Chapter 1 - The Bag by the Door
The front doorknob turned before I had time to answer him.
Scott heard it too.
His finger came off the tender place beneath my dressing, and the expression on his face changed so quickly it frightened me more than the pain.
A second earlier he had been leaning over me while I gagged above the trash can.
"Tell the nurse cancer did it," he had said.
Then the door opened.
Erin Walsh stepped inside, already apologizing.
"Forgot my bag. I swear my brain leaves before the rest of me after six o'clock."
She stopped.
I was bent beside the trash can.
Scott stood too close.
The white dressing Erin had inspected less than ten minutes earlier now carried a dark red stain near one edge.
Her eyes moved from it to me.
"What happened?"
"She got sick again," Scott said immediately. "It's the cancer."
Erin kept looking at me.
"I asked her."
Scott's leg touched the side of my chair.
I knew what he wanted me to say.
For weeks I had measured my answers by the next hour.
Could I keep food down?
Could I shower without pulling the incision?
Could I sleep if Scott was angry?
Could I make tomorrow easier by saying tonight was fine?
I looked at Erin.
Then I stopped protecting him.
"He pushed my head over the trash can," I said.
My voice sounded thin.
It was still mine.
"And he pressed on the surgical area after you left."
Scott laughed once.
"She's in pain. She doesn't know what she's saying."
Erin crouched beside me without touching the dressing.
"When I left, this was clean."
Scott started explaining.
Dinner.
Nausea.
Stress.
How difficult my ovarian-cancer surgery had been for both of us.
Erin let him finish.
Then she asked me, "Do you want me to stay?"
"Yes."
Scott's jaw tightened.
"Do you want to be alone with him right now?"
"No."
He stepped forward.
"This is getting blown way out of proportion."
Erin stood.
She did not accuse him of anything she had not seen.
She moved her forgotten bag closer to me.
"Natalie, do you want to leave the room with me?"
"Yes."
Scott moved first.
He stepped between us and the front door.
My stomach dropped.
"Scott."
He looked at me.
Not at Erin.
At me.
"You are not leaving this house in the middle of the night because a nurse asked a loaded question."
"It's six twelve," Erin said.
His eyes snapped toward her.
"And it was not loaded."
She took out her phone.
Scott's voice changed again.
Soft.
Reasonable.
"Erin, I appreciate everything you've done, but my wife is frightened and heavily medicated."
I stared at him.
I had taken nothing stronger than the medication prescribed hours earlier.
Erin glanced at me.
"Natalie, are you confused about where you are?"
"No."
"Do you know today's date?"
I answered.
"Do you know who I am?"
"Erin Walsh. Home health nurse. You hate instant coffee and your son's baseball coach."
For half a second, her mouth twitched.
Scott did not smile.
Then headlights swept across the front window.
A second car stopped outside.
Erin looked at her phone.
"My supervisor is here."
Scott turned toward the window.
That was enough.
Erin took my arm only after I reached for hers.
We moved around him.
Slowly.
Every step pulled beneath the dressing.
Scott followed us onto the porch.
"Natalie, if you leave like this, don't come back blaming me when the hospital says the cancer caused the bleeding."
Erin stopped.
She looked at him.
Then at me.
"Natalie, I need to ask you something before we go."
I waited.
"Has this dressing opened after I've left before?"
My mouth went dry.
Three times in two weeks.
Every time Scott had told me I must have moved wrong.
I whispered, "Yes."
Erin's face changed.
"Because I checked your chart this afternoon."
Scott went still.
Erin continued.
"Every unexplained bleeding episode happened during a window when your husband was the only person documented in the house."
The porch seemed to tilt beneath me.
This had happened before.
I had just never allowed myself to call it the same thing.
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