coins and menus contaminated by other sick people.
But this was different.
For days, she vomited every morning, stayed grey for most of the day, and complained of aching stomach pains that even copious amounts of painkillers couldn’t stop.
I didn’t understand how Della got the stomach flu and I remained untouched. We ate the same things. We were careful about what we cooked. But whatever illness struck, it chose her and chose her hard.
By the end of the fourth day of watching her vomit, and suffering fear and utmost helplessness, I couldn’t handle it anymore. Her assurances that she was getting better were bullshit, and I’d had enough.
I couldn’t listen to her being so ill or watch her gorgeous body become gaunt with malnutrition from not being able to keep anything down.
She had to see a doctor.
Now.
Della was so weak her protests had dwindled to nothing apart from the occasional groan when her tummy hurt and a half-hearted swat when I helped her into a jacket and jeans and tugged her from the camp.
I left behind our belongings, not caring about a single thing.
Nothing mattered.
Only her.
All I took was a smaller rucksack we had for emergencies and stuffed it with our cash, Della’s manuscript, toothbrushes, and a spare set of clothes in case we were delayed for a night or two.
Della followed me slowly, her steps laboured and her skin ghostly. I tried to help her. Tried to offer support and even carry her as we headed down the steep animal tracks to the rye paddocks of some farmer and cut through his land.
But each time I reached out, she pushed me away with a shake of her wobbly head. “I’m fine, Ren. Don’t worry about me.”
But I did worry.
I worried a whole fucking lot and had never been so grateful to see a road when we finally travelled four hours and found a painted path and not a muddy track.
My temper was short from fear, and my patience at her unwillingness to let me help depleted. I was furious at her for getting so ill—as if this were her fault—but mainly I was livid at myself for letting her assure me it would pass, when obviously, it was only getting worse.
If anything happened, I’d never forgive either of us.
“Come on, Della.” My voice was clipped as I held out my hand, hoping now she was on the road she’d quicken.
But if anything, the opposite happened. The moment her boots found level concrete, her shoulders slouched, and she seemed to fade before my eyes.
“Fuck.” Marching to her, I scooped her off the road and cradled her close. “I’m never going to forgive you for this.”
She smiled weakly. “For getting ill?”
“For not letting me help.”
Her head thudded against my chest and stayed there as she closed her eyes, no longer even pretending she was strong enough to fight me. “You’re helping now.”
“Yes, and you’re about to pass out on me.”
“Nuh uh.” She yawned as she clutched her lower belly. “I’m still here.”
“You better stay here too, Della Ribbon. Otherwise, I’ll—” I cut myself off, drowning beneath vicious promises and violent vows.
“What? Otherwise what?” Her eyes opened to a dull blue laced with pain.
I coughed hard, averting my mouth until I stopped. “I’ll murder and cheat and steal and commit any crime imaginable if it means I find a cure for you.”
She smiled, her hand cupping my cheek briefly before it tumbled back into her lap. “I love you, Ren.”
“And I love you, even though I despise you right now.”
Laughing softly, she stayed content in my arms as I lengthened my stride and marched toward the larger of the towns we’d been in recently. I didn’t care sweat rolled down my spine beneath my jacket, or my heart beat in terror at the colourless sheen on her face and the sticky temperature of someone unwell.
I was used to walking. I was fit and normally had good endurance, but each step my chest seemed to switch from its familiar ache to a discomforting twinge.
I coughed and strode faster, ignoring my pains and focusing entirely on Della’s.
It took too long.
It didn’t take long at all.
She was too light and motionless in my embrace.
The town welcomed us up ahead as we passed road signs stating speed and population. “We’re almost there, Little Ribbon. You’ll be fine soon; you’ll see.”
I coughed again, cursing the breathlessness of panic.
Please let her be fine.
I kept my thoughts on pleas rather than the curses I wanted to shout.
As I stalked down the main highway, the tiny buildings slowly became recognisable landmarks of a church and hall and convenience store.
With every step, I bargained with fate not to take her from me.
I wouldn’t hesitate to kill for her if it came down to it.
If a sacrifice was needed, I would deliver with no hesitation.
I would sell my own soul.
Maybe I’d put this curse upon her by loving her too goddamn much. Maybe I should feel regret for stealing her away and keeping her all to myself. Perhaps I should repent in some way.
If I should, then I would go to church and apologise to God while we were in this town. I wasn’t a religious man, but if it meant Della was cured, I would do fucking anything.
Glancing at Della, I hugged her closer.
Doctor.
Fast.
My legs lengthened again, ignoring my fatigue. I would walk until I was dead if it meant I could save her. Keeping my chaotic thoughts to myself, I didn’t speak as bare farmland gave way to congested streets, hazy in the hard-to-see dusk light. Streetlights suddenly turned on, ready to combat the darkness as I climbed the curb and scanned the shop fronts for a doctor.
