As I folded up my skirt and blouse to tuck into my pocketbook, she said, “Maybe I should stop by the hospital and meet your Captain Ravenel. Since you’re not interested.”
“He’s taken,” I said, a little too quickly. We hadn’t heard back from any member of his family, or any Victorine. I’d decided that if something hadn’t arrived by today, I would send another letter to let them know that he was on the road to a full recovery and that arrangements could be made to bring him home by the end of the month if his recuperation continued on the same path.
According to Nurse Hathaway, he’d not requested a pen and paper to write a letter himself, and I tried not to read anything into it. I had no interest in the captain except as his doctor. I’ve been drawing your likeness since I was old enough to pick up a pen. I gritted my teeth, wishing I could stop hearing his words. But they haunted me, a ghost that accompanied me during my rounds and at night in my dreams when I was finally able to fall asleep.
Margie stood back from me, eyeing me critically as I pinned my hat to my hair and pulled on a pair of kid gloves that had once belonged to my mother. They had once been expensive, purchased years ago by my father and given as a Christmas gift. They were worn now in the fingertips, and I’d resewn the seams along each finger several times, but I couldn’t bear to part with them. There was precious little of my mother’s I still had. And when I wore the gloves it was like having her hand in mine, guiding me like she had when I was a child.
Margie shook her head. “You look positively awful, but still better than most women. Are you sure you don’t want to spend the night here? You know I’m always up for a midnight gab session.”
I leaned forward and hugged her. “I know, and I appreciate it. But I have early rounds in the morning so it’s better that I sleep at the hospital. We’ll have lunch next week and I’ll let you know all about it—down to the last gory detail.”
“All right. But if you change your mind, just ring the bell. I’m a light sleeper.”
We said our good-byes and I hurried down the three flights of stairs and out into the humid night and began walking toward the nearest subway. I’d refused to leave the hospital with Dr. Greeley, knowing it would only fuel the gossip mill, and I was already prepared for the argument we’d have about him not bringing me back to the hospital. Not that he would necessarily offer, of course. He made a big deal out of me being a “new” woman, an educated doctor of independent means. I suppose he thought those were insults, too.
I walked in the early-evening drizzle, futilely trying to avoid the drips from shop awnings as I passed beneath them, then quickly ducked into the station. I bought chewing gum from the vending machine on the subway platform so I’d stop gritting my teeth, hoping Dr. Greeley wouldn’t think I’d freshened my breath for him. After a short wait, I boarded my train and sat down. I’ve been drawing your likeness since I was old enough to pick up a pen.
What had he meant? I shook my head to mentally erase the words and attempted to focus on the evening ahead, where I would at least be getting a free meal. Instead, all I could see were eyes the color of winter grass, and hear words spoken with a soft Southern drawl.
I struggled through the heavy wood doors of Stornaway Hospital, feeling—and probably closely resembling—a rat drowned in an overflowing gutter. I was soaking from the rain, and bone weary from trying to stay mentally sharp during the interminable dinner where I had fielded off innuendoes, hands on my thighs, and blatant attempts to kiss me—only one that I’d allowed to be successful. I had to give him something to chew on, to make him think there was hope. Otherwise, I had no doubt I’d be asked to pack my bags and find another hospital where fraternizing with the patients wasn’t frowned upon. Most likely on the corner of Never and Ever.
I wondered how long I could take a steaming hot shower for without using up all the hot water in the building. Probably not long enough to scrub every inch of my skin the number of times required to erase Howard Greeley’s clammy touch and rubbery lips.
The night nurse at the reception desk gave me a disapproving glare as I walked past her, too tired to attempt a smile or share any pleasantries. It didn’t matter. News of my appearance so late in the evening would be spread among the nurses and staff by morning rounds. Hitler had nothing on the nurses at Stornaway—perhaps he should consider using them for his propaganda machine.