Conduct in Question

Chapter 19

After several hours of surgery, two of Harry’s ribs were reconstructed. Racing to the surface of consciousness, he cried out, “Natasha!” He gasped. The pain was intense.

Two nurses worked over him. “Mr. Jenkins? How are you feeling now? You’ve had a nasty bit of business, haven’t you?” The voice was unbearably loud and cheery, Harry thought. Surely this was not a normal tone. He tried to open his eyes, but the light forced them shut.

Someone took his pulse and said, “We’ve been trying to reach your wife, Mr. Jenkins. You’ve had a bad fall, but the doctor says the ribs will heal well.”

The nurse was very young. As the anesthetic wore off, her face became clearer. She looked just like his sister, Anna, at thirteen.

She placed his wrist on the bed cover and recorded all his readings on his chart. His head throbbed above his eyes and at his temples.

“What happened to me?” Harry asked, trying to turn his head on the pillow.

The nurse glanced up at him. “Remember, Mr. Jenkins? You were knocked down the stairs at someone’s house.”

Rosie’s contorted face flashed before his eyes. She must have been dead.

“You had a visitor earlier,” said one of the nurses as she adjusted the IV bag. Harry only murmured a reply.

“Very pretty, too,” the nurse laughed.

Harry’s eyes flew open. “Who was it?”

“She said her name was Natasha.”

“Really?” Harry grinned. When he tried to sit up, he gasped with pain.

The nurse laughed. “Aha! We’d better get her back here. She’ll bring you back to life fast enough.”

“Where is she?”

“She had to leave, but don’t worry: she said she’d be back.” The nurse patted his hand and left.

Harry tried to concentrate on Marjorie and Rosie, but Natasha took over his thoughts. Sinking downward, he reached out to touch her. Her black mink coat slid silkily between his fingers. He knew Laura had not come. She was gone, like his sister, beyond his reach. He slipped back into sleep.

Harry could hear voices out in the hall. The door opened.

“What the hell happened to you, Harry?”

He felt a hand on his arm. Blinking his eyes open, he saw Stephen.

“I got knocked downstairs by a corpse.”

“What?”

“I yanked a door open at the Deighton house,” Harry murmured. “Rosie’s corpse flew out. I lost my balance and fell.” Harry smiled feebly. “Scared the hell out of me and Natasha.”

Stephen pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down. “Jesus, Harry! That sounds like a really bad murder mystery.”

Harry smiled wanly. “I know,” he whispered. “But honest to God, it did actually happen.”

“Who’s Natasha? Rosie?”

Harry struggled to sit up, but fell back; the pain was too intense. He had to concentrate. “Rosie’s the housekeeper for a client of mine. And Natasha…well, she’s a realtor.” He knew the anesthetic had not worn off. The painkillers muddled his thoughts, but did not stop his talk.

“I’m sick of this damned ‘duty’ stuff.” Harry gasped in pain. “I’m stuck in a dead marriage and can’t seem to live my own life.” His head dropped back onto the pillow. “I want out.” He felt his guard vanishing and he didn’t care. “I’m completely fed up. I want…”