The View from Alameda Island - Robyn Carr Page 0,45
he kept his voice soft.
“I think you know,” she said, her speech slurred.
* * *
Beau followed the ambulance to the hospital and paced in the waiting room while Lauren was with doctors and nurses.
Lauren was in the ER for three hours, holding an ice pack to her mouth and cheek. She had stitches inside her mouth where her teeth had cut her lip and she felt swollen from her neck up. Her CT scan was negative—no fractures of the skull or facial bones. At almost midnight one of the officers who had come to her house returned to the ER. He spoke quietly with the doctor before approaching her bed. She was sitting up, getting ready to make her escape as soon as the paperwork and insurance nonsense was complete.
“So, it’s going to be okay, I’m told,” the officer said. “You’ll heal and maybe get better locks?”
“I have good locks,” she said, but she sounded more like I hab goo wocks.
“Your husband has been cited, arrested and taken to booking, but is there somewhere you can stay or someone who can stay with you?”
“I’m going home,” she blubbered. “He’s obviously not coming back. I’m a mess.”
“That guy is still in the waiting room,” the officer said. “Is he someone you can trust?”
“He’s a neighbor. I’ve known him a few months and he’s been helpful and kind. He’s still here, huh?”
“Waiting to see you, I guess. Hopefully take you home...”
“That’s nice. I can get a cab if he wants to get home.”
“I wish you weren’t going to be alone. Your husband is a piece of work. He tried to convince us you did this to yourself. The problem with that story was that when we found him, he was icing his hand.”
A huff escaped her. “His precious hands. Insured for millions...”
“Then there’s the recording. So he tried saying it was your boyfriend...”
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she said. “The man out there is a new friend. Not that new.” She groaned and said, “I met him at church.”
“Your husband’s voice on the recording is recognizable,” the officer said. “Is there someone who can stay with you? You should contact a family member. This is a traumatic injury. You might get home and realize you wish you weren’t alone and the doctor says you can’t drive. Not for at least twenty-four hours. As a precaution.”
“I agree,” the doctor said, pulling back the curtain to enter the little cubicle. He held a chart. “I’d admit you for the night but it isn’t absolutely necessary and hospitals aren’t the coziest places. They’re noisy, for one thing.”
“I want my own bed.”
“Then call someone,” the officer said. “Someone who can make sure you’re home and inside and helped to your bed. There must be someone...”
“The neighbor says he’s going to get her home, stay with her until she’s settled. And he lives a few blocks away so if she needs assistance, she can call him. That work for you, Mrs. Delaney?” the doctor asked.
She nodded. “I don’t want to call my sister or daughter this late. I must look a wreck. I haven’t even seen your handiwork.”
The doctor opened a drawer and pulled out a round mirror, handing it to her. She lifted it to her face. Her lip was three times its usual size on one side, her face was distorted, one cheekbone swollen, her eye was puffy and black and blue and her blouse was covered in blood and drool.
She almost passed out and both the doctor and officer caught her before she fell back on the bed. They helped her sit back upright.
“Oh my God,” she said. “This would terrify my sister. And her husband is a cop. He could lose his mind.”
“Cop? Where?”
“Chip Shaughnessy. Oakland.”
“I know him. Good guy. Want to call him?”
“Want to really test his control?” she asked.
The doctor handed her a clean washcloth because every few words brought a new drizzle of pink spit. She didn’t want either Beth or Chip to see her like this. Beth was angry enough with Brad. She didn’t mind that she hated him. In fact, she liked that. However, when she was trying to stay focused, stable and smart, she didn’t need haranguing. Her lawyer had prepped her well to listen only to her advice and not that of relatives and friends. And her brother-in-law, sweet, laid-back Chip, why tempt fate? This could be the thing that tipped him over the edge and he might just go beat the hell out of Brad.