Page 19 of Kill For Me Kill For You
Scott stepped back and Ruth saw Dr. Mosley at the door. A chart in his hands, but no smile on his face. Not this time.
‘Sure, sure, everything all right?’ said Scott.
‘It’s fine. I just need to have a talk with Ruth about the surgery that she has undergone, if that’s okay?’ said Mosley.
‘Maybe we could do that in the morning?’ asked Scott.
‘Do you feel up to it Ruth?’ asked Mosley, ignoring Scott.
‘I don’t see how it can be that bad. I’m alive, and that’s all thanks to you,’ she said.
Mosley closed the door, giving them some privacy. He approached the bed, folded back the covers. Ruth was wearing a hospital gown. Mosley took hold of the bottom of the gown and asked if he could take a look. Ruth nodded.
She watched as he methodically rolled up the gown, almost to her neck. Ruth saw a network of bandages and gauze covering her entire upper body.
Mosley began to palpate her stomach. Pressing on it lightly, here and there, and asking about pain. When he was done, he rolled the gown back down and thanked Ruth.
‘You’re going to be all right,’ said Mosley. ‘Stitches look to be holding together nicely. Now, we have some things to talk about.’
‘Is that really necessary? Right now?’ asked Scott.
He was protecting her, but he had no reason to be so protective unless he already knew what the doctor was going to say.
‘You know about it already, don’t you?’ said Ruth.
Closing his eyes, and pursing his lips, Scott nodded.
‘Then tell me, Doctor,’ said Ruth.
Mosley sat down on the edge of the bed. He spoke in the way good doctors do – plainly, and with genuine empathy.
‘When you were brought in, your injuries were severe and life threatening. You had multiple stab wounds to your abdomen and chest, and lacerations to your thigh. We had to operate to stop the internal hemorrhaging.’
Ruth nodded, unable to speak. The room seemed to darken and shrink, until there was only Mosley and his voice.
‘There is no right way to say this,’ said Mosley, his tone changing, a deeper, more resonant timbre to his voice. As if he was coating each word in honey, trying to soften the sharp edges, knowing that what he was about to say would hurt.
‘I’m afraid there was some damage we were not able to repair. One of the abdominal stab wounds was very deep.’
Her eyelids fluttered, her mouth opened, but there were no words and no breath to give them life.
‘There was significant uterine damage. I’m sorry to tell you that because of this it’s unlikely, maybe even dangerous, for you to conceive and carry a child naturally through a pregnancy.’
She felt Scott squeezing her hand, stroking it. Then felt his lips on her fingers. She felt as if something had been taken from her. Something precious that she hadn’t even known she’d had. Not until it was gone. A cruel robbery. Her future.
She began to cry and thought that she might never stop.
8
Amanda
The bar didn’t close until two a.m., but the doorman started his shift at ten and he threw Amanda and Wendy out at eleven. Even though the management thought the women had enjoyed more than enough alcohol for one evening, neither Amanda nor Wendy could be persuaded and they adjourned to Wendy’s apartment off Broadway for a nightcap.
They fell into the elevator, giggling and cold. It was a nice building. Much grander than Amanda’s. The apartment was bigger too. A large kitchen with room for a full-sized dining table. The five-seater couch in the lounge area had been separated from the kitchen by a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. There was even a view of the skyline.
Amanda flopped down onto the couch. She was feeling tired, but good. Wendy was a riot. There was a strange freedom enjoyed by her new friend, and Amanda found it just as intoxicating as the liquor. She had smiled tonight. And even laughed. It had been a long time since she’d done either of those things. She talked to Farrow, but always about Jess, Luis and Crone. It wasn’t a real conversation. Not like tonight.
Wendy returned from the kitchen with a pair of Bloody Marys, a large stick of celery in each tall glass.
