Page 27 of Go Back to December
Before Baz can get a word in, someone shouts, “Á qui, Á qui, Peter, he’s in here!”
An older, dark-haired woman flies through the door with a silver-haired man at her heels. They all react to the sight of Baz identically. First, they recoil. Then they completely ignore the good angel on their shoulder advising caution and surround his bed.
They’re all yelling in a mixture of Spanish and English. Baz occasionally adds something monosyllabic, but his face locks down, his neck strains, and for the first time since he’s woken up, he looks like he’s in pain.
Blessedly, no one’s observed me in my corner. I’m calculating the distance between the window and the ground and evacuation routes involving drainpipes when a doctor strides in with a team of medical students trailing behind her like enthusiastic, noiseless ducklings.
“Good morning.” Her deep voice and steady eye contact convey a no-nonsense positivity. After she finishes her rounds, she’s going to captain the national soccer team to a world title. I would probably march across a mountain with her.
Baz’s family snaps to attention and clears space to allow her through. She asks Baz how he’s feeling, and folds his family into her gaggle of students to explain his injury. “Because Baz is so young and fit, we’re trying to avoid surgery.”
Luiza snorts. It’s the same reaction I’d have if someone said that about Craig. She must be the younger of Baz’s sisters.
“We’re going to keep your tendons in modified traction with these.” The doctor gestures to the moon boots. “You’ll stay here tonight, and tomorrow we’ll discharge you with the boots for a few days. You’ll only have to wear them at night.”
She screens the room and spots me. “We’ll go over all the directions with your wife.”
There are at least six audible gasps, including one from my throat.
I spring to my feet, half sobbing, half shouting, “I’m not his wife!”
Johnson family eyeballs ping-pong between Baz and me.
“I’m so sorry.” The doctor holds up both hands apologetically and turns back to Baz. “Your partner.”
“Yes,” Baz says quickly, loudly.
The Johnsons retreat from Baz’s bed. The older couple—who I assume are his parents—exchange a look that’s surprised and stung. All of them stare unabashedly at me.
Baz sits up straight, spine locked, jaw set. Bad Bastard Johnson emerges.
“Doctor,” he says with the authority of a king taking command of a rogue court, “would you do me a favor and clear the room?”
Doctor All-Star recognizes a fellow boss. Half a glance at her minions has them scurrying out. Their momentum drags Baz’s bewildered family with them.
The door closes. In the sudden silence, I fidget with pulling on my coat and my bag and try to forget the shock painting the Johnsons’ faces when they mistakenly thought I was Baz’s girlfriend.
A frustrated growl erupts from the bed.
Baz scrubs a hand down his face. “I need your help.”
“With what?” I feign ignorance with the finesse of the Three Stooges.
He tilts his chin toward the boots.
“You’re joking.”
“I’m dead serious.”
“Please. Your family is out in that hall arm wrestling over who gets to take you home for Christmas.”
“I haven’t spent the holidays with my family in five years.”
He keeps his voice low, a trick I employ to keep mine from shaking when I’m too emotional. When I think I’m in danger of crying.
His eyes drift past me to the window. “I don’t have much of a relationship with them.”
“They rushed here as soon as they heard the news you were hurt. And I saw how distraught they were until the doctor said you recovered. Whatever kept you apart that long can’t be insurmountable.”