Nothing.
Only a row of clothing stores, hairdressers, a florist—which reminded me of the one Della used to work at—and a few other stores with knick-knacks and magazines.
I had no intention of wasting time walking up and down, searching.
More sweat ran down the inside of my jacket as I coughed and spotted help.
“Excuse me.” I stepped into the path of a blonde woman pushing a red stroller. “Where is the nearest doctor?”
She peered up, the fading light behind me blinding her a little. Her lips pursed as she looked at Della in my arms. “She okay?”
“I’m fine.” Della clipped weakly. “He’s just—”
“She’s not fine.
That’s why I need a doctor.” This woman had precisely two seconds to tell me what I needed. Otherwise, I was asking someone else who wouldn’t waste my time. My heart palpitated strangely, starving for air and salvation. “Where can I find one?”
“Ren. Manners,” Della hissed.
My back stiffened as I glared at her, then spat out. “Where can I find one, please?”
Della snickered, somehow deleting a little of my horror at her being ill and absolutely helpless to help her.
“I’ll deal with you later,” I said under my breath. “Behave.”
Della blew me a kiss, then winced and clutched her side. “Ow.”
Instantly, any patience she’d granted me flew down the goddamn road. My lungs became blades, puncturing my chest. “Do you know, lady, or are you just wasting my time?”
The woman sniffed as the baby inside her stroller grizzled. She rocked it softly. “I’m thinking. Look, you won’t be able to see a general practitioner. It’s past six p.m., and that’s when they all close around here. But there is an urgent doctor’s and afterhours surgery.”
“Where?”
“Two streets over on Jordan Road.”
“Which way?” Moving out of her path, I waited until she pointed to her right down a road where shopkeepers carried in signs and pushed racks of merchandise back into their stores.
“Down there. Take your second right. It will be on the left side of the street halfway down.”
I remembered to be polite before Della told me off again. “Thank you.” I broke into a jog, following the woman’s directions.
My heart skipped a beat.
I looked down at Della and my entire body churned with sickness. Her skin was a ghostly pallor, her lips thin as she winced again.
Christ.
Please, please let her be okay.
I coughed and ran faster.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
REN
* * * * * *
2019
“MR. WILD?”
“Yes?” I looked up from where I had my face buried in my hands in the waiting room of the afterhours. It had cost a small fortune, countless explanations why we had no I.D, and finally, nasty threats for someone to treat her regardless that we didn’t have the necessary paperwork.
If my threats hadn’t worked, I was prepared to hand over every dollar just to have someone examine her and tell me how to fix this.
“Can you come with me? Mrs Wild asked if you could join us.”
Terror shot down my limbs as I stood and stumbled after him. The long hours spent waiting in the yellow plastic chair had numbed my ass and made me stiff. “Is she okay?” I coughed into my hand. “She’s been away for ages.”
“I know. I’m sorry for the wait.” The doctor had thick black hair and tanned skin, hinting he had Indian blood somewhere in his lineage. “We had to do a small procedure.”
“Wait, what?” I slammed to a halt, dragging the attention of other worried husbands, wives, and parents from their own woe to focus on mine. My blood drained to my toes. “What procedure?”
The doctor narrowed his eyes, looking me over. “Are you quite well yourself, Mr. Wild? You look a bit under the weather.”
“Forget about me. I’m fine.” Stepping into his bubble, I growled. “What about Della? Where is she? Tell me what you did.”
“I think it’s best if we discuss this in private, don’t you?” The doctor smiled encouragingly, waving away my temper as if he was used to husbands losing their shit.
He wasn’t that much older than me, which didn’t help with my trust issues. What the hell would he know? What was his experience?
“Where’s my wife?”
Such a strange but perfect word. A word I had no right to use in the eyes of church and law, but every right in the eyes of our togetherness.
“Just this way, please.” Buzzing his badge against a locked door, he guided me down a white corridor smelling strongly of disinfectant until we reached a room four or five doors down. Pressing the handle, he pushed another door wide, letting me enter first.
I eyed him carefully as I stepped inside, only to break into a jog the moment I saw Della.
She smiled the instant I arrived, holding up her hand for me to grab. “I’m sorry you were stuck out there, Ren. And I’m sorry for making you worry the past few days.”
“Nothing to apologise for.” Brushing aside her hair, my fingers came away hot and clammy from her skin. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
My heart couldn’t figure out what pace it wanted to settle on. Fast and furious, braced for bad news, or slow and sedate, buried beneath hope that all of this was a mistake.
“Please, Mr. Wild. Take a seat.” The doctor motioned at a grey vinyl chair in front of his desk. The ugly wood was wedged against the wall with apparatus and a computer blinking with important scans and who knew what else.
