Stitch, who is lying beneath my desk and on top of my feet, shifts and I look up. Dr. Huntley is standing in the doorway.
“How is she?” I ask right away.
“She’s stable. I’m going to go back over there in a bit and check on her. Come on back to my office and let’s talk.”
With dread, I follow him to his office and he unlocks the door and steps aside to let me in. I’m conscious of the bloodstains that dot my shirt. I fold my arms across my middle in hopes of covering them up. Dr. Huntley sits down behind his desk. A large tote bag filled with what appears to be file folders sits on the only remaining chair so I stay standing and wait for Dr. Huntley to speak. When he doesn’t I realize he’s expecting me to explain myself.
“I’m so sorry. I know you told me no patient care,” I begin, mentally kicking myself for starting with an apology. Fight, I tell myself. I straighten my spine. “I came in early and there wasn’t anyone else here to help. I saw her lying on the floor.” Though I can’t hear my own voice I know it’s gaining strength, conviction. “She needed emergency care and I knew what needed to be done. I assessed her injuries, just as I would in the ER. She had a superficial head injury but she was bleeding excessively.” He picks up a pen from atop his desk and begins to tap it on the wooden surface. He doesn’t say anything so I continue. “But it was the bruising on her abdomen that most concerned me. I figured she had a low platelet count due to chemo and I was worried about internal bleeding. I thought there was too much of a risk not to give her treatment until the paramedics arrived.”
Every word that Dr. Huntley mouths is unmistakable. He’s beyond angry. “Your actions have opened my clinic up to a lawsuit, Amelia. Ms. Nava is my patient and I should have been called immediately. Don’t you dare act like you are a nurse in this office again. I want to make sure you understand loud and clear that you are not a nurse, you are a file clerk. That is it, nothing else. You do not take a patient’s temperature, you do not apply a Band-Aid, you do not touch a patient for any reason. Do you understand?”
I open my mouth to argue but I know I have no recourse. Tears threaten to gather in my eyes but I blink them back. There’s no way in hell I’m going to cry in front of my boss. I may still have my RN license, but I was not hired as a nurse. What I did today could cause major problems for the center. “I understand,” I acquiesce, though it pains me to say it.
“Good. You can go now.”
I return to the file room somewhat surprised I still have my job. Dr. Huntley could have very easily fired me right then and there, but for some reason he didn’t. I pick up my pace as I move through the hallway just in case he changes his mind. All I want to do is hide in the file room for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, that’s not what happens. For the remainder of my shift, the nurses and other staff stop by the file room to tell me that they heard about what I did and congratulate me. I smile and thank them, but wish they would just let it go. I don’t want the attention.
I can’t get out of the clinic fast enough when twelve o’clock comes around. The temperature has risen and the roads are slushy rather than icy and I should have no trouble getting home. Hopefully, all the excitement around today’s emergency will die down and tomorrow morning things will be back to normal.
17
I needn’t have worried about any fuss surrounding my role in helping Rachel Nava yesterday. When I arrived at the clinic this morning it was business as usual. In fact, I was the only one to bring it up. I asked Lori how Rachel was doing and was assured that she was in stable condition and would most likely be able to go home sometime next week. No one else said a word.
At five thirty I stop at the cupcake shop and pick up an assortment of flavors to bring with me to David’s. Snickerdoodle for Nora, cherry cordial for David and chocolate peanut butter for me. I’m not sure what I’m going to walk into tonight. Maybe David really is finally forgiving me for the hell I’ve put him through and wants to start over. Could be, but for all I know he might pull out the divorce papers and have me sign them over coffee and cupcakes. Plus, between the break-in attempt and what I think Peter was trying to tell me about David, I feel on edge. I’ll have to pay attention, be on watch.
After the accident, not long after my leg had healed and the constant dull ache in my head seemed to subside, David decided to have a group of his colleagues over to the house for dinner. I tried, I really did. I showered, combed my hair, even put on a little makeup. David ran out to pick up a few things and the caterer arrived while he was still gone. She started asking me questions and I had no idea what she was saying. I kept saying, “Let’s wait for my husband, he’ll know what to do.” It took him forever to return and by the time he got home, the caterer was completely irritated and I was on my third glass of wine. Things went downhill from there.
I don’t remember too much of that evening but when I awoke the next morning I was alone in the guest bedroom, still dressed and covered in my own vomit. Within a month I was living on my own in the cabin and David refused to let me see Nora.
I pull the Jeep into David’s driveway and see Nora standing at the living room window waiting for me. She’s out the front door before I can even open my car door. Her dark hair is pulled into lopsided pigtails, she’s wearing a skirt and her favorite sweatshirt that is a size too small. She’s barefoot, her toenails painted a bright purple. I smile at the thought of David helping her paint her toes.
“Brrr,” I say, looking over my shoulder as she yanks open the car door to let Stitch out. “Aren’t you freezing?”
“Nope,” she says but then runs on tiptoes back inside, Stitch at her heels. I grab the box of cupcakes from the passenger-side seat and follow Nora inside. This is the first time I’ve actually been inside the house I once shared with David and Nora since I moved out—since David threw me out.
