Dr. Curran’s eyes widened and he stared at Sean, his composure falling to pieces. “Mother of God!” he exclaimed softly, sounding deeply shocked. “Sean?”
“In the flesh,” he replied curtly.
“But—how—why—?” the doctor stammered.
“Liam and Sarah are my friends. I came up to sit with Liam after I finished my therapy this afternoon.”
“And how is that going? Frankly, I’m surprised to see that you’re still using a chair. Last time I talked to your sister, she said you could walk.”
“I can, but if I’m tired, or something’s troubling me, I use the chair. I fell and bunged up my knee last week—nothing serious—and Mary insisted that I take it easy for a week or two.”
“So, you really are able to walk? It’s not just wishful thinking on Sheila’s part?”
“Yes, I am, though I’ll always need crutches or canes, and braces for my back and my right leg. Still, I’ve made a lot of progress since I saw you last. I never expected to improve as much as I have.”
“No one expected that, Sean. Even I never quite dared to hope, though I certainly prayed for miracles often enough.”
“Well, that must have taken some balls,” Sean remarked, his voice icy and bitter. “Maybe that’s why the miracles were strictly B-grade.”
Dr. Curran winced. “Sean, don’t. Please. I have a job to do. If I’d known you were here—”
“I’ll spare you the agony, then. Go about your business and look after Liam. Sarah, I’ll come back in a bit.” He wheeled out of the room abruptly and took off down the hallway.
Dr. Curran drew a deep, shaky breath and leaned against the window sill.
“Are you all right?” I asked, laying a hand on his arm.
“Yeah. Yeah. Give me a minute.” He put a hand over his eyes and bowed his head for a few moments. When he looked up again, it was clear that he was still upset, but in better control of his emotions and ready to get to work. “I’m really sorry about that,” he apologized. “No doubt Sean will tell you his side of the story as soon as I’m gone, but take it with a grain of salt, O.K.? And remember to consider the quality of care your friend receives as long as I’m assigned to him. I’m not as bad a guy as Sean might make me out to be.”
He did seem an awfully decent sort of man. I felt sorry for him, and did my best to reassure him. “Dr. Curran, could we please get one thing straight, right now?”
“Yes? What is it?”
“Look, personally, I have no quarrel with you. How could I, when we’ve only just met? You have a nice, friendly manner, and I think you and Liam and I are going to get along just fine. I don’t think Sean could possibly say anything that would make me feel uncomfortable with you. The minute you started talking to me, you put me at ease. I can’t say the same for any of the other doctors around here. So, never mind whatever trip Sean’s on and tell me what’s up with Liam.”
“As soon as I’ve taken a look,” he promised, smiling. “Thanks for your vote of confidence. It really helps.” He got up from the window sill and went over to Ronan with his clipboard in hand.
I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, since he effectively blocked my view, but I did see him examine the drainage container, and jot some notes down on his clipboard. Finally, he turned back to me and resumed his place on the window sill.
“Well, Ms. LeJeune—”
“Please, Dr. Curran, it’s Sarah.”
“All right, then. If you’re Sarah, I’m Matt. To hell with formalities.”
“That’s fine with me, Matt.”
“Good!” he rifled through the pages on his clipboard. “O.K., so Mr. O’Malley’s had an osteotomy.”
“A what?”
“An operation to repair the malunion of a couple of forearm fractures, or, in simple layman’s terms, he’s had his arm surgically broken and nailed back together.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Any questions?”
“Why doesn’t he have a cast on it?”
“’Cause we need easy access to the incision and the drains, for one thing, and in addition to that, his arm’s too swollen. He won’t have a closed cast for at least a couple of weeks. What he will have, after that splint comes off, is something we call a split cast. It’s in two parts and is held in place with ace bandages. He may have trouble with his arm swelling for up to four weeks after the surgery, but once that’s resolved, his orthopedist will put a cast on it.”
“So, Sean was right.”
