toward the door. “And we make the mistake of thinking patients are supposed to be grateful.”
She scratched the bridge of her nose with her middle finger. “Kind of difficult when we’re overcharged and undertreated.”
“You’re scheduled for an MRI first thing in the morning,” Dr. Selden said. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Hawthorne. I’m sure we’ll speak again. Meanwhile, I have other patients I must undertreat. Get some sleep.” He left.
Mitch sat on the edge of the bed next to her thighs. “You feel like crap, and your shoulder hurts. What else? What’s going on inside?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay, the night you were struck, what happened?”
“You pissed me off.”
“What’s new? You hung up on me. Normally you answer when I call back.”
“I went outside.”
“At three in the morning?”
She hesitated, but the meds simplified honesty. Gradually she recalled the events. “I saw a red lightning bolt. It was blood red like a gaping wound in the sky. I wanted to take pictures.”
“Really?” he asked. “So you cleaned your camera and took some photos?”
“No,” she whispered. “Get ready to celebrate.”
Mitch furrowed his brows.
“I had a drug-induced hallucination. I saw a little boy in the woods and ran out to save him.”
“Why do you think that makes me happy?”
“You’re always on me about quitting my meds. Now you have a concrete case.”
He squeezed her IV-free hand. “I don’t want to prove you have a drug problem, Zoey. I want you to get healthy.”
Woman in the water.
“Shit.” She flinched.
“What’s wrong?”
“I keep hearing something about water.” She clutched the fading words. “Woman, yeah, woman in the water.”
“Side effect?”
“I don’t know.” Her eyelids were heavy. “Dr. Selden said while I slept I’d overheard a conversation he had with another MD about a kid who died while whitewater rafting behind my house. Supposedly I’m remembering bits and pieces. A dream echo.”
Mitch slouched. He stared at her, not with the anger of an inconvenienced ex, but as a brokenhearted man hammered by circumstances beyond his control.
Her body weakened by the minute. She wanted to break the wall between them before she fell asleep. “There’s been one major change.”
“What’s that?”
“I nodded out for fifteen hours and didn’t have a nightmare.”
Mitch straightened. “That’s great, Zoey.”
“Is it?”
“I don’t understand,” he said. “I thought the nightmares were the root of your troubles.”
“No matter how toxic they were, I could count on them. They filled space. The nightmares have stopped, sure, but they’ve left a void. Something has to replace the dreams. I’m scared of what it will be.”
Mitch smiled and released her hand. He stood and inhaled deeply and then let the air go. “I’ll tell you what it’ll be. No more nightmares plus sound sleep equals clear thoughts. You’ll get on with your life, maybe open another studio, maybe do some traveling and freelance. We’ll sort through the house, and put it on the market when you’re ready. You have a chance to move forward. We’ll take it one day at a time.”
“Gung ho, clean the house and pick up my camera, wonderful. That hasn’t been me since I lost my son.”
“I lost my son too, and right after my son died, my wife vanished. The person I depended on. I’ve fought hard and steadfast for some sense of normalcy. You know how I finally found it?”
“Do tell.”
“I remembered our son’s personality, his common sense sharper than yours and mine combined. He wouldn’t want us to be miserable. The pain never goes away, Zoey, but out of respect for Milo and his premature death, I look to the future. I make an effort to acknowledge the life I’m fortunate enough to live.”
Tears brimmed Zoey’s eyes. She blinked and wetness streamed down her neck.
“It’s time. Trust me.”
“I know you mean well, but don’t push too hard, okay? I’m not you. I’m not ready.”
“When you are, I’ll be here.”
“I know.” It occurred to her how quickly Mitch had shown up. “Out of curiosity, what made you call hospitals?”
“Sterling had a hunch. She does that sometimes. She’s usually right on.”
“Sterling, of course. She’s good to you, isn’t she?”
“She is. Speaking of Sterling, I’m going to grab a cup of coffee and give her a call.”
“Tell her I’m sorry to put her through this. I wasn’t going to contact you.”
“Eventually you would’ve, and that’s fine. You didn’t get injured on purpose. Besides, she’s coming here. We’re going to hang out for a week and take in the sights. This way we can watch you.”
“What?”
“Calm down, just until you’re fully recovered. No one seems to know what to anticipate with lightning. Better safe, don’t you think?”
“Whatever. I really don’t care where the two of you vacation. But please understand I’m not a child. I don’t need you to babysit me. Go make your call. I’m tired.” She shut her eyes and listened for the room to empty.
Irritation festered, but why? Mitch should be with someone willing to replenish his heart. She wasn’t capable. She could barely look at him without missing Milo immeasurably. However strong their bond, they couldn’t reunite without their son. The third Stooge. Why then, she wondered, even beneath a tarp of pain pills, did the name Sterling Fisk rub like steel wool? It shouldn’t. Sterling was silly, calling her cat Silver and posting her flawless face on billboards.
Vain.
Bold.
Brave marketing strategy initiated by a pretty realtor. Sterling had a phony streak, but she also had spunk. She had helped Mitch sell a brownstone he’d renovated near the Steppenwolf Theatre for a staggering amount of money.
Too
