THE PATIENT
Daisy opened her eyes. Fluff and Peg and another woman in a nurse’s uniform she didn’t recognize all stared down at her with pinched faces. The light above them was blinding and Daisy closed her eyes again.
“Where’s Walker?” she asked.
“Walker is in the emergency room. He’s in good hands,” Fluff said. “Sweetie, we need to take care of you right now.”
“I’m fine.”
The nurse said, “You just fainted, which tells me you’re not fine. Have you fainted before?”
Her mind felt fuzzy. “Never. Excuse me but I need to see Walker. Did you talk to him?”
Peg and Fluff exchanged a look.
“What?”
“They were in a big hurry and we didn’t want to get in their way, or excite him,” Peg said. “And it looks like he has more injuries than just a punctured lung.”
Daisy didn’t want to know. “He’s made it this far. Isn’t that a good sign?”
They all nodded in agreement.
The nurse felt around on Daisy’s wrist for a pulse, seemingly unable to find it. “Have you eaten anything today?”
Fluff answered for her. “I saw her eat a banana this morning, but once we got to work, the day went by in a blur. I can also guarantee that she’s had enough coffee and Coca-Cola to send her to the moon and back. Isn’t that right?”
Daisy nodded.
“What exactly is it that you ladies do?” the nurse asked, eyeing their uniforms.
“Top secret,” Fluff said.
“No, really.”
“Yes, really.”
Oh, how she loved to say that.
Sometime later, after Daisy had force-fed herself half an egg salad sandwich and chunks of canned pineapple, a nurse from the operating room came out to speak with them. The doctors were going in to remove a bullet lodged in his thigh of all places. Another had gone through his upper arm, but that one came out the other side. As for the punctured lung—a pneumothorax—she told them that was likely caused by blunt trauma in the rough landing, not a bullet wound.
“How do you treat that?” Daisy asked.
“Needle aspiration and prayer. Sometimes in a last-ditch effort, they’ll go in with a chest tube, but we aren’t there yet. We’ll let you know when you can go in and see him.”
It was nearly eleven when the nurse returned, face expressionless. “Follow me.”
Walker lay in a small room upstairs with three other men. All asleep. The first thing Daisy noticed was the bluish hue to his lips, as though he’d eaten a whole basket of blueberries. His mouth hung open slightly and his long lashes rested against his cheek. He looked so utterly fragile. And pale. And heartbreaking.
Fluff hung back while Daisy and Peg moved alongside his bed. Daisy was tempted to climb under the sheets with him and infuse him with all the love she could muster. But they didn’t want to wake him, so they just stood there. She burned the contours of his face into memory, said a silent prayer, gave him a feathery kiss on the forehead and left him to heal.
Daisy felt something on her shoulder, shaking her. She brushed it off, thinking it was Mr. Silva wanting her to shovel more manure out of the stalls. “Miss Wilder, wake up,” a sweet voice said. “He’s asking for you.”
“Mr. Montgomery?” she mumbled.
“Walker.”
She woke fully, realizing where she was. Unfolding her limbs, she climbed off the couch and followed the nurse, a different one, into Walker’s room. Her lips were so dry they stuck together but she didn’t care. She tiptoed in, so as not to wake the others. Walker’s eyes were closed, and one arm and one leg were bandaged up thick. Daisy knelt down so she was a foot away from his face. “I’m here,” she whispered.
His eyes opened and he turned toward her, the edge of his mouth turning up on one side. “Damn you’re a beautiful sight,” he said.
He was blue and unshaven and gaunt, but in Daisy’s eyes, he was perfect.
She picked up his hand. “I’ve been here since before they brought you in. Peg too, but she went home at midnight to get a few hours of sleep. She’ll be back.”
“You and Peg? Together?”
Daisy smiled. “We talked things over.”
He exhaled, then winced on the inhale.
There was so much to say, and yet all she wanted to do was sit with him and hold his giant, calloused hand. Tell him that she loved him, and then some. They were words previously reserved for only her parents and the animals, and she felt strangely shy about uttering them.
“Are you crying, Wilder?”
Her hand went to her cheek, which was warm and wet. “I was so scared I would never see you again,” she said.
“Ah, hell. When the bullets started coming in, I thought I was a goner. But I told God I had a girl back home who had never flown in an airplane and I needed to make it back to see her, and how she shone brighter than the sun. Get down here with me, Daisy, would you?” he said, patting the side of the bed with his good hand.
Daisy.
Without hesitation, she slid onto the sheet, lying with her side halfway off the edge of the bed. Who cared if the nurses complained? She pressed her forehead to his cheek. That familiar Walker smell—horses and fresh grass and soap—mingled with iodine and sulphur. His skin burned to the touch.
“Did you change your mind about me?” he asked.
“I found the letter you wrote to my mother. I wanted to tell you so badly, but you were already gone.” She ran a finger down the side of his face. “We can talk more later. Just know that I am not going anywhere.”
Their eyes met.
“I love you, Daisy. I think I always have.”
His voice trailed off, lids fluttered, and then he was out.