“All the nurse had to offer was vanilla, so I went down to the cafeteria.” He held on