Walking on Broken Glass - Christa Allan [44]
After all, it was my father-in-law's birthday. And I’d planned a surprise gift—for all of them.
I was pregnant.
19
The first time I called Carl from rehab, we sounded like a couple of robots. “How are you? Fine.” “How are you? Fine.” Mutual silence. I imagined him in the charcoal leather recliner, armed with the remote, channel surfing. He told me he’d called my dad, and my dad was going to call my brother. “Oh, and I told my parents where you are.” His voice flat-lined.
I pressed my hand to my chest and tried to massage the pain away. “Everything else?” Just please say yes. Don’t rip me open.
“Great. Everything's great.” I knew he was lying. He knew that I knew.
“I don’t have much time to talk. I can have visitors on Sunday. Are you coming?” A deep breath. Hold.
“Do you want me to visit?”
Exhale. “Do you want to visit?”
Silence. Wrong answer.
“Guess you still haven’t learned how to answer a simple question with a simple answer. Guess that's next week, huh?”
Ignore that. Ignore that. Just say what he wants to hear.
“Sure. Sure. I’d like for you to visit.”
“Then I’ll see you on Sunday. Do you need anything?”
More than you know. “No. Not a thing.”
“Why can’t I have time off for good behavior?”
“Leah, if you’d get your head out of the freezer, I might be able to hear you.” Matthew finished charting and was hanging out in the patient rec room waiting for Cathryn to relieve him. Everyone else vacated to settle their basketball competition. I wasn’t all that interested. Besides, as usual, no one wanted me on the team. Some things about high school just never went away.
“Aha. Finally!” My search for the mini ice-cream sandwiches over, I held one out to Matthew. “Bribe?”
“Peace offering?” He took it and started unwrapping it.
“It's not a Christmas gift from Neiman's, Matthew. You can tear the paper. For someone who puts his hair in a ponytail every day, you’re really precise about the silliest stuff.” I’d almost finished mine, and he was still peeling paper.
“Maybe I can delay gratification,” he smirked.
“Anyway. Speaking of bribes and delayed gratification. Do I have to have visitors? I’m willing to delay that.”
Matthew finished off his ice cream sandwich in two quick bites. “Most people actually want visitors. You’ve been here almost a week now. Don’t you want to see a civilian?”
Six days already. I’d survived a week of firsts, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for first visiting day. I had rooted myself just enough to feel like I had something under me. Seeing those familiar faces would be like hurricane-force winds that could tear me right out of the ground. I needed more time. “Seeing them isn’t so much the problem. It's talking to them,” I said, wondering how long I’d have to leave my head in the freezer to get sent to the infirmary.
“Talk to who?” Cathryn walked up, tossed her purse on the sofa, and flopped her leggy self next to Matthew.
“Whom. Talk to whom.” I slapped my hand over my mouth. “Cathryn, I’m sorry. Habit.”
She laughed. “Got it, Miss English Teacher. I guess you can fix us every now and then since we’re working you over all the time.”
“The whom,” Matthew said, turning to Cathryn, “would be her husband and her friend who’re scheduled to visit tomorrow.” He stood up, patted Cathryn on the top of her head, “Good luck with that.” He nodded his head in my direction.
“Thanks,” I shot back. “See if I dig for ice cream sandwiches for you again.”
“Nice try on the guilt trip, but I’m not buying a ticket,” Matthew said, waving good-bye as he walked over to the counter, grabbed his backpack, and headed to the elevator.
“Is Matthew cutting his hair or does it just seem shorter now that I’m used to seeing it?”
“Why are you trying to change the subject?” Cathryn's mouth smiled, but her eyes were two blue bullets aimed in my direction.
“Since