“I agree,” the doctor said, pulling back the curtain to enter the little cubicle. He held a chart. “I’d admit you for the night but it isn’t absolutely necessary and hospitals aren’t the coziest places. They’re noisy, for one thing.”
“I want my own bed.”
“Then call someone,” the officer said. “Someone who can make sure you’re home and inside and helped to your bed. There must be someone...”
“The neighbor says he’s going to get her home, stay with her until she’s settled. And he lives a few blocks away so if she needs assistance, she can call him. That work for you, Mrs. Delaney?” the doctor asked.
She nodded. “I don’t want to call my sister or daughter this late. I must look a wreck. I haven’t even seen your handiwork.”
The doctor opened a drawer and pulled out a round mirror, handing it to her. She lifted it to her face. Her lip was three times its usual size on one side, her face was distorted, one cheekbone swollen, her eye was puffy and black and blue and her blouse was covered in blood and drool.
She almost passed out and both the doctor and officer caught her before she fell back on the bed. They helped her sit back upright.
“Oh my God,” she said. “This would terrify my sister. And her husband is a cop. He could lose his mind.”
“Cop? Where?”
“Chip Shaughnessy. Oakland.”
“I know him. Good guy. Want to call him?”
“Want to really test his control?” she asked.
The doctor handed her a clean washcloth because every few words brought a new drizzle of pink spit. She didn’t want either Beth or Chip to see her like this. Beth was angry enough with Brad. She didn’t mind that she hated him. In fact, she liked that. However, when she was trying to stay focused, stable and smart, she didn’t need haranguing. Her lawyer had prepped her well to listen only to her advice and not that of relatives and friends. And her brother-in-law, sweet, laid-back Chip, why tempt fate? This could be the thing that tipped him over the edge and he might just go beat the hell out of Brad. Truthfully, that could feel quite satisfactory, but why should Chip land in jail?
“Beau can take me home,” she said. “He’s trustworthy. And very kind. My phone?” she asked.
“In your purse,” the officer said, handing her the purse that had come with her to the hospital.
She scrolled through her text messages and found the last one from Beau.
Are you still here?
I’m here. How are you?
I’m ready to go home. Can you give me a lift?
Ready when you are. I’ll move the truck to the loading zone and come for you.
“He’ll take me home,” she told the officer. “He’s moving his truck. Would you bring him back here?”
When Beau got back to the cramped ER space, his eyes narrowed and he ground his teeth. “Where does it hurt right now?” he asked.
“Where you can see,” she said. “I almost think he wanted it to show.”
“We have to get you to a safe place,” Beau said.
“Home. Please. Leave me with my door locked and my ice pack. He’s not coming back. At least not tonight.”
“How can you be sure?” he asked.
“I called the police,” she said. “He’s in jail for the night. I’ll be talking to my lawyer tomorrow. I think we’re beyond negotiating agreeably. Don’t you?”
“I’ll take you home,” Beau said. “Can we get you a sleeping pill? I’ll stay on the couch, just as a precaution.”
“No sleeping pills on top of a possible concussion,” she said. “But I want my bed. I’m not afraid. Not right now.” She dabbed at her lips. “I should have locked the door right away, but it was still light and I saw him on the monitor. I told him it wasn’t a good time. If the door had been locked...”
The doctor stretched his hand toward Beau. “I’m Dr. Kraemer. You’re the escort home, I presume?”
“Yes, sir,” he said, though it was possible the doctor was younger than Beau. “I’ll stay with her tonight. Anything I should watch for?”
“Yes. Keep an eye out for disorientation, nausea and vomiting, unconsciousness... Her CT was negative, but let’s be observant. If she’s asleep, don’t wake her. If she passes out and won’t rouse—call for medical assistance.” He looked at Lauren. “How’s the head?”
“It feels like I’ve been kicked by a mule.”
The young doctor smiled wanly. “You have. Here are a few business cards—shelter, social services for victims of battery domestic, Lt. Sanders of that unit at the police department. Please make an appointment with your family physician...”
She let go a pathetic laugh. “My husband is a physician. Surgeon.”
