Old Wounds (2 page)

“So, what? You’ll leave me at the hospital by myself if you get called back?” I asked. His twenty-four on, twenty-four off shifts could work to my advantage, but he could also wind up annoying the hell out of me on his off days.

“I won’t just up and leave you there, Soph. I doubt I’ll get called during that short time, but if I do, we’ll figure it out.” He looked at me like he thought I was weird.

After barricading the door and spending a few hours taking down all of the silly little girl drawings and taped-up pictures of rainbows and unicorns, I tried to sleep. I slept like shit though. The house felt foreign and despite the new windows, there was a cold draft. I didn’t usually sleep much anyway. I spent a few hours sitting by my window, watching the breeze sweep leaves from the trees. I liked watching them dance in the air. They seemed light and free. Everything I’ve never felt I was.

The next day, Tom took me to the doctor. Dr. Stephen Dalton’s practice was attached to the hospital. I hated hospitals, but I had to go, so I found myself alone in a little examination room when in walked the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. He had dark, barely-peppered-with-gray hair and looked youngish, but dignified with his professional hair style and well-cared-for fingernails. If this man was Dr. Dalton, he could examine me any day.

“Miss Young?”

I plastered on my best smile. “Sophie,” I corrected him. He smiled at me and my heart thumped like I just finished running a marathon.

“Sophie,” he said, my name sounding even better coming from his mouth. He motioned behind him and a mousey little nurse came through the door. “This is Tracy.” Dammit. Stupid hospital rules about male doctors examining females alone.

The exam was going perfectly fine until he started running his hands over various bones. While I wanted to pretend he was giving me a much more intimate examination than necessary, I couldn’t. My brain froze, hoping that his good looks made him an incompetent physician.

“Hmm.”

I swallowed hard, looking at the ceiling, ignoring his exploring fingers on my collarbone. “What?”

“Have you broken your clavicle before?”

Shit. Taking in a deep breath, I nodded. “Yeah.”

“What about your humerus?” He squeezed my upper arm and I nodded again. “Did no one set it?” He pulled the top of the gown up slightly, covering my collarbone again and then gently helped me into a sitting position, his hands moving to explore my back.

“Um, no.” I could feel my skin flush as I tried to figure out how to get around the truth on this one.

“A few ribs too?”

“I was stupid and I didn’t go to the hospital.” I saw his perfect eyebrow arch in question. “Skateboarding.” It was a lie. I’d never been on a skateboard in all my life.

“Hmm,” he said again, but then he removed his hands and sat down on his little stool, scribbling notes into a chart. “So, how is your diabetes, Sophie?”

I shrugged. “Fine.”

“Are you eating right? Counting your carbs?”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes.”

“Exercising?”

“Yes,” I said, even though I really wasn’t.

“Monitoring your blood-sugar levels?”

God dammit, of course I was. “Yes. Four times a day at least.”

“What
about
insulin?”

I shrugged again. “What about insulin?”

“Are you still taking it?”

Didn’t these guys ever get tired of asking the same damn thing over and over? “Whenever I need it.”

“So daily?”

“Yes,” I sighed, highly annoyed.

He smiled at me and all of my annoyance fled my body. Dumb good-looking doctor. “Well, all we need to do is take a few X-Rays and we’ll be all finished here.”

“X-Rays?” X-Rays had never been a part of the physical exam experience before.

Smiling again, Dr. Dalton nodded. “There are just a few things I’m curious about.”

I was sitting outside of Dr. Dalton’s office, waiting for him and my father to finish up their discussion. We’d been at the hospital for nearly three hours and I was sick of it. The door to the office was slightly ajar, so I could hear their voices as they discussed random things. Dr. Dalton had already filled out the evaluation form that would allow me to go to school, and then they had a ten minute conversation about some sporting event, so I was quite bored with eavesdropping until I heard Dr. Dalton ask, “How well do you know your ex-wife, Tom?”

It took my father a moment to answer. “Well, we were together for a little less than six years, two of them in high school.” He paused. “Why do you ask?”

“How much interaction have you had with her over the years?”

“Not much. Her mother took her when she was four. Sophie’s come out here several times, but Helen’s never come back. Why?”

Dr. Dalton paused, I supposed, for dramatic effect. I held my breath, already sensing where this was going. “Sophie has an incredible amount of old, healed contusions and also more healed broken bones than your average teenager.”

“Well, Helen always said that Sophie’s a klutz.”

“Tom,” Dr. Dalton said with a sigh, “these aren’t the types of injuries one gets from falling down. Is it possible that Sophie’s mother…”

Shit. Shit. Shit. I stopped listening at that point. He was going to say it and Tom would have to think about it. Then Tom would know and he’d probably force me into some kind of conversation about it.

My mind drifted. I could see my reflection in the framed picture of a sailboat across from where I sat. I looked little, tired, and bored, but there was nothing special about me. Well, except for the combination of my hair and eyes. I was sort of a genetic freak of nature with those. Brown hair and crystal blue eyes; two traits that didn’t usually go together, and usually garnered a fair amount of attention, but apart from that I was thin with ugly freckles from the sun.

Tom finally exited the office. “Sophie,” he said, much softer and more careful than ever before. Damn, he knew. “You ready?”

“Yeah. Everything okay?” I couldn’t help but ask.

Tom nodded and gave me a tight-lipped smile, holding up a piece of paper. “You’re free and clear to go to school tomorrow.”

