7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
It took almost an hour to get Paige into her new room, with the majority of that time being spent waiting for a person to accomplish this feat. Apparently it required a specific hospital worker to navigate her gurney up to the third floor, where another person then had to be rounded up to help get her onto the actual bed.
Once Paige was settled, her new doctor—this time of the male variety—made a brief appearance. He looked so much like Mr. Burns on The Simpsons, with his thin, stooped frame, thinning white hair in the shape of a u-hawk and a generous supply of wrinkles, that he could’ve been the inspiration for the cartoon character. When he introduced himself as Dr. Wiseman, he sounded enough like Mr. Burns that he probably could’ve provided the voice on the show as well.
After shaking David’s hand, Dr. Wiseman consulted Paige’s chart, taking so long that David began to wonder if the man was having trouble reading it. When he appeared to finally be done, Dr. Wiseman replaced the chart at the foot of her bed and then actually steepled his fingers together, cementing his uncanny resemblance to Montgomery Burns.
“Because of her disorientation, I would suggest taking what she says with a grain of salt. Try not to correct her—it won’t help, and it may actually make things worse by agitating her,” Dr. Wiseman advised. “Plus, it’s important that we see when she organically regains her senses, so to speak. I’ve rarely seen confusion last more than a few hours, but if it does last longer than that, then we’ll need to take a few scans.”
David was so pleasantly surprised to see that Dr. Wiseman’s mental acuity seemed intact, that it took him a few seconds to register that the doctor was done talking and looking at him expectantly. He appeared to be waiting for a response, so David quickly said, “Okay.”
The doctor’s head wobbled a bit in what was possibly his version of a nod, then after promising to check on Paige periodically, he left.
Alone with Paige for the time being, David moved a chair next to her bed and parked his ass. Someone had changed her into a light blue hospital gown that could’ve fit Jabba the Hut with room to spare, and it somehow made the situation even more surreal.
She was in the fucking hospital.
Leaning forward and resting his forearms across his knees, he gently picked up the hand not hooked up to the IV. Her skin was a little cold and he rubbed it with his fingers for a few moments before pressing it to his cheek. He could smell the faint scent of vanilla with each breath he took and in a weird way, it comforted him that she was still using the same hand lotion; with all the things that were different about her, this was something he recognized.
Feeling mentally exhausted, he closed his eyes. Instead of finding any kind of relief, though, he found himself replaying the entire scene at the restaurant in his head, almost on a loop. He tortured himself by thinking of all the ways he could’ve changed the outcome, if only he had reacted better, or faster, or … something.
“I’m sorry.”
He was so engrossed in his thoughts, that the faltering and broken words startled him. Jerking his gaze up to Paige, whose eyes were now half-open and fixed on him. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“Your … baby.”
Thinking she was talking about the baby he’d had with Ashley, he squeezed her hand. “You need to rest, all right?”
“I lost it, didn’t I? I know it.”
His breath caught for a second as she touched her flat abdomen and he realized she was talking about their baby. “Please don’t think about that. It’s okay.”
“Our boy,” she whispered. “He’d have been so beautiful. I would’ve loved him so much. I lost him.”
“Please, just rest. Don’t think about it.”
“Ashley. Has … my baby. Jacob.”
He felt his throat tighten at Paige’s confused distress, knowing he couldn’t help her, but unable to stop himself from saying, “She doesn’t have our baby.”
“You. Gave her our baby. I saw her.”
“Paige, no.”
She pulled her hand from his and brought it to her chest, holding it there as if protecting herself, before turning her face away from him.
David couldn’t stand to see her like this and he stared down at the beige, utilitarian tile on the floor. His mind flooded with painful memories of when she had miscarried and he felt the pain all over again, right in the middle of his chest.
He was almost grateful when Dr. Wiseman made an appearance to check on Paige. “How is she doing?” he asked, picking up Paige’s chart and looking it over again, not reading it any faster this time around.
David rubbed his face. “She was awake for a few minutes, but she was pretty confused. Then she fell asleep again.”
Dr. Wiseman nodded/wobbled, as if expecting to hear that and made a few slow notations on the chart. When he was finally done, he replaced the chart carefully, and went to leave. At the door, he stopped and turned around, steepling his fingers again.
“One more thing. I wanted to let you know there’s a man in the waiting room inquiring about Paige. We can’t tell him anything, but I thought maybe you could go have a word with him. He seems quite concerned.”
David had pretty much forgotten about Paige’s date and sighed as he got to his feet. “I’ll go talk to him.”