Page 35 of His Gift
If I do as I'm told?
Stupid son of a bitch. And I'm even more stupid because I feel he belongs in my life in some way. That he forced his way in, but after that, heearneda spot.
The phone rattles on my desk, making me jump. Yeah… I've become jumpy too, now. The caller ID states Dr. Malcom Crowe. I know no one by that name, so I let it go to voice mail, but he calls again.
"Miss Schmidt? Hi. I'm Doctor Crowe. Mr. Sinclair has told me about your problem and sent me your medical records. I need you to take one more test, but I think I know where the problem lies. If I'm right, I'll try to fly out tomorrow or the day after, at the latest. It will be easy to gain temporary privileges at the hospital of your choice."
I gasp for air for a good thirty seconds while my brain tries to absorb and make sense of what this guy said. In the end I can only answer "Sorry, what?"
"Didn't Mr. Sinclair tell you? Oh boy. I'm in a hurry so I'll keep it brief and to the point. I'm Dr. Crowe, I'm an orthopedic surgeon and Mr. Sinclair has asked me to look into the situation with your hip. I don't want to lead you astray, but if I'm right, and I usually am, the problem is solvable. I'll fly out, probably tomorrow, and your troubles will end."
"Fly out from where?"
"L.A. So… I'll send you the exam I need you to take and when I get the result, we'll speak again. But I need you to do it today."
"Okay." He must really think I'm dimwitted because he says an exasperated "Talk later," and ends the call. I won't hold him responsible for that. What did Conrad do?
I perform a quick search on Doctor Crowe, orthopedic surgeon in L.A. and I find he's considered the best in his field. What did Conrad promise to make this happen? A doctor like that must have a list of patients a mile long. All of them rich.
Your troubles will end.
A particularly painful stab of white-hot pain counterpoints my thoughts and when I get the email with all the instructions from Dr. Crowe's secretary, and the attached appointment for later today, I find myself really considering accepting. I thought I'd never be able to be myself again. Every specialist I consulted said it was a nasty side effect of the surgery and it would improve over time but never fully heal. A doctor with that reputation, though…
What did you do?
Doesn't matter. Just do as you're told. I'll come and pick you up personally if you don't. When the surgery is done, we'll talk. Don't be stubborn when it's about your health.
twenty-seven
Harper
"It looks like I'll be able to keep you awake as you wished, Harper. There's no need to revise any of the prosthetic components. It's just a muscular problem, as I said. Told you: I'm usually right. You see…"
I smile and nod, letting Dr. Crowe drone on and on. I'm busy breathing. I didn't want full anesthesia. It's irrational, but being unaware and vulnerable scares the hell out of me now. At the same time, my anxiety is still playing up from timeto time.
I just have to look forward to being able to walk again and live without pain. Dr. Crowe is the most cocky, decisive, self-assured, cheeky doctor I've met, and I've met plenty after that damn car ran me over. But he has a reputation that precedes him. Besides all the articles I've read, and how he has been received by the hospital's staff like he was royalty, I'd only have to take a look at how the scrub nurse is swooning to know he's going to do an outstanding job.
I have no clue how much Conrad paid him, but if at the start I thought I'd be able to pay him back, now I realize it will never happen. It does nag me. A lot. The last thing I need is Conrad holding more power over me. But I couldn't refuse. I couldn't. After Doctor Crowe explained everything, I double-checked: the damage they left after the first surgery is treatable, but it requires a lot of skills to do it right. All the scientific publications agree on that. At least Google says so. I'll just have to deal with the maddening man when this is over. Two days ago, he said we'd talk after the surgery. Maybe it will happen today, but who knows with him? I texted him a "Thank you," because he wouldn't answer my calls, but he hasn't answered yet.
"Miss Schmidt? Harper?"
The scrub nurse is not swooning anymore. She's concerned. Even the know-it-all doctor is looking at me with a frown. I've lost track of time again. I didn't even realize I was panicking this time. And when another nurse gently wipes my cheeks, I know I was crying too.
"I'm sorry. I'm okay."
"You're more than okay. Everything went smoothly. We'll let you rest for a while and then you can start rehab right away. It's important to do it right. I want you to burn that cane and send me the pics." Dr. Crowe puffs his chest out and I almost laugh at him. He's a nice-looking sixty-something man, clearly as proud of his looks as he is of his prowess as a surgeon. It makes sense Conrad trusted a man like him. In some respects, they are very similar.
One is not a killer.
I've gone over and over this thing so many times. I've argued the case to death, playing both defense and prosecutor. However I twist it, I end up having to recognize that Conrad has something dark inside him. Or just a lack of morals. He's not just that, though. And I'm back at where I was a year ago. But I left. I left, and it didn't do me any good. I suffered alone, and he's found me anyway. I denied myself the comfort of his arms, of his protection, and now we'll have to face the conversation I ran from so many months ago. He will be pissed. He all but told me he is. And I don't know how I feel. Or I just don't want to admit it.
They roll my bed out of the OR and into my room, working around me like busy bees. But I'm keeping my eyes closed, so no one will try to talk to me. The doctor said they'll let me rest. I need that. Even though I doubt I'll be able to sleep.
"She needs to rest." Dr. Crowe, whispering. "She'll be fine, but she had a panic attack at the very end of the surgery. You may want to look into that too." Snitch. I don't need to open my eyes to know who the Doctor is giving his report to. I can hear it in his voice. It's less boisterous, less self-assured. Doctor Crowe knows he's found his match. Intellectually for sure. And in cockiness, too. But knowing Conrad's here, even though I don't want to talk to him yet, makes my body relax. My mind calms down. I think I'll take that nap after all. It promises to be a long night.
I'm back from my first session of rehab, sweaty and spent even though it was a very light one, when I lay eyes on Conrad. Our eyes meet and I shake my head. Nuh-uh. Not now. It's like he waited until I was too tired to fight back before confronting me.
"You said you wanted to talk."
