“Like I said, I thought it was stress, and you know I don’t pay attention to stuff like that.”
“It’s not stress. I think you’ve picked up some kind of spore, most likely when you were helping with the tornado crisis a few days ago. I should imagine that when those building’s collapsed they released all kinds of pathogens.”
Joyce looked in his direction, wondering how he knew so much about it.
“It’s all over the hospital that you were in Arkansas doing surgery on the street. Pretty ballsy, Joyce.”
“Yeah, or apparently pretty stupid. Listen, Dennis, what’s the prognosis?” Right now Joyce didn’t care how she got the infection, all she wanted to know was would she see again.
“I won’t lie to you, Joyce, it’s a nasty infection and could get worse before it gets better. I’m going to prescribe some strong antibiotic eye drops and I want you to use them twice a day, without fail. Ellen, make sure it’s completely dark when you put them in her eyes, okay?” Ellen nodded her head, “Joyce, I also want you to wear this mask.” He placed a mask in her hands that resembled a sleeping mask, but was specially made to completely block out the light, more so than a normal mask would. “It’s to keep the light and wind out. Wear it, even at home, twenty-four-seven, for three or four days. I don’t want you to see any light at all for three days, understand? Then I want you to go see an ophthalmologist and have them check your eyes. And Joyce, I know this is obvious, but no surgeries until you are cleared to come back to work, understood?”
She was about to get frustrated with him and his rules, when Ellen interjected, “But doctor, can she still have sex?”
“Oh, my God, woman,” Joyce laughed loudly, “Of course, I can! Doctor, would you excuse us so I can show my wife‒‒”
Ellen blushed, “Oh, Joyce, behave yourself. I was just trying to lighten the mood a little.”
Although Joyce was terrified with a fear so deep in her heart that she felt it palpitate, she didn’t want Ellen to know, or to be afraid. So she put on a brave face and tried to reassure her lover, “I know, baby-doll, and I love you for it. It’s going to be all right.”
“Well, to answer your question, Ellen,” Dennis grinned, “Yes, Joyce can have sex, and she can do everything she normally does, except expose her eyes to light for three days and uh, operating on a patient, of course.”
Ellen led Joyce by the hand into their high-rise condominium on the waterfront in Long Island City. Ellen, a well-known wedding designer who goes across the country designing high profile weddings, including Vicky and Aidan’s recent wedding, had decorated their spacious condo with eclectic art and overstuffed furniture. It was not a design conducive to the visually impaired.
Joyce, thinking she knew her own home, held her hands out to guide herself, and tried to find her way to the recliner in the living room. But she forgot about the large, expensive vase beside the wall and almost knocked it over. Luckily, Ellen caught it before it hit the floor and Joyce was none the wiser. She found her recliner and slumped down into it, feeling around until she found the remote control to the television.
Ellen hid the vase in the guest closet, and then began looking around to see if there were other items that might need to be stored away for a while. “Honey, do you want something to eat?” she asked as she quietly put things away so as not to hurt her wife’s feelings.
Joyce was distracted, why the shit am I turning the TV on? “No, I’m not very hungry. I’m just going to sit here and take a nap, I guess.”
“Honey, you have to eat something. You need to keep your strength up.”
“Not if all I’m going to be doing is sitting on my ass for three days.”
“Who says you have to sit for three days? We can do anything you want. Go anywhere you want.”
“You don’t need to babysit me, Ellen. You’ve got your business to tend with. People are depending on you.”
“That doesn’t matter, sweetheart. I need to be with you. I want to be with you.”
“And I…, I need you with me, too.” As independent and free willed as Joyce was, Ellen knew, she was speaking from the heart, not the fear.
“Remember when we first met, honey? You saw me when no one else would.”
“I wish I could see you now,” Joyce sighed.
“You can, honey, in your heart. That’s what I’m talking about. I was a pimply-faced, gawky teenager, who wore braces and thick glasses, but you saw past all that. You saw me.”
“I saw the prettiest girl in high school. I remember we were in algebra class and you were having a tough time with equations and formulas.”