David’s redecorated. I think of Jake and how his home is practically a shrine to Sadie and I can’t help but be hurt. The carpet has been replaced with hardwood floors, the sofa we used to snuggle up together to watch television on has been exchanged with one covered in leather. Even the television is different. I’m touched to see that at least one of our wedding pictures still hangs on the wall. David greets me with a polite kiss on the cheek that is at once both sweet and confusing. He smells like he always has—a peppery citrus scent that still has the capability to make me swoon.
The smell of David’s famous chili wafts out from the kitchen. He’s remembered it’s my favorite. In the kitchen there are new countertops and the kitchen cupboards have been refaced in a crisp white. I set the cupcakes down on the gray quartz counter and take in the new stainless steel appliances. A tall pot of chili simmers on the restaurant-grade gas stove. All this must have cost a fortune.
David catches me looking around and has the decency to look embarrassed. “The Realtor made me do it,” he says. “She said it needed updating.”
“Realtor?” I ask, not sure that I read his lips correctly. “You’re selling the house?” My stomach knots. How can he sell this house? Our house? We have made so many memories here.
“I’m considering it,” he says, not quite meeting my eyes. “The house is too big for just the two of us and, well...” He lets the sentence hang there, but I know what he’s getting at—that since we’re no longer together there isn’t the chance of having more children. I turn away from him so he can’t see the hurt on my face.
Nora pulls a package of bologna out of the refrigerator and tries to get Stitch to do an array of tricks, all of which he refuses. Somehow he still manages to get Nora to give him the treats anyway.
“You look beat,” David says with concern.
“It was crazy at work,” I say. I’m not sure how much detail I should go into. I settle on giving David the very basics about Rachel Nava.
“That’s pretty impressive,” David says.
“Ye
ah, well, Dr. Huntley wasn’t particularly thrilled with me jumping in like that.”
“Why? What did he say?” David asks, his face registering indignation. “He wasn’t angry with you, was he? You know you don’t have to work there, Amelia. I’ve known Joe for a long time and he can be a bit of a hard-ass.” I’m a little bit surprised at the way David comes to my defense, but he never wanted me to work there in the first place.
“Not angry,” I say. “More like concerned. I’m not supposed to be treating patients.”
“Still,” David says but drifts off. I decide to change the subject. I don’t want to have this debate. I examine his face, carefully looking for any sign that he could have been the one to break into my house or worse. I just can’t see it, and I can’t help thinking that Peter’s advice to ask my husband about what happened to Gwen was just the ramblings of a crazy man.
“Gwen’s funeral was nice,” I say. “Did you get a chance to talk to Marty?”
“No, there was always a crowd around him. I sent a card.”
I nod. “Me too. I was trying to remember the last time I saw Gwen. Alive, I mean. I think it was in the ER about a week before my accident.” The memory sweeps over me and I can almost picture Gwen wearing her nurse’s scrubs, her hair piled on top of her head, reading glasses on the edge of her nose. I can almost hear her bell-like laugh. “When was the last time you saw her?” I ask.
David stirs the chili, his forehead knit in concentration. “God, I have no idea. Probably on the ob-gyn floor at the hospital. Just in passing, though, and that was months ago.”
“I found an old email from Gwen,” I say, watching for a reaction. “She wanted to get together and catch up. Said she wanted to run some work problems by me. Did you hear anything about Gwen having trouble at the hospital?”
David pulls a ladle from a drawer and dips it into the pot and begins spooning the chili into bowls. The same bowls we had when we got married. At least he hasn’t replaced everything.
“Christ, there’s always some kind of drama going on at the hospital. Did she say what kind of problems she was having?”
“No, it was probably nothing,” I say, sensing that I am not going to get any more out of David on this topic but I can’t tell if he actually doesn’t know anything or doesn’t want to tell me. “I just wish I would have had the chance to talk with her one more time.”
“Are the police any closer to arresting someone? I thought I heard her husband did it?” David says and then calls to Nora to come and eat.
“No, he’s been cleared,” I say and cast a glance at Nora who has come into the room, pulling Stitch along by his collar. There will be no more talk of murder tonight. At least in Nora’s presence.
We carry the bowls over to the dining room table. David has outdone himself in setting the table for a simple dinner of chili and corn bread. He bought fresh flowers. Pink and burgundy ranunculus and white anemones. Nora, in her lopsided print, wrote each of our names on construction paper place cards and placed them next to the napkins and silverware. She even made one for Stitch and set it on the floor next to the water dish she put out for him.
“To Amelia,” David says, holding up his goblet of ice water. “Congratulations on your new job.”
“Good job, Mom,” Nora says, raising her own glass and then laughing. “Good job on the job,” she says and laughs.
We touch the crystal together. “Thanks,” I manage to say through a film of tears. It’s almost like old times.
Nora is so excited to share what life is like in second grade that I have to ask her to slow down and repeat herself several times so I can keep up with what she’s saying. I eat two bowls of David’s chili and give Nora my cupcake. She sits on my lap and plants sticky kisses on my cheek in thanks.
