by Diane Hoh
“Oh, what’s the difference?” Duffy grumbled. “I’m never going to get out of this awful place, anyway. I’m imprisoned here for life.”
Cynthia, her long, straight, sand-colored hair pulled back in a neat but too-severe bun at the back of her neck, smiled. “Oh, Duffy, you’ve only been here two days. You should be grateful you don’t have a chronic illness, like some of the kids in Pediatrics. They’re in and out of the hospital all the time and they don’t complain.”
“Don’t lecture me, Cynthia.” Duffy hated the way Cynthia looked: her hair so smooth and neat, her pale blue uniform so clean and crisp, her skin shiny and healthy-looking. The only consolation was those tiny lines of tension around Cynthia’s pale eyes and full mouth. They made her look older than seventeen years.
Cynthia was the most ambitious person Duffy had ever known and the most energetic. She had probably walked home from the hospital immediately after she was born, unwilling to wait for someone to carry her. Right now, Cynthia was taking her junior and senior years simultaneously because she was so anxious to finish high school and go on to college and medical school…which she would probably finish in six weeks or less, Duffy figured.
Duffy glared resentfully at Cynthia. She had almost certainly had a long, beautiful shower and shampoo that very morning. Reason enough to hate her. If she wasn’t so nice…
“Why can’t I have a shower?” Duffy begged. “Cynthia, you could fix it…you could sneak me out of here and into the showers down the hall, couldn’t you? Please? Smith told me I look like beach garbage, and he’s right. He’s disgusting, but he’s right.”
Cynthia shook her neat, narrow head. “Duffy, I know how you feel, but you have to be patient. When Dr. Morgan thinks it’s okay for you to have a shower, you’ll have one. I’ll take you down there myself. But not yet.”
“The newer hospitals have showers right in the rooms,” Duffy muttered. “But I have to be stuck in this ancient, medieval torture palace where the plumbing screams all day and the elevators creak and—?
“Duffy,” Cynthia said gently but firmly as she fluffed Duffy’s pillow, “lighten up.”
Duffy groaned. “You’re right. I’m being a creep. I’m sorry, Cyn. I know I’m a crummy patient. It’s just…”
“I know. You’re not the type to be stuck in a bed, Duffy. It must be making you crazy.” Cynthia put on what Duffy called “that hospital face,” with the fake smile that failed to reach the eyes, and the voice so falsely cheerful. “But you’ll be out of here in no time, I promise.” All of the nurses said things like that when a patient was giving them a hard time. It was probably something they learned in the first week of nursing school.
Duffy glowered. “Right.”
“Hey, what happened to your other bed? It was here yesterday.”
“Smith took it to Pediatrics.”
Cynthia marched over to the faded flowered curtain hanging limply on a circular metal rod bolted to the ceiling above the second bed’s now-empty space. “Well, then, let’s open the window blinds and pull this curtain all the way back. It’s blocking the light. No wonder you’re depressed.” She went first to the window to raise the blinds and then returned to the flowered curtain and yanked it backward on its metal rings.
And Duffy’s eyes widened as the curtain sliding along the metal rod made a jingle-jangle sound identical to the one she had heard during the night.
She had heard it. She hadn’t been dreaming.
She groaned silently. She didn’t want to be back on this again. Everyone would think she was crazy.
But if someone had been in her room.…
What were they doing there?
“There was someone in here last night,” she said aloud.
“Hmm?” Satisfied with the early spring sunshine now flooding the room, Cynthia turned back to Duffy. “What did you say?”
Duffy leaned back against her pillow. “I thought I heard someone in here last night. Dylan told me I’d probably imagined it, because of the fever. I’d just about decided he was right, until you pulled that curtain. Now I know I heard something. That curtain was pulled back…or forward…last night.”
Cynthia returned to Duffy’s bedside and looked down at her. “I don’t get it,” she said. “Of course someone was in here. Taking care of you. Your temperature has to be watched carefully. It was your curtain you heard, not the other one.” She smiled. “We don’t have time to waste on empty beds.”
Duffy shook her head. “No. Whoever was in here didn’t answer when I called out. They didn’t want me to know they were here. That’s what’s weird, Cynthia.”