Ellen laughed, “I still have problems with them.”
“And I still have trouble speaking French, even though I had the prettiest tutor.”
“Okay, fess up. You noticed me because you needed help with your French class, isn’t that right?”
“Well, yes, initially,” Joyce admitted, “But the moment I heard you say c'est la vie, I fell head over heels in love with you.”
“Oh, you charmer, you.” Ellen leaned in and kissed Joyce, startling her at first because she didn’t see it coming, but she quickly reciprocated with equal passion. But when Ellen began running her hand down Joyce’s thigh, caressing its firmness, Joyce stopped her.
“Not now, sweetheart. Wait until I get my eyesight‒‒”
Ellen wasn’t listening. She knew what her lover needed, and she was going to make sure that she knew it too. She ran her hand under the blouse and gently squeezed Joyce’s breast. “Faire l'amour pour moi, ma chérie,” she whispered as she moved in closer, putting her weight on the recliner’s armrest.
“I don’t know what you just said,” Joyce said breathlessly, “but you know I can’t resist you when you speak French. I just don’t know if I can do you justice right now, sweetie.”
“Oh, you can, honey, you don’t have to see love to know that it’s there. Just feel your way around and‒‒”
Joyce quieted her with a hungry French kiss. “Oui, oui, m'dame.” She said with her usual cockiness, “But lead me to the bed first. It’ll cut down on the chase.”
***
“Leonard! Leonard, come here!”
Leonard came running into the kitchen to find his wife standing over Samantha, who was crouched in the corner, holding her knees as if to protect herself against invisible forces.
“What happened?” He asked.
Alice waved her hand at the floor, “She dropped a plate while we were doing the dishes and I guess when it broke, it must have scared her.”
“Did she say anything?”
“She kept repeating, please don’t hurt me,” Alice said. “Oh, Leonard, can you help her?”
Leonard thought he understood. With Samantha’s PTSD, something as simple as the sound of a breaking dish can cause a flashback. He knelt down beside her and gently put his hand on her arm. But this frightened Samantha so badly that she recoiled, waiting on the beating she was sure would come.
When Samantha was held captive in Syria, she was essentially a slave, accommodating whatever the two men who had bought her, demanded. When she messed up, such as dropping and shattering a plate, she was punished, usually physically, always mentally. But the mental assault didn’t affect her near as much as the physical punishment did. She was strong willed and could usually let the mental jabs fall away, mostly because these men didn’t matter to her. But she wasn’t able to do that with the physical pain. She had a very low threshold for pain, and while held captive, that was pretty much all she experienced. Just the thought of being beaten would send her cowering for cover. And now, in her mind, she was back in Syria, about to be beaten for breaking the man’s plate.
Leonard backed off and instructed his wife to reach out to her, treat her like a daughter, like she matters to her.
“She does matter to me, Leonard,” Alice said softly, as she knelt beside Samantha and called her by her full name. She assured Samantha that she was more important than a pl
ate. She cautiously put her small hand on Samantha’s arm, stroking it gently while she repeated how important she was to them. After a moment, Samantha found her way out of her catatonia. She blinked away the pain, though her eyes still reflected the agony in her heart.
“What happened?” Realizing she was on the kitchen floor, Samantha’s face flushed with embarrassment. She looked up at them sadly, “I did it again, didn’t I?”
“It’s okay, honey. Do you think you can stand up?” Alice asked gently.
But instead of standing, Samantha knelt on her knees and began picking up the shards of broken porcelain. Alice knelt down beside her and helped, as Leonard retrieved the broom and dustpan.
“Can you tell us about it, Sam?” he asked, sweeping up the scattered pieces of glass.
She hesitated for a moment, but seeing the caring, concerned look on their faces convinced her that she was safe. “It was the first time I was pregnant. I had dropped a dish and the old man went crazy. He beat me senseless and I…, I miscarried.”
