She wanted to stay. She couldn’t change his bandages or hold the basin while he threw up. Spending the night at the hospital seemed the least she could do for him.
He spoke and moved in slow motion, as if he were afraid he would break. He was bothered by his sketchy memory of what had happened, and he felt just well enough to be grumpy.
“I wish I could remember,” he said. “I never go in ambulances with patients. I feel like I’m cracking up.”
She ran her hand up his arm. It was perfect, without a scratch. “That’s to be expected after a bad conk on the head.”
“Tell me about this morning. I want to see what I remember.”
She searched her own memory. “We slept in my room and we got up too late to go for a run because of our activities during the night. You remember them, don’t you?”
He smiled weakly. “Afraid not. Don’t take it personally. I’m sure it was wonderful.”
She felt a little sad. “What’s the last thing you do remember?” she asked.
He squinted as he thought. “Did all of us go out for ice cream sundaes last night?”
“That was the night before. Do you remember that?”
“Yes,” he said, and a look of amusement crossed his face. “I have a selective memory, I guess.”
She slept most of the morning on a sofa in his office. He was groggy when she went to see him in the afternoon. They’d taken the collar off his neck and they were letting him sleep for three hours at a time.
He held her hand loosely. “I’ve never hurt so much in my life,” he said. “Everything aches. My head feels like it has a hatchet in it.”
“I know, babe.”
He suddenly brightened. “My patient came to see me and I remembered her.”
“Really?”
“Yes. She’s new in town, so I hadn’t been seeing her long. I still don’t understand how it all happened, though. She said I rode with her because she was scared.” He looked at her. “Did you know I was such a nice guy?”
She smiled. “Oh, yeah.”
“She said she felt guilty about the accident.”
“Poor thing.”
“I told her not to, that I’ll be all right. I just feel bad about her baby.”
She could see the light dawning in his eyes and knew she was on shaky ground.
“What about the driver?” he asked. “The ambulance driver. Was he hurt at all?”
How should she do this? “Yes, he was. There was a driver and two attendants.”
“Are they here at Blair?’
She tightened her grip on his hand. “One attendant is here and he’s doing very well. The driver and the other attendant—a woman—were badly hurt and they died on the way in.”
Cole turned his face toward her, his eyes huge in their blackened sockets. “Jesus, no. Why didn’t you tell me?’
“Dr. Gold said it would be better to tell you when you asked.”
“Oh my God. It’s my fault. I could have driven her in.”
“Cole, no way was it your—”
“Two people are dead. And the baby. Shit.” He let go of her hand. “I’ve been lying here complaining about my little aches and pains, and three people are dead. How could you let me do this?”
She leaned back in her chair, not saying anything. Nothing she said could make any difference.
50.
There was a percussion section in his head, and the room moved in and out of focus. Someone in white blurred past him and he struggled to bring her into clear view.
She walked toward him with the thermometer in her hand. A very pretty nurse he’d never seen before. “Well, you’re finally awake,” she said, slipping the thermometer under his tongue. “I’ve been trying to perk you up for about ten minutes now, and I was getting a little worried.”
Her voice was an ice pick in his ears. He shut his eyes and tried to drift off again.
“Oh, no you don’t, Dr. Perelle.” She removed the thermometer. “Come on, eyelids up. Just for another minute.”
She stood near the end of his bed, her head tilted to one side. “Even with those black eyes you’re every bit as pretty as they say.”
“Who’s they?” he asked. “My parents?”
“Oh, I’m sure you know who they are,” she said with a wink. “Sweet dreams, Doctor.”
He was asleep before she’d left the room.
He was dreaming that he was being caressed by some faceless woman, her hands cool and heavy on his chest. She was massaging him, cool fingers on his stomach now, below the bandage. Then lower, under the sheet, grazing his erection. He opened his eyes, his breathing heavy. He wasn’t dreaming. Someone was stroking him. He tried to get his bearings in the darkness.
Estelle? He touched the back of her neck as she leaned over him, her lips on his chest. It was not Estelle’s neck. Someone with short hair.
Damn. The nurse.
He had to stop her, but he would die if she stopped. Just die.
“What are you doing?” he said hoarsely. His tongue felt like a boulder in his mouth. “Please stop.” He grabbed her hand.
“I don’t think you really want me to,” she whispered. “You’re holding my hand right where you want it.”
She was right. He pulled her hand away from him and saw that it had not been her hands stroking him but a warm, damp washcloth. Yet certainly this had been no innocent bath.
She sat up straight. There was victory in her eyes. “You didn’t seem to like my other methods for waking you so I thought a bath might be nice.”
“I didn’t appreciate it.”
“You certainly seemed to.” She smiled. “And let’s see what it did for your BP.”
She strapped the cuff on him and he turned away from her, recoiling from the touch of her fingers on his arm. He wished his breathing would settle down.
“Wow,” she said with a little giggle. “I’ll have to adjust these numbers or they’ll wonder what happened at ten o’clock to raise your pressure.”
