Bethany and found his family gathered in the hall completely shell-shocked. “What’s wrong?”
“Bethany’s worse.”
“What do you mean? Why didn’t you call me?”
Colleen came to him, putting her arms around his neck. “We knew you were on your way here. We wanted you to drive safely.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked again, his voice loud and demanding.
Kyd spoke softly as he held his mother close. “Staph infection. MRSA.”
Clint knew what those letters meant and how dangerous the infection could be. “How?” he asked the nonsensical question. The germ lurked in the very places where people went for help. Just one careless act could bring about an outbreak. “What are they doing for her?”
“They’re trying several antibiotics. MRSA is resistant to the more commonly used ones.”
“Why are you all standing out here?”
“We can’t go in to see her. Not yet. She’s been quarantined.”
Again, Clint felt completely helpless.
Over the next three days, he stayed at the hospital. As before, it was touch and go with Bethany, but she hung on. The family rallied and took turns sitting with her once the ban on visitors was lifted. For Clint’s part, he never left. He made a place for himself in the waiting room and stayed ready to do what he could for Bethany and for the others who came to sit with her.
Periodically he tried to call Jensen, but never had any luck. He even called her place of business, but they said she wasn’t in. Her secretary asked if he wanted Jensen to call him back when she returned, but he declined. Clint decided he’d gotten the message loud and clear. She didn’t have any intention of talking to him. Worried and weary, he admitted her decision might be for the best. He didn’t know what he would’ve said to her anyway. The apology he wanted to give her might be all he had to offer.
In the dark hours of the night when he was all alone in the waiting room, trying to rest in those torture devices they called chairs, Clint would research breast cancer. He studied images of women who’d had mastectomies. This was the first time he’d ever looked into the subject. He’d been under the erroneous belief that only older women suffered from breast cancer. Jensen’s case wasn’t unique. He learned one in eight women would develop invasive breast cancer over the course of their lifetime. Seeing the scars on their chests made him feel angry that such suffering existed.
Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine what Jensen might look like. From the beginning, he’d been enchanted with her appearance, completely under her spell. He was beyond attracted to her. And he loved her breasts. He’d fantasized about them. The first time he’d made love to her, he couldn’t keep his hands off her breasts. Of course, the second time they made love; she’d prevented him from touching her. At the time, he’d bought her story that she wanted to play a game. Now that he knew the truth, every move she’d made, every word she’d spoken had a deeper meaning.
He tried to imagine how he would react to her body now. Just the thought of her only having one breast made something inside of him wither. What a loss. Such beauty should never be marred. Yet…the removal of her breast saved her life.
“Ye, gods.” He buried his face in his hands, struggling to come to terms with something he could barely conceive.
As the hours passed he spent his time pacing the halls, checking on Bethany, and fetching coffee for his mother who slept on a cot in her room. He paced the hall, his thoughts a conglomeration of worry and emotion.
Would Bethany recover unscathed?
Would Jensen ever give him a chance to explain?
And if she did – what would he say?
Coming to the elevator, he decided to go downstairs to buy an old-fashioned newspaper, he needed something to hold in his hands to read – and maybe shred between his fingers when he was through with it. Viciously, he punched the down button about fifty times. “Fuck! Come on!” he exclaimed as he rested his head against the cool steel surface, his brain still racing with unbidden thoughts. No matter his hesitancy, his uncertainty, his…dread – one thing was clear. He couldn’t stop thinking about Jensen. About her smile, the way she smelled, the way it felt to love her. “Fuck!” he exclaimed again, tensing when he heard someone clear their throat behind him.