Before the Junior Volunteer could answer, they were interrupted by the arrival of a short, chunky girl in too-tight Bermuda shorts and an oversized hot-pink sweatshirt, her dark, curly hair carelessly fastened with a huge hot-pink bow. Her face was breathtakingly beautiful, heart-shaped around almost-violet eyes with thick, dark lashes and perfectly arched brows. Her skin was ivory and flawless, as smooth and unblemished as a retouched photograph. She was carrying a pile of magazines and was seriously out of breath.
“Elevator…broken…again…” Duffy’s best friend, Jane Sabatini, gasped. “Other…one…crowded. Had to…walk…stairs…” Her lovely cheeks were flushed with exertion and sweat beaded her upper lip.
“Sit!” Cynthia commanded, shoving a chair at Jane. Jane sat. Cynthia hurried to Duffy’s bedside table and poured a glass of water from the heavy metal carafe. “Here, drink this,” she ordered, thrusting the glass under Jane’s nose. “And next time, wait for a working elevator,” she added sharply. “Four flights of stairs carrying a load of magazines is not a smart idea for someone…” She stopped, obviously not wanting to be unkind.
“Go ahead, say it,” Jane gasped. “For someone overweight. You don’t seriously think I’m not aware of it, do you?” An impish grin crossed her lovely face. “You don’t approve of exercise, Cynthia? I thought all you medical people preached exercise.”
“Nobody recommends that you do it all in one day.” Cynthia turned to Duffy. “Look, since you’ve got company now, I’d better get back to work. I’ll report that elevator, Jane. We might actually get lucky enough to have someone fix it. Wouldn’t that be a kick?”
Smiling with satisfaction at her own little joke, Cynthia marched from the room.
Jane sighed. “So thin, so efficient, so smart…couldn’t you just smack her?”
Duffy smiled weakly. “It’s even worse when you’re stuck in this bed with greasy hair, sweaty skin, and no chance of a shower.” Then she added more seriously, “She’s been a big help, though. I don’t know how she finds the time, but she comes in to see me a lot.” She shifted uncomfortably in the bed and then asked, “Where’s Kit? Didn’t he come with you?”
Jane shook her head and slipped her tired feet out of worn black flats. “Uh-uh. Couldn’t get off work. That uncle of his, the one who makes Scrooge look like Santa Claus, has been really riding him lately. Maybe Kit’ll be over tonight, if the massah lets the slave out of his chains.”
“Poor Kit,” Duffy murmured. She was bitterly disappointed. She was glad to see Jane, but she had wanted to talk to Kit about the “dream.” She needed his calm, rational input.
Jane nodded, “Anyone else been in to see you?” she asked too casually.
Duffy knew she meant Dylan. Jane had had her violet eyes on Dylan ever since she’d heard that he and Amy were history.
Duffy knew how lonely Jane was. Her mother had died when Jane was twelve, when Jane’s older brother, Dean, had already graduated and gone away to college. Three years later, her father had remarried, but Jane didn’t get along with her stepmother.
Popular enough with girls because she was friendly and fun, she had less success with boys, in spite of her beauty. At first, when they’d both started dating, Duffy couldn’t understand it. Jane was so gorgeous.
But after watching Jane several times on double dates, Duffy had decided that Jane’s problem with boys had
to do with her obvious neediness. Jane wanted so desperately to have someone in her life…someone who loved her, who thought she was special. The way she latched onto a boy on the very first date, as if they’d known each other forever, as if they were destined to march through life together, was very scary to Duffy.
And obviously very scary to the boys as well.
Duffy had tried talking to Jane about it. “You don’t need to go so fast,” she had said gently. “You’re so gorgeous, Jane, if you’d just relax and take it easy, some neat guy would come along and fall head over heels for you.”
But Jane couldn’t help it. She was so lonely.
“Yes,” Duffy answered, “Dylan was here.” And then cringed as disappointment shadowed Jane’s face. Because it didn’t seem to her that Dylan Rourke was interested in Jane Sabatini. It seemed to her that Dylan Rourke was interested in Duffy Quinn. That could be a serious problem between two best friends.