“Please leave.” He slipped his hands under the covers so she wouldn’t see that they were shaking.
“Come on, Doctor. You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that.” She looked smug.
He was afraid of her. “Get out,” he said.
“Okay, love. See you later.” It felt like a threat.
He wouldn’t let himself sleep. The thought of her touching him while he slept sickened him.
He thought of calling Kit, but he didn’t want to wake her or worry her. He wished he could tell her what just happened. It was ironic. Three weeks ago the words would have slipped out easily, but now he felt cut off from her by their closeness. This would upset her too much. He would have to keep it from her.
He lay still with the growing urge to urinate. How could he call her in for the urinal now? His face grew hot with anger. He pressed the buzzer.
“Yes, Doctor?” she said from his doorway.
“I want a change in nurses.”
She looked stricken. “Why?”
“You know why. Get me another nurse.”
“I don’t understand. And we’re horribly short-staffed.”
The picture of innocence. Maybe he had dreamt it after all. But he remembered those blond curls against his hand, tickling his chest.
“Look, what you did was wrong. I can call your supervisor. I’ve been here a long time. I have credibility. You’re new; you don’t. Get me another nurse.”
He watched her trying to choose her reaction. Finally she gave in.
“All right. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you feel that strongly I’ll see what I can do.”
“And I want her right away, understand? If I don’t have a new nurse in five minutes, I’ll be on the phone to your supervisor.” Whoever the hell that was.
“Yes, sir!” She saluted him and walked out the door.
He felt drained. Within a few minutes the familiar face of Sue Astor was at his door. She was a tall, big-boned woman who nearly filled the doorway
, and he was overjoyed to see her. He was suddenly connected to the safety of the outside world.
“Hi, Cole,” she said. “Dana and I swapped assignments. She said you needed something?”
“The urinal.” He didn’t bother to mask the relief in his voice.
Sue frowned at him. “Dr. Gold said you could have bathroom privileges after eight tonight. Didn’t Dana tell you?”
“No. She didn’t.”
“You poor guy,” she said. “It’s no fun being tied to a bedpan. Think you can get up?”
She helped him to the bathroom and then settled him back in bed. “God, what beautiful roses,” she said, pointing to a vase on his nightstand.
Roses? He looked at his night table and saw the dozen blood-red roses in a white vase. He tried to think. The shelf that ran the length of the wall opposite his bed was covered with flowers from patients and colleagues. There was a big bouquet from his parents. But he’d never noticed the roses before.
“I must have been asleep when they brought them in,” he said, adjusting himself carefully in the bed. “Who are they from?”
Sue handed him the little beige envelope. He pulled out the card and caught his breath. The card smelled like soap and roses and earth and he knew who the flowers were from without reading the signature.
He cupped the card in his palm. “Thanks, Sue,” he said, dismissing her.
He switched on the bedside light and studied the card, his heart pounding.
Darling,
I heard about the accident, and that you are all right.
That means everything to me.
E.
He stared at the familiar handwriting for a long time before he opened the drawer to his night table and slipped the card into his wallet.
He knew this was the second thing he would keep from Kit tonight.
He could see the ocean from the wicker sofa in the living room. A flock of gawky-looking pelicans flew along the beach, just on the other side of the beach heather. They made him smile. He was grateful to be home, to be alive.
He heard the school bus squeal to a stop in front of the house and the crunch of gravel as Rennie walked across the driveway.
“You’re home!” she said, her eyes bright and warm. She was a beautiful kid. “Does your head still hurt? Kit said you were in a lot of pain.”
He touched the bandage. “It’s a little better today. It’s at its best when I sit still.”
Rennie settled herself next to him on the sofa. He put his arm around her and she didn’t budge. She still had little-girl hair that rested like gossamer on his hand. “You tell me everything you need and I’ll get it for you,” she said. “You don’t have to move.”
Jay came home earlier than usual and shooed Rennie from the room. “I need to talk to Cole,” he said, and his serious look was enough to make Rennie leave without an argument.
Jay’s thirty-sixth birthday was in a few weeks. He looked at least that old today, except for that incredible mop of black hair. He sat down in one of the wicker chairs and frowned at Cole.
“I don’t know what to make of this,” he said. “Cheryl came to see me today, pretty upset. She said there’s a rumor on the grapevine that your nurse last night gave you more than the usual TLC.”
“You’re kidding.” How many ears had it gone through to get all the way back to Cheryl, from the tenth floor to the Maternity Unit? “What did she say? How much more than the usual TLC?”
“The works.”
“Well, then, she’s lying. Exaggerating at least.” He recounted the events of the night before and Jay frowned.
“This is bad news, Cole. She’s telling tales that put you in jeopardy as well as herself, you know.”
“I didn’t think she’d be stupid enough to talk about it.”
“She was stupid enough to try something in the first place. You’d better either get her to clam up or take it to administration. I’ll talk to her tomorrow, if you like.” “She’s on evenings. I’ll call her tonight. What really bothers me is that other people at Blair think something happened and will feel as though they have something over Kit.”