Stitch watches us warily from his spot on the floor. I wonder if he’s feeling a bit neglected, so I call him over but he averts his eyes and pretends he hasn’t heard me. Could Stitch be jealous of David and Nora? I smile at the thought. There was a time not so long ago when I thought Stitch hated me.
At eight o’clock Nora skips off to put on her pajamas, and David asks me if I’d like to read her a bedtime story. I almost start to weep with gratitude. I go up to her bedroom, still the soft pink that I painted it over two years earlier, and we settle side by side on her bed. I read two books to Nora and she reads one to Stitch before I tell her it’s time for lights-out. She wraps her arms around my neck and presses her forehead against mine. I hold on to her until she pulls away wanting the moment to last as long as possible. I’ve missed this so much.
I go back into the kitchen to find David rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. “She’s finally settled in,” I say.
“Nora’s the queen of avoiding bedtime,” David warns. “She’ll be out three more times—she’ll need a drink of water, have to go to the bathroom, need another kiss good-night.”
I hand David a glass. “I kind of hope she does keep coming out. I’ve missed her...” I leave my last thought unspoken, that sometimes I miss him too.
“So, Nora mentioned someone named Helen. She told me she helped with her Halloween costume. Said she was a nurse at the clinic.”
David nods, a smile still playing on his lips. “Helen was a nurse who now works for me, and she did help with Nora’s costume. She helps me out in a pinch. Did Nora also happen to tell you that Helen is a sixty-two-year-old married grandmother?”
“She may have forgotten to mention that,” I say, grabbing a wet dishcloth and scrubbing at a nonexistent spot on the counter.
David gently removes the dishcloth from my hands. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go in the other room.” He leads me by the hand to the living room, and we sit down side by side on his new sofa. I sink into the supple leather and think that this may be the most comfortable piece of furniture I’ve ever been on. “You know there has been no one besides you, don’t you,” David says.
“No one?” I repeat.
“Not a soul.” The smile has dropped from David’s face, his brown eyes have softened. No trace of the usual wariness I’ve seen in them the last few years. “I’m glad things are going well for you. You deserve to be happy.”
I want to say that what would make me happy would be if our family was back together again. If I didn’t have to ask permission to see Nora, if I could come back home, if we could just go back to the way things were before. But instead I ask, “Are you really going to move? You’re not planning on leaving Mathias, are you?” The only thing worse than not being able to see Nora here in town, would be if David took her far away.
“No, no,” David says in a rush as if the idea is absurd. “This house is just too big. Mathias is home. Nora loves it here. I love it here. The practice is doing great. You’re here.”
I have no idea what he means by this or what to say, but we’re interrupted when David shifts away from me and pulls his pager from his pocket. He reads the message and then looks to me apologetically. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to call the sitter. I’ve got to get to the hospital. Emergency delivery.”
“Let me stay,” I offer. David looks doubtful. “Come on,” I urge. “I’m already here and Nora’s fast asleep. What could go wrong?” Dumb question. David looks like he could list a thousand things that could go dangerously wrong. “Really, it will be okay. I’ve got my phone.” I hold it up. “And Stitch is here. We’ll be fine.”
“Text me if you need anything,” he says as he gets to his feet. I watch as he pulls a coat from the closet and then disappears through the garage door. It feels so domestic, I think to myself. So normal.
I look around the great room and I still can’t believe that David is thinking about selling the house. Granted, it is too big for just the two of them. It was too large for the three of us back when David and I were first married, but we had hopes of filling it wi
th more children. But time slipped away and then I had the accident. I wonder how things might have been different if the car hadn’t hit me. Maybe I’d be in this kitchen, heavy with pregnancy making spaghetti for Nora and a little boy with David’s dark hair and brown eyes that snapped with mischief. I’d hear each creak in the wooden floor, each groan as hot water flows through the pipes, every sigh and murmur of my children.
I know it doesn’t do any good to dwell on what might have been. Be grateful for what you have, I tell myself. I look over at Stitch who has contentedly planted himself in front of the fireplace. I have Stitch. I have this time with Nora. For now, it’s enough.
I pick up the empty aluminum cans that held the chili beans and pull open the door that leads to the attached three-car garage. I think it has more square footage than my cabin. As soon as I step into the garage a motion sensor light pops on to reveal the runner-up for most pristine garage in the history of the world. The grand prize, of course, going to Peter McNaughton. The concrete floor is swept clean, David’s and Nora’s bikes hang from hooks on the wall. The recycling bins, clearly labeled, sit in a corner next to a large garbage can. There is no lawn mower, snowblower, ladder or chain saw. A lone shovel hangs from a nail. The strong smell of bleach hangs in the air. I toss the recycling into the proper bin.
I know the immaculate condition of the space has more to do with David’s busy schedule than any obsessive compulsive need to be tidy. Between delivering babies and taking care of Nora, David doesn’t have time to change a lightbulb let alone do any sort of yard work so he hires a service instead. Two of the parking spots sit empty. David’s at work with his Lexus and then there’s the space where I used to park my Jeep. A lone Rorschach test of an oil spot is one of the few reminders that I once lived here.
Not a Sound Page 18