Much to my surprise and eternal gratefulness, Tom didn’t say a word about the information he received from the incredible Dr. Dalton. He simply dropped me off at home, told me to make sure to eat, and then went back to work. I hoped that he would continue this laissez-faire style of parenting.

My day went by quickly as I continued to shift my room into something more suitable. Tom wasn’t much of a housekeeper, so after I finished with my room, I scrubbed the small bathroom upstairs. Cleaning was easy and it kept my mind off of things I usually tried to avoid thinking about. Soon, the upstairs was so sparkling clean I almost didn’t recognize it. I didn’t do Tom’s room, but I went downstairs to clean the living room, bathroom, dining room and kitchen.

The hum of the vacuum lulled my mind into a numb state, allowing me to remember exactly how my collarbone had been broken. Of course, Helen hadn’t taken me to the hospital then, or for any of my other numerous broken bones for that matter. There would have been questions and poorly-concealed dirty looks as the medical professionals made their silent judgments and decided if calling the Department of Children and Families would be necessary.

Looking at Helen and her tiny little five-foot-five frame, one wouldn’t think that she’d be able to inflict such damage, but I knew from experience that she was a force to be reckoned with. It wasn’t that she was so physically strong; it was that she had a lot of fiery passion and aggression within her.

I shook my head as I flipped the vacuum off. I hadn’t had any weed since I’d left Tampa and I was in desperate need of it. Getting some was going to be one of my top priorities at school tomorrow. There had to be some killer bud around and all I needed to do was find the person at Damascus High who could hook me up. I didn’t have much money saved, but I could easily get a job. Besides, in the past it was fairly easy to
hook up
with my hook up. Not that I was a pot whore or anything. It was just easy to find mutual pleasures and typically, when you’re banging someone, they don’t charge you for the shit you smoke when you’re with them. It’s also easy to get them to break you off some for when you’re not.

It was nearing five o’clock when I finally starting hunting around in Tom’s cabinets and refrigerator to see what I could make for dinner. I wasn’t trying to be domestic, but cooking and cleaning were just some of my responsibilities at Helen’s so it wasn’t as if I was stepping outside the realm of traditional Sophie roles.

Tom had next to no food in his house. His fridge was filled with random condiments and a shitload of beer. Damn. If only beer was my preferred method of getting fucked up. It looked as though he had enough to not even miss a few. Well, perhaps I’d be able to stumble across some hidden bottles of the good stuff. The harder stuff. Where only a few shots would leave me warm and peaceful.

I needed to stop fantasizing about getting wasted. Dinner was the most important thing right now. Finally, I found some frozen hamburger and a box of that shitty Helper stuff, so I went to work. It was incredibly unappealing and I would have to talk to Tom about getting actual food into the house.

I ate, watched TV, and went to sleep. The house was quiet, but I still felt better when I barricaded my bedroom door with the wooden computer chair, wedging it up under the doorknob.

The next morning, I was taking my blood sugar as Tom walked in the front door. I watched him as I sat at the dining room table. He kicked off his boots, and some of the mud splattered on the newly-cleaned tile. He looked around, eyeing the state of his house. He must have forgotten I lived with him now. “Sophie?” he called.

“Right here, Tom.”

He looked up and gave me a small smile. “You didn’t have to clean the house.”

“I’m sorry.” My reaction was immediate and I hated myself for apologizing. I would clean if I wanted to.

“What’s that smell?”

“Breakfast, but it’s probably pretty shitty. You need more food.”

He cocked his head. “Watch your language.” I bit my tongue and looked back down at the monitor, picking up my pen to record my results. “Everything okay there?”

“111. Perfectly normal, Tom.”

The rest of breakfast was silent, except for when he said it was good, to which I responded with silence. He handed me a hundred bucks to go shopping for the week before I went upstairs. It would definitely make scoring easier and seeing how well he stocked his pantry, I knew he would have no clue how much money was actually spent on food.

I grabbed my bag and waited for him by the door. I was ready to get the show on the road and be finished with the awkwardness of changing schools mid-year.

I wasn’t exactly nervous about my first day. To be honest, I really didn’t give a shit if I fit in or made friends, or any of that nonsense. I disliked being driven to school by my father. My license had been taken away and I had no vehicle of my own, so my other priority was to find someone who would give me rides to and from school.

Tom made what I figured were typical “Dad” comments before I got out of the car. I was happy to be out of such a confined space with him. He was an okay guy, but being strapped into a moving vehicle mere inches from the man put me on edge.

My first stop was the administration office where I picked up a stupid map of the school and my class schedule. I took a moment before heading back out to peruse it. At least Tom made sure they gave me some of the classes I wanted. I got into Photography, although it was a basic level class and I was already beyond that. U.S. History, blah, Calculus, whatever, Physical Education, was this a joke? British Literature. Okay, I could handle that, even though I doubted the reading list covered anything that would be new to me. Spanish.
Tal vez yo pueda excavar mi cerebro con una cuchara.
Horticulture. I was in it back in Tampa, so at least I could breeze through this class, and most of my others, with only minimal effort. Yes! My personal favorite, Study Hall.

I located all my classes quite easily on the map and went back out into the hall. Students passed me left and right, casting me curious looks, their eyes moving from my feet to the top of my head. Apparently I was endlessly fascinating to the kids of Damascus. As long as none of them talked to me, I’d be okay.