Yvonne made it sound absolutely reasonable.
Elizabeth found it unnerving. She had an Internet stalker, and it was her father.
Yvonne apparently misunderstood Elizabeth’s discomfort, for she hastened to reassure her. “I don’t think he told anyone else who you had married, and I haven’t said a word.”
“We’re divorced, and I … I have not been to see Mrs. Smith. I only met her the time she came down to visit, and it seems presumptuous of me to assume a family connection when I’m the one who severed it.” Elizabeth could not have been more uncomfortable.
Yvonne waved away her objection. “I see Mrs. Smith at church, and she’s an old-time Catholic. If you were once married to Garik, then in the eyes of God, you’re still married to Garik. So you’re family, and she’ll take you in.”
Elizabeth would have argued, but Sheila arrived from some far corner of some far wing, walking silently in rubber-soled work shoes, wearing yet another flowered smock and those green scrub pants.
The two women held a whispered consultation, then with a wave, Yvonne disappeared back the way Sheila had come.
Sheila thoroughly cleaned the cut on Elizabeth’s hand, and didn’t mock Elizabeth when the blood welled and Elizabeth found herself reclining on the linoleum, head spinning. Sheila used a butterfly bandage to close it, and gave her a shot that she sternly told Elizabeth was nothing, while showing her a bottle that identified the injection as an antibiotic.
“I understand,” Elizabeth said. “As a nurse, you’re not allowed to prescribe such medication without a physician’s order, but you fear the infection from the cut will make me ill unless you take action now.”
Sheila stared at her, shook her head, then leaned over and pressed her hand against Elizabeth’s shoulder. “I never gave you a shot.”
“You never gave me a shot,” Elizabeth repeated obediently. “Thank you.”
“Stay on the floor. I’ll send Yvonne back for you.” Sheila went down the hallway, as quiet as one of the ghosts Yvonne said haunted the Honor Mountain Memory Care Facility.
Spooky thought. Spooky place. Didn’t matter. The hours of stress caught up with Elizabeth, and her eyes drooped and closed.
When something touched her arm, she woke with a gasp.
“It’s just me,” Yvonne said soothingly.
Elizabeth sat up, then stood up and swayed. “Earthquake?” she said.
“No, it’s you. You’re wiped out.” Yvonne opened a supply closet and handed her a clean gown and robe. “Here. You can sleep in this.”
Wide-eyed, Elizabeth looked at it, and wondered who had worn it last.
“It’s new,” Yvonne said. “We get donations.”
“Okay. Thank you.” Although it was irrational, Elizabeth was uncomfortable wearing a gown in which one of the patients had died.
“The staff bathroom is there. The cot is there.” Yvonne pointed at the two doors behind the nurses’ station.
“Do you mind if I charge my phone and camera? You’ve got power and I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to—”
“Of course. Give me the cables and equipment and I’ll plug them in.”
“Thank you, and thank you for, um, taking care of…” Elizabeth jerked her head toward Charles.
“Your father?”
“Yes. Thank you for taking care of my father.”
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”
Elizabeth stared, not sure if Yvonne was joking or not.
“Oh, honey. You poor thing.” Yvonne embraced her as if she couldn’t stand not to. “Taking care of your father is what I’m here for.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Several hours later, Elizabeth came out of a sound sleep and into a state of frozen terror.
Without even opening her eyes, she knew someone stood over the top of her.
Her father. Holding the blood-drenched scissors.
She couldn’t look. She didn’t dare. Didn’t not dare.
She’d had this nightmare before, and it was never true.
So she forced her eyes open.
And there he was. He really was, her
Elizabeth found it unnerving. She had an Internet stalker, and it was her father.
Yvonne apparently misunderstood Elizabeth’s discomfort, for she hastened to reassure her. “I don’t think he told anyone else who you had married, and I haven’t said a word.”
“We’re divorced, and I … I have not been to see Mrs. Smith. I only met her the time she came down to visit, and it seems presumptuous of me to assume a family connection when I’m the one who severed it.” Elizabeth could not have been more uncomfortable.
Yvonne waved away her objection. “I see Mrs. Smith at church, and she’s an old-time Catholic. If you were once married to Garik, then in the eyes of God, you’re still married to Garik. So you’re family, and she’ll take you in.”
Elizabeth would have argued, but Sheila arrived from some far corner of some far wing, walking silently in rubber-soled work shoes, wearing yet another flowered smock and those green scrub pants.
The two women held a whispered consultation, then with a wave, Yvonne disappeared back the way Sheila had come.
Sheila thoroughly cleaned the cut on Elizabeth’s hand, and didn’t mock Elizabeth when the blood welled and Elizabeth found herself reclining on the linoleum, head spinning. Sheila used a butterfly bandage to close it, and gave her a shot that she sternly told Elizabeth was nothing, while showing her a bottle that identified the injection as an antibiotic.
“I understand,” Elizabeth said. “As a nurse, you’re not allowed to prescribe such medication without a physician’s order, but you fear the infection from the cut will make me ill unless you take action now.”
Sheila stared at her, shook her head, then leaned over and pressed her hand against Elizabeth’s shoulder. “I never gave you a shot.”
“You never gave me a shot,” Elizabeth repeated obediently. “Thank you.”
“Stay on the floor. I’ll send Yvonne back for you.” Sheila went down the hallway, as quiet as one of the ghosts Yvonne said haunted the Honor Mountain Memory Care Facility.
Spooky thought. Spooky place. Didn’t matter. The hours of stress caught up with Elizabeth, and her eyes drooped and closed.
When something touched her arm, she woke with a gasp.
“It’s just me,” Yvonne said soothingly.
Elizabeth sat up, then stood up and swayed. “Earthquake?” she said.
“No, it’s you. You’re wiped out.” Yvonne opened a supply closet and handed her a clean gown and robe. “Here. You can sleep in this.”
Wide-eyed, Elizabeth looked at it, and wondered who had worn it last.
“It’s new,” Yvonne said. “We get donations.”
“Okay. Thank you.” Although it was irrational, Elizabeth was uncomfortable wearing a gown in which one of the patients had died.
“The staff bathroom is there. The cot is there.” Yvonne pointed at the two doors behind the nurses’ station.
“Do you mind if I charge my phone and camera? You’ve got power and I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to—”
“Of course. Give me the cables and equipment and I’ll plug them in.”
“Thank you, and thank you for, um, taking care of…” Elizabeth jerked her head toward Charles.
“Your father?”
“Yes. Thank you for taking care of my father.”
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”
Elizabeth stared, not sure if Yvonne was joking or not.
“Oh, honey. You poor thing.” Yvonne embraced her as if she couldn’t stand not to. “Taking care of your father is what I’m here for.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Several hours later, Elizabeth came out of a sound sleep and into a state of frozen terror.
Without even opening her eyes, she knew someone stood over the top of her.
Her father. Holding the blood-drenched scissors.
She couldn’t look. She didn’t dare. Didn’t not dare.
She’d had this nightmare before, and it was never true.
So she forced her eyes open.
And there he was. He really was, her
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