by Teresa Hill
That sickening, unmistakable hospital smell.
Maybe ICUs had distinctive scents of their own, or maybe the hospital scent was more highly concentrated there, because it seemed to envelop him all at once. He froze for a second. Grace stopped, too, studying him. When he could, he motioned for her to go ahead because abruptly he realized he couldn't. Shit, he shouldn't have come this far, not without some preparation for the assault on his senses.
Of the five, smell was the one most strongly associated with memory, he'd learned in counseling for PTSD. If a man wanted to be hurled back to a certain time in his life, a scent from that time would likely elicit the most visceral response. Unfortunately, the sense of smell didn't take into account whether one actually wanted to remember something.
He glanced at the hospital bed, where Maeve looked grey and half-dead, had all manner of tubes and needles sticking into her. And yes, those were external fixation pins going down through the bandages and into her femur to try to stabilize it. Aidan had had those not long ago.
Fuck.
In a daze, he listened as Grace promised she and Aidan were taking good care of Tink. Vaguely, he felt Grace take his hand and tug him forward to stand right next to Maeve, whose eyes were open, although she didn't seem to be all there.
"See? Remember Aidan? He helped get the tree off of you yesterday. He took Tink home with him. If there's anything you need..."
Grace's voice seemed to be coming from farther and farther away. Or maybe the noises in his head were getting louder, noises from the crash.
Aidan couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't stand to be there. Maybe it was the pins in her leg, knowing they went all the way into the bone. Maybe it was recalling the moment yesterday when he'd realized a woman was trapped, hurt, bleeding, broken, and it was up to him to get her out.
At first glance, he'd thought she was dead, another dead body for him to pull out of wreckage. But he'd helped get her out of there alive, and he thought he'd come farther than he realized from the crash and every fucking thing that happened afterward.
But maybe not, he decided, standing there by Maeve's hospital bed.
That smell...
For a moment, he was sure he was going to throw up, and then he just had to get out of the ICU, of the hospital. He bolted. He could hear Grace calling his name, but he ignored her as he fled.
* * *
It was the nurse who watched Aidan rush out of the room in that odd, not-quite-all-there kind-of-way, who said it.
"PTSD?"
"Yes." Grace remembered now. He'd told her so, in the midst of a long list of other things that sounded even more dire at the time.
"A lot of those guys have it," the nurse said understandingly. "My husband was in the first Gulf War. That kind of thing... You never know exactly when it's going to hit them."
So it seemed, Grace realized.
"Was he wounded over there?" the nurse continued.
"Yes." No doubt that's where it happened. Iraq or Afghanistan, or someplace where the U.S. would never admit to sending troops.
"Recently, I'd say, by the way he's still favoring his right side." She looked sad and lost in her memories. "If it was bad, I'm surprised he could even walk into the hospital today. My husband couldn't do it for years. He'd rather live with the physical pain than subject himself to the flashbacks."
"I should go to him," Grace said. "Make sure he's okay."
The nurse stopped her with a kind hand on her arm. "Let him be for a minute. He probably just really needs to breathe some fresh air. You never know what's going to trigger a flashback, but with my husband, it's often scents."
"Yes, Aidan, too," Grace realized. He'd told her that, too.
So she stayed, to give Aidan some time and to give the nurse her phone number, in case Maeve woke up and needed anything. Then Grace realized she couldn't give the nurse Aidan's, because she didn't even know his number. It seemed like such a strange thing not to know, when she felt so much for him already.
"What can I do to help?" she asked the nurse. "Aidan, I mean?"
Grace's new friend Roberta talked about triggers. He might have more than one. And Grace could do only what he would let her do, and it was really hard when you wanted to help but weren't allowed to do so. Grace thought about the day before, when she had insisted on cleaning and bandaging Aidan's incision. It wasn't a PTSD issue, but maybe that was what worked with him. Helping anyway, insisting on it. Refusing to take no for an answer.
