18. Contamination #2
Mrs. Alvarez gets instructions for fluids, fever monitoring, and when to call.
Mr. Chen gets a fresh dressing and a lecture about not using duct tape on skin again, no matter what his brother-in-law says.
The last two patients leave with printed instructions and the usual warnings to call if anything changes.
By four-thirty, reception is empty.
I lock the front appointment book in the drawer, stack the charts, and wipe down the counter. Art’s photo watches over reception. I don't look at it for long. I'm not sure I want to hear what I might start imagining he has to say about my life currently.
I’m just changing out the paper on exam table two when I hear something behind me.
“Well, now don't you look official, Kitten.” Ian’s voice comes from the doorway. I turn so fast the paper tears in my hand.
"And getting a bed ready. How nice."
He's standing just inside the room as if he belongs here. Suit jacket open. Shirt perfect. That practiced calm on his smug face. He doesn't look around the room.
He looks at me.
He chose this. The clinic. After hours. My space.
“Get out.”
“Now Kitten, we both know that's not going to happen.”
“Get out, Ian.”
He steps farther into the room. “I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d stop by.”
“No, you weren’t,” I snap.
“Still so dramatic.” His smile barely moves. “Now, now, Kitten, you do remember how this works.”
I drop the torn table paper into the trash and move toward the door. He shifts with me, smooth and quiet, cutting off my only path out.
“You need to leave,” I say.
“No, we need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Kitten.”
I hate that name dripping off his forked tongue. “You have ten seconds to walk out before I call the sheriff.” My hand moves up to the wall phone.
“Go ahead.” He glances at the counter, at the supplies, at the exam table. “But then you’ll have to explain why your former partner came to speak with you, and why that upset you so badly.”
“You were never my partner.”
His eyes come back to mine. “That would be one version.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s time to give me your support,” he says.
A laugh comes out before I can stop it. Ugly and humorless. “You are out of your fucking mind.”
“No, Kitten. I’m not. I’m seeing the world quite clearly these days. The project is gaining support and I’m close to kicking over the last of the opposition. And that is what you are going to do for me.”
“I already agreed I wouldn’t speak out against it. But I’m not supporting you. I’m not softening opposition for you. I’m not putting my name anywhere near yours. I won’t help you hurt this town.”
He is quiet for three full seconds as his gaze actively moves down my body and back up again. I back up. His eyes sharpen.
“You absolutely will.” He’s louder now.
I laugh once. “Or what?”
He gets predatory quiet. “Or I’ll ruin you.”
My heartbeat starts slamming into my chest.
Ian smiles. “I wondered how long it would take. Widower. New in town. Sad daughter. You, right there, ready to be needed.”
The room seems to narrow. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I know you’re fucking the doctor to try and trap him,” he shouts.
“Don’t you dare. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” His voice rises filling the room. “You fuck him enough and bat your eyes at his kid and he’ll start noticing you.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Am I?” He takes another step. “Are we pretending you didn’t get to play mommy to his teenage brat this past weekend? Little fishing trip to ingratiate yourself with them both.”
The words land so hard they almost knock me backwards. “How did...”
He points at me once, pleased. “Oh Kitten, did your shriveled-up, dried-out ovaries tingle taking care of the brat? Figure if you play mommy you can win the good doctor over and trick him into making you family?”
Oh my god, I can’t believe he brought that up. I can’t breathe. I have to get out of here.
I move fast trying to make a break for the door.
He catches my wrist. I feel his fingers tighten on my skin, and suddenly my blood turns to ice. I’m alone with him.
No one even knows I’m here.
Where’s the closest sharp thing in here? Second drawer on the right. Of course, right where he’s standing.
For one second, the room is all breath, muscle and rage.
Then I yank free.
I lower my voice to a lethal level and seethe through my teeth. “Touch me again and I will break every one of your goddamn fingers.”
He looks at me and shakes his head. “Still dramatic.”
“You’re a fucking asshole.”
He roars. “And you’re fucking the doctor.”
My stomach drops. He sees it and keeps going, getting louder and louder.
“It doesn’t matter how much you fuck him, Kitten. It’s still not going to get you a kid.”
“That’s what this is, isn’t it? You screw him, you feed the kid, you let her sleep in your house, and that’s supposed to show him your mommy material.”
“Shut your fucking mouth.” I’m yelling now.
“I know what you’re up to. You fuck him because he comes with a child.”
“Shut up.”
“You want to play mommy to the brat because it makes you feel less empty.”
“Get out.”
“How much do you think you’ll have to fuck him to get him to move you into the house, cuddle up with the brat, get your ready-made life. You missed your chance, and now you’re sniffing around a widower and his kid taking advantage of the grief. Pathetic.”
“The helpful local woman with the womb full of cobwebs and a house full of dead people’s furniture. Does he know? Or is the plan to climb into his bed, play house with his kid, and hope grief makes him stupid?”
The words hit. Again. Again. And again. The same place every time, because he knows exactly where to aim. I want to put my hands over my ears. I want to be anywhere but in this room with his words crawling under my skin.
“You are sick.”
“No. I’m honest.”
“You have never been honest a day in your life.”
His face changes. Small. Fast.
“Get out of this clinic,” I scream at him.
“Ian.” My voice is low. It costs more than yelling. “You are going to leave this clinic.”
“I am not leaving until you finally decide you’re going to be useful to me again.” He steps closer. “You benefited from being useful once,” he says. “You had a life. Position. People listened when you spoke.”
“Until you burned it down.”
His expression does not change.