Beautiful(39)

“I’d love to come out and see it sometime,” she said spontaneously. “I’ve hardly been to Africa, just to Johannesburg once. I’ve worked just about everywhere else. South America, Asia, all over Europe, here in the States. I’ve never been anywhere else in Africa.”

“I have a feeling you’d love it,” he said warmly. His oldest son was twenty-four, and his next younger daughter was Véronique’s age. “There’s something very special about that part of the world. I fell in love with it when I was in college. I’m there roughly from February to May every year. I’ve been doing it for twenty years. I only stayed for two months when the kids were younger, or my wife would probably have divorced me. When they got to high school, I added the third month. I speak fluent Portuguese now, and some Kikongo and Umbundu, the other local languages. I’ll tell you more about it if you’d be interested in going sometime.” It was obvious how passionate he was about it, which touched her deeply. Her mind was full of her surgery the next day, and she was nervous about it, but she was intrigued by what he had told her and it sounded exciting.

She did a few errands after she left their office, and she called her father, hoping to see him. His nurse spoke to her, and said he wasn’t well. He had a bad case of bronchitis and couldn’t see anyone. She had written to him and told him about her surgery, and he had answered her and wished her luck. She asked the nurse to wish him a merry Christmas, and she said she would. His staff had been very responsive to her calls ever since she’d seen him, and she hoped to see him again while she was in New York, if his health permitted. She imagined him surrounded by his three children at Christmas. She was the unknown child in the shadows they knew nothing about and never would. It was an odd feeling. She was the secret he would take to his grave, as her mother had been too.

Doug called her on her cellphone that night from Ireland to wish her luck. He sounded a little drunk, said he had just come back from the pub with his brother, and that they were all driving him crazy but he was having a good time. He remembered to call her before her surgery. He’d been very good about staying in touch regularly, ever since she’d come back from Brussels. In the past, he had drifted off for months when they were busy, but now he made a point of calling her often, knowing how alone she was. He was her only friend at the moment, the only non-medical person who knew about her face other than Bernard, her father, Gabrielle, who had visited her once at the hospital, and her agent, whom she’d run into and never heard from again.

She had trouble sleeping that night, and got up at five. Since all her blood work had been done, she had to be at the hospital at six and the surgery was scheduled for eight. Both surgeons had said they would see her before the surgery. The hospital wasn’t far from the apartment and their offices. She took a cab there at quarter to six. It was on the East River, and she arrived on time, and registered. She was taken to a private room, and the anesthesiologist came to see her and explained the procedure to her. It was all much fancier than anything she’d experienced in Belgium, but it was a private hospital, as opposed to a military one that was government run. The care there had been excellent, but it was more personalized here, with attention to every detail to contribute to her comfort.

They gave her something to relax her, and when Dr. Talbot and Dr. Dennis arrived, she was already sleepy and dozing off. They spoke to her for a few minutes and then left to scrub. She hardly noticed when the attendants came to put her on a gurney and roll her down the hall to the operating room. And once on the table, the room and bright lights were a familiar sight. It was cold, and they covered her with a heated blanket before they started. She was aware of both of her doctors in the room. A nurse put something in her IV, and within minutes the anesthesiologist told her to count backward from ten, and at nine she was unconscious.



* * *



—

The next thing she knew, she heard her name, and a nurse kept asking her questions she was too tired to answer. She was in the recovery room, and continued to doze. It seemed like a long time later when both doctors were standing next to her bed and telling her it had gone well.

“That’s nice…thank you…” she said, and went back to sleep, and woke occasionally to say something to the nurse in French. They gave her some juice, and it was nighttime when she got back to her room. The nurse explained that they were giving her pain medication, but Véronique wasn’t aware of any pain. She asked the nurse if there had been a second bomb and if her mother was all right. The nurse said that both her doctors had come to see her again while she was asleep. She never answered her about the bomb and her mother. When they helped her to the bathroom a while later, she asked how Cyril was, and the nurse said he was fine. They were used to post-op patients, and she was getting strong medications. Her face was heavily bandaged, and she slept through the night and woke in the morning. It was snowing outside, and there was a foot of snow on the windowsill. Her mouth felt like cotton from the anesthesia. Dr. Talbot came to see her at eight a.m. and she was starting to come out of the fog.

“It looks like we’re going to have a white Christmas for you.” He smiled at her. It had taken him twenty minutes to get from his office a few blocks away on slippery streets. “How are you feeling, Véronique?”

“Tired, but okay.” She didn’t like the sensation of her face bandaged again. It felt suffocating and brought back bad memories, but she wasn’t in pain.