She thanked Roberta for all her help, then went to find him. He was right where Roberta had thought he'd be—just outside the hospital doors, gulping in the fresh air. Standing with his back against the brick wall, he had his head tilted up to the sky, eyes closed. He was slowing his breathing through deliberate effort, some kind of relaxation routine, she suspected. She let him run through several cycles. When he seemed calmer, she walked to his side, not touching him at first, not wanting to startle him.
Finally, he opened his eyes, looking either embarrassed or mad, she couldn't quite tell which. Well, she was mad, too. And maybe he could handle that better than her being freaked out or sorry or sad on his behalf, so she went with it.
"Dammit, you didn't have to go in there today," she said. "I could have easily done it myself. All you had to do was say something."
He looked surprised, probably because she'd come at him with anger. "I didn't want to say anything."
"Obviously. Some stupid man thing again?"
"No, Grace. Not that—"
"Oh, please. I know the stupid man thing when I see it." She was still mad, but she reached out and took his hand in hers, daring him to resist. She wanted to hold him, but wasn't sure if he'd allow that, so she settled for just his hand.
"Okay, maybe a little bit of that," he admitted, squeezing her hand. "But I needed to come today—"
"Of course, you did. To prove you could. After all, why not torture yourself, if you have the opportunity—"
"It's not torture," he began.
"Isn't it, Aidan? Isn't that exactly what it is? Taking yourself back in your mind to that awful place? Whether it was the hospital after you were hurt, or back to when you were injured? Isn't that exactly what torture is for you?"
He put a hand to the side of her face and looked at her. "Honey, I don't know if this makes it any better or not, but I've been tortured for real, and this isn't it."
"Oh, my God!" Grace's mouth fell open. She thought of the more minor marks she'd seen on his body and then imagined someone inflicting them deliberately, slowly, intent on causing as much pain as possible. Her eyes flooded with angry, outraged tears.
"Ahh, don't," he said, pulling her into his arms. "Please, don't do that. I shouldn't have said that. It wasn't anything you needed to hear."
Grace held onto him, her face buried in his chest, his chin resting on the top of her head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"I know that. I know you care, and it's very sweet—"
"Sweet?" She pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. "It's not sweet. I'm mad. I'm so mad that anyone would hurt you, especially deliberately. I mean, I know all of it was deliberate, but... slowly, personally—"
"Forget about it, okay? Please. Just forget it. I have."
"And I'm mad at you, too. You didn't have to walk into that place today. There was no point in it, and for you to do that anyway, instead of just telling me what the hell was going on—"
"I can walk into a hospital," he insisted.
"I know you can. I just saw you do it. Congratulations, you've proven your point, no matter what it cost you."
He gave her a tiny smile, which made her even more furious. Then he held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, but in my own defense, it wasn't just the stupid man thing. I had another reason, a good one."
"Right." Grace was sure she understood. "To torment yourself?"
"I can control it. I've learned how. It's the smell, mostly. That fucking hospital smell. It's a mind-game, Grace. I just ha
ve to be ready for it. But today, I was distracted, and I didn't do what I should have done. By the time I realized it, it was too late. We were in the ICU and that smell was all over me and inside of me, and... I'm telling you, if you prepare for it, stay ahead of it, it's okay. But I had a reason for needing to be there today."
"A reason?" She crossed her arms and waited.
"I needed to see that the woman was okay. Pulling her out from under that mess... It was hard. I had to fight to keep the memories at bay while I did it. But I did it, and today I needed to see for myself that she was okay, because... Ahh, fuck." His eyes glistened with moisture. "The last guys I pulled out of a mess like that didn't make it. So it meant something to me to see her. I needed to see her. Do you understand?"
Grace let that wash through her.
Not a single guy he'd lost, a single friend.
Guys.
How many, she wondered?
He pulled them out of some sort of crash, and they hadn't survived.
