The Widow's Walk Page 8

  Spiders of jealousy crept over Mike as he watched Mae and Kevin through the window, each with an arm wrapped around the other, Eddie snuggled in between. If only the ghosts haunting he and Liz’s were as well adjusted.

  He’d have to make it so. Mike went back inside and snatched the keys to Liz’s Bimmer. He slammed the front door, then the car door. Gravel pinged on the barn like a spray of bullets.

  The hand on the big clock ticked. And ticked. And ticked. Liz waited. No word from the doctors on the x-rays and MRI. No word from Mike. Or Mae. Or Kevin. No one wanted to face her.

  The magnet tracing over the knee had made it feel better for a while, but now that was wearing off. A burning pain seared through her leg like it was being torn off. Her ankle throbbed under the ice pack and ace bandage. Her toes were purple. The scratches on her face stung. But she was damn lucky, mortified, and dug in so deep by lying to everyone, including herself, she’d never climb out of the pit.

  He’ll come to me again. I’ll hold him, talk to him, introduce him to his son.

  Liz struggled to separate herself from the ghost. The real Liz, the only-unto-you-until death-do-us-part-one, died when Gerry did, allowing Edward back into her life. But the only husband she had now was Mike, and she had to resolve this without destroying him.

  “Mrs. Keeny.” The doctor pushed through the cubicle curtains.

  Thank God, someone sane to talk to. “So, do I need surgery?”

  “You’re very lucky. The ankle is badly sprained, but as far as I can see nothing is broken. The medial collateral ligament in your right knee is partially torn. It will heal on its own.” He traced his finger over the area. It hurt like he banged on it, even though he barely brushed the skin.

  “Oh, God.” She caught her breath. “I’m not a complainer but this hurts no matter what I do.” “This injury is very painful. The orthotist will bring a brace and crutches. We’ll be back in a few minutes to immobilize the ankle with a soft cast. But first, some pain medicine.”

  The nurse came in brandishing a syringe. “You’ll need someone to take you home if I give you this.”

  “My husband should be here any minute. He was at work and . . . couldn’t be reached.”

  Liz fought back tears. Maybe he wouldn’t come. “Okay.”

  She injected the medicine into Liz’s IV.

  The liquid cooled her vein, then burned. Her whole body flushed, dizziness overcame her. Liz’s eyes closed for what seemed like a minute, but the clock said more than an hour had passed. Her ankle was swathed in a boot.

  The orthotist put his hand on her arm. “Mrs. Keeny. Your knee will freeze up fast unless you get moving. Call one of these physical therapists for an appointment.” He handed her a list. “Now let’s try the crutches.”

  Liz blinked to clear her vision, her head. Still loopy from the medication, she struggled to get her legs over the side.

  “You okay?” He reached out a hand.

  Liz grabbed it and let him drag her over and help her up. “Can I really do this myself?”

  “Once the medicine wears off you’ll have more energy.”

  Broke, scared, confused, in pain, alone, unable to tell anyone the truth . . . the list of problems went on.

  “Remember never to lean your armpits on the crutches. Your hands, down here on the cross bars, have to bear the weight. Use the crutches instead of stepping on the bad leg.”

  Liz tried to coordinate her movements and resisted the temptation to put the casted foot down. Even with the knee braced, any movement caused pain.

  He helped her back to bed. “I know it hurts, Mrs. Keeny. But you’ll be all right in a week or so.” He fled as soon as she had both legs horizontal.

  As soon as she settled, Liz had to pee. “Might as well make this my first adventure.” The men’s bathroom door peeked through the cubicle curtain. The women’s was likely close by. It took her about five minutes to maneuver over the side, ease off the bed, position the crutches, and set off. Liz wobbled and grabbed the wall. She was about to change her mind, head back, and call the nurse. But neither the thought of a bedpan or having someone walk her like a nursery school child was appealing.

  She swayed until she got her good leg under her. Her balance still precarious, she advanced slowly. Almost there she lost it and toppled into the blue and white floral curtain.

  Chapter 11

  Mike’s temples throbbed with each heartbeat. His head ached. His fingers tingled. Anxiety crept over his skin. He wriggled in the cushy leather seat of Liz’s car, adjusting it up, down, to recline and then back. She’d be more comfortable on the way home in a luxury sedan, if what Mae said about her leg was true. But he’d have been more comfortable bouncing on the seat of his battered pickup, knocking Jared into submission.

  I told you not to leave her alone. “Enough.” Mike said out loud, and whether he had asserted control over the spirit or not, it worked.

  As he pulled into the lot and walked to the ER door, his heart was beating only a little faster than normal. What was he going to say to her? What was he going to do?

  The waiting room was empty save a few mothers holding cranky babies with flushed cheeks and croupy coughs. We must all have the same virus.

  The security officer looked up. “Can I help you?”