Matt looked at me sharply. “How would he know? He’s not a doctor.”
“No, but he has been through the same operation himself.”
“Oh, so he told you about that, did he? Interesting. Anything else you want to know?”
I wasn’t inclined to go off on that tangent again, and figured Matt wasn’t asking if I wanted to know more about himself and Sean, anyway. To be sure of that, I directed our focus back to where it belonged. “Well, Liam hasn’t waked up yet, and that worries me.”
“Don’t let it. He was awake earlier, but I had to give him a heavy dose of morphine, and it knocked him out. It’ll start wearing off in the next hour or so, and I have to warn you—he has, like, zero tolerance for pain.”
“Not quite zero tolerance, but yes, he does have a low pain threshold.”
“That’s a shame. It’ll make things tougher for him. I wish I could give you better news, but unfortunately, recovery from this procedure is no picnic. He can’t stay on morphine indefinitely, and once he’s off it, the only thing he can take for pain in the long term, safely, is ibuprofen, and even that has its drawbacks. You’re aware that it can’t be taken on an empty stomach, right?”
“Yes.”
“And he mustn’t exceed thirty-two-hundred milligrams a day. That’s eight-hundred milligrams every six hours.”
“Yes.”
“That won’t even begin to take the edge off his pain. He might want to try some alternative therapies, like hypnosis, or accupuncture, or Reiki. And if all else fails—and professionally I have no business telling you this, but—a few tokes off a high-quality joint would do him a world of good.”
I had no idea if Ronan had ever smoked, and I wasn’t comfortable on such dangerous ground. “Matt—”
“Sorry. I’ve been an advocate for medical marijuana use for years. It makes such good sense in some cases, and this country is unbelievably stupid about it. But it wasn’t my intent to clamber up on that particular soapbox. I just—look, if you do partake on occasion, it might help him. But you never heard me say that, did you?”
“No,” I answered, understanding instantly.
“You read about it on the internet.”
“Yes.”
He stood up and went to the bed to take one more look at Ronan. “Hey, Mr. O’Malley!” he said, with quiet good cheer. “You’re among the living again! I’m Dr. Curran. How are you feeling?”
Ronan muttered unintelligibly, and Dr. Curran responded in similar fashion. It sounded conversational, but I couldn’t understand their words. Then Matt said, “Sarah is here, so perhaps you’d better speak in a language she can understand.”
“You know Irish?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Well, I am Irish, so it stands to reason, doesn’t it?”
“None of the Irish Americans I know speak it.”
“Well, I do. I made a point of learning the language a few years ago, and I’ve kept up with it. I thought it might come in handy sometime. One never knows. And it served me well today, right, Mr. O’Malley?”
“Aye, and what I was saying,” Ronan explained groggily, his words slurring, “is that I feel like shite. Like someone dropped a twelve-ton weight on my arm.”
“And I told him that’s normal, and I’m sorry he’s in so much pain. I’m also sorry to continue with the bad news and tell you that you can’t have another dose of your meds for another couple of hours yet. But if you’re hungry or thirsty—”
“Water,” Ronan said. “Please.”
Matt looked at me and nodded approval, and I poured some from a pitcher into a plastic cup, and carried it to him.
“Here you are,” I said, and I held the cup to his lips and let him drink.
He drained it quickly. “Thank you, Sarah.”
“Well,” Matt said brightly, “everything looks fine, Mr. O’Malley. Your surgeon says the operation went very well. Now all you need is time to heal.”
“Time,” Ronan sighed. “The precious commodity.”
“You’ll feel better about the whole business, I think, once they’ve taken you out of this contraption.” Matt indicated the sling. “The world seems a much better place when you can get out of bed and go about as you please. Hang in there!”
“Ugh!” Ronan complained. “If that wasn’t a poor choice of words, then I don’t know what is.”
“Jeeze! You’re right. I wasn’t thinking. Sorry, man. Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it, and check in on you again in an hour or so.”
“Thanks.”
