Eve & Adam (Eve & Adam #1)(27)

Aislin returns with the nurse and doctor. “Nothing broken,” he reports. “Think we can put Humpty Dumpty together again.” He yawns widely. “Nurse, you can finish up. The Ambien’s kicking in again.”

Aislin settles in a leather chair as the nurse prepares her equipment.

“Listen, sweetie,” Eve begins in a lecturing voice. She hears it herself and I can see it makes her uncomfortable. But she has to go on. I want her to go on. Someone has got to tell Aislin what’s what.

“This has to stop, Aislin. You know it. I know it. The whole world knows it. You’re going to end up hurt.”

“It’ll be okay,” Aislin says. But there’s no force to her words. She doesn’t believe what she’s saying.

“I know you care about Maddox,” Eve says. “But this can’t go on.”

“I’m going to numb you up,” the nurse says.

Aislin is crying. I don’t think it’s from pain.

Before long the nurse leaves. Aislin’s nose looks a little like Eve’s leg. It’s a mess of white bandages.

Aislin gets up to examine herself in the mirror. “Ugh, how long do I have to look like this?”

“Look how fast my face healed up,” Eve offers.

“It’s going to take Aislin a lot longer than it took you,” I say. It’s out of my mouth. Too late to call it back now. For a second I think no one will say anything.

“Why should it take her longer?” Eve asks. It’s like I’ve dissed Aislin.

I don’t answer. I hang my head, elbows on my knees.

“Solo?” Eve presses. “Why aren’t you answering me?”

I look up through my eyebrows. I look pointedly at the bathroom. “In there.” I mouth the words soundlessly.

To my relief, both of them catch on immediately.

“Can you grab my wheelchair?” Eve asks me.

“Try standing,” I suggest.

She gives me a skeptical frown. “Are you kidding? No way.”

“Okay, then. I’ll play crutch,” I say, shrugging. Like it’s a hardship.

I slip my arm around Eve and help her hobble into the bathroom. Aislin follows, moving unsteadily.

With the door closed, it’s cramped but not too bad: The suite is roomy and so is the bathroom. I rummage in the medicine cabinet, then in the drawers. I pull out a pair of scissors.

“What are you doing?” Eve asks.

I kneel in front of her. “Which is easier? Hike up or drop trou?”

She sees what I’m getting at. With a rather baleful expression on her face, Eve slides the pajama bottoms down. They puddle around her ankles.

“That’s what you wear for panties?” Aislin protests.

“They’re comfortable.”

I have no comment. I am content to swallow hard.

The thick bandages extend from her ankle to her upper thigh. Her upper, upper thigh. Very carefully, hands trembling, I pull the edge of the bandage away from her thigh and insert the scissors, point down.

Aislin runs her index finger along her bandaged nose. “You know, now that I think about it, it’s weird, the way they didn’t give you a cast for that leg.”

“Actually, it’s not so weird,” I say.

“What are you doing?” Eve asks. But not with any serious intent. Not like she’s actually going to stop me. There’s a quaver in her voice.

I cut.

Down the inside of her thigh.

I reach the place where the leg was severed. I roll the bandage down to expose it.

The three of us stare.

The bathroom light is unforgiving.

Where her leg had been crudely ripped apart—skin shredded, bone snapped, muscle meat torn like a turkey drumstick—there is smooth, unblemished white skin.





– 19 –



“There isn’t even a scar,” Aislin murmurs.

We all stare for a while. I extend shaking fingers toward my leg.

I need to touch to believe.

The skin isn’t even bumpy. It’s not just smooth. It’s absolutely identical to the way it was before the accident.

I push the bandages down farther. It’s like taking off a very tight legging. All the way to my knee, just in case, just in case memory is playing some weird trick on me.

“We’re awake, right?” I ask.

Solo stands up. He sets the scissors on the counter. “It’s been like this for days. By the second day everything was fine. By the third day the scars would have already been disappearing. Day four?” He lifts his shoulders. “There can be variations, it’s not an exact thing.”

Aislin seems to have forgotten her own injuries. “That’s not possible. Is it?”

“Solo,” I say. He has the answers. I can tell.

“Have you ever had a scrape or a skinned knee that lasted more than a day?” he asks.

“Um … I don’t know.” I scroll back over a lifetime of Band-Aids. “Who keeps track?”

“Cuts? Bruises?” Solo leans back against the sink, arms crossed over his chest. “Toothaches?”

“I’m an excellent flosser,” I say defensively.

“Colds? Flu?”

My heart is hammering. “I use Purell?” I say with a weak smile. “How many colds have you had in your life?”