“Oh, Sam,” Alice pulled her into a hug, “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
Samantha stiffened, not accustom to having someone breach her space, but then the motherly hug reminded her of her own mother, and it filled her with hope.
“Did they know?” Leonard asked.
“No, they didn’t know, about the pregnancy or the miscarriage. But three months later, I knew I was pregnant again. This time I told them about it and the beatings stopped, especially after I began to show.”
Alice was surprised. “Three months? That was pretty fast?”
“It wasn’t my choice. My husband insisted on sex every night and I had no protection like birth control pills. He was a monster that needed to be feed, what could I do?”
“You did exactly what you needed to do to survive, Sam,” Leonard assured her, “There’s nothing wrong in that.”
“There is if you’re a lesbian.” Samantha stated flatly.
Chapter Four
The next day in Ireland, the newlyweds drove into Tipperary, the town that many songs had been written about. After sightseeing, shopping and lunch, they began exploring the surrounding area. It wasn’t long before they became lost on an off road excursion to look at a ruin of a small castle, whose guard tower Aidan had seen from the road. As it turned out, the castle was part of a horse and sheep grange. Aidan stopped and asked the owner for permission to look around and take pictures of the castle. The owner graciously allowed them to, though she sent her teenage son out to keep an eye on the strangers from America.
The castle, which looked much bigger from the road, turned out to be only one tower, the rest had fallen away years ago. Still, she wanted to take pictures of it. While Aidan snapped photos, Vicky fell in love with the black and white Border collie, dancing around her legs, begging to have its ears scratched. As she petted the dog, she struck up a conversation with the young lad, who pretended to be working by pushing around some hay with a pitchfork, and she learned that he was very interested in Arkansas, because that’s where President Trenton was from. The Irish loved Trenton, who visited their country during a difficult time and encouraged peace among the factions.
Aidan took a few more photos of Vicky posing in front of the tower, beside the stone wall of the hayloft, and even a selfie of the three of them together. Then, after getting directions from the boy, they got back into their car to leave. As Aidan eased the vehicle down the driveway, the sheep dogs ran around to flank them and then crouched down, expecting them to move like a herd of sheep. When they didn't behave as sheep would, the dog would maneuver into a different flanking position and again crouch down. The dog that had attached its self to Vicky spun around several times and then laid his head on his paws. “
Look, Vick,” Aidan laughed, “he doesn’t want you to leave. It must be puppy love.” Aidan snapped several pictures of the love struck animal, before driving away.
Traveling down a narrow, tree enclosed road, thinking they were lost again, they were greeted by a handsome young trainer, riding a thoroughbred horse. The regal steed had a shiny, chocolate brown coat, strong muscle line, and a long handsomely cut mane. His rider, who had him at a natural trot, wore the traditional English riding cap, a pullover cardigan, blue jeans and riding boots. Never breaking his gait, the rider smiled and tipped his hat to them, then continued on down the road, and for the briefest of seconds, her vision blurred, time stood still, and Vicky thought she saw Aidan riding that horse, as if in a romance novel. To dreamy.
A little further up the road, they happened upon a stud farm, and the newlyweds knew for sure that they were in thoroughbred country. They decided this must have been where the trainer came from because the pasture was full of handsome thoroughbreds, hanging their heads over the wooden fence, snorting for someone to give them a treat. Aidan and Vicky knocked on the office door and asked if they could look around. The manager, who looked more like a businessman than a horse farmer, although he spoke with a heavy brogue, personally escorted them on a tour of the grounds. He showed them the golden statue of one of Ireland’s most famous racehorses, Nijinsky, winner of the English Triple Crown. They continued on to the stables, where the manager allowed Vicky to feed a treat to a retired thoroughbred, who had won his fair share of trophies during his racing career, and sired many winners during his time at stud.
