Page 28 of Molly
“The patient reminded me of my wife,” I finally admitted, my eyes closed. If I was going to talk about Laura, I’d do it in the darkness. Maybe then I could bring to mind the way she’d looked at me while we’d said our vows and not get lost in the steady gaze I felt along my profile.
Silence filled the room like an unwanted third person. But Molly didn’t evict the usurper, so I had to. My voice trembled. “She died. My wife. Laura.”
A shifting sound before Molly spoke. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Ben. I can’t imagine how hard losing someone you love can be.”
Hard wasn’t the right word. Not with a synonym being unbreakable. Losing Laurahadbroken me. Only God as the infinite potter had been able to put me back together again. The cracks were still visible, if one looked hard enough. But infinite love held me together. “Every day gets easier, although I know how clichéd that sounds.”
This time she didn’t let quiet settle in. “How did your patient today remind you of Laura?”
How indeed. But she wouldn’t understand if I didn’t start at the beginning. “She gave birth at that hospital. One of her friends had just had a baby, and there were complications with the delivery. Her son received the medical care he needed from state-of-the art equipment because they’d delivered at the hospital. But, as with everything, there are risks. Very rare risks.”
I let my head fall forward and opened my eyes. “An outbreak of invasive group A streptococcus spread through the ward. In eight days, three women died. Laura was the first.”
Molly’s eyes glistened, as if she could feel the pain I’d felt that day. I held out the sleeve of cookies to her and she took two.
“Streptococcus is a healthcare-associated infection. Not dissimilar to what I discovered in my patient today.” For a long time it had been hard for me to grapple with Laura’s death. Cognitively, I knew why she had died. The bacteria that had invaded Laura’s body caused her blood pressure to plummet and her organs to shut down one after the other. Any doctor could explain the cause. But they couldn’t explain the emotional struggle of coming to terms with my healthy, vibrant, young wife leaving me the same day she gifted me with a beautiful daughter.
Molly’s fingertips lightly touched the side of my hand. “Enough of a similarity that his case triggered these memories for you.”
Her voice held empathy within its rich tones. Not sympathy—a simple feeling of concern or sorrow for another—but deep, profound, and overwhelming empathy. As if she’d crawled into my skin and taken on my emotions as her own.
A single tear gathered in her eye. The sister to those I’d shed earlier.
She was so good. Tenderhearted and more sensitive to others than anyone I’d ever met. That inner radiance enhanced the beauty genetics had already graced her with, and I felt a part of myself that had been shut for a long time creaking open to allow her in.
My hand moved without a conscious command from my brain, and I leaned forward, bringing our faces inches apart as I collected the drop of liquid on the pad of my thumb. “Wouldn’t want any salt streaks now, would we?” I whispered, my voice husky to my ears.
Her hair brushed her shoulders as she shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. “No, we wouldn’t want that.”
A forgotten sensation spread outward from my belly, clenching my abdomen then rushing hot, leaving tingling pinpricks in its wake. Surprise warred with pleasure but was ultimately beaten by chagrin.
I retreated from Molly in a single, quick motion, sitting back against the cushions of the couch. If I were in an MRI machine, my brain would be lit up like a Christmas tree. I was momentarily blinded by the brightness.
Molly smiled in understanding then turned back to her computer and open books without a word—I assumed to give me a moment to stop seeing stars dance in front of my eyes.
My gaze caught on the cover of one of the books. “Dr. Seuss?”
She ran her finger over the mouse touchpad then double-clicked on something. “I’m writing a paper for my classes on early literacy, and a section of the essay covers how to use Dr. Seuss’s works in pedagogical practices.”
“Really?” My holiday-lit brain warnedthis is a bad idea,but my mouth said, “You know what you need, then, don’t you?”
Her lips quirked. “Green eggs and ham?”
Agree! Agree! Offer breakfast in a box with a fox.“I do not like them, Sam-I-am.” I smiled and ignored the counsel of my prefrontal cortex. The thalamus, home of my limbic system, seemed to have taken control of the helm, flooded my blood stream, and gagged my frontal lobe.
Was it smart to spend more time with Molly outside of her caring for Chloe? I didn’t know. I just knew that I wanted to. “No, you need a field trip. Lucky for you, Chloe and I were planning on going to La Jolla tomorrow. You have to come with us.”
She tried to scowl and failed adorably. “Have to?”
I nodded. “Once I sic Chloe on you, there’ll be no way you could tell her no.”
At that, she laughed. “In that case, I surrender.”
“Good.” I stood and yawned, all sides of my brain threatening to strike if I didn’t get sleep soon. “And now that I have a bed-time story stuck in my head, I’m going to get some winks.”
She offered me a warm smile. “Sweet dreams.”
I hadn’t thought pleasant dreams would be possible with a night like I’d had. While memories of Laura were normally sweet, the ones surrounding her death often left me with nightmares and stole any possibility of a peaceful rest.
