Under the Knife(51)

Dammit!

She stabbed the redial key with her index finger.

“Hi, this is—”

She hung up. Sweat broke out all over her body, mingling with the drops still clinging to her skin.

“I wonder what’s happening?” Finney said.

Shut. UP!

She sat down on the bench in front of her locker and dialed home once more.

Another cycle of rings. It seemed to stretch for hours.

“Pick up, pick up, please pick up, kiddo,” she whispered.

And then Darcy’s voice, thick with sleep. “Hello?”

“Darcy.” Rita’s stomach, which had risen into her throat, dropped back into its normal position.

Thank you thank you thank you God.

“Ah. There she is,” Finney said.

“Ree. Sorry. I went back to bed.” Darcy yawned. “Didn’t hear the phone.”

“No—I’m sorry, kiddo. You wanted to talk earlier, and I … totally forgot to call you back. I’m so sorry. Things here have been, um—” She groped for the right word. “Crazy.”

“That’s one way to describe it,” Finney said.

“S’okay.” Darcy yawned again.

“How are you feeling?” Rita asked.

“Um … better. My head’s better. When I first woke up, it felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, Ree. And there was some dried blood on my left ear.” Rita’s stomach lurched back into her throat. “Isn’t that weird? I must have slept on it wrong. Or something. The weirder thing—actually, the thing that kind of freaked me out a little … what I was trying to tell you earlier—”

“What?”

“Well … I swear to God, I’ve been clean, Ree. Swear to God. Three months this time. You know that. Totally clean.”

A nurse in street clothes, carrying a set of folded scrubs under her arm, smiled at Rita as she went to the locker next to Rita’s and started dialing the combination. Rita smiled back, stood up, walked to the opposite end of the room, and cupped her hand around her mouth. “What do you mean?” she said quietly.

“Three months. Clean. Swear to God.”

“Okay, yes. Clean. I believe you, Darcy. What are you talking about?”

“I just felt a little … I don’t know. Kind of, like, out of it? Like I had a hangover, or something? Like I had partied last night? But I didn’t party last night. I know I didn’t. After you left for the hospital, I just watched a really dumb movie, some lame Adam Sandler thing, and went to bed. Swear to God. So it kind of, like, freaked me out a little?”

Oh God. Just like me.

Rita swallowed hard.

Calm, lovely Rita. Situational awareness.

“Have you noticed, uh, anything else, Darcy? Any other … uh, symptoms?”

“No.”

“Are you hearing any strange sounds?”

“Sounds? No. Why?”

So Finney’s not talking to her. Why is that?

Rita stared at the floor and quickly processed this. She saw no other option but to keep Darcy in the dark until she could figure out what to do next.

Problem was: She hadn’t the faintest idea.

Except that I have to operate on Mrs. Sanchez.

“No reason. I’m sure it’s nothing,” Rita said.

Besides, what would she tell Darcy? That the bitter, vengeful husband of a former—

(and dead, don’t forget dead, she’s dead because of ME)

—patient had apparently snuck into her house last night and done some kind of bizarre surgery on her head while she slept? Trying to explain that to Darcy would be no less likely to land her in the psych ward than trying to explain it to Chase.

“You’ve been through a lot, kiddo,” Rita said. “You’re probably having some, uh, withdrawal symptoms, or something. Delayed withdrawal symptoms.” Rita well knew there was no such thing as “delayed” withdrawal from the substances Darcy used to take.

“You think?” Darcy said brightly.

Rita tightened her grip on the phone. “Absolutely, kiddo.”

“Oh, Dr. Wu. Such lies,” Finney breathed. “Are you as disingenuous with your patients as with your family?”

Bastard, she shot back at him in her mind.

Darcy said, “Okay. That makes me feel better.”

“Good.”

Wish it made me feel better.

A brief silence, then: “Hey, uh … Ree?”

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Did you come home last night?”

“Um.” Rita tightened her towel around her body and glanced back toward her locker. The nurse was almost done changing into her scrubs, her head turned the other way. “Why do you ask?”

“When I woke up this morning, your bed looked like it hadn’t been slept in.”

Rita sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead. “No, Darcy. I didn’t. I … was working late and fell asleep at the hospital.”

“Oh. The big operation today?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s it going?”

“We’ll be starting soon.”

I need to operate on Mrs. Sanchez this morning.