Read Online The Smart One and the Pretty One by Claire LaZebnik - Free Book Online
Authors: Claire LaZebnik
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it—”
“Daniel,” his mother said. Her voice was soft, but he immediately turned back to her. “I’m thirsty. Could you get me something to drink?”
“I can bring you some water,” the nurse said. Man, she was clueless, Lauren thought. Even from where she was sitting, it was clear that the mother was trying to get rid of the son, give him some time to calm down.
Sure enough, the mother said, “Thank you, but what I’d really like is some juice—there’s usually some in the snack room. Daniel, would you mind—?”
“Of course,” the guy said. “I’ll be right back.” He moved off. As he did, he noticed Lauren staring at them all and narrowed his eyes at her.
As soon as her son was out of earshot, his mother took hold of the nurse’s arm. “Don’t be mad at him,” she said. “He’s just worried.”
“Everyone here is worried,” the nurse said, a little stiffly. “There’s no need to take it out on the staff. We’re doing the best we can.”
“I know you are,” the mother said. “He does too. He just wants to take care of me so badly. He hates that he can’t control this.”
“Maybe he should see one of our social workers,” the nurse said. She pulled on her patient’s arm, straightening it out, turning it palm up, running her finger over the most prominent veins, all with a practiced efficiency and detachment. “They’re very good at helping people deal with their anger and pain. Let me know if you want me to schedule an appointment for him.” She gently stretched the skin on the inside of the woman’s elbow between her thumb and forefinger and studied it, shaking her head. “Too many punctures. Have you talked to your doctor about getting a port put in?”
The woman reached up tentatively to touch her own collarbone. She let her fingers trail down to the skin a few inches below it as if checking to see that the flesh there was still untouched. “He wants me to. But it seems so . . .” She hesitated before saying, “Permanent.”
“I don’t see that you have any choice,” the nurse said. “Your veins can’t take any more sticking. I’m going to let him know that it has to be done.”
The woman nodded briefly and closed her eyes.
The nurse resumed her work in silence. Lauren checked her own mother’s IV bag, which was only a quarter empty. Nancy was watching the TV that hung down from the ceiling, either feigning interest in the talk show that was on or genuinely absorbed by it. “Mind if I stretch my legs?” Lauren said.
“Of course not.” Nancy looked up at her. “I’m sorry this isn’t more entertaining.”
“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Lauren said. “I was expecting nonstop laughter here.”
Nancy said, “Go.”
Lauren found the snack room on the other side of the floor. There wasn’t much to the place; it wasn’t even really a room, just a sectioned-off area with a small dorm-sized refrigerator on the floor, a hip-height counter that ran around the edges, a bunch of drawers and shelves under the counter, and a coffeemaker, microwave, and toaster on top of it.
The area was empty except for one person: the guy who’d yelled at the nurse. He was frowning down at a couple of small packets in his hand, as if their contents offended him. As Lauren entered, he looked up and waved them at her. “Partially hydrogenated cottonseed oil,” he said. “That’s all these cookies are made of. That and sugar. I thought the goal here was to make people healthier. Why would they have these?”
“Yeah,” Lauren said. “Sick people shouldn’t be putting
poison
in their bodies.” She smirked. “Oh, wait—isn’t that
why
they come here?”
“Ha,” he said. He didn’t exactly seem amused, but he did look at her with a little more interest now, pausing to take in the tight jeans, the formfitting T-shirt, the long curly hair she was wearing pinned up in a loose knot with painstakingly arranged tendrils escaping. “Is that gallows
“Daniel,” his mother said. Her voice was soft, but he immediately turned back to her. “I’m thirsty. Could you get me something to drink?”
“I can bring you some water,” the nurse said. Man, she was clueless, Lauren thought. Even from where she was sitting, it was clear that the mother was trying to get rid of the son, give him some time to calm down.
Sure enough, the mother said, “Thank you, but what I’d really like is some juice—there’s usually some in the snack room. Daniel, would you mind—?”
“Of course,” the guy said. “I’ll be right back.” He moved off. As he did, he noticed Lauren staring at them all and narrowed his eyes at her.
As soon as her son was out of earshot, his mother took hold of the nurse’s arm. “Don’t be mad at him,” she said. “He’s just worried.”
“Everyone here is worried,” the nurse said, a little stiffly. “There’s no need to take it out on the staff. We’re doing the best we can.”
“I know you are,” the mother said. “He does too. He just wants to take care of me so badly. He hates that he can’t control this.”
“Maybe he should see one of our social workers,” the nurse said. She pulled on her patient’s arm, straightening it out, turning it palm up, running her finger over the most prominent veins, all with a practiced efficiency and detachment. “They’re very good at helping people deal with their anger and pain. Let me know if you want me to schedule an appointment for him.” She gently stretched the skin on the inside of the woman’s elbow between her thumb and forefinger and studied it, shaking her head. “Too many punctures. Have you talked to your doctor about getting a port put in?”
The woman reached up tentatively to touch her own collarbone. She let her fingers trail down to the skin a few inches below it as if checking to see that the flesh there was still untouched. “He wants me to. But it seems so . . .” She hesitated before saying, “Permanent.”
“I don’t see that you have any choice,” the nurse said. “Your veins can’t take any more sticking. I’m going to let him know that it has to be done.”
The woman nodded briefly and closed her eyes.
The nurse resumed her work in silence. Lauren checked her own mother’s IV bag, which was only a quarter empty. Nancy was watching the TV that hung down from the ceiling, either feigning interest in the talk show that was on or genuinely absorbed by it. “Mind if I stretch my legs?” Lauren said.
“Of course not.” Nancy looked up at her. “I’m sorry this isn’t more entertaining.”
“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Lauren said. “I was expecting nonstop laughter here.”
Nancy said, “Go.”
Lauren found the snack room on the other side of the floor. There wasn’t much to the place; it wasn’t even really a room, just a sectioned-off area with a small dorm-sized refrigerator on the floor, a hip-height counter that ran around the edges, a bunch of drawers and shelves under the counter, and a coffeemaker, microwave, and toaster on top of it.
The area was empty except for one person: the guy who’d yelled at the nurse. He was frowning down at a couple of small packets in his hand, as if their contents offended him. As Lauren entered, he looked up and waved them at her. “Partially hydrogenated cottonseed oil,” he said. “That’s all these cookies are made of. That and sugar. I thought the goal here was to make people healthier. Why would they have these?”
“Yeah,” Lauren said. “Sick people shouldn’t be putting
poison
in their bodies.” She smirked. “Oh, wait—isn’t that
why
they come here?”
“Ha,” he said. He didn’t exactly seem amused, but he did look at her with a little more interest now, pausing to take in the tight jeans, the formfitting T-shirt, the long curly hair she was wearing pinned up in a loose knot with painstakingly arranged tendrils escaping. “Is that gallows
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