boredom.â
âNettieâs often frantic,â Sorrel said. âWhy are you?â
âIâm nothing like frantic. I just want to get home. Iâve got gin to drink.â
CHAPTER FOUR
Periwinkle is useful against inflammation
H enry drove west to Hayward with the last of the sun in his eyes. He had the windows open, and the rushing sound filled his head. It didnât block out thoughts of Patience as heâd hoped it would. He too relived the moment they had stood so close in the barn; he wanted to savor it, but all he could think was, You are fascinating. Who says things like that?
By the time he walked into the hospital, it was dark, a full hour later than heâd planned. He stopped at the front desk and signed in. It was the first time heâd been to Hayward Hospital since he registered for privileges. He picked up a badge and went to Benâs floor. The nurses looked up as he approached;one glanced down at his limp, but the other was too busy staring at his face to see anything else.
âIâm here to see Ben Avellar,â Henry said.
âFamily?â one nurse asked.
Henry hadnât bothered with a lab coat, and he had slipped his visitorâs badge into his pocket. He fished it out and showed it to the nurse. âIâm his doctor,â he said.
âWellââthe nurse peered at the badgeââDr. Carlyle, heâs in room 512.â She pointed as Henry thanked her and walked down the hall.
An old man, asleep, his mouth gaping, his teeth on the bedside table next to a balled-up tissue and an emesis basin, lay in the near bed. Henry tiptoed past and around the curtain where he found Ben, also asleep. His hand was on a folded pillow. It was stained brown by Betadine, wrapped in white gauze and a foam splint. Henry could see the small lump under the dressing; the wire that poked through the skin at the base of Benâs thumb. It would be some weeks before that could come out and Henry realized that Ben wouldnât be able to use the thumb until it did, and then only carefully. There was nothing careful about fishing. What happened when a lobsterman couldnât pull his traps? Henry guessed his patient was in trouble. It would soon be high season, and Ben would be without his job.
Henry took the chart off the end of the bed and read through the notes. Nothing unusual, no surprises in the blood work. He didnât know what he expected: eye of newt or horn of toad extract from Patience? Henry huffed and replaced the chart.He went to the window and leaned his head against the cool pane. He shifted all his weight onto his good leg and sighed.
âHey, Dr. Carlyle,â Ben said. His voice was scratchy, and his mouth was so dry Henry could hear the sound his lips made as they parted.
Henry turned around and smiled. âBen, you look well.â
Ben lifted his hand. âPretty well fucked,â he said. âThe surgeon told me I canât work, not for a month at least. Thatâs the season gone.â
âI know,â Henry said. He brought a cup of water to Ben and held the straw while he drank. He took his stethoscope from around his neck and listened to Benâs heart. It was as steady and strong as the man himself. Never mind that he was in a hospital johnny. âThere has to be someone who can run your boat.â
âI guess,â Ben said and squirmed up in the bed. âBut summer is when I make enough to get me through. Working the cemetery, helping the Sisters, a little construction, itâs not enough. Shit, even with the boat itâs hard. The maintenance alone . . .â
Henry didnât know what to say. Heâd never had to worry about money. Heâd never had to depend on his body to make a living, and after heâd been wounded in Iraq, he knew he never would. He still missed the physicality of the field hospital but not the cold dread that settled in as soon as the warning Klaxon went
C. J. Cherryh
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