her when she returned with the antibiotics.
“How long does it take? She’s got her head in her ass again.”
Damn Nurse Chong.
* * * *
Zoey awoke less impassioned, her mind and body suspended in an unnatural state of calm. A familiar figure stood nearby. She rubbed the sand from her eyes and spotted the IV buried in her vein. She remembered.
“You’ve been asleep almost fifteen hours,” Dr. Selden said. “How do you feel?”
She felt blank. “Fine, I think.” She swallowed. “Did you say I slept fifteen hours?”
“Yes. You’ve rendered this ward speechless.”
She smacked her gummy tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Why?”
“Temperature is normal, heart rate is normal.” He tapped his chin with the pen. “And we’ve changed the dressing on your wound twice. Sunday you had three pea-sized blisters in the center of your burn. As of an hour ago, they’re gone.”
“My burn healed?”
“Not entirely, you still have a second-degree burn. But typically blisters take much longer to repair. Are you still in pain?”
“I don’t know. I can’t feel anything but a full bladder.”
“I’ll call a nurse.”
“No.” She elevated the bed. “I’m okay.” Zoey inched off the mattress and stood, holding the IV post. She waited for her lightheadedness to pass and her legs to stop trembling. Her gown stuck to her back in a paste of sweat, and she pulled the material from her skin before stepping carefully toward the bathroom.
Woman in the water.
“What?” Zoey turned and faced Dr. Selden, who was engrossed in his clipboard writings.
He lifted his head and raised one eyebrow.
“Did you say something about water?”
“I haven’t said anything. What did you hear?”
“Nothing.” Of course, nothing. She took a step and froze. She’d slept fifteen hours without a nightmare. Was this it, she wondered, when Milo slipped into the recesses of her mind, forcing her to forget? Fear knotted in her chest. She would not forget.
She shuffled to and from the restroom without complications and crawled into bed, wincing when she twisted her bad shoulder.
Dr. Selden leaped forward, prepared for an emergency.
“I’m fine, really.” She clamped the covers under her armpits, closed her eyes and willed the spasms gone.
“On a scale of one to ten, one being average and ten excruciating, how bad is the pain?” he asked.
She smiled, thinking if he knew the extent of her internal wreckage he’d realize her wounds were permanent and he’d send her home. “Eight.” She turned her head toward him and stared at his squinting face. “I could use another pain pill.”
“Sure.” He wrote again, his pen and pad seeming like an extra set of appendages. “The nurse will bring more meds in a few minutes. What about your throat?”
“What about it?”
“Does it still hurt?”
“A little, but nothing I can’t live with. La-la-la-la-la!”
“Very good,” he said.
Woman in the water.
“What did you say?”
Dr. Selden offered a bewildered expression.
“You didn’t just mutter something about water?”
He shook his head.
“I distinctly heard someone say something about water.”
“Interesting.” He paused. “Perhaps you overheard a conversation while you were asleep, and your memory is releasing it now. A type of dream echo.”
“There was a discussion about water here in my room?”
“Not necessarily. You’ll read about the death in the paper, so I’ll go ahead and tell you. I was checking your pulse and Dr. Hicks came by to inform me we’d lost a patient. A teenage boy who’d broke his neck in the river that runs behind your house. I’m sure one of us mentioned water during the discussion.”
“What was the boy doing in the river?”
“Rafting. Rafts and kayaks navigate that river all summer long. I’ve kayaked Coldstone many times myself. Hell of a ride. Fifteen-foot drops and sharp undercuts, definitely an adventure. Magnificent scenery too. Unfortunately, in the past few months there’ve been a rash of accidents and two deaths.”
“The Grim Reaper never rests,” she uttered. “I’m sure you’re right—about the water—about your conversation carrying over.”
“Hmm.”
“Can I share something personal with you?” she asked.
“Why, yes.”
“I haven’t had a single nightmare since I’ve been here.”
“Come again?”
“I’ve relived my son’s death every night for over a year. Never fails. I dream it, but it’s less like a dream and more like a skipping moment in time. It’s damaged me, pretty much destroyed my life. And now, nothing. I’m not sure how I feel about it. To be honest it kind of fucking terrifies me. What if I forget him? And what am I supposed to do with my nights now, sleep? I don’t know if I can do that guilt-free.”
“I’m not sure I’m the right ears. In my line of business, we bid farewell to a patient and just as we grab a handkerchief, we’re rejuvenated by a newborn. Ready or not, life goes on.”
“Wow. You’re not even a tiny bit helpful.”
“I’ll refer you to a competent psychiatrist. He’s not far—”
“No thank you. I don’t need a goddamn shrink, I need another Valium, or something stronger. That’d be nice.”
“Funny thing about what we think we need. My second year of college…”
“I’m not an audience member, Dr. Selden. I’m a patient. Patients need meds.”
“You’re positive you aren’t feeling abnormally short-fused or hot-tempered?”
“Yes, I probably am. I’m dealing with another inept nurse. This isn’t a hospital, it’s a joke. That’s what it is, and she is, and you are, a motherfucking joke!”
Dr.