In spite of all those memories, yesterday he'd pulled a seriously injured Maeve out from beneath a different kind of mess, and she was humbled by the strength that must have taken. Here he was now, standing there in front of her, waiting to see how she'd handle what he'd told her.
"I understand." She made herself look him in the eye and forced a smile across her face. "Sorry I... You know. Yelled at you and called you a stupid man."
It was the right thing to say, because he let out a little bit of a laugh and pulled her tightly against him for a quick moment. When he let her go, he looked better, looked like himself and not so caught up in things like being tortured and pulling dead bodies out of crash scenes.
Thank God.
"Come on. Let's get out of here," he said. "I think I hear our dog crying."
"Our dog?" she asked.
"Yeah. We're in this together now. You and me."
* * *
They made a quick stop for groceries, asked there if anyone knew Maeve and got the number for the mailman who handled their route, so they could ask him about Maeve. Then they drove back to the cabin.
Tink bounded out of the car and danced around Grace as she walked down the path to the cabin. Aidan followed a few steps behind, watching and almost wishing he was the dog. So much less baggage involved. He'd just dance around Grace and let her fuss over him. He wished so much to be anyone but who he was for her—a man still recovering from war wounds, impotent and every now and then, having PTSD flashbacks.
And yet, she'd taken it pretty well so far. He certainly liked her anger on his behalf much more than her feeling sorry for him or being scared of just how messed up he might be. The woman was no coward. No woman could be, if she was going to be involved with a man in his line of work.
Not that they were involved, exactly.
He just really didn't want her to leave.
They got inside the cabin and stowed the groceries they'd bought. He fed the dog and refilled his water, while Grace made sandwiches they ate on the screened porch. She sat on one end of the sofa/bed and he sat on the other, the dog hovering and begging shamelessly, Grace tossing him a bite here and there.
"I know I shouldn't," she told Aidan.
"Did I say anything?"
"No, but you were thinking it."
He laughed. Maybe she'd stay for the dog. She really liked the silly thing. Honestly, he'd go for any reason that kept her here.
Grace got up to take her empty plate to the kitchen and offered to take Aidan's. When she came back, she perched on the edge of the sofa, looking a little sad and uneasy.
"Aidan, are you in danger here? Is someone after you?"
"Someone made some threats. Anonymously. But I really don't think there's anything to it—"
"Nothing to it when someone... what? Threatens to hurt you? Kill you?"
"It's not like that. The threats are the official reason I'm here, but I saw what was written, and I don't know... It seemed off in some way, amateurish even. I make threat assessments for a living, Grace. I don't put much stock in this one. But it came at a convenient time, got me out of the hospital and away from everything. I needed that, and my CO knew it. I suspect when he thinks I've had enough of a break, the threat will prove to be nothing."
"Oh. Okay. I didn't like thinking you're in danger here."
"I wouldn't have let you stay here if I was. I would never put you in that kind of danger."
"No, I was worried about you. I wasn't thinking of me."
"Sorry about the gun," he said.
She laughed. "It was a first for me."
"Hopefully, the last time, too. Although, if it ever happens again, just do what the guy tells you, Grace. No arguing. Not with a man with a gun. Anything could happen. He probably only wants your wallet. Just give it up. Promise me."
She grinned. "Okay. I will."
"Good." He relaxed just a little, but she still looked uneasy, and then he figured it out. "So, time for us to search the place?"
She nodded.
"Sure you want to?"
"I have to," she insisted.
"Because you're trying to figure out if whatever he told you about this other woman is true? Because he's still trying to get you to forgive him?" God, he hated that thought.
"No. It's not anything like that."
"Then I don't see anything this could possibly accomplish except to hurt you even more, Grace—"
"You said you'd help me," she reminded him.
"I know, and I will. I'm just trying to understand. And I guess, to see if I can talk you out of it, because it sounds like torture to me. You thought I was crazy to walk into that hospital today. How is this any different?"
"Have you ever really loved anyone, Aidan?"
