“Here, this will help with the pain,” Dr. Robertson said as he gave Marla an injection, then disposed of the needle. He was in a sport coat and slacks, his eyes serious behind his glasses as he examined her mouth and jaw. The clinic was quiet at this time of night, the staff having left hours before. Overhead fluorescent fixtures glowed and hummed, reflecting harshly on the chrome fixtures of the sink and the instruments gleaming on a spotless Formica counter. “Now, why don’t you tell me what happened.”
Marla was seated on a tissue-covered bed, her heartbeat finally slowing, the taste in her mouth and nose still foul, the pain screaming through her face beginning slowly to lessen.
Alex stood at the door of the examination room, his arms folded tightly over his chest as the doctor finished the job that Nick had started. The clinic was empty, the outer hallways dark.
“I . . . I got sick. Probably nerves or bad soup or both, I don’t know,” she said with difficulty. The muscles in her jaw had atrophied and she could barely open her mouth. Ignoring the pain, she forced her lips to move. “I’ve been pretty tense lately. Anyway, I felt a little queasy after dinner, went upstairs to lie down and . . .” She hesitated and decided not to confide in the doctor about the malevolent presence she’d felt in her room. Not right now. Not until she was clearheaded, certain the man hadn’t been just part of a nightmare, and she had determined whom she could trust. “I . . . I woke up . . . probably because of a bad dream, then I had to throw up. There was nothing I could do . . .” She shook her head. “It . . . it was awful.”
“Then, considering, I guess you’re lucky,” he muttered under his breath as he stepped away from the examination table and stripped off his latex gloves. “You could have choked to death or suffocated.”
“Funny, I don’t feel so lucky.” In fact she felt like hell on a bad day. No doubt she looked worse.
“I suppose not.” He cut a glance at Alex, then handed Marla a hand mirror so she could view the damage. Yep, the phrase “death warmed over” fit her description to a T. Tentatively she stretched her jaw. Excruciating pain tore through her face and she sucked in her breath. Dr. Robertson said, “You’re going to feel your mouth for a few days—probably even weeks, but I’ll prescribe something for the pain. Now, the good news is that your jaw’s healed nicely.”
“I’ll take any good news I can get,” she grumbled.
He chuckled and winked at her. “But take it easy, okay? Rest. Recover. And if I were you I wouldn’t play hockey without a mask for a while.”
“I’ll take that under consideration,” she said.
One side of the doctor’s mouth elevated slightly. “Good. Now, keep your appointment with Dr. Henderson, though, as he did the initial surgery. He might want X rays to make sure the bones have knit, but it looks good to me.”
“Thanks,” she said, grateful the ordeal was over.
“So how’s the stomach?” Robertson tossed his used gloves into a small chrome trash can.
“Better. A lot better.”
“You should have told someone you were nauseous.” Alex’s eyes were dark with silent reproach, his brow furrowed, his lips pursed.
“Maybe you should have been home,” she said irritably.
His eyes narrowed just a fraction. “I was working.”
“It was after eleven.”
The corners of Alex’s mouth tightened and the look he sent her could have cut through granite. “I guess you don’t remember. I work late a lot. That’s why I hired Tom. If you weren’t so bullheaded . . .” His words faded and the tension that had drawn his face into a tight mask diminished. “Look, I’m just concerned, all right?” He unfolded his arms and rubbed the back of his neck. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Me, too,” she agreed, but decided not to push the argument. “I’m just sick of all this.”
“We all are,” Alex said.
Robertson washed his hands at a sink mounted in the wall. “Is there any improvement in your memory?” His gaze met Marla’s in the reflection of the mirror as he dried his hands.
“It’s still not great, but I am making some breakthroughs. Just tonight I remembered giving birth to James.”
From the corner of her eye she saw Alex’s spine stiffen slightly and a glimpse of surprise, no . . . was it worry . . . shadowed his eyes. “Did you?” he asked. “That’s great. Fabulous.” His smile seemed sincere. Almost.
“And I remember the accident,” she asserted. “On the way over here, in Nick’s truck, someone rounded the corner and his headlights were on high and all of a sudden the accident flashed before my eyes.”
Alex paled a bit beneath his tan.
“There was a man in the road,” she went on. “I was driving and I had to swerve to avoid him. That’s when I hit the guardrail.”
She shuddered and Alex nodded, encouraging her to continue though she sensed trepidation in his eyes. “Go on.”
“It was horrible. A nightmare.” Marla forced the words through her teeth as the memories of that night, the screaming tires, wrenching metal, slick road, the shattering glass streaked through her brain. Phil Robertson winced as she explained what happened. “. . . and yes, I finally remember Pam, not much about her but I know she and I . . . we were planning something . . . I just can’t remember what.”
“You’re tired,” Alex said. “Give it a rest.”