“Yes, thanks, Matt.” When he had gone, I went to Ronan’s side and smoothed his hair back from his brow, and planted a kiss there.
"I’m sorry you’re hurting, but I’m glad to see you awake. I really like this doctor, don’t you?”
“Aye. He goes about things almost the same way my sister does. He seems—trustworthy.”
“Yes, that’s a good word for him. Trustworthy. Do you need anything, Ro?”
“A bit more water, if you don’t mind.”
Once again, I poured some into the cup and helped him drink. He gulped it down as if he couldn’t get enough.
“Easy, now!” I cautioned. “If you keep drinking like that, you’ll need to pee before you know it.”
He shook his head. “I don’t have to worry about that yet. They’ve got a damned catheter in me again. Seems it’s a routine thing, if you’re likely to be in surgery for more than an hour.”
“Is it bothering you?”
“Not at the moment. My arm’s an effective distraction. I know they said this operation would improve my situation dramatically, but that’s hard to believe.”
“It hurts that much?”
“Och, bean! You don’t know the half of it!” He closed his eyes, his face grim. “I would not wish this on my worst enemy.”
“Why not try to sleep, then?”
“I can’t now. I’m too wired.”
I moved my chair to the other side of the bed and sat down, and reached for his right hand.
His fingers curved slightly around mine.
“How could you possibly be wired, Ro? I should think you’d be exhausted.”
“I thought I would be, too, but I’m afraid I’ve worked up quite a head of anxiety, and my brain just won’t shut down until the next dose of morphine. And even at that, I’ll sleep like a baby for two hours, and spend the next four with my head spinning.”
“Maybe there’s something else they can give you, to help you relax.”
He chuckled sardonically. “You know of something better than morphine, a chuisle? Do tell. I think I must get it as soon as possible.”
I thought briefly of Matt’s highly unconventional suggestion: a few tokes from a high-quality joint, and decided to see how Ronan would react to it. “I’ve heard that smoking a bit of marijuana can be beneficial. Would you consider that, if I could get some?”
He shook his head. “It’s illegal, Sarah, and besides that, I’ve never been a smoker. Not fags, or pipes, or anything. I can’t stand the smell of tobacco.”
“There are other ways to take it. I could bake brownies.”
“I’m tempted, I must confess, but no. Don’t take the chance. It isn’t worth it.”
“Sparing you pain seems worth it to me.”
“You are good to me, and I love you for it, a chuisle, but really, that would be above and beyond the call of duty.”
“But you’ll let me know if you change your mind?”
“I will, but I don’t expect to be changing it any time soon.”
“All right, then. Fair enough. Would you like me to dim the lights?”
“Please. If you’ll do that, I can open my eyes and look at you while we talk. Did you bring some knitting?”
“Yes. Your sweater.”
“Then stay close by me and work on it. You know it calms me to watch you.”
“All right.” I lowered the lights to a comfortable level of brightness, so I could see what I was doing, yet spare Ronan’s eyes. His iritis was long gone now, but he had retained his sensitivity to light: a condition he said had always troubled him, and figured was a consequence of working under spotlights for so many years.
When we went to the wool festival in Rhinebeck back in October, Ronan had teased me so relentlessly about making him a sweater, I agreed to do it on one condition: that he choose his own color and yarn, with my approval.
I needn’t have worried that he would pick something extravagant or delicate. He made a beeline for a booth that had some gorgeous skeins of an alpaca/merino blend yarn, in a light worsted weight, and plucked the whole lot of a deep, heathery blue color from the display. The price was a bit higher than I wanted to pay, and while I was trying to convince myself that it really wasn’t unreasonable, Ronan whipped out his wallet and paid for it. When I made it known that I hadn’t expected him to do that, he laughed. “Well, you didn’t think I’d expect you to pay for supplies, did you, when you won’t be the one wearing the pullover? You like the yarn, and I like the yarn, and you’ll enjoy the knitting of it, and I’ll enjoy the wearing.”