  “My wife is here. Liz Keeny.” Mike glanced at the sign above the desk.

  “Please tell the nurse immediately if you have a cough or fever.”

  He slipped one of the biting menthol drops into his mouth to keep it quiet.

  “Evaluation and Treatment Number One. Through the door, last bay on the left.” The guard handed him a sticky pass for his shirt and opened the security door.

  Mike slapped it on his chest and strode through. Monitor’s beeped. A baby wailed. An alarm sounded.

  Nurses talking into headsets bustled around, their sneaker clad feet silent. The huge central desk was empty, a panorama of heart rate displays eerily unmonitored. A lone clerk, dressed in a salmon colored smock typed into a computer. She didn’t even look up as Mike passed.

  Not exactly reassuring, but this wasn’t tourist season when the place was full of patients who’d had too much sun, too much beer, or failed to make the tight curve on the road back from the beach.

  He paused at the white curtain with blue flowers drawn across Evaluation and Treatment One. Damn thing looked like an oversize hospital gown, and he’d seen far too many of those while Mary was in treatment, slowly dying.

  The unmistakable tang of disinfectant, of that brown antiseptic that stained everything, of fear, of sickness, mingled in the air. The floor was waxed to a high sheen. Neatly made up stretcher beds with green oxygen tanks underneath stood like sentinels against the walls, waiting for their next victims.

  A jumble of bad memories ran though his head, of Mary, of Allison when she’d had appendicitis, of the pain of that goddamn gallbladder attack that made the post surgical misery seem like nothing.

  I could have saved her.

  Nope, Jared. Nothing, not even all these people, all this equipment, could have saved Elisabeth.

  Liz, wrapped in the curtain, rammed into him like a two by four falling off a scaffold. Her scratched, tear streaked face peered back at him.

  The clatter of a crutch on the floor shook off his control. As quick as a rattlesnake’s bite, Jared’s venom poured out of him from some deep untapped well. “Where do you think you’re going, my lady?”

  Liz looked up at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes, smeared make-up. “To the bathroom.” She winced with pain and swayed on her good leg. “Oh, my God, Mike. That’s not you talking. They’re inside us both.”

  Mike hated to admit it, but he was glad she was so upset. Maybe she’d stop arguing about staying in the house. “Lean against me.” He slithered down to pic
k up the crutch and helped her get them re-positioned.

  She shook her head and sniffed, then hobbled into to the bathroom and closed the door.

  Maybe it was the time to rub her face in it. Impress upon her the need to exercise self-control. The door squeaked open and he reached for Liz’s arm. “Tell me how I can help.”

  I’m . . . I’m not sure, Mike. Let me see if I can get back on my own.”

  “Okay.” He followed close enough to grab her, but she had figured out the proper sequence, crutches, step, crutches, step, and was at the bedside without incident.

  Then one slipped and crashed to the floor as she tried to lower herself. Why the hell didn’t anyone come to be sure the patient wasn’t on the floor?

  Liz struggled to get her legs onto the bed, wincing.

  Mike slid his hand under the knee brace and helped raise them. Once she was settled, they stared at each other for the first time.

  “Why did you go up there?”

  Yes, why? Why did you walk into Cape Cod Bay?

  “I . . . Elisabeth . . . Bill Jeffers . . .” She put her head in her hands.

  “Mae told me the whole story. But that doesn’t explain why you were out on the widow’s walk.” Liz exhaled. “Elisabeth was talking to Edward.”

  Mike knew that, but Jared twisted the knife she’d plunged into his gut. “Did he give you both any advice?”

  Her voice dropped to an almost inaudible whisper. “He said you would take care of Eddie and me now. That’s all.”

  Well at least the Captain was consistent in his support. “So does that mean you’ll listen to me? Does that mean you’ll stop letting Elisabeth push you into doing suicidal things? Does that mean you’ll agree to move out?”

  Liz didn’t answer.

  Mike sat next to her on the bed and hugged her as best he could given the awkward position. “No more talking. We have to do something.”

  How was he going to explain the loss of control, the mixture of worry, pent up rage, uncertainty, even guilt, about to boil over, extinguishing whatever flame of love he had left for this troubled woman? “You’ve pushed every button Mae, Kevin and I have, and I’m not sure how to turn them off.”

  Liz looked at him like a scared animal facing the muzzle of a hunter’s gun. “Mike, I don’t know where to start. And I’m terrified about how this is going to end.”

  “Let’s get home where we can relax, talk things out, like we used to. Rationally.”

  Worry lines relaxed only to reappear as she tried to get up again. Liz grabbed her leg. Tears leaked down her cheeks.