He sat back, thought about it. He'd known a great girl in high school. Another in college and he'd thought... maybe, just maybe... and then it was over, and he wasn't heartbroken. He'd never been heartbroken.
"I guess not," he admitted.
"Well, I would have sworn I loved him. I wouldn't have married him if I hadn't loved him and believed he loved me. I planned to spend the rest of my life with him. That's what marriage means to me. And to find out later that he didn't love me... I mean, to me, if you're married and in love, you don't have sex with anyone else. But he did, so I have to believe he didn't really love me."
"Okay," he said. "I'm still not seeing how whatever you find will help you. He did it. You're absolutely sure of that?"
She nodded.
"So, once that's been established, does anything else really matter? Details like where? How often? How many women? What does that do for you, Grace?"
"I don't trust myself anymore. I don't trust my own judgment about who I should trust, because I believed him, I built a life with him, and I was wrong about him. I need to know what happened. I need the truth. Maybe when I have it, I can look back and see some clues that I missed or things I dismissed. Otherwise, how do I know if I can ever trust myself, my own feelings, ever again with anyone else? Does that make any sense?"
"Maybe. I'm going to help you toss the place anyway. I just hoped I might be able to talk you out of it."
She shook her head back and forth, her face a sweet mix of defiance and vulnerability.
"So, what are we looking for exactly?"
"I don't know. Anything that says illicit sex happening here."
Aidan looked around and frowned. It was rustic, at best, and not in a quirky, interesting kind of way. "Not the kind of place I would ever pick to bring a woman I was hoping to convince to have sex with me."
"If you had to hide the whole relationship, you might. Because no one's going to just be passing by this place on the way to the grocery store or to work. Plus, you don't have to pay to rent it for the night or the afternoon, so there's no bill, no receipt, no money to track."
"Okay, it's got those two things going for it. But it belongs to your family? Your brother uses the place?"
"Yes. My father, my brother-
in-law, their kids, Zach's wife's brother. All of them."
"Seems like a place where a man could easily get caught," Aidan said.
"Well, nobody comes here often, especially during the week. At least, I don't think so," she admitted. "Aidan, I have to do this. Not knowing is making me crazy."
"Okay," Aidan said as gently as possible. "Where do you want to start? The bedrooms?"
And then, she just looked scared.
"Honey, I'd look for you, but I don't know if I'd recognize anything significant I found." He sighed. "How about I do the bedroom with the double bed and you take the one with all the twin beds?"
"Thank you," she told him, and when she looked at him like that, he really would do anything for her.
* * *
Grace felt relatively safe searching a room with a set of bunk beds and one twin bed. Her nephews probably slept here, maybe her brother. She found a tiny bottle of bourbon with maybe an inch left in it and imagined one of the boys sneaking it in here, sipping furtively after the lights went out. She left it where it was. She found a couple of the most disgusting-smelling dirty socks, putrid actually, under the beds. Boys were gross creatures. What could they have done to make them smell this bad? She threw those away. The same for the remains of a sandwich.
Last thing of note, a pair of boxers, white with red hearts all over them.
Would her husband ever have worn anything like this? The man she knew wouldn't, but maybe she didn't know him, and this looked like something a woman would give a man and then want him to wear for her. Would Luc do it under those circumstances?
Would they even fit? Grace held them up, spread out between her hands. She couldn't be sure and ended up walking into the next bedroom, where Aidan was, holding them out to him.
"Would these fit you?"
He made a face, like even the thought of them pained him. "Don't think so."
She walked over to him and held them up to his waist to see. "No, I think they would."
"Please don't make me try them on to see for sure."
"Fine. What size pants do you wear?"
"Thirty-fours, although I lost a little weight in the hospital."
"No, wouldn't fit Luc." Grace frowned, staring at Aidan and comparing him in size to her brother, her nephews. "So, this means a girl is giving one of my nephews underwear with little hearts on it?"
