Luka put down his fork with a sigh. He was still famished, he couldn't get enough to eat. But County food was rapidly losing its charm.
"Not hungry?" asked Gillian, looking a little bit worried.
"Starving," said Luka with a grin. "But I'm sure I checked off 'pizza' on the menu card last night. I'm not sure what this is, but it is not pizza."
Gillian looked at the thing on the plate, poked it and tasted the red smear it left on her finger. "I'd say it's bread, with catsup on it ... and some of that cheese that comes out of a can. I'm not going to try to guess what the stuff that is pretending to be sausage really is."
"That's what I thought it tasted like too. I'm not that hungry."
"Want me to get you something else?"
"I hear that that new Jumbo Mart is supposed to have pretty good hamburgers."
"I'll get you one," Gillian said.
"Make it three."
"I'll be back soon." Gillian grabbed her purse and hurried out.
Luka poked at the food on the tray for another minute, trying to find something edible on it, then gave up and pushed it aside. He could wait for the hamburgers. And people would be coming to see him soon. Yesterday Jing Mei had brought him some chocolates.
Time dragged by. What was taking Gillian so long? And the clock said 7:15. Usually people came by to see him right around the shift change, either before heading to work for the night shift, or after getting off. Maybe there was a big trauma downstairs, he thought. Everyone was busy dealing with that. And maybe Gillian had stopped to help out. She was, after all, a nurse. He picked up the newspaper and begin to page through it again, looking for an article that might catch his interest.
Finally the door opened and Luka looked up hopefully. It was Gillian. "Sorry I was so long," she said. "Haleh cornered me just outside the Jumbo Mart. She wanted to talk about work conditions for nurses in Canada. I couldn't get away." She put a bag down on the tray. "Three hamburgers. You didn't say what you wanted on them. I told them 'everything.'"
"Everything sounds just about right." Luka opened the bag and slowly took out the paper wrapped burgers. He was suddenly not very hungry any more. He pushed one of them across the tray. "Here, you can have one. You haven't had dinner yet." He began to dutifully eat his own hamburger, but it tasted like dust in his mouth. It was past 7:30. It was pretty obvious that nobody was going to come to see him tonight.
He shouldn't be surprised, of course. None of these people were really his friends. They were simply professional colleagues; people he had worked with, with varying degrees of cordiality. They had initially come, no doubt, out of curiosity. They'd wanted to see what had happened to him, how he would look. And surely Abby had reported to them, after her first visit, how pale and sick he looked, and they had come by to see for themselves.
And, of course, there had been simple duty. Visiting the sick, sending flowers, was simply what one did, what was expected. Now that they had done their duty, satisfied the requirements of etiquette, and sated their own curiosity, they had no more reason to visit. He would not see any of them again until he returned to work. If he had died, he thought grimly, they would have done their duty by coming to his memorial service as well ... (And would probably have sent flowers to his funeral, in Croatia.)
He shouldn't mind. He should be glad. The visits had been horribly awkward, with nobody knowing what to say. He should be happy to be spared, tonight and every night, the necessity of smiling through his pain, making hours of meaningless small talk. He could watch a little tv, then go to sleep and get a good night's rest so he'd be ready to tomorrow's rounds of physical therapy. Not that he'd really get a good night's rest either. His first couple of nights home utter exhaustion, and then the strong pain meds of the early post-operative days had kept the nightmares to a minimum. But for the past few nights they had come back again, full-force. He would sleep, but he wouldn't rest.
Picking up the remote, Luka began to search for something to watch, eventually settling on a comedy. It didn't look very interesting, but it would occupy his thoughts until he was tired enough to sleep.
A knock on the door. It was Abby. "Sorry I'm so late. Lydia was late, I had to stay to cover until she got here."
"It's ok." Luka turned off the tv. An awkward silence.
"So ... how was PT today?"
"It went pretty well. I'm starting to get some strength back." He managed a smile. "I should be ready for the Athens Olympics."
Another silence, which Abby finally filled with "Had a funny patient today. Two actually. Identical twins. Both came in with sprained left ankles." Luka just smiled a little and nodded. Poured himself a cup of water.
The conversation continued, in fits and starts, for several more minutes, but Luka gradually became aware that Abby was staring, or rather, trying not to stare, at his hands. The bandages had finally come off his wrists that morning. The skin was a road-map of scar tissue from the base of his hands about six inches up each arm; red and knotted. Luka instinctively made an effort to cover his wrists with his hands - but with both wrists affected it was, of course, impossible. Abby looked away, looked down at her own hands.
Luka knew he needed to say something. For a fleeting instant he was tempted to tell her the truth - tell her exactly where the scars had come from - just to see the look of horror that would cross her face. 'Oh these? These are the result of having your hands tied with electrical cord behind your neck, tied so tightly that the weight of your arms pulls on them and makes the cords rub the skin raw. It isn't long, of course, before it is all so infected that it starts attracting insects, flies. It's like being dead, Abby, and having maggots eating your body, but you're alive while it's happening, so you can feel it.'
How would she react if he said that to her? But he didn't say it. He just said, "Plastics has been keeping an eye on the scars. If there are contractures it can compromise the function in my hands. But so far it just seems to be a cosmetic issue. I'll probably get some skin grafts eventually; should make them look better. Not that it really matters ... I usually wear long sleeves anyway, and my lab coat. They should cover most of it."
"If it makes you feel better you should have it done," Abby said. "Doesn't matter if anyone else sees it or not."
And another long silence. Why was conversation so awkward? Abby was the one person he'd usually been able to talk with easily before. Sure, they'd had their ups and downs, and had never really communicated on a deep level, but casual conversation had always been easy. Why was just having her in the room with him suddenly so difficult?
And, suddenly, he knew why. It was because she knew. It had been his determination, from the start, to leave Matenda behind him. He would come home to Chicago, and all of that would be forgotten. Nobody here would ever have to know any of it, beyond the minimum that his doctors would have to know, of course, to treat him. For everyone else, he had a broken leg which had needed surgical repair, and he was recovering. That was enough. But Abby had seen the meds that first night. She had seen the Triple Cocktail. She knew about the possible exposure to HIV. She didn't know why he was taking them, how he might have been exposed, but she could guess, or maybe Gillian would let something slip, enough for her to put two and two together.
Luka abruptly interrupted Abby's description of another 'interesting' ER case. "Abby, I'm really tired. I think I'd just like to go to bed, get some sleep." He looked over at Gillian, who had been sitting and reading. "Could you see about my evening meds?"
Gillian hurried out and Abby said, "Ok. I didn't mean to tire you. I'll come back tomorrow."
"No." Luka spoke quietly, steadily. "I'd rather you didn't."
"Did I do something wrong?" Abby looked and sounded genuinely hurt.
"No ... it isn't you. It isn't anything you did. I just need some time alone. This is hard for me, and I need some time to get my bearings again. I can't do that with people around. I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be. I know ..." Abby trailed off. She was silent a moment then said, "You get a good night's sleep. I'll be around when you want to see me again."
Luka just nodded and picked up the remote again. Abby started for the door, hesitated in the doorway a moment, then left without saying anything more. Luka found his tv show again and stared at the screen while he waited for Gillian.
Of course, Gillian 'knew' too. He could never really be with her again either. Things were easier with her than they had been during those horrible weeks in Kisangani, but whatever hopes he knew Gillian still entertained for a future with him were hopes he was going to have to dash. He just hoped he could do it without hurting her. He really didn't want to hurt her.
