He was as stunned to see me as I was to see him. We stood there speechless, seemingly paralyzed ourselves, until Carol Ann whimpered again and I shook myself from my stupor.
“Yes, honey,” I said, tucking the ends of the wool around her thin legs. My hands trembled. “We’re finally done. And this is Dr. Russo,” I said. The name felt so good in my mouth. If I hadn’t turned my life upside down, that would be my name now. “Dr. Russo, this is Carol Ann.”
Vincent seemed to have trouble shifting his gaze from me to the little girl, but he collected himself and began examining her. “How are you feeling today, Carol Ann?” he asked.
“Hurt,” she said.
“Tell me where.”
“My back hurts,” she said.
“She’s a brave girl,” I said. “An excellent patient.” I looked down at Carol Ann. “We’ll let the wool warm up your muscles,” I said. “And I’ll be back in a little bit to do your exercises with you.”
I started to roll the cart toward the rear of the ward, anxious to get away from Vincent. I needed to be alone. I needed to collect my thoughts and settle my nerves.
“I want to talk with you later, nurse,” Vincent said. His voice was businesslike. Abrupt. It was not a voice I’d ever heard before.
I looked at him. Looked directly into those eyes that I’d loved all my life. “All right,” I said, my own voice coming out hoarse and weak. How could I ever explain to him what I’d done and who I’d become?
* * *
There was no time for me to stew over what I would say to Vincent for the rest of the day, and that was good. Mayor Finley’s twenty-two-year-old married daughter, Amy Pryor, was brought by hearse to the hospital late that afternoon, and she was in such dire straits with rapidly progressing paralysis that Dr. Matthews told us to move her immediately into our second iron lung. Her arms and chest and abdomen were already paralyzed by the disease and she struggled to breathe. She could only moan rather than speak. Although she could still move her legs somewhat, they thrashed wildly as Grace Wilding and I transferred her to the bed of the respirator. Along with Grace, I was put in charge of her care since I’d been trained in using the iron lung. I didn’t know which of us was more nervous, Grace or myself. Not only was the iron lung still new to us, but this was the mayor of Hickory’s beloved daughter and she was desperately ill. Her husband was overseas and her mother was taking care of her two-year-old son. To complicate matters even further, she was seven and a half months pregnant. The blessing in disguise was that she seemed to have no idea at all what was going on. She was in that blurry mental state we often saw in our most severely ill patients, confusion and delirium born of pain and fever and fear. If someone ever wheeled me into that long tube, forcing my breath in and out of my lungs, I thought I would panic, but Amy seemed oblivious, and it was a relief to Grace and myself when we saw her color quickly improve and the thrashing of her legs cease. I wrapped her neck in a cloth saturated with lanoline to prevent the diaphragm from chafing her skin, and we examined the seals on all the ports to be sure the lung was airtight. Nervously, I checked the power supply. The hospital hadn’t lost power yet, but it would be disastrous for our iron-lung patients if we did. Once everything was in order, Grace and I looked at each other and let out our breath with exhausted smiles.
I was relieved when it was Dr. Matthews and not Vincent who came to examine Amy. I saw Vincent several times over the remainder of the day, but he was always on the other side of the ward from where I was working. If he was looking at me, I didn’t know. I kept my face turned away from him, afraid of what he could read in my eyes. The guilt. The love I still had for him. Those emotions went hand in hand and I knew I’d be fighting both of them for the rest of my life.
The night shift arrived and I filled Betty in on my patients, most particularly Amy Finley Pryor. I could tell Betty was unnerved at the prospect of taking care of the mayor’s daughter. She was more than competent and had worked with polio patients before—she had more experience working with an iron lung than I had—“but I’ve never taken care of a mayor’s kin before,” she said with a shaky laugh.
“You’ll be fine,” I told her. I imagined that in the hours to come, she was going to be in better shape than I was. I was still unsure when I’d be able to talk with Vincent and even less sure what I would say.
He was waiting for me outside the door of the ward when I left. I saw Henry in the distance, standing by the Cadillac, chatting with Zeke, and I knew he expected to give me a ride home. I panicked, having both men in my vision at the same time.
“I can’t talk now,” I said to Vincent. “I’m getting a ride home.” I nodded toward the clearing and the Cadillac and he followed my gaze in that direction.
“I have my car here and I can give you a ride home,” he said, “wherever home is.” I heard anger in his voice. “I’ll drive you home after we’ve talked,” he added.
“I…” I glanced in Henry’s direction again. I didn’t think he’d seen me. I held my chin a little higher. “That’s my husband,” I said. “I have to go.”
I started to walk past him, but he put an arm out to stop me.
“You owe me a conversation, Tess,” he said.
I dropped my chin, giving in. My knees were shivering. “All right,” I said. “Let me tell him I have to stay.”
He looked reluctant to let me go and I thought he didn’t believe that I would return. He thought I was a liar, and I made up my mind right then that I would tell him the truth. All of it.
“I’ll wait for you at the entrance to the stone building,” he said. “My car is on the other side.”