  A nurse finally came in. “I’m sorry to be ignoring you, but we just got a few patients all at once. I see your husband is here, and that pain medication is wearing off.” She helped Liz arrange the pillow under her leg. “I have your discharge papers. Sign here and I’ll give you a copy. Ice this down as much as you can. Here’s the prescription for Vicodan. Call to make an appointment with the physical therapist and orthopedist next week.”

  Mike stepped outside while the nurse helped her dress. Touching Elisabeth’s ghost had frozen him both emotionally and physically in an unfeeling limbo. He wasn’t up for even that level of physical contact.

  The curtain swished back and a very uncharacteristically rumpled Liz, wearing one of Mae’s oversized sweat suits, hobbled out. Distress was painted on her face like a tragic mask.

  She winced with each thrust of the crutches, her murmurs of discomfort drowned out by the squeak of rubber tips on the linoleum floor.

  The nurse tagged after her. “Should I get you a wheelchair, Mrs. Keeny?”

  “No, I am going to learn to do this myself.” She advanced, swaying step by swaying step, not unlike a marathon runner staggering to the finish.

  She was drenched with sweat, and Mike with remorse, unsure of how to help and even if he could.

  Chapter 12

  Mike pulled into the driveway and killed the ignition. Liz looked from where the pile of debris had been to the roof, then to the broken bushes where she’d landed. The ladder and nail studded wood were gone; Kevin had no doubt been too upset to leave them lying here as testament to what could have been–again.

  Liz slithered eased herself out and leaned against the car, while he retrieved the crutches from the back seat.

  Mike had no idea where to grab her. “I wish I could do something to help.”

  “You can’t.” Already breathless, she hobbled to the porch steps, lowered herself, and crept up backwards.

  He ignored the portent, pulled her to her feet, then unlocked the front door. No aroma of home cooked dinner, no cheerful bustling, no happy baby squeals. They’d been left alone to deal with this.

  For the first time, he wished he’d never married Liz. For the first time in his life, he contemplated walking out on his responsibility. For the first time, he was prepared to break a promise.

  Liz’s crutches squelched; the rubber left beige smudges on the dark wood floors. She caught her breath, looked at the stairs, and started toward them. “I guess Mae and Kevin took Eddie to the cottage.”

  “What do you want to do first? Rest, eat, go upstairs?” If she said eat he could escape to the kitchen to collect himself.

  “I need a bath desperately, but I’m hungry.” She used the banister to lower herself onto the bottom step and pushed the crutches ahead of her before starting up on her bum. She paused halfway and tossed the crutches onto the top of the landing.

  The racket snapped his last nerve. “Stop throwing them like that!”

  She lowered her eyes in deference.

  Mike needed to do something constructive or he’d spiral out of control. Chopping onions, yeah, that would keep him busy. Dicing them nice and small, then stirring them, nice and slow, while they sautéed. There was some meat and vegetables in the fridge he could dig out. Over rice–boiling it took a while. “I’ll make something for us to eat.”

  She continued her slow ascent, wincing with each thump. Mike pushed open the kitchen door and read the note pinned on the fridge with a Kate’s Fried Seafood magnet.

  At our house. Will put Eddie to bed there.

  Left dinner plates for you both.

  See you in the morning.

  Mae

  Damn! She’d left two plates arranged with chicken and potatoes and small bowl of salad– a romantic dinner for two. Four minutes in the microwave and a splash of dressing later, Mike kicked the kitchen door hard. It swung open, then creaked back and forth for as long as it took him to go upstairs.

  Liz was running water into the claw-footed tub. “I’m trying to figure out how to do this without getting the cast wet.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “I need to clean up first.”

  She did look like she’d been dragged behind a horse: her face and arms scratched, her face bruised and puffy, her hair dusty, flecked with woodchips. “Sit on the edge and swing your good leg over. I’ll help you in. We’ll cover the boot with a plastic bag, just in case.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Liz removed the Velcro straps from the brace and let the sweat pants drop.

  Mike cringed at the sight of her rear, clad in pink lace panties. What had those ghosts done? He couldn’t stand to be in the same room with his wife. “Let me put this food down and get a plastic bag.”

  By the time he returned she was wrapped in a towel, waiting. Mike turned his head to keep his face away from hers as she leaned against him. She perched on the edge and kicked her good leg over like a Rockette. A few drops of warm water dampened his socks.

  “Let me lower you down.” Even under the best of circumstances this would be awkward. He held under her arms until she eased into the tub.

  “That’s the first thing that has felt good all day.” Liz slid her head
under, then sat up and massaged in shampoo.

  The seductive ritual failed to soften his mood, or harden him up. “I’ll give you some time to relax.”

  She regarded him, her eyes bright, hopeful. As soon as she saw his expression, the spark went out. They couldn’t avoid the unpleasantries much longer.

  “Mae and Kevin are keeping Eddie with them for the night. I’ll reheat the dinner, then we need to talk.” He didn’t wait for a response.