Page 31 of Every Good Thing
“I bet he dropped it while diving into the Cape Fear to rescue a dog,” Dot laughs.
“No, he lost it chasing a purse snatcher on roller skates,” Cherry chuckles.
“Roller skates?” Ruthie giggles. “That’s funny.”
Though the laughter feels good, my thoughts wander as I try to fill in the blanks Ben’s left open. I try him again. Nothing.
“Hey, Ruthie, let’s hit up the vending machine,” Cherry offers before winking at us, “and check out that handsome nurse I noticed on the way in here.”
“Ugh,” she groans but slides off the bed and takes Cherry’s extended hand.
“Everything’ll be okay.” Dot plops beside me. “The important thing is not to panic.”
“I need to know he’s okay. This isn’t like him.”
“He’s fine. Let’s focus on you. Do that breathing thing,” she instructs. “And the wrist thing.”
I scoff but smile. During anxious moments, Ben massages the pressure points at my wrists to relieve anxiety. I can’t do that now, I remind her with a look toward my immovable hand.
“Just breathe, then,” she says, demonstrating a deep breath as if I’ve forgotten how to do it.
Maybe I have.
I take deep breaths, determined to fight back the anxiety zombies rising inside me and chomping at my reason. My husband had something important going on today, and he didn’t tell me about it.
Jack pops into the curtained room. “Hey, little ladies. The nurse is ‘bout to take you to x-ray. No word from Ben.”
“You’re still okay to stay?” I ask.
“Alice’d kill me if I didn’t.”
“Dot, take Ruthie home to pack a bag for your sleepover. Make it a fun night for her. I’ll be here a while, and Ben’ll be here any minute. Jack’s here to take me home if not.” When she gives me a concerned look, I force a smile. “I’m fine. Promise. Or… I will be.”
Dot lets me crumble onto her shoulder long enough to breathe and scrape together my leftover bits of composure.
“I’ve got Ruthie,” she says finally. “And he better have a fucking good explanation.”
Soon, they leave. The room quiets. Missing Ben so sharply, I feel desperately alone. Not fine. I am definitely not fine.
Seven
LENA
Catching sight of Ben’s tall, imposing frame outside the imaging department vanquishes my fears. He’s okay. Not lying in a ditch somewhere (like I was). Not trapped in a wood chipper. Not on a plane, extraditing himself to another country far away from me. He hasn’t spontaneously combusted or been abducted by aliens.
My anxiety bitches may be troublemakers, but they have impressive imaginations.
Ben stands with Jack down the glowing florescent hallway, hands perched on his hips under his suit jacket, a stark reminder of my remaining worries. Where was he today?
He paces, running a hand through his hair at every turn—it’s another relief to see him nervous. Not that I know what he’s nervous about. Me being hurt? Or having to explain his absence?
When our eyes lock, I order myself to save my worries for later. He’s okay. I’m okay. We’re together.
Two long strides bring him to me, and I crumble into his arms, tucking my wounded arm between us like a broken wing. His strong shoulder pillows me while he breathes into my hair. Melting in his strength and familiarity, I bask in all the small, delicious things I love. His deep, gentle voice, the tickle of stubble grazing my cheek, and the soft smell of Ivory soap along his neck.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You needed me, and I wasn’t there. It won’t happen again.”
His brow knits with concern as he assesses me, hands gently gripping my cheeks as he takes in my head wound. His green eyes land on the nurse behind me. “Has she been tested for a traumatic brain injury? CT scan? MRI?”