There was no earthly way I could leave Della’s side where she lay on a starched bed hoisted high. “Tell me. Immediately.” I squeezed Della’s fingers, my heart choosing fast and furious as the doctor nodded.
“Mrs Wild has mentioned all her symptoms, and we’ve done a few tests.”
“Tests? What sort of tests?” I glanced back at Della, my vision going wonky with worry. “Ribbon?”
“It’s okay, Ren. Just calm down. I’m fine. Let him explain. Okay?” She brought my hand to her lips and kissed my knuckles, somehow injecting me with a much-needed dose of serenity. “You’re all sweaty.”
“Yeah well, you got me worked up.”
“Well, I’m fine so relax, okay?”
My heart leapt on a trampoline instead, double bouncing and triple beating. “I’ll relax when I know what’s going on.”
All I could think about was the nightmare of her being in the hospital with complications from chicken pox when she was younger. I couldn’t do a thing to take away her pain or make her heal faster.
I hated it then, and I despised it now.
Della murmured gently as if I was the one in peril. “I wanted Doctor Strand to tell you because he’ll do a much better job than I could.”
Forcing myself to stay rational, I turned to face the doctor. “You have my word, I won’t interrupt. Tell me. What’s wrong with my wife?”
Doctor Strand cleared his throat, giving Della a gentle smile. “Technically, nothing should be wrong in a couple of days, but we will need to monitor her until that time. Mrs Wild has chosen outpatient therapy, so I expect to see her daily for the next seventy-two hours to ensure things are okay.”
“Fine.” I wouldn’t focus on the complication of such a request or the deeper concern of why we had to stay in town. Obviously, whatever was wrong with Della was worse than I feared. “It’s not stomach flu, is it?” I cringed, not wanting an answer even as I craved one.
“No. I’m afraid it’s not,” Doctor Strand said. “It’s an ectopic pregnancy.”
“What?” My world tilted, sending me stumbling against the bed holding the most beloved thing in my life. “What does that even mean?”
“It means a fertilized egg is growing outside the uterus. The baby can’t survive and it will lead to life-threatening internal bleeding if we don’t stop it.”
I couldn’t focus on the words life-threatening without wanting to be sick.
“How? How did this happen? She’s on the pill.” Frowning at Della, I asked, “You’ve been taking it, right? We had an agreement—”
“I know. And I am.” She squeezed my hand. “But about a fortnight ago—just before the storm—I had an upset tummy. Just once. I didn’t think anything of it, and we didn’t have sex that night. By the time you woke me up in the morning—”
She blushed, flicking a glance at the doctor and saving him the details of just how I’d woken her up by slipping inside her warm, soft body as she moaned, still half asleep.
“Anyway, I didn’t remember that we should probably use alternate protection.” She hung her head. “I’m sorry, Ren. I kn
ow this is my fault.”
“Don’t, Della.” I shook my head. “It takes two to cause this. I’m just as much at fault as you.”
She smiled gently. “Regardless, it was enough for me to get pregnant.” She winced. “I’m truly sorry.”
“Stop saying that.” Looking back at the doctor, I commanded, “Why has she been so ill? Women get pregnant all the time. Why is my wife struggling so much?”
“It’s a possibility she has another condition called hyperemesis gravidarum, but those symptoms don’t usually show up until week four or five. And she’s not that far along. We’ll cross that bridge when she next wants to have children, but for now, we need to deal with this. Unfortunately, the pregnancy can’t be permitted to continue.”
My mind didn’t know which word was more important to latch onto, so I let them all go in a stream of incomprehensible gibberish.
Della was pregnant.
But she couldn’t continue to be?
“I-I don’t understand.” I sounded like a fucking idiot.
Doctor Strand clasped his hands. “I don’t want you to concern yourself with her vomiting. Sometimes these things just happen.”
“How can we make it un-happen?”
“By removing what the body is obviously trying to reject.” He gave Della a supportive smile. “The small procedure we’ve done is an injection. I’ve given her methotrexate, also known as trexall. It will stop the cells from growing and allow the body to reabsorb the pregnancy.”
He rushed as I opened my mouth to ask more questions. “I think she’s only nine or so days along, so the medication should be effective. There’s always the risk of it not working, in which case laparoscopic surgery is our next option. However, we prefer to use mexthotrexate to prevent damaging the fallopian tubes, which may cause complications for future conceptions.
“I require Mrs Wild to come in daily to monitor her hCG levels until they’re back to normal. The good news is she isn’t far along, and I have confidence she’ll make a full recovery once the pregnancy is terminated.”
Clearing his throat again, he threw a kind look at Della before focusing on me. “I have already advised Mrs Wild of the side effects, but you should be aware, too. The injection can sometimes cause cramping, some bleeding, nausea, and dizziness. I recommend she take it easy and spend a few days in bed. Think you can keep her there?”
The Girl and Her Ren Page 22