“Sounds like a deal to me,” the saleslady said, smiling as she bagged the yarn and accepted his payment.
I began to work on the garment that night, and was astounded at how splendid the yarn really was: soft and sleek and cushy, yet durable: a real tactile delight. As I took it from my bag now and set to work, I thought again about how wonderful it might feel to lie naked on a blanket made from it, and make love.
The yarn slipped sinuously through my fingers, and I smiled.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Ronan murmured.
“Oh, you don’t want to know,” I replied.
“Indeed, I do. You look awfully happy for a woman who’s just working on a pullover.”
“Why wouldn’t I be happy? I like to knit.”
“I know you do, but there’s something else on your mind.”
“All right, if you must know—” I finished the last stitch of the row and got up, and laid the fabric against his cheek. “What do you think of that?”
“Mmmm. Softer than a baby’s arse. I can’t wait to wear it.”
“It won’t be long,” I promised, and sat down again. “Ro?”
“What?”
“If we go to Rhinebeck next year—”
“If? What do you mean, if? Why, I’ll come back from N Zed if I have to, so we can go again. I enjoyed it, and I’d love to show that lady what you’ve been doing with her yarn.”
“Yes, you’d have to wear the sweater, but—I’m thinking I’d like to give that woman a bit more of our business. What would you think about me making a blanket out of this yarn?”
“It would certainly be warm.”
“And soft.”
“And where might you be going with this plan, a chuisle?”
“Where do you think?”
“Er—”
“How about away on vacation in a nice cabin out in the woods somewhere, on the floor in front of a crackling fire?”
“Ah, so it’s that sort of plan.”
“Remember how the fabric felt against your face?”
“Mmmmm.”
“Don’t you think it might be even nicer to make love on it?”
“It probably would be, but I can’t think that far ahead. The way I feel right now, I don’t even know if I’ve still got a cock, much less remember what to do with it. I can’t imagine ever wanting to fuck again.”
“And I wouldn’t dream of asking you until you felt better, but it’s something to consider, isn’t it? Something to look forward to?”
“Aye.” He smiled. “But for now it’s enough to know that I’ll have a nice new pullover soon, and to know that I’ll be out of here in a week, and have my right arm back not long after that.” He fell silent and watched me for a few more minutes. “Sarah?”
“What?”
“Was it my imagination, or was Sean here earlier?”
“Yes, he was here, but he left when the doctor came in. He said he’d be back, though. I wonder what’s keeping him.” I glanced up at the clock on the wall and realized he’d been gone nearly an hour. “It’s been awhile now, Ro. Maybe I should go look for him. He wasn’t feeling especially well today, so I ought to check up on him.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Oh, he’s still achey from that fall last week, and he was using his chair. Even though he says it’s Mary’s doing, I can’t help worrying a bit when I see him in that thing.”
“I know. He does tend to use it when he wants to conceal a problem. Remember how he decided to use it in the studio, when he was having all that trouble with his leg?”
“Yes.”
“See if you can find him, a chuisle. I’d like to visit with him for a few minutes, if he’s willing.”
“All right. I’ll see what I can do. Are you sure you’ll be all right alone for a bit?”
“Put the call button in my hand, and it shan’t be a problem.”
I set my knitting down and searched for the remote. It was looped around the bed rail. I unfastened it and put it in Ronan’s right hand, and guided his forefinger to the top button. “This is the one you push if you want the nurse. Oh, and it’s our old friend Karen tonight.”
“Is it? Well, that’s nice. She already knows me very well, so there won’t be any need for small talk. I’m not really up to that at the moment.”
“Of course you’re not.” I leaned over and kissed him. “Are you sure you don’t mind me leaving for a bit?”
“Really, a chuisle, it’s all right. I’ll close my eyes and try to sleep a bit. Do bring Sean back, though, if you find him and he’s up for a visit.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Lights out?”
“Yes, please.”
I switched off as many as I could, then set out in search of Sean.
