“Family?”
“Unfortunately,” I said.
Leaning back into the pillows, I reflected on how Natalie hadn’t changed—only gotten better at fishing for information without revealing her hand.
The afternoon passed in a haze of vitals, Tylenol, and short naps. My phone buzzed—text from Natalie.
Let’s get lunch soon. I have some ideas I want to run by you.
I didn’t respond.
By evening, I could sit up without my head spinning. A tray arrived: dry chicken, limp green beans, and a square pretending to be cake. I ate what I could, pushing the rest aside.
The TV played quietly. A local news segment covered a council meeting. Half-listening, I froze when I saw Natalie on-screen, talking to a man I didn’t recognize. The caption didn’t name her, but I knew the profile, the posture. Probably nothing—or exactly the kind of meeting she hinted at earlier.
I made a mental note to keep my guard up.
Night settled over the city and the hospital wing got quieter. Denise came in one last time before her shift ended, making sure I had everything I needed. I told her I was fine. That was only partly true, but it was easier than explaining the mix of physical pain and mental chess I was playing.
I switched off the television and let the room go dark, the monitor’s steady beep marking the seconds. Somewhere in the building, a cart squeaked down the hall.
My eyes closed, but sleep didn’t come right away. Instead, the day replayed in pieces: Mark’s call, the house on the river, Natalie’s sunglasses pushed into her hair, and the look she gave me when I didn’t take the bait.
The first thing I registered in the morning was the stiffness in my shoulder and the dull ache in my ribs when I shifted. The hospital room was quiet except for the hum of the air conditioning.
A new nurse was on duty, a younger guy named Travis. He took my vitals and asked if I wanted breakfast. I told him I wasn’t hungry, which wasn’t entirely true, but the thought of the soggy eggs they served here didn’t help.
The doctor came in not long after. He said my scans looked stable, but with a concussion and a fractured clavicle, I wasn’t going anywhere yet. Two days minimum, maybe more if I showed signs of dizziness or nausea.
I nodded. I’d been through worse in the field, but hospitals weren’t exactly my favorite place to spend time.
Mark called midmorning. He kept his voice low even though he was in his office miles away.
“I heard about the accident. You okay?”
“I’m in one piece. Mostly.”
“That meeting we planned—no rush. We can do it when you’re out.”
“I’d rather not wait too long,” I told him. “I want those papers signed while I still control the timing.”
He understood. We agreed he’d come by the hospital with the documents in a few days if I wasn’t discharged yet.
I hung up and tried to focus on the mindless daytime television running in the background. That lasted about ten minutes before my phone buzzed.
A text from Natalie.
I’m tied up today, but I’ll check in later. Let me know if you need anything.
It was polite enough, but I knew better. If she brought anything, it wouldn’t be flowers. It would be questions.
By early afternoon, the meds had me dozing in and out. At one point, I woke to the sound of rain hitting the window. It made me think of Charleston streets flooding in heavy storms, water creeping up the curbs.
I was about to drift off again when I heard voices in the hall. A man’s laugh, then a woman’s reply. The door swung open.
It wasn’t Natalie.
It was Chief Boyd, wearing jeans and a polo instead of his uniform.
“Heard you were trying to get out of PT the hard way,” he said with a smirk.
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