Vicky had always loved horses. Any breed of horse always took her breath away. Every spring she would treat her leadership team to a day off at the racetrack in Hot Springs. Until one year when she witnessed a horse break his leg, but continued to run full out, nearly making it to the finish line. He was put down, right there on the racetrack. As if that wasn’t traumatic enough for her, she was in the stands the day Barbaro, the famous Kentucky Derby winner, broke his leg at the Preakness, and eventually had to be put down as well. That was it. That was all her big heart could take. She’d been afraid to watch a horse race ever since. It was just too disturbing for her, so she changed from horse racing in Hot Springs, to family nights at the ball park in North Little Rock.
Aidan didn’t know why, but she sensed a sudden sadness in Vicky and instinctively pulled her in close. But Vicky wouldn’t allow sadness to dampen her honeymoon. She ignored the melancholy, goosed her wife in the ribs and engaged the manager in conversation. Finding comfort in petting the animals along the way, she giggled when one of the horses kissed her right on the lips, a photo opportunity, if Aidan ever saw one.
“I’m sending this one to your dad. He’ll get a kick out of it.”
“You two are so much alike,” Vicky grinned, “especially when it comes to taking pictures of me being silly.”
They spent a long time at the farm, feeding the horses, taking pictures and comparing notes with the manager. At one point, Aidan wrapped her long arms around the neck of one of the horses and laid her head next to his. Vicky pulled out her cell phone and quickly snapped a picture. Then the manager offered to take a picture of the two of them together and Vicky was very grateful, because it was rare that they both had a chance to pose together, just the two of them, where it wasn’t a selfie at a bad angle.
The honeymooners stayed the night in County Tipperary, at a hotel that catered to the racehorse lovers. Enjoying an extravagant dinner, followed by a relaxing sauna and whirlpool, they ended the day as they had begun it, in each other’s arms.
Sometime in the middle of the night, just after the lovers had fallen asleep from sexual exhaustion, Vicky’s phone rang, waking both of them up again. It was a mutual friend of a friend of Joyce’s.
“Hi Vicky, this is Beth, I’m a friend of Debbie’s, who is a friend of Marci’s, Joyce’s nurse. I got your number from a Google search online, and I guess you had it forwarded to your cell because the ring tones sounded different.”
“Uh, Beth, what are you calling me for?” Vicky asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“Oh, yeah, well I heard from another friend, who was sworn to secrecy, that Joyce lost her eyes
ight, and I thought you’d want to know.”
Vicky sat straight up in bed, “Oh, my God! How? Why?”
“What is it, baby?” Aidan asked groggily.
Vicky covered the phone and told her about Joyce.
Aidan sat straight up in bed and exclaimed, “Oh, shit!”
Beth didn’t know the details so Vicky hung up on her and dialed Joyce.
After several rings, a gruff voice answered, “Who the hell is this? I was taking a damn nap.”
Relieved to hear her best friends voice, Vicky replied with equal annoyance, “Well, it’s two in the morning here in Ireland and I was sleeping myself. Now tell me what the hell is going on with your eyesight and why in the hell didn’t you call me?”
Back in New York, Joyce sat in her recliner, with the mask still over her eyes, and a scowl on her lips. Even though Joyce had the mask on, Ellen still kept the lights off and the curtains closed, because she wasn’t going to risk any light finding its way into Joyce’s eyes.
“I told Ellen not to call you, damn it,” Joyce barked loud enough for her wife to hear her.
“Ellen didn’t tell me. Someone named Beth told me, and that’s beside the point.” Vicky asked tersely, “Why do I have to hear it from a total stranger, Joyce?”
“I don’t know, she’s a total stranger to me also,” Joyce quipped.
“Damn it, Joyce. Answer my damn question,” Vicky demanded.
“Because, you’re on your honeymoon‒‒”
Vicky cut her off, “We’re catching the next plane home.”
“The hell you are!” Joyce yelled into the phone. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, hon, but this is only a temporary situation. I should have my eyesight back in a day or two, so why bother you with something that will be cleared up before you even get back home?”
“Because I’m your damn best friend, that’s why,” Vicky said more sharply than she had intended to.
Aidan rubbed her hand against Vicky’s shoulders to reassure her, and smiled when Vicky looked into her eyes.
Remember, It's Our Honeymoon Page 4