But Duffy couldn’t think about that now. She had more important things to think about. “Dylan thinks I’m losing it,” she told Jane. Then she repeated for Jane her story about the night sounds. “Dylan thinks I was hearing things, because of my fever. Think that’s possible?”
Jane shook her head. Several clumps of dark, curly hair escaped the big bow. “It was probably one of those hunks out there in white sneaking in here with a date. I mean, you were probably zonked out, dead to the world, right? All they’d have to do is pull the curtain and they’d have instant privacy. Possible?”
The thought hadn’t occurred to Duffy. Since she’d fallen ill, she felt so isolated from the real world. Things like romance and dating and having fun seemed foreign, unreal, as if they existed only on another planet.
But Jane’s idea made sense. Two people grabbing a couple of minutes of privacy. She was sure it was against the rules, using a patient’s room that way. That would explain why there’d been no answer when she called out. Whoever it was, they wouldn’t want to admit they were there.
“I miss you, Duffy,” Jane said sadly. “I hate it that you’re sick. I know I shouldn’t be thinking of myself, but I can’t help it. My dad and Susan are busy, my brother’s all wrapped up in his wife and kids and his job at the lab, and Kit is being held prisoner by his horrible uncle.” Hope edged into her voice. “You do look a tiny bit better. Think you might be coming home soon?”
Duffy could do nothing but shrug.
Disappointment again filled Jane’s face.
She stayed a long time, most of the afternoon. It was nice to have company, but Duffy, her fever up as it had been the two previous afternoons, tired quickly. When the nurse came in at three-thirty to take her temperature, she sent Jane home. “This girl needs her rest,” she said briskly. “Off with you, now!”
It wasn’t until Jane, reluctant to leave, had gone that Duffy remembered something that didn’t fit Jane’s theory about what she’d heard the night before. The whispered protest—had that been the voice of someone nervous about breaking the rules, afraid of being caught?
It hadn’t sounded like that. It had sounded much more fearful…terrified. There had been so much urgency in that whispered, “No, no, don’t!”
What would put such fear into a voice?
Only something very scary. Something terrifying.
Dylan had said she was “safer” here than at home. But the person last night—if there had been someone there—hadn’t felt safe.
So maybe Dylan was wrong.
Maybe she wasn’t safe here at all.
Chapter 5
THE NURSE WHO CAME in to take Duffy’s temperature shortly after another dinner of thin soup frowned as she pulled the thermometer from her patient’s mouth and peered down at it. “Doctor isn’t going to like this. You’re up a whole degree. You haven’t been resting like Doctor told you,” she accused.
She must think she’s in Pediatrics, Duffy thought resentfully, talking to me as if I had a pacifier in my mouth. “I have, too,” she replied defiantly, sounding exactly like a two-year-old. That angered her further and she added, “I need to get some exercise, that’s all. Anyone would be feverish lying in this stupid bed all day! Why can’t I get up?”
“Because you have a fever,” the nurse answered patiently. “If you would just do what Doctor says…” Then, Duffy’s chart under her arm, she turned and left the room.
I’ve been doing what “Doctor” said, Duffy thought, and where has it got me? Nowhere, that’s where! What I really need is to get out of this stupid bed, move around, so that my body knows it’s still alive. Then it will start acting like it’s alive.
Having made up her mind, Duffy decided to wait until after visiting hours for an excursion. The gift shop would be uncrowded then. She’d take the elevator down to the first floor and go buy a magazine and some shampoo. That wouldn’t be too much exercise. It would be just enough to get her juices flowing again. Maybe it would even lower her temperature. Then she could go home.
Visiting hours came and went. Apparently sensing that Duffy would rather spend valuable visiting time with her friends, her parents didn’t stay long.
But while they were there, she tried once again to talk them into taking her home. “I’m not getting better here,” she begged, “and there are all these weird noises when I’m trying to sleep.…”
“Sweetheart,” her mother said patiently, “Dr. Morgan will tell us when you can go home. It won’t be until he’s positive that you’re well enough. He knows what’s best.”