“If there’s no one for you to call, just come back to the ER and I’ll handle taking out the stitches for you in a week. Here’s my card. I know how that goes—doctor in the family, you either let him handle your issues or it’s one of his friends. Don’t do that, Lauren. He’s obviously dangerous.”
“He’s locally very well known,” she said.
“I know. I never liked him. Take care now. Call if you need us.”
“Let’s go,” Beau said, taking her purse and her hand. “I’m parked in the loading zone. We’ll be home in ten minutes.”
“I really appreciate this,” she muttered, towel still hovering at her chin. “How did you happen to see the commotion around my house?”
“I went to the market for milk and bread. When I came out there were police and fire department vehicles in front of your house. Took about ten years off my life.”
“Mine, too,” she said, hanging on his arm as they walked through the waiting area and outside.
“Let me lift you up into the truck. Hand me the towel and ice pack.”
“You don’t want to touch this...”
“Gimme,” he said. “Grab the handle, we’ll go slow.”
He drove cautiously on the way to her house. What he’d done by following her to the hospital, he’d involved himself. He was in now. He knew instead of making it easier for them to bond it would make it more complicated. Both of them would wonder if it was vulnerability rather than pure attraction. He didn’t care and there was the danger. That’s what happened with Pamela—she was needy. She was a single mother on a limited income with limited potential and two sweet, rambunctious little boys. She needed a man, needed him. It wasn’t genuine, it was artificial and he knew it. Even so, even having that history, he wanted Lauren to find a hero in him. But this was new territory. Pamela had never been physically beaten. She’d been fooled and abandoned by first one man and then another, but no one had ever punched her in the face.
“Here we are,” he said. “You okay?”
“Hm. Sure.”
“I’ll come around and help you down—sit tight. Is there a key in your purse?” he asked.
“I’ll get it,” she said. She found it and opened her own door. “I’m going to be fine now. You can go home and sleep.”
“Let’s get you settled. What are the chances you have frozen peas on hand?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Then how about if you change into something clean—pajamas or sweats or something. Do you need help?”
“I’ll manage. I’m not really ready for you to see me in my underwear.”
“I could do that without assuming you’re flirting,” he said.
“I’ve got this,” she said, wandering into the bedroom and closing the door behind her.
He called Drew.
“I woke you, I’m sorry.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yes and no. My friend had an accident and needed a ride home from the emergency room. She’s all bruised and has some stitches. I just wanted you to know I’m staying here to make sure she’s all right tonight. She lives alone. There’s no one to look out for her so I’ll hang out on her couch.”
“Are you okay?” Drew asked.
“Yeah, but after the ER doc told me to watch for things that meant she should get back to the ER, I don’t feel like I should leave her. You’re all right alone, aren’t you?”
“I’ve done it before, Dad. I work in the morning. Call me and let me know everything is okay.”
“Sure. Get some sleep. My phone is on if you need me. I’m not far away.” Then he found the frozen peas and a dishtowel from a kitchen drawer.
A few minutes later, the bedroom door opened and Lauren stood in a set of un-sexy pajamas with long sleeves and long pants. At first glance it looked like they were covered in a print of ice cream cones. On closer look he saw they were flowers.
“Come on,” he said, turning her around to send her back into the bedroom. “Let’s get you comfortable and I’ll give you a shoulder rub. It’s guaranteed to make you relax...”
“You really don’t have to,” she said.
“I know. But I’m here and I’m not leaving. Once you’re snoring, I’ll grab a little sleep on the couch. Just give this a chance. You won’t regret it.”
He helped her position herself on her side, her head elevated because of the swelling, the peas balanced over her swollen lip and bruised cheek. He kicked off his shoes and climbed up on the bed behind her. Then he started to gently knead her shoulders and neck. “You won’t be able to go to work for a few days. You definitely won’t be filming any cooking videos. The good news is, the swelling will go down in a couple of days and you might be able to disguise the bruising with makeup. Or you can just say you were in a car accident... Or tripped and fell... Or you can be honest. I know this stuff happens. I’m not naive. But anyone who hits his wife, even the wife he’s not getting along with, is an animal. A dangerous animal.”