Chapter Three
In the end, it was Matthew who showed up at the front door. Vic met him in the foyer, and the two of them walked upstairs. I was waiting in Edith’s bedroom with Margaret, while the nurse kept herself busy preparing Edith for the trip to the hospital. I stepped out of the room when I saw the two men approach.
Margaret’s mouth fell open when she saw that Matthew had been called instead of an ambulance. She strode into the hallway, still clutching one of Edith’s sweaters.
“She needs the hospital, not a medical student with bottles of snake oil and delusions of grandeur,” Margaret said. Her eyes were fixed on Vic and her features were twisted in a mixture of anger and disbelief.
Vic said nothing in response, but he placed his hands on Margaret’s shoulders and firmly moved her to the side. Matthew silently stalked into Edith’s bedroom and Vic followed, closing the door behind him.
When Vic and Matthew were ensconced in Edith’s bedroom, leaving us outside, I moved a little closer to Margaret. I placed my hand on her shoulder, laying my palm where Vic’s had rested only moments before.
The nurse snapped her head up, as though noticing I was there for the first time.
“If she dies…” Margaret began.
“Why is Matthew treating Edith?” I asked.
Margaret sank down to the floor, her back resting against the wall.
“Edith was very clear in her wishes to have Matthew oversee her treatment, if you can call it that,” she said. She took a deep breath before continuing. “No, even I’ll admit, that man has worked a miracle. That’s the reason I can’t take Edith from here, or report him. What I’ve seen his tincture do defies everything I thought I knew. If I hadn’t seen the change in her with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it.”
“What does it do?” I asked.
Margaret let out a bark of laughter. “Go see for yourself.”
I was unsure of whether this invitation was genuine, or whether she was just encouraging me to interrupt Matthew’s treatment as a way of inciting Vic.
Perhaps daring fate, or perhaps hoping to provoke Vic myself, I stood up and approached the door. My fingers had barely touched the handle, when the door swung open and my hands were left grasping air.
Vic stood in the doorway, a brief look of confusion quickly giving way to the same self-assured smile he had offered me from our first meeting.
“Would you like to come in?” he asked.
His unflinching openness already began to erode those doubts with which Margaret seemed determined to seed my mind.
“I don’t want to get in the way,” I said. “I was just—”
“Come on in,” Vic interrupted, as though suddenly determined to show me that nothing untoward was occurring within the patient’s darkened room.
Edith was sitting up a little in her bed, her bony shoulders propped against the headboard, a pillow resting awkwardly behind her head. She turned to me as I entered, and her eyes were clear, her expression almost tranquil.
Vic’s hand rested at the small of my back, as he guided me to Edith’s bedside.
“I’m afraid my poor health is distracting you from your retreat,” she said. Her voice was hollow and reedy, as though pulled from her body against the pleadings of nature. “I know you were looking for a peaceful setting.”
I shook my head. “Everything’s just fine.”
“Good,” she said.
As we spoke, Matthew remained seated at her bedside, his back to me and Vic. He was holding Edith’s wrist with one hand, his fingers tracing meditatively along her skin. His other hand rested on his thigh, holding a small, open vial made of dark blue glass.
I moved forward, to try to see Matthew’s face. Edith had since closed her eyes, and was taking long, deep breaths.
Vic’s hand moved from the small of my back to my waist, his fingers tightening over my hip. With a gentle tug, he led me from the room and into the hallway.
“We don’t want to distract Matthew too much,” he said, his deep, smooth voice reverberating down my spine. “Let’s go downstairs.”
We walked past Margaret, who was still slumped on the floor of the hallway. I felt Vic’s head turn as we moved past, but I did not see the look exchanged between them. I had no doubt that there was equal animosity on both sides, but decided that, for now, I would rather not know why.
In the kitchen, Vic pulled down a bottle of whiskey from a high shelf and poured two hefty measures of the spirit.
“I think that encounter requires something a little stronger than wine,” he said with a light smile.
I held my drink and followed him through the foyer and outside to the front porch. In the darkness of Edith’s bedroom and the emotionally cramped hallway, it was hard to remember that outside the sun was still shining brightly, and that witnessed pain could be quickly forgotten.
We sat down on the porch bench: a weathered piece of furniture made of painted wicker and layered with pale green cushions. My knee pressed lightly against Vic’s thigh, and I was aware that he was sitting far closer than he needed to.
He took a sip from his glass, and I did the same. I masked the initial burning of the liquor in my throat, and took the moment to make a study of him again. In the warmth of late spring, Vic’s face assumed a youthful glow, despite those clear indications of his age. I watched transfixed as his lips parted to take another swallow.
I had stared too long, and his eyes languidly rose to meet mine.
“Are you always so quiet?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Usually.”
It was a question I had been asked countless times in my life, so the answer came automatically.
Vic set his glass down and wrapped his right hand around my wrist. With his left, he reached behind my head, entangling his fingers in my hair.
“I bet I can coax sounds out of you,” he said.
He drew me towards him, taking control of my body simply by tightening his hold on my hair. His lips met mine and the taste of liquor was still fresh on his tongue. He crushed my left hand against his chest, as he pressed my body against his. I found I was holding my breath against this hard, passionate kiss. I let the breath out in a ragged, low moan, and I could feel his mouth stretch into a smile against mine.
His hand left my wrist, and I felt his fingers go from lightly gripping my hip, to slowly slipping under the waist of my skirt. He skimmed beneath the black fabric, and ran his fingertips over the fabric of my panties.
His touch moved lower, and I knew that he could feel just how wet I had already become through the sheer lace panties I wore that day. I pulled back, using every ounce of strength to disentangle myself from his desire, knowing that my own mounting lust would be just as ravenous given a few more seconds of this exploration.
“I’m sorry, it’s just a little fast,” I murmured, my eyes anxiously searching his for some sign, some flash of anger or annoyance.
Instead, he ran his fingers through my hair, a gentle smile playing at his lips.
“Of course, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I guess when I got that little taste of you, I only wanted more.” His thumb traced a circle over my hip. “You’re so beautiful.”
I reached out, and cupped his jaw in my palm, before leaning in for another kiss.
The truth is, I wanted more too. Much more.