And her father added, “You know, Duffy, you scared us half to death…our healthy, busy girl lying on the sofa like that, not moving a muscle, your face all flushed with fever. We’re not taking any chances by letting you come home too soon.”
Gently warning her not to “give the staff a hard time” (they knew her so well), her parents left.
Shortly after they left, Jane arrived, alone. Without Kit. Duffy was filled with disappointment. But before she had a chance to ask Jane where he was, Cynthia and Amy, now off duty, joined Duffy and Jane. Cynthia looked tired, but Amy seemed as perky as she had earlier in the day.
“I can’t stay long,” Cynthia confessed, sinking into a wooden chair near the foot of Duffy’s bed. “I’ve got a chem test tomorrow. I’ll probably be up all night.”
“You work too hard,” Amy said gently, settling down beside Duffy on the bed. “Why do you volunteer here when you’ve got a double load of school-work? I know why Dylan does it. He needs the contacts here. But you’ll slide right into medical school, Cynthia, so why do you spend so much time here?”
Cynthia smiled wearily. “To learn more. Besides, they need the help. They’re so understaffed. Especially now, with this awful flu.”
Just as Cynthia finished speaking, Smith poked his head in the doorway. “Hey, what’s going on? A party? And you didn’t invite me?” Without waiting for an answer, he ambled into the room, saying, “Rourke’s on his way, too,” nodding toward the hall. “He’s hot on my heels. All we need now to make this a real party is a couple more guys to even things out.”
Ignoring him, Duffy turned to Jane. “Speaking of guys, I thought you’d bring Kit with you.”
“I stopped in the shoe store on my way home from here this afternoon, but he wasn’t there. His uncle was spitting nails, so I guess they had another fight and Kit didn’t show up for work. I don’t blame him.”
“You talking about Rappaport?” Dylan asked as he arrived, still in his green garb. “He split.”
Duffy frowned. “Split?”
“Yeah. Took a hike. Left town. Piled up his car with all his junk and headed for sunny California.”
Duffy stared at him. No. No! Dylan was wrong. He had to be. Kit wouldn’t take off, just like that. Not without saying good-bye, without explaining. “When? When did he leave?” she cried.
Hearing the distress in her voice, Dylan looked guilty. “Gee, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I guess I just figured you knew already. I don’t know exactly when he
left. I ran into him last night. He said he was taking off, leaving. Said he couldn’t take his uncle anymore.”
“He wouldn’t go without telling me good-bye,” Duffy said in a soft, bewildered voice. “Not Kit.” Then, hope replacing shock, she added, “Maybe he hasn’t left yet.”
“He’s gone, all right,” Dylan told her. “His uncle called my dad this morning.” Dylan’s father was a lawyer. “Said he wanted to cut Kit out of his will. He’s not leaving him a penny. He said he didn’t see why he should after Kit ‘abandoned’ him. What an old grouch! Why are you so surprised?” he asked Duffy, his voice kind. “We all knew he couldn’t stick it out in that shoe store forever. Who could? Old Man Rappaport’s a royal pain. You said so yourself, more than once.”
Yes, she had said that. And she’d meant it. She knew the past six months had been rough on Kit. He and his uncle disagreed constantly. And his recuperating aunt was an expert at dishing out guilt. Duffy admired Kit for sticking it out as long as he had, because she knew she never could have done it. In the same circumstances, she would have been throwing dishes, smashing furniture, and screaming her lungs out. And although Kit had seemed to be biding his time with incredible patience, she’d always known that he might bolt at any time.
And now he had.
She didn’t blame him. Not the tiniest bit.
But she was sick with disappointment. Not to get a chance to tell him good-bye…to wish him luck.…
Reading her mind, Cynthia said gently, “Duffy, I’m sure Kit came to tell you good-bye. But you were so out of it, he wouldn’t have been allowed to see you. It wasn’t his fault. He’ll call you when he gets settled, you know he will.”
A wave of sadness hit Duffy. Kit…gone? She had spent Sunday afternoon with him, in a boat out on the lake. It had been warm when they started out, but then the clouds hid the sun and it became cold and drizzly very quickly. Her mother was convinced it was that outing that had brought on her illness.
