Ward seven wasn’t built to accommodate twelve drunk fire fighters, and yet somehow Oliver has managed to squeeze them in. Alex Massey’s a special case, but he’s not special enough to warrant an entire ward all to himself. He’s rooming with a ninety-four-year old woman, who’s recovering from a triple bypass. Far from being upset about the ruckus, Cynthia May Allerdyce, hard of hearing and prone to bouts of obnoxious farting, is thoroughly enjoying the show the fire fighters are putting on for her. The guys, at least three or four beers in, could easily have been extras in Magic Mike, and they all know it. They’re enjoying themselves way too much as each of them lets Cynthia rub up on their chests and their abs with her arthritic hands. A couple of the guys aren’t even that built, some of them are kind of rotund around the mid-section, and yet they’re the worst offenders. Poor Cynthia is flushed in the face as she chats with the smoke chasers, patting them on the shoulders and telling them what good boys they are.
Alex Massey sits up in bed, watching with amusement as his friends make fools of themselves. No Philly cheesesteak for Alex. No beer, either. Just good ol’ morphine. Oliver hovers close to his brother, talking, constantly checking to see if he’s feeling all right. When he sees me on the other side of the bay, surreptitiously watching Cynthia’s monitor to see if she’s about to go into cardiac arrest, he gives me a grin and a small wave.
“Is he your boyfriend, sweetie?” Cynthia’s hand is cold on my arm, her skin like ice. She may be coming upon ninety-five, but she has the clear, intelligent eyes of a nineteen-year-old. She wears the look of someone who’s lived a life. Who knows what amazing stories she has to share. I’d love to sit down with her and hear them all, but that would be impossible with all the cheering and laughter that currently fills the room.
“Him? Dr. Massey? No.” I shake my head. “He’s a very good friend of mine, though.”
“Shame. He’s a good looking, tall drink of water, no?” She has the most charming soft southern twang. I bet she was quite the southern belle back in her day. I squeeze her hand.
“I already have a boyfriend, Cynthia.”
“Is he as good lookin’ as him?” she says the words like she already can’t believe that it’s true.
“He sure is. He’s the hottest man to ever walk the surface of the earth.”
“Aww, honey.” She says the word honeh, instead of honey. “You might believe that, and good. Sometimes a man can be the most…hideous thang, and still some woman out there love him warts an’ all. I do believe you one of those women, capable a’ lovin’ somethin’ no one else could.”
I laugh, patting her hand. Her skin feels so thin, like a moth’s wing. “My boyfriend’s handsome, believe me. Still, I guess you’re right. Some people might have trouble finding it in themselves to love him.”
“Mmm-hmm. Well you tell him from me, I know a kahhhnd soul when I see one, and he got hisself the kindest there is. I hope he takes good care of you, child.”
“He does,” I tell her, saying it with conviction, because it’s the truth, after all. Zeth takes the best care of me. “He’s a good man.”
Cynthia nods, her attention drawn away by the fire fighters, and I find myself numbed by my last statement. He’s a good man.
Is Zeth a good man? I love him without question; I care for him beyond measure, but is he a good man? My head’s experience of the past year tells me one thing, the evidence on paper showing a stark, unfriendly reality, but my heart reports an altogether different experience. I try not to think about the unsettling thought that came to me while I was letting that IV do its work. I’m just being stupid, I’m sure. I’m probably wrong. There’s no way I can be pregnant. No fucking way. There’s one way to be sure, of course: I could go do a test. But for some reason I can’t seem to make myself do it. If I pee on a stick, if I do a blood test just to be sure, that means I may have to face an unpleasant truth, and I don’t think I can bear that right now. Scratch that—I know I can’t.
Oliver and Alex both smile at me as I hover close to them. They both have the same shaped eyes, the same shaped faces, the same honey blond hair that curls up a little around their ears. When they’re apart, I’d never say either one of them looks too much like the other, their mannerisms making them seem unrelated altogether, and yet sit them side-by-side and you wonder how you ever doubted their blood ties.