Gail Bowen - The Nesting Dolls

“I won’t lie to you,” Henry said. “Pressure sores are always a concern.”

“And I’m not competent to judge whether what I’m looking at on my husband’s back is just an abrasion or something serious. I’m out of my depth here, Henry, and I’m scared.”

“We could put Zack in the hospital till this clears up.”

“That has to be the last resort,” I said. “Zack hates hospitals. He spent so much time in them when he was a kid. He loves our home. I know he’ll get well faster here.”

“How would you feel about getting a private nurse to come in to check once a day – keep an eye on the wound and give you a hand getting Zack in and out of the shower?”

“I would feel immensely relieved,” I said.

“I’ll get Gina to call Nightingale Nursing. They’re expensive but they’re good.”

“I don’t care how much it costs,” I said. “I just want to be sure that nothing slips by me.” Willie leaned heavily against my leg. “Henry, can you make sure the nurse is comfortable with dogs? Pantera is very protective of Zack.”

Henry finished drying his hands on a paper towel. “I’ve noticed,” he said.

After Henry left, I brought Zack’s breakfast in and sat down with him while he made a heroic effort to eat what he clearly didn’t feel like eating.

Finally, I took away the tray. “Can I get you something else?” I said.

“Do you know what I’d really like?”

“Name it. Eggs Benedict with smoked salmon? Steak tartare? Crepes Suzette?”

Zack made a face. “All of the above, but not today. Today, what I’d like is for you to get into bed with me. I’m tired. You’re tired. Let’s get some sleep.”

I took off my jeans and shirt and slipped in beside my husband. He was very hot, but I was cold. I curled into him. “Is this okay?” I said.

“God, yes,” he said. “You are so soft and so cool… ”

I moved closer. “Zack, how would you feel about -”

He began to snore.

I lay there feeling his heat, listening to the familiar and reassuring buzz of his breathing. At one point he moved and groaned. The pressure wound was sensitive, and if his position wasn’t right, it was painful.

I adjusted the pillows behind his back and then put my arms around him. “You are the love of my life,” I said. “Don’t leave me.” I waited for a response, and when none was forthcoming, I too fell asleep.

Two hours later, I awoke. Zack was staring down at me. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to suppress a cough?”

“Why did you suppress it?”

“You were so peaceful. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

I stretched my arms. “Well, thanks. Because I slept like the proverbial log, and I feel about a hundred times better than I did before Henry came. How about you?”

“I woke up after a while and watched you sleep – almost as good as the real thing. Till this bug goes away, let’s do this every day.”

“Fine with me,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

My husband drew me closer. “Neither am I, Ms. Shreve,” he said. “Count on it.”

I made Zack tea, showered, ate a crumpet dripping with butter over the sink, and finally felt ready to start the day. There was a note from Taylor on the kitchen table. She was in her studio working if we needed her. I glimpsed out the window, saw the light, and smiled. I checked my messages. Most of them were from people concerned about Zack’s health, but Myra Brokaw’s concern was not for my husband’s well-being but her husband’s legacy. She asked me to call her as soon as I’d “reviewed” her films of Theo, so we could discuss our next step.

It wasn’t exactly Paul on the road to Damascus, but it was insight enough for me. Somewhere amidst the sturm und drang of the past days, it seemed we had all forgotten that the shortest distance between two points was a straight line. Myra had the answers to questions that were plaguing us. Myra had invited me over. I would accept her invitation and ask the questions.

When I got back to our bedroom, Zack was lying on his side thumbing his BlackBerry.

“Anything spectacular going on?” I asked.

“Lots,” he said. “I guess the most pressing item is that Darryl Colby wants to see me.”

“He’ll have to come here,” I said.

“I hate the idea of that creep coming into our home.”

“It’s Christmas. We’ll be hospitable. I’ll make cocoa and sugar cookies, and you can play ‘You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch’ on the piano and ask him to sing along.”

Zack shuddered. “Jesus, there’s an image that’ll ruin my morning. But I do have to meet with Darryl. I don’t like him skulking around in the shadows.”

“Can you put it off till tomorrow? Give yourself a day to get better.”

“No. I have to move on this.”

“Tell Darryl it’ll be a ten-minute meeting,” I said. I sat on the bed. “I’ve decided to move on something too,” I said. “Myra called. I think she’s hoping against hope that her home movies will have sealed the deal with NationTV. I’m going to pay her a visit.”

“You going to let her down easily?” As Zack shifted his body, the expression on his face was pained. I reached over and adjusted the pillows behind his back. “Better?”

He nodded.

“To answer your question, yes, I’m going to let Myra down easily. I’m also going to ask her if she read Delia’s letter, if she got in touch with Abby, and if Abby got in touch with her. Then I’m going to ask her how much Theo understands about the situation and suggest that she and Theo support the Wainbergs’ attempt to get custody of Jacob.”

Zack rolled his eyes. “What have you been smoking? Even I wouldn’t try to pull that one off.”

“I’m tired of letting this dominate our lives,” I said.

“So am I,” he said. “But storming the Brokaws’ bastion seems out of character for you.”

“Blame osmosis,” I said. “When we were in bed together, all that body heat you were generating moved into me and made me a warrior.”

He gave me a weak smile. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

“That’s my plan. And one more thing. Henry’s going to send over a nurse to give us a hand for about an hour a day. I could use help getting you in and out of the shower. You’re a sexy guy, but you’re not a little guy. More seriously, I worry that I’m looking at that pressure sore through the eyes of hope. We can’t afford to have me misread the signs.”

“No,” Zack said. “We can’t. When’s the nurse starting?”

“Today, I hope.” I stroked his cheek. “I thought you’d fight me tooth and nail on this.”

“Nope. When you crawled into bed with me this morning, you said that I was the love of your life and you didn’t want me to leave. That goes both ways, Ms. Shreve.”

“If you heard me, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because your words unmanned me,” he said. “Let’s do whatever it takes.”

I walked through the snow to Taylor’s studio. When I knocked, she invited me in – a sign that her work was going well. She was wearing ripped jeans, an old sweatshirt, and a pair of paint-spattered heavy wool socks. Her face shone with joy – a sign that she’d broken through the wall separating her from the art she wanted to make.

She held out her hand. “Come look,” she said, and stepped aside so I could see her canvas. It was a self-portrait of her making art. She was standing at an angle to her easel. As she gazed critically at the work in progress, her head was tilted to one side and her expression was rapt. She wasn’t smiling, but there was a stillness in her features that suggested that she was content with what she saw. Everything about the portrait, from the curve of her body to the way she held her brush, reminded me of Sally, but it wasn’t just the subject matter that moved me; in some way I couldn’t articulate, I knew that this piece represented a leap in Taylor’s development as an artist. I gazed at it silently for a while.