“Kit doesn’t know?”
He shook his head.
“How come? You two closing down on each other?”
“I didn’t want to upset her.”
“Cole.” The word was a reprimand.
“I’ll tell her.”
51.
She held Cole’s hand tightly at the funeral. The driver and attendant had been friends, apparently from old Point Pleasant families, and the funeral was a joint affair. Their bodies lay in open caskets in the side aisle of the chapel and her eyes were drawn to them, imagining Cole in their place. She’d never be able to tolerate more than one loss every few years. Alison was enough for now. Everyone else in her life had better hang on.
How strange this must be for Cole, to be at a funeral he felt no part of. There wasn’t a familiar face in the crowded church. The first few pews were full of people in black, hunched over and white-faced. Cole sat stoically next to her, the clean white bandage on his head and the ghostly green and yellow bruises on his face making it clear to any observer who he was and why he was there. But no one could see the pain inside him. She worried that he still blamed himself for the accident or for his patient’s baby—or for letting that bitch act out her fantasies on him in the hospital.
It scared her that he hadn’t planned to tell her. They’d made that pact to be open with each other and he’d broken it already.
Cole pushed her toward the line of people filing past the caskets. She knew this was what he was waiting for. He was hoping he’d remember them when he saw their faces. The air in the church thickened, and she kept her eyes on the door instead of the bodies. She remembered Cheryl’s description of the driver, how he’d been nearly beheaded. She didn’t want to see how they’d made him presentable for an open casket.
“So young,” Cole whispered to her.
She shut her eyes and leaned against his shoulder.
“They’re strangers,” he said. “It’s as if I never laid eyes on them before.”
He was quiet when they got home. Closed in on himself. He wanted to go to bed although it was not yet dinnertime. He swallowed a couple of pills, and she followed him up the stairs at the snail’s pace he set. He was still stiff and fragile. And so withdrawn. He ignored her. She would have guessed he was angry with her if she hadn’t seen the tightness in the muscles of his face and known his head was hurting. He sat on the edge of her bed and stared out the window at the sea while she pulled down the covers.
“Get in, babe,” she said, wishing he would speak to her.
He undressed and moved woodenly onto his back, his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth clenched. He stretched out slowly, sighing like an old man. She lay down next to him and watched his face.
“Is there anything I can get you?” she asked.
He pressed his fingers to the space between his eyes, as if waiting for the pain to pass before he answered. “No,” he said. “I’m sorry I’m grouchy. I’ll be okay when the medication takes hold.”
“You’re not grouchy. You’re just depressed.”
He looked up at the ceiling. “I’m wondering how to face Dana. Not to mention Cheryl and anyone else who might have heard the rumors.”
“You’re an innocent victim, Cole. As surely as if you were a woman accosted on the street.”
He made a face. “It feels like shit. I can understand why Rennie thought we’d blame her after she was raped. Except I’m a grown man. It’s humiliating.”
“You were as incapable as an infant to prevent it.”
He looked into her eyes. “Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For saying that. For understanding so well. For going to look at dead strangers with me. And for coming to bed with me at five-thirty in the afternoon so I don’t have to be depressed alone.”
“You’re welcome.”
He r
an his finger across her cheek. “I’d like to make love to you,” he said, “but I’m limited by my disabilities.”
“I accommodate the handicapped,” she said.
He took her head in both his hands and kissed her and there was no doubt in her mind that they’d find some way to make love.
She woke up alone in the morning. Cole had obviously decided to go in to work. She hoped he’d only work the morning. He wouldn’t make it through a day of examining patients, not the way every little movement made him wince.
She pulled on her shorts and running shoes and picked up the wastebasket to take downstairs to empty. A small beige envelope lying among the white tissues caught her eye. It was addressed to Cole, in fluid, European-looking handwriting. She remembered that writing.
She took the envelope from the basket. It couldn’t be from Estelle. He would have told her. She slipped the card out of the envelope and read it slowly.
Darling,
I heard about the accident, and that you are all right.
That means everything to me.
E.
She remembered Cole the night before, making love to her, laughing with her. She remembered the feel of his warm body next to her the whole night through. Surely they were okay. And he’d thrown the card away, parted with it next to a bunch of soiled tissues.
But why hadn’t he told her?
52.
She sat on the corner of his desk, her legs crossed at the knee, one shoe dangling. It was remarkable how she could look as comfortable in a suit as she did in her running shorts and T-shirt. He’d always loved this suit on her. He was thinking of slipping the jacket off her shoulders, unzipping her skirt. It didn’t matter what she wore these days, he wanted to take it off her. But he restrained himself. She was shifting her position on the desk, getting ready to talk business.
She handed him a pile of letters. “There are three requests from talk shows in this stack,” she said with a smile. “Select carefully.”
“How am I supposed to choose?”
“Visibility and audience. I don’t know why Davies is adamant about you picking just one.”
“I’m glad he is. This makes me nervous.”
Secrets at the Beach House Page 30
