The Lost Apothecary(80)
James’s face crumpled as he slowly pushed away his dinner tray.
I sat next to him again and placed my hand on the white cotton sheet, warm from his body beneath. “Our marriage has disguised too much,” I whispered. “You clearly have a lot to figure out, and so do I. We can’t do these things together. We’d end up on the same trail, making the same mistakes that got us here in the first place.”
Covering his face with his hands, James began to shake his head back and forth. “I can’t believe it,” he said through his fingers, a clear IV tube still dangling from the back of his hand.
I motioned around the dim, sterile room. “Hospital or not, I haven’t forgotten that you had an affair, James.”
With his face still buried in his hands, I could hardly make out his reply. “On my deathbed,” he mumbled, and a moment later, “no matter what I do—” He broke off, the rest of his sentence unintelligible.
I frowned. “What do you mean, ‘no matter what you do’?”
He finally pulled his face from his hands and gazed out the window. “Nothing. I just need...time. This is a lot to take in.” But he seemed hesitant to look at me, and a quiet, interior voice told me to dig further. I sensed he wasn’t being entirely forthcoming, like he’d done something that hadn’t resulted in the intended outcome.
I thought back to the vial of eucalyptus oil, the toxic warning label on the outside. Like a rush of cold air in the room, a question presented itself. And as unfair as the accusation might be if I was wrong, I forced myself to spit the words out.
“James, did you ingest the oil on purpose?”
The idea of it had never entered my mind, but now it left me aghast. Was it possible I’d undergone police interrogation and the fear of my husband’s imminent death, all because James had knowingly swallowed the toxin?
He turned his head in my direction, his gaze clouded with guilt and disappointment. I’d seen this look before not long ago; it was the same look on his face when I’d found his cell phone with the incriminating text messages. “You don’t know what you’re throwing away,” he said. “This is fixable, all of it, but not if you’ve pushed me away. Let me back in, Caroline.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
He threw his hands up, startling me. “What does it matter at this point? Everything I do pisses you off. What’s one more screwup? Add it to the list.” Using a finger, he made a checkmark motion. An admission, etched right beneath his infidelity and his uninvited arrival in London.
“How dare you,” I whispered, my tone belying the fury coursing through me. Then I asked the same question I’d been asking for days: “Why?”
But I already knew the answer. This was yet another ploy, another tactic. James was a calculated, risk-averse person. If he’d swallowed the oil despite knowing its dangerous effects, he must have thought it a last-ditch effort to win my favor. Why else would an unfaithful husband put himself in harm’s way? Perhaps he thought my concern for his physical well-being would trump my heartbreak; that my pity for him would expedite my forgiveness.
It had almost worked, but not quite. Because now, having distanced myself physically and emotionally from this man, I was able to see through him to his real nature, and it reeked of deceit and unfairness.
“You wanted me to pity you,” I said quietly, standing again.
“The last thing I want is your pity,” he said, his voice cold. “I just want you to see straight, to understand that you’ll regret this someday.”
“No, I won’t.” My hands shook as I spoke, but I went on without mincing words. “You’ve managed to twist so much blame onto me. Blame about your unhappiness, your mistress, now this ‘illness.’” He grew pale as my voice rose. “A few days ago, I thought nothing good would come of this anniversary trip. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. I know, now more than ever, that I’m not the cause of your errant ways, your unhappiness. I’ve learned more about our marriage while apart from you than I ever did when we lived under the same roof.”
A light tap at the door severed the conversation. It was just as well, for I feared I might collapse to the sticky, tiled floor if I went on much longer.
A young nurse stepped into the room and smiled at us obliviously. “We’re about ready to move you to your new room,” she told James. “Almost ready to go?”
James nodded stiffly; he suddenly looked extraordinarily tired. And as my adrenaline began to recede, I felt the same. Not unlike the night I arrived, I found myself longing for my pj’s, take-out food, and my low-lit, empty hotel room.
While the nurse unhooked James from the monitors, he and I said an awkward goodbye. The nurse confirmed he was queued up for discharge the next day, and I promised to return first thing in the morning. Then, having mentioned nothing of the apothecary or her shop to James, I made my way out, closing the heavy door behind me.
Back in my hotel room, nestled in the middle of the bed with a take-out carton of chicken pad thai in my lap, I could have cried tears of relief. There were no people and no police and no beeping hospital equipment...and no James. I didn’t even turn on the TV. Between mouthfuls of noodles, I just closed my eyes, leaned back my head and savored the silence.
The carbs energized me somewhat, but it wasn’t even eight o’clock. After I finished my meal, I lifted my bag from the floor and grabbed my phone, then pulled out my notebook and the two articles from Gaynor. I spread them out around me, flipping on the second bedside lamp for better light to reread the articles about the apothecary and look more closely at the pictures on my phone.