“You’re going to be in a sling for a while, but they say you can come home this morning. I called your parents. They want to fly home, but they have to get to the next port first. You scared me, honey. When the police called to say you’d been hurt, I rushed here immediately. They let me see you for a minute before they took you to surgery, but you were out cold. You’ve been asleep since. I’m so glad you’re okay. If something worse had happened, I don’t know what I would have done. Oh God, Olivia. I—”
A fuzzy sense fills her. She should be mad. She is mad. But she’s not sure why.
“Shh. I’m all right. I’m okay, Park. Call my folks again and tell them not to come. I can’t be the reason they leave that cruise. I promise, I’m fine.” There is a vase of white lilies on the tray by her hand. She hates lilies. They smell like death to her. “God, can you get rid of those flowers? I’m sorry, the scent is making me nauseated.”
She catches his frown. “I don’t mean to be harsh. It was sweet of you to bring them—”
“I didn’t. I would never bring you lilies. I know how much you despise them.”
“Thank God. I thought you might be punishing me.” She gives him a wan smile, and he smiles back, just as tremulous. “Who are they from? Is there a card?”
“No, no card. I went for a cup of coffee, and they were brought in while I was gone. Let me go donate them to someone else.”
He disappears for a few minutes, giving her time to gather herself. The scent lingers, rot and loam and perfumed air.
An accident. She’s been in an accident.
But she can still feel them inside her.
You’re confused. You’re just confused.
Park returns, washes his hands with the antibacterial foam at the door. The chemical scent is more welcome than the bitter scent of the flowers, and she relaxes when he sits again.
“Better?”
“Much.” It is starting to come back to her, bits and pieces, flashes of shattered glass and fear. “The Jeep?”
“Other than the windshield and driver’s window, it’s almost unscathed. The police think the deer must have been midair when you impacted. His antlers came through the windshield and pinned you. When they got there, you were unconscious, covered in blood, with a chunk of antler sticking out, and the deer was nowhere to be found.”
The crash. The fear. That disembodied voice. Oh, my darling.
“What about the man who helped me? Did they find out who it was? If not for him, I’d have been hurt worse. The deer was freaking out.”
Park shakes his head. “No one mentioned a Good Samaritan. The police said you were alone.”
“That’s weird. He broke the side window. I know he did. He said I was going to be okay. He called me by my name. I thought it might have been Perry, but the voice was different. I didn’t get a good look at him.”
“Perry?” The chill in his voice is palpable.
“He was at Lindsey’s. We talked.”
“Oh, really? That’s where you were all afternoon? With Perry?”
The sneer is too much for her to take. She can’t do this right now. Her head is fuzzy, she hurts, and she’s beyond annoyed with his attitude. Why is she so mad at him? She can’t remember, but it must be important.
“No. I was at therapy, and stopped by to see if Lindsey was home, and he was there. It wasn’t more than fifteen minutes. We had a fight almost immediately.” She waved her good hand. “It doesn’t matter. But it wasn’t Perry at the accident. The voice was wrong. It was familiar, but not that familiar.”
“Then maybe whoever your stranger was asked your name and you told him.”
“No. No, I’m sure he didn’t. I’m sure he knew me. There was something in the way he said my name. And he said…he said I was beautiful.”
“Honey, you’ve had a trauma. You had anesthesia. It’s possible—”
“No!” The beeping grows in intensity. The racket is quickly followed by a nurse in blue scrubs.
“Okay, okay, calm down,” Park says, and the nurse fiddles with the machine, which promptly stops squawking. She is in her forties, comfortably round and clearly competent.
“Excuse me, sir.” She steps to the bed, checks the blood pressure cuff wrapped around Olivia’s good bicep. “How are you feeling, Olivia? You gave everyone a good scare.”
“I’m fine.” Though she is anything but; it’s a reflex answer. I’m fine, but I’m not. I’m sorry, though I did nothing wrong. The two phrases trained into almost every woman from birth.
“Let’s keep that heart rate down, okay?”
Olivia shifts uncomfortably. “When can I go home?”
“Dr. Oglesby will be by on rounds shortly. You’re lucky he was here when they brought you in. Best surgeon in town in my opinion. He heard what happened and offered to work on you. You’re going to be just fine. When he gives you the high sign, we’ll get you discharged.”
Olivia lays her head back on the pillow while the nurse takes her vitals. Park helps her to the bathroom, and when she comes out, the surgeon is waiting. He is kind, and handsome, and very, very tall. He explains the procedure he’s done and gives her instructions for problems to watch for. He gives Park a stack of paperwork and tells her to come see him in two weeks to get her stitches out.
“No more deer hunting, Olivia. Okay?”
“Okay.”
The nurse comes in with another stack of papers, plus instructions for how to care for the incision and a prescription for painkillers.
“Don’t be brave, take the pills on time. You want to stay ahead of the pain cycle. You won’t need them for more than a couple of days. Here’s two to get you started. Be safe, they might make you a little dizzy. Go straight home and get into bed. You’ll want to be propped up, you won’t want to lie down flat for a few days. If you have a recliner, that’s even better. I’ll get a wheelchair for you.”
Olivia gobbles the pills as if they are water in a vast desert, hoping, praying, for oblivion. This pain is too intense. Her shoulder and collarbone hurt, too, but the pain she needs relief from is internal. Her heart. There is something wrong with her heart.
The wheelchair arrives. She is very blurry now. The walls of the hospital flash by. Outside, the bright morning sun gleams into her face.
Park gets her settled in his BMW, and then they are free.
Olivia drifts.
Park is speaking to her, but she can’t make out the words. They pull into the drive and she sharpens, focusing when he says, “We were supposed to talk with the reporter last night, but Lucía moved it to this morning. We can wait for a few hours. If you can’t do it, I will. It’s all good. You just rest.”
Reporter.
The rest of it all comes flooding back. And something else… Her mind finally latches onto reality.
Little Brandon Cross. Park’s son. Another son.
She wants to confront him, to yell and scream and hit, but she is too high to do anything but allow Park to help her walk into the house, move slowly up the stairs, and swing her legs onto the bed. A recliner. She almost giggles at the thought. Olivia is not the recliner type. She has a fabulous 1940s French chaise in bottle-green velvet she found at an estate sale eons ago, but it’s in the living room, and she feels fine here in the bed, bolstered on all sides by fluffy pillows.