“I can do all that, but you need to sit in the chair and focus on calming down. And I’m going to get you a glass of water.”
“No! Don’t go in the bathroom.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “There’s a monster in there.”
“No, there isn’t.” She went into the bathroom and turned on the tap.
“No monsters?” he called out.
“No monsters.”
“Swear?”
Katherine handed him a red glass from the bathroom. It had taken him six months to find the perfect glasses, ones that matched the soap dish and the tissue holder.
“Pinkie swear,” she said. “No monsters.”
Smoking a joint before interacting with Katherine was definitely the way of the future. She wasn’t half bad when he was stoned. In a the-world’s-gone-pear-shaped way. Except that he never, ever planned to do this again.
Felix sank into the big club chair and tugged Ella’s cashmere throw around his shoulders. Hmm. Lavender, the scent of Ella’s clothes. Tomorrow he would buy all-new lavender sachets for her drawers.
“Are you going to tattle about this to Ella?” he said.
“Of course not. She has enough to worry about.”
“Katherine?”
“Yes?”
“Why are you here?”
“Ella asked me to come.”
Finally, something made sense. “She wants a full report on the party. I get it.”
But Katherine didn’t answer. “Drink the water. I’ll deal with the cake, and we’ll talk later.”
“Wait! What are you going to tell Harry?”
“That you have a migraine.”
“You’d lie for me?”
She folded her arms over her breasts. Nice breasts, actually. “Do you have a headache?”
“Bit of one, yes.”
“Then we’re not lying. Ella wants Harry to have good memories of tonight. It’s up to us to make sure he does. Your headache has suddenly become quite debilitating. I predict you won’t be able to poke your head out of the rabbit hole for at least two hours.”
Felix held up his glass and stared through the red prism at the still water. He sloshed it around, trying to create a mini tsunami, but the water moved heavily like viscous blood.
Felix woke up in the chair, cuddling Ella’s cashmere throw like a security blanket. Katherine was perched cross-legged on the end of his bed, watching a barely audible movie on the television. The cable box flashed 11:30 p.m.
“Feeling better?” she said without shifting her eyes from the screen.
“Hmm.” He rubbed his chin. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”
She shrugged. “You’ve been under extraordinary stress, Felix. I think your body is trying to tell you something, but next time you want to get stoned—call me first.”
“There won’t be a next time. The girls?”
“Gone. The boys have retreated into Harry’s room for manly activities.” She covered up a yawn with her hand, and his guilt returned. She had to be as exhausted as he was, but she was still in motion.
“Thank you. You should go home now, Katherine; get some sleep. Will I see you tomorrow, when I pick up Ella from the hospital?”
“No.” Katherine held up the remote to click off the television. “Ella won’t be home tomorrow. That’s what I came to tell you.”
“Why?” He jumped up. “What happened?”
“Blood clot in the stent.” She stood too. “And her ejection fraction dropped.”
Ejection fraction, the percentage of blood pumped out with each cycle of the heart . . . and Ella’s figure was already less than half of a normal person’s. “You mean lower that it was—lower than thirty percent?”
She nodded. “Fifteen.”
“My wife’s heart is now seriously compromised, and you waited to tell me? How long have you known? When did it happen?”
“This afternoon.”