Page 103 of Just One Look
“There you are,” Marko said. “How ya goin’?”
“Not bad,” Luka said, his voice a croak.
Marko fumbled with something, and the head of the bed rose, after which he held something in front of Luka. A plastic cup with a straw. “Your neck’s in a brace,” Marko said.
“Why are you here?” Luka asked. “You should be home. Or in Aussie. Or home. Wait. Which is it?”
“Home,” Marko said. “Another week. I made Miriama go home, though, so it’s just us and the bub. Much better.”
“How did you convince her?” Luka asked. He was less fuzzy now. His voice wasn’t working perfectly, but that was probably because somebody had been mucking about with surgical instruments in his throat.
“I didn’t,” Marko said. “I told her.”
“Huh,” Luka said.
“Nah. She and Grant think I’m an arrogant bastard anyway. No surprises there. I just said, ‘Thanks for your help, but you can go home. I’ve got this now.’”
“And that was enough?”
“Are you joking? Of course it wasn’t. She tried to say she’d be back next week, once I do leave for Aussie, but I said, ‘Thanks, we’re all good. My mum wants a turn.’”
“Lucky,” Luka said.
“Not really. If my mum weren’t coming, I’d have found somebody else. Nyree can only take so much Miriama before she cracks, and the signs weren’t good. My mum will come for another week or so, and fill up whatever space Miriama’s left in the freezer, too. After that, I’ve got it.”
“That’s a lot of caretaking, maybe,” Luka said. “Along with training.”
“What, the bub? Nah, I’ve got that. Good as gold. Nyree, too, though it’s hard to caretake Nyree for long. Back painting already, isn’t she.”
“Mm.” Luka shut his eyes again, because it was easier, then opened them. “If they’re home alone … why are you here?”
“Mate.” Marko didn’t hold his hand, thank God. He gripped his forearm instead. That was all right. “You didn’t have anybody here.”
“I don’t …” Luka couldn’t quite figure out how to go on. “How did you know that?”
“Elizabeth told Nyree.”
“What the hell? Why?”
Marko hadn’t let go of his arm. “Because she didn’t want you to be alone. Possibly because she cares.”
Oh, no. Luka had a bad feeling.
That was the moment when the curtains rattled open and Elizabeth walked in, her white coat on and pens sticking out of her pocket. He could read the embroidered letters on the front of the coat now, so he was obviously focusing well.Elizabeth Wolcott, M.D., FAANS.Her hair was pulled tight, fastened into an elaborate plait that lay close to her skull. So she could wear it under a surgical cap, that would be. She was looking serious, her complicated face set, almost severe. Under control. She lifted a plastic carrier bag and said, “Your sweatshirt that I borrowed to get home last night. I’ll put it with your things.” Her color rose as she said it, and Luka would bet that Marko was pretty bloody interested, but she pretended not to notice, just bunged the bag into the bedside locker and said, “Hi, Marko. Glad you could come.”
“No worries,” Marko said.
Luka said, “I didn’t need moral support. I’m fine.”
“Nice,” Marko said. He stood and asked Elizabeth, “Want to sit?”
“No, thanks,” she said. “You’re good.”
“How did his surgery go?” Marko asked, and sat down again, even though he should be leaving. He was meant to be taking care of his family, not looking after somebody with a staff of nurses available at the touch of a bell. Somebody who didn’tneedthe nurses, because it was his neck, not his legs, and he was fine. He’d be off the opioids as soon as they let him go home, and from then on, it was nothing but progress.
Elizabeth hesitated, then asked Luka, “Is it all right with you if I tell him? I’m not your surgeon, but still.”
A wave of cold gripped his chest. This was why he remembered a nightmare. Something had gone wrong. He said, “Tell me. What happened in there?”
