In a blind urgency Dana pushed through the front entrance of the hospital and made her way to the car. She felt as if she couldn't breathe. He thinks I did this. She saw again the rage and pain in Greg's battered face as he clutched the blanket over the empty place where his right leg should be. And then she'd found herself outside the unit with a nurse, who'd given her a paper cup of water and said something about agitation and give the patient time, he'd understand the truth eventually. But she'd seen reality in James's impassive expression.
She rode the elevator to the top floor of the parking garage in silence. It took a few minutes to find the car; she unlocked it, got in, sat. The airless sensation had retreated a bit but she was still light-headed and shaky, as if someone had sucker-punched her, a hard sharp blow.
What do I do now? She couldn't stay at the hospital. It would be better to go to her hotel suite and wait there. But wait for what?
I'll deal with that later. She started the car, took a deep breath, and backed out of the parking space.
The rooms were quiet when she came in. The maid had cleaned; there was a faint reek of disinfectant. It was the same kind the hospital used, based on the fragrance. Dana noted it in passing and tossed her messenger bag on the couch before she went into the kitchen. The coffee she'd bought the night before still sat next to the sink. She stared down at it, aware she needed a cup, but not sure she was capable of the simple process to make one. To her surprise, a drop of water fell to the counter, followed by another, and then more. She put a hand to her face and felt wetness on her skin. A wave of shame filled her; she couldn't do this here, out in the open where anyone could come in and see her.
She ended up on the bed, her face pushed into a pillow as the tears leaked out, slow and difficult. After a time they stopped, and she was left with her memory of the time before . . . before. She'd probably think of things this way now, the same as she did after her mother died.
(Dana glanced at her watch as she finished notes on her last patient. It was a little after three, and she was more than ready to close up shop early for once. Friday night . . . Greg will be home soon. The knowledge gave her a lift of happiness. They had no plans for the weekend, just a bit of shopping sometime over the next few days, after he'd had a chance to rest. Consults out of town were hard on him; he was often exhausted, irritable and in more pain than usual when he arrived. It took a week for him to recover, though of course he would never admit it.
He needs to see his pain management doctor. The thought was not a new one. While the TENS unit and meds helped to a large extent, they still couldn't cover breakthrough pain. It would take more than one visit to adjust the current schedule; Greg would resist the entire process, even though he respected Doctor Theodoropoulis and followed his advice most of the time. He'd had too many bad experiences with prescriptions that hadn't worked and indifferent follow-up care. She'd suggest it to him anyway, when he was ready to listen.
On impulse she called him. She generally respected his request—demand, in truth—that she not contact him while he was on a consult, but she just felt like talking with him. He would tease her for her good mood, but he'd enjoy it. And maybe it would lighten the journey home for him too.
He answered on the fourth ring. "What?"
"Love you too." Dana laughed when he growled at her. "How close are you to home?"
"Not close enough. Still waiting for the damn cab." He paused. "You sound happy. Stop it."
"I'm not allowed to be happy that you'll be home soon?"
"Optimist. It's Friday, the traffic is godawful and this ride will cost me a fortune."
"That's what happens when you ignore the check engine light on your car." She laughed again at his groan. "What do you want for dinner? I'll have it ready."
"Beer."
She rolled her eyes. "Anything else?"
"More beer. A whiskey chaser wouldn't hurt." There was a pause. "You."
"And you. After a shower."
"Neat freak." She heard the smile in his voice. "Come naked, bring dinner."
"Dream a little dream of me."
He ended the call on a chuckle. Dana closed her eyes and savored their moment together. Then she stretched a bit, shut down her laptop and began to load files into her briefcase. She still found it easier to write on paper and transcribe notes later, a fact that Greg used as fodder for merciless teasing. She didn't mind, though. His taunts held a secret tenderness she'd learned to find, though it had taken some time.
Maybe I can bribe him into seeing Doctor T. We can go out afterward for steak and beer at that live music place he likes.That should provide some incentive for both of us. This week in particular had proved difficult, not in any overt way, but in small things. Dana picked up her briefcase and coat. It's all in the details, isn't that what they say?
She had a couple of hours to fill before his return, so she indulged in a long soak in the tub, where she finished a book and some chocolates left over from her last shopping trip to Reading Terminal. It was a lovely quiet interlude after a somewhat hectic week; she realized she hadn't taken any time for herself since the beginning of the year. The subtle sense of renewal felt comforting. She and Greg had made a tentative plan to spend a weekend at the cottage in a week or so. The woods would be in full leaf, and the farmers markets would be filled with late spring produce.
She'd just put on her bathrobe when a call came in. The ID showed 'Wilson, James E'. Surprised, she answered rather than let it go to voicemail. "Hello James—"
"Doctor Gardener—Dana-there's—there's been an accident. House is at Jamaica Hospital." He sounded strange, distant. "You need to get here—" The call cut out for a few moments. Dana closed her eyes. Time slowed, seemed to stop; she felt her heartbeat accelerate. She forced a deep, slow breath, winced at the pain in her chest, but the light-headed feeling faded a bit.
"James? Can you hear me?" She resisted a foolish urge to shake the phone. "How-how bad?"
"He's in surgery now. His cab got t-boned by some idiot in a van. There's a crush injury—" Silence for a few moments. "—to amputate."
The word jolted through her like an electric shock. "Amputate? What—"
"Sorry—sorry, reception here is terrible. His—his right leg." James hesitated. "It sounds wrong to say at least it's the bad one."
She drew in another breath. "I'm on my way."
"It's rush hour—" His voice faded, then returned. "Please—be careful. Let me know where you are. I'll—I'll call you with any updates.")
When she woke, she heard her phone's ringtone. She let it go to voicemail, but when it rang again a few minutes later she got up and padded into the main room.
It was James. "Are you all right? I came out to the waiting room—"
"I'm fine. How is Greg?"
"He's resting now." James paused. "Are you—are you still at the hotel?"
Dana closed her eyes. She knew where this conversation was headed. "Yes. Am I allowed to see Greg anytime in the near future?"
There was a brief silence. "They . . . the staff feel that you'd upset him—"
"Actually it's Stacy who did that a long time ago. This has nothing to do with me. But he can't see that yet. Maybe—maybe he never will." She felt the decision form and accepted it. "Very well. If Greg wants to see me, he knows where I live."
"Dana . . ." James sounded shocked. "You're—you plan to leave? Now?"
"I won't relay messages through you or sit here in limbo. I have work and a life. If and when Greg decides to talk to me, he can let me know."
"You don't trust me."
"No, I don't." She almost smiled at the shocked silence on the other end of the line. "You're not an impartial observer, James. You want to protect Greg as much as I do, but your idea of protection isn't the same as mine." She kept her tone calm, though she felt like screaming. "Feel free to let him know what I've decided. Or don't, as you please. He's old enough to figure things out for himself."
"So you've finally reached your limit." James's tone held disapproval, but behind it Dana detected a hint of satisfaction.
"It might look that way to you, but its more that I . . . I choose not to play this particular game. Au revoir."
It didn't take long to pack. She left a sizeable tip for housekeeping, picked up her bags and walked out the door, aware that deep inside, a seed made up of equal parts anger and pain had lodged in fertile soil.