The Mistress

“You wash your hands like a surgeon,” she said.

He smiled ear to ear, a smile so bright it was like a sunbeam breaking through the clouds. But the cloud came back in an instant and both sun and smile were gone again.

“I work in a hospital. Part-time orderly stuff. I want to be a doctor someday, though.” Wes tossed the towel aside.

“I work in an animal clinic. I’d be too scared to work with people. They talk back.”

“That’s my problem with working with animals. They can’t tell me where it hurts.” He stood directly in front of her so that her knees almost touched his hips. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”

“I think I’m okay. I’m sore all over.”

“You must have put up a fight. I’m going to touch your face now.”

He took her gently by the chin and turned her face toward the light.

“I tried. He was too strong.”

“Don’t feel bad. They got me, too.” He pointed to the bandage on his temple. “Whoever it was did a good job knocking me out without actually hurting me. I think these people are professionals. That scares me more than anything.”

“Did they take you, too?”

He shook his head and she sensed his regret.

“I wish they had. We were at my house in Kentucky. I got hit or something and when I came to a few seconds later, she was gone.”

“She was with you?”

He nodded as he raised a wet cotton ball and started to stroke her cheek with it. From the corner of her eye she saw the cotton ball turning pink with blood.

“Yeah. We’re...friends. She was visiting me. We went horseback riding and came back to the stables. We talked about something and then...it all went black. When I came to, she was gone.”

“That’s awful. Are you okay?”

“As okay as anyone would be, I guess.”

“You don’t look okay.” He didn’t. He might be the most gorgeous guy she’d ever seen in her life, but he also happened to be the most gorgeous guy she’d ever seen in her life who looked like he would pass out any minute. “You look bad.”

“Your English is really good. Too good.”

She laughed as he tossed the cotton ball and picked up a clean one.

“I’m sorry. Everyone in Denmark learns English. My uncle’s been making me speak it to him all my life so I would get better at it. I didn’t mean you look ugly. You look sick.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, rubbing her cheek with antibiotic ointment. “I haven’t eaten or slept since this all happened. At least they left me alive. And you. You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m okay. Are you?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean, I won’t be okay until Nora’s safe.”

“Me, too. I can’t... If something happens to her...” Tears started to run down her face again. Wes handed her a tissue and kept working on her cheek.

“Nora’s the toughest woman alive. I keep telling myself that,” Wes said as he applied a pad of gauze to her cheek.

“She is. I believe in her. I know he’ll do whatever he can to get her back.”

“So will I.”

He taped the gauze to her cheek and smoothed it down.

“I’ll check it in a few hours.”

“Thank you.” She raised her hand and touched her face. She felt better already.

“Are you hurt anywhere else? I can get Grace. She’s really nice. If you think, you know, you’re hurt somewhere else...” His words were plain and simple but she could see the concern in his eyes, the searching look.

“I wasn’t raped.”

He stared at her as if trying to discern whether or not she was lying to him. No wonder he’d been so careful with her, not even touching her without warning her of his every move first.

“I work the E.R. a lot. I’ve seen women come in for sprained wrists and broken noses and stitches—they say the same thing. If you were, we need to get you checked out. You don’t want to wait. If it happened, it’s not your fault at all. But you have to tell somebody.”

“I was conscious the whole time.”

“Are you sure? It only takes a minute sometimes.”

“I’m sure.” She looked him in the eyes so he would believe her.

“Okay, I believe you.”

“I promise, if that happened I would tell you.”

“Good.”

Wes put his arm around her and helped her down off the countertop. She took advantage of their proximity to smell his hair. He smelled like summer, like warm, clean towels drying in the sun. She wanted to stretch out in the warmth of him like a cat lying in the sun.

He bent over the sink and started washing the blood off his hands. Laila wondered if she should give him some privacy in the bathroom, but before she could go, he paused in his hand-washing and put his hands on the counter and closed his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” She watched his face, the pained set to his mouth.

“I should eat something.” She saw sweat break out on his face. His hands shook. Not eating for a day should only make him hungry. This was something more.

“You’re...” She tried to remember the English word for it. “Diabetisk?” she said, recognizing the symptoms of a blood sugar crash.

“Yeah. How did you—”

“Even dogs have it. Sit down.” She put an arm around his waist and helped lower him to the floor. Better get him on the floor now before he ended up there by fainting. “My turn to be the doctor.”