Page 33 of The Girl from Widow Hills
CHAPTER 10
Saturday, 3 p.m.
IWOKE DISORIENTED.
The open bedroom door. The rattle of a bottle down the hall. An image of my mother in the kitchen, the amber container in her hand. That blurring of time.
But I was also in my bed, my leg elevated, arms lying still at my sides. Like I hadn’t moved an inch. I couldn’t tell whether I’d been asleep for a minute or an hour.
I reached for the phone on my bedside table to check the time, but it wasn’t there. I couldn’t remember whether I’d brought it in with me when I went to bed.
“Elyse?” I called, pushing myself up on my elbows. My throat was dry, my voice raspy, and I tried again. “Hello?”
A shadow filled the hallway, and my eyes struggled to focus. “Look who’s up.”
I knew the voice before his face clarified, and I fell back on the pillow, wondering if I should be mortified that Bennett was seeing me like this. “When did you get here?” I asked.
“About an hour ago. Sorry it wasn’t sooner, I couldn’t find someone to cover my shift on short notice until after lunch.” He stepped into the doorway, leaned against the wall. “Elyse swapped with someone’s night shift. I sent her home to get some sleep.”
I couldn’t tell if that was Bennett being generously friendly or being aware of his role as the head-of-shift nurse. In addition to setting the schedule and handling any issues that came up during the shift, he also had the unenviable job of documenting and reporting infractions. So he’d never send anyone to work who he thought wasn’t up to the task.
I bent my leg slightly; the stitches ran vertically on the outside of my kneecap, and the swelling seemed to have gone down enough to allow for a little more motion. “How long have I been asleep?”
“It’s just after three. You’ve been sleeping like the dead.” And then, with a glance to the window, he winced. “Can I come in?” he asked as I pushed myself to sitting.
“Yes, but I can get up just fine.” Sitting upright, I felt better. Not just the leg—I felt vindicated that what I’d really needed all along was a sleeping aid. I’d have to ask Sydney for a refill.
“I’m sure you can. But just in case.” He stepped closer to the side of the bed. He’d been in my house plenty of times, but never in my room.
“I’m not going to sue you if I fall, Bennett.”
He grinned tightly. Hospital protocol. Step one, never allow any further damage. He held out his hand, and I took it, his other hand at my elbow as I stood, steadying me. But I wasn’t about to let him help me around the house.
“What’s next,” he said, stepping back, his eyes roaming slowly over me. He wrinkled his nose and suddenly seemed five years younger. “Shower, maybe?”
I hadn’t changed from the night before, and the remnants of mud at the bottom of my pajama pants had caked and hardened. Maybe that was the source of disorientation when I woke—the scent of fear and adrenaline clinging to my clothes.
“You’re always full of good ideas,” I said. Standing closer to him, I could tell he was assessing me in a medical way. Could I walk straight? How was my sense of balance? Were my eyes focused? Pupils normal and reactive? “Are you going to check my pulse next?” I asked.
He smiled for real then. “Would you let me?”
“No,” I said.
“All right, well, good luck, then.” He gestured toward the bathroom. “Don’t get the stitches wet,” he called as I closed the door behind me.
“I know,” I called back, rolling my eyes. But I also knew there was no way he would send me on my way if he thought I wasn’t able to handle myself. There was something reassuring about knowing Bennett’s assessment. That I was fine and would be fine. That the danger had passed.
This was how he handled patients, prodding them out of bed, convincing them to circle the floor. A firm push toward getting better even as they resisted. A detached, clinical kindness.
I wanted to run the wash immediately, destroy all remnants of the night before. But that would look suspicious with Bennett here. And he’d probably insist on doing it himself.
My feet turned the water in the tub a dull brown, dirt lingering from last night. Circling the drain was a piece of a leaf, which had probably been tangled up somewhere in my hair. I scrubbed under my nails, but they had already been cleaned in Rick’s bathroom.
After, I slipped on a pair of loose sweatpants and an oversize shirt—no use pretending at this point. My bedroom door was open, but there was no sound coming from the rest of the house. “Bennett?” I called, stepping carefully into the hall.
Bennett had obviously made his mark on the house. He was an organizer in both times of stress and times of boredom, and I couldn’t tell which was the source right now. He’d stacked the magazines I’d occasionally bought at the G&M, by date. It looked like he’d also fluffed and redistributed the throw pillows on the couch. The living room smelled faintly like glass cleaner. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d wiped down the windows and the furniture while waiting for me to wake up.
And now he seemed to be tackling the porch. The front door was ajar, and he was on the small stepstool I usually kept beside the fridge, replacing the light bulb.
