“How?”
“She caught onto the signs and interfered before things got bad. Used her savings from my grandpa’s life insurance policy to help Mom get a divorce and start a new life.” A tear slips down her face, and I can’t stand the sight of it.
I brush it away with the pad of my thumb, but the damp trail still lingers.
A driving force inside of me wants to erase the sad look on her face. “Did Nana’s plan also happen to include a jug of sulfuric acid?”
She forces out a laugh. “I think concrete shoes were more in style back then.”
I fake shudder. “Remind me to never make Nana angry.”
“Forget Nana. You’d have to deal with me.” She holds up her injured hand like a war trophy.
“I’m absolutely terrified.”
“Mrs. Kane?” a nurse calls out.
Iris doesn’t move at the sound of her name.
“That’s you.” I place my hand on her thigh and give it a squeeze.
She sucks in a deep breath as she stares down at my hand. Her chair nearly tumbles behind her as she bolts out of the seat, throwing her one good hand up in the air. “I’m here!”
The nurse leads us through the emergency room bay. Individual beds line the wall, each area divided by a paper curtain.
The empty bed meant for Iris is unacceptable. Between the person retching behind one partition and the individual on the other side hacking up their lung, I refuse to let her be seen here.
“I’d like my wife to be taken care of in a private suite,” I speak up.
The nurse grimaces as her gaze flicks across my body. “This is a hospital.
Not the Ritz. Take a seat and wait for the doc like everyone else.”
Iris hops on the bed without any complaint, and I’m tempted to grab her and go elsewhere. The nurse doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by all the noise happening around us as she checks Iris’s vitals and asks some routine questions.
Iris answers each one while chewing her bottom lip raw. This atmosphere couldn’t put anyone at ease, least of all her.
The nurse hangs the clipboard at the foot of the bed, and I decide to try again.
“I’ll pay whatever it takes to have her seen somewhere quieter. Money is no object.”
The nurse only replies by shutting the paper curtain in my face.
Iris laughs while I stare at the curtain, dumbfounded to be treated like this.
“You find this funny?”
She nods, her eyes alight for the first time all day. “Did you see her face when you said money is no object? I think if she didn’t put the clipboard away, she would have slapped your face with it.”
“It’s not my fault she isn’t accustomed to how things are done in the real world.”
“Wake up, dear. You’re living in the real world.” She waves around our room.
“It’s terrifying.”
“Come here. I’ll make it better.” Iris pats the bed.
Doubtful, but I’m a glutton for giving her what she wants lately. Paper crinkles as I sit next to her. I take up most of the bed, giving her little room to get away from me. My thigh brushes against hers. She tries to scoot away, but there isn’t enough space.
“Isn’t this cozy?” she quips.
She eyes the IV bag with horror before checking out the exit.
“What’s wrong?”
She leans closer to me and whispers, “Is now a bad time to admit I pass out whenever someone tries to stick a needle in me?”
My lips lift at the corners. I don’t know why I find the idea hilarious, given her ability to watch eight consecutive hours of scary movies without so much as flinching. “You’re afraid of needles?”
She sputters. “No. I’m not afraid. It just happens to be a bodily reaction I can’t control.”
“That’s good then because the nurse needs to set you up with that IV
when she comes back.”
“No! Don’t tell me that! I thought she was one of the good ones.”
I nod, pressing my lips together to prevent myself from laughing.
“She lied to me!” She bolts from the seat and would have tripped over her own heels if I didn’t reach out and catch her.
“Careful.” I place her back on the bed and decide to stand guard in case she gets any ideas to flee the scene.
Her eyes flit from me to the gap between two curtains, as if she is thinking how she can get past me.
“I’m joking.”
She scans my face for the truth before she slaps my shoulder with her good hand. “Asshole! I believed you!”
Laughter explodes out of me like a bomb, stunning her.
“Did you just laugh?”
“No.”
“Yes.” Someone calls out from the other side of the curtain. “Now, do you mind shutting up? Some of us are trying to get some sleep over here after having our stomach pumped.”
Fuck this place and the people in here. “We’re leaving.”
“Not so fast. You can’t leave before I check you out.” The doctor strolls in and points at the bed with his clipboard.
Iris remains tight-lipped as the doctor checks her chart. He asks her some questions about how she got hurt, all while staring me up and down like I’m the person she was trying to injure. She is taken away for a few scans, and my breathing doesn’t return to normal until the nurse brings her back.
That should be my first sign that things are getting out of hand on my end. I’m inching closer to an emotional minefield without any kind of map, only one wrong step away from exploding.
The doctor checks the scans. “It looks like you have a boxer’s fracture.”
Her face brightens. “That sounds badass.”
I glare at her. “Calm down, Muhammad Ali. I wouldn’t count today as a victory by any means.”
The doctor’s eyes lighten. “Next time, avoid any initial contact on the fourth and fifth knuckles.”
“Please don’t encourage her.”
The doctor shakes his head with a laugh before giving Iris a detailed set of instructions regarding the healing time. I’m skeptical about the whole visit and, given the setting, doubtful about the level of care. I’ll be damned if Iris sustains permanent injuries because of my father. My chest tightens at the idea.
“Great! Thanks, Doc!” She hops off the bed, but I hold my arm out, stopping her.
“I’d like a second opinion.” The command bursts out of me without any rhyme or reason. Deep down, I know a boxer’s fracture isn’t the worst thing that could have happened. But things aren’t right in my head where Iris is concerned. At least not anymore.
Both of the doctor’s eyebrows arch. “For a small fracture?”
“Don’t mind him. He tends to be a bit overbearing.” She shoots me a look as if I’m the crazy one out of the two of us.
“Okay…” the doctor says.
Maybe I am losing it because why else would I care?
You hate when she cries.
You wouldn’t mind murdering someone who hurt her.
You took her to the hospital even though you despise them with every fiber of your being.
The signs all point to one thing: our situation is quickly crumbling, and I’m the only one to blame.