Didi
The next day I’m walking around like I have ants in my pants. I’m so on edge, so distracted by the internal battle waging in my head, that I can’t concentrate on anything.
“What’s with you?” José says when I have to ask him three times to remind me what patient I’m supposed to be observing at what time.
“Nothing,” I say.
He shoots me a suspicious look.
The elevator doors open and I step out. “I’m just going to check in on Dodds,” I say, trying not to stare over my shoulder at Walker’s room. “How’s he doing today?”
“Not talking,” says José, shaking his head grimly. “He had a visitor, though. Some cousin of Valentina’s.”
I grimace. Oh God, is that who she rustled up? I walk quickly to Dodds’s room and knock. He’s alone, sitting in his wheelchair, staring blankly out the window.
“Hi,” I say.
He doesn’t turn his head. I step into the room and walk toward him. I open my mouth to ask how he is but then shut it again. I can imagine that’s the last question he wants to be asked. He’s probably sick of it.
“Can I do anything?” I ask.
A faint smile flickers on his lips before being snuffed out. He shakes his head.
“Did you have a visitor?”
He gives a dismissive shrug. I frown. Where’s Angela?
I glance at the photograph on his nightstand. “What about her?” I ask, wandering over and picking it up. “Can I call her for you? Do you think she’d like to visit?”
He frowns at me. “No, just leave it. Leave me alone.”
I put the photograph down. “Okay,” I say, noticing as I walk away from the nightstand that the brochure I gave him yesterday on careers is in the trash can.
I pause by the door, glancing back at him over my shoulder. How do you do it, I want to know? How do you keep an emotional distance from people? I’m really not sure I’m cut out to be a psychologist, and the doubt that’s been niggling at me for the last few weeks is increasing in volume. It’s no longer niggling, it’s harassing me. What if, after all this study and all this dreaming, it turns out I’m not suited to the job?
Just outside Walker’s room I hear voices, or rather one voice—a woman’s—and pull up sharply. I peer through the crack in the door and see Walker pressed up against the foot of the bed while Valentina’s cousin Angela talks at him ten to the dozen. She’s wearing another of those flowery kaftan dresses and her bosom, which rivals my own for size, is torpedoing him. She’s in danger of knocking him backward onto the bed.
I burst into the room. “Hi,” I say loudly.
Angela turns around, her sentence trailing off.
“Are you ready for your appointment, Lieutenant?” I ask.
I see the question start to form on Walker’s lips, the frown of confusion, then a second later realization dawns and his expression clears. “Oh yeah, my appointment.” He nods vigorously. “I’m so ready for that. Let’s do it.”
“Okay, great,” I say, stepping into the room.
“What appointment is that?” Angela asks, frowning at me. “Are you a doctor?”
“Um,” I say. I’m so bad at lying.
“Yeah, she’s my doctor,” Walker cuts in.
“Yeah. I’m his doctor,” I repeat, nodding. “I’m here to . . .” I blank.
“Change my dressing,” Walker finishes for me.
“What dressing?” Angela asks, looking him over.
“On my . . .”
“Knee. His knee,” I blurt.
“Your knee?” Angela asks, scrunching up her face.
“Yeah. Surgery,” Walker explains, pointing at his knee. “I had surgery. Busted my kneecap.”
Angela pouts, one hand flying to her chest. “Oh, you poor thing. Shall I wait for you to be done?”
“No,” Walker answers quickly.
“It’s going to take a while,” I add. “After I’ve changed the dressing I have to give him a thorough . . . physical exam.”
Walker’s eyebrows shoot up and he gives me a smirk. “Oh,” says Angela. “Okay. Well, I’ll come by later.”
“Why don’t you go see Callum?” I ask, even though I regret it the instant it’s out of my mouth.
“Callum?” she frowns.
“Dodds? The guy in the room next door.”
“The guy with no legs?”
“Yes.”
Her nose wrinkles. “I’m not sure. I don’t think he really wants a visitor. He’s kind of”—she lowers her voice—“weird.”
I grit my teeth. Any sympathy I might have had for her just went entirely out the window.
“Well,” I say, stepping to one side and motioning to the door. “I’m sure you’re busy.”
She takes the hint and, turning back to Walker, squeezes his arm. “Bye,” she says. “I’ll drop by later.”
“Bye,” he answers with a fixed smile on his face. He really is the worst at pretending, and for that I’m stupidly glad.
Angela leaves, shooting me a suspicious look as she goes. I’m wearing jeans and a blouse and I definitely don’t look like a doctor.
“Oh my God,” Walker says, collapsing onto the bed once she’s gone and I’ve shut the door behind her. “Thank you. I wanted to pull the emergency cord in my room but I couldn’t find it.”
I laugh. “It’s okay. I don’t mind you owing me.”
“Chalk it up. Let’s start keeping count.”
“Count?” I ask.
“Yeah. Then when I get out of this place and we can finally go on a date, I’ll start paying you back all I owe you.”
I take another step toward him. “How?” I ask.
A smile lifts the edge of his mouth. “In ways you cannot even imagine.”
My stomach gives way again as if the floor’s collapsed beneath my feet. “I don’t know,” I manage to say. “I have a pretty good imagination.”
He pulls a face and shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Your imagination will need a reboot after this.”
He isn’t even touching me and I’m as breathless as if we’d just spent half an hour making out. “Oh,” I whisper.
We’re standing just inches apart now, and I can see he’s breathing as fast as me. Neither of us says anything.
“Didi?” he asks.
“Yes?”
He bites his lip and frowns. “Can I—?” He stops and frowns.
“What?” I ask.
He lifts his hand and I freeze, not sure what he’s going to do, but then, very lightly, with just his fingertips, he starts tracing my face. First my cheekbones then my brow, then stroking along my jawbone, his touch so gentle that I feel like I’m made of glass. He traces his fingers down my nose, over my eyebrows, strokes his fingertips over my eyelashes, and finally runs his thumb over my lips.
I haven’t breathed the whole time he’s been touching me, but I start almost hyperventilating when he strokes my lips with his thumb.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, finally taking my face in both his hands.
“Thanks,” I say, my voice shaking.
His thumb presses against my lips again. My resolve is one thin iota away from vanishing completely.