Mr. Nobody(78)

    He smiles. “I do, you know,” he says, looking out toward the waves. “Trust you.”

I feel a warmth blossom inside again and I try to grapple the conversation back around to medical issues. “So, is any of this coming back to you?” I gesture out to the miles of windblown sand crested with grass-topped dunes. The kind of place people remember even if they’ve never seen it before, a twilight dreamscape, a place between worlds.

He squints out at the vast open space before turning back in the direction of Graceford, a shadow passing over his features. When he looks back at me he sounds disappointed. “No. There’s nothing here. Just that first day, just what we already know.”

As we walk back to meet Graceford he touches my arm, stopping me. He comes very close so I can hear him whisper over the roar of the wind, his breath warm on my cheek. “Thank you. For coming back here. For trying to help me. I knew you would.” I look in his eyes—he’s holding something back. He wants to say something but he’s not saying it.

“Of course,” I say gently, glancing down quickly at his hand, still holding my sleeve. The feel of his fingertips through the fabric. When I look back up he’s staring at me; his eyes flick to my lips and I feel my stomach tighten. I look away again, my eyes seeking Graceford in the distance. I take a breath and without thinking I ask the question that’s been bubbling away in my head. “Matthew, what did you tell Dr. Samuels?”

He lets go of my arm and smiles, surprised by the question. “Er, I’m not entirely comfortable,” he begins hesitantly. “Well, I wasn’t comfortable saying it in front of you….”

“Why?”

    “Because you won’t want to hear it,” he answers, his tone suddenly serious. “It’s not a good thing.”

I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Oh God. “What do you mean, it’s not a good thing, Matthew?” The tone of our conversation has changed, the air sucked out of it.

He looks away, unsure how to proceed, and steps back, putting some distance between us. “I just—I know how to do certain things. I don’t know how I know these things. And I didn’t want to say, with you there.” He kicks at the sand, silent for a moment. But I can tell there is more coming, so I give him space. “Right, well. When I got hold of that guy this morning—I knew how to kill him, Emma.” He’s watching for my reaction; I try to keep my face neutral. “I don’t mean with the gun. I mean I knew how to kill him. With my hands. And—” He breaks off. “And I really wanted to do it, you know. I knew what it would feel like and I wanted to do it. Because he hurt you.”

“Okay,” I say, and for a moment I’m so taken aback I can’t think what else to say. He waits for my response and I try to snap back into doctor mode. “It’s okay. Whatever you’re feeling is okay. Don’t block it, just let it come as it comes. We’re going to work this out together, Matthew. You are not a bad person. Don’t start to think that. Something bad may have happened to you but you are not bad. Okay?”

His hand finds my bandaged one and for a second the dressings seem to confuse him. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again, Marni. You know.”

Marni, again.

I wonder if the bandages remind him of my burnt fingers. The burnt fingers he seemed to remember that first night we spoke. The same slippery thought from earlier this morning shimmers into focus. And for a second, I’m certain that this man has something to do with that night fourteen years ago. Two thoughts scream through my head: Is my father still alive? Do you have something to do with him?

    And I’m speaking before I can stop myself. “Matthew, is there something you want to tell me? About why you’re here? We might not get this chance again.”

He turns quickly to check Graceford’s proximity. She’s still stationed high on the sand dunes ahead, far from hearing distance, but her gaze finds us as we stare across at her.

Matthew focuses on me, an intensity in his eyes. “Yes. But not yet,” he says furtively, and I notice he has taken my bandaged hands lightly in his again. “There’s something, but I need more time. Can you wait?”

This could be it. This really could be it.

I catch sight of Graceford moving in my peripheral vision, slowly making her way down the dunes toward us. Time really is up.

“Yes,” I say swiftly. “I can wait.” He squeezes my hands softly, holding me in his gaze, and I feel it through my whole body.



* * *



—

The light is starting to fade by the time we get back to the car, and Graceford suggests we leave the other destinations for another day and return to the hospital. I’m pretty sure we won’t get another day, but I agree. I just pray we have the time he needs.

He’s silent as we drive back to the hospital, deep in thought. I try not to read too much into his silence. Try not to guess at his thoughts. He clearly wants to tell me something but he was worried about Graceford. He needs to talk to me on my own. How can I make that happen? But I catch myself with the thought. Being alone with Matthew might not be such a great idea. I think of the way he looked at me on the beach, his gaze traveling to my lips, and the telltale flip in my stomach. It’s common for patients to develop feelings for their doctors. And doctors for their patients. But it’s rare for a patient to know so much about their doctor. Rare that anyone could know the things Matthew knows about me. The only other people who know as much about the details of that night are my family and Chris. Matthew feels so close and I shouldn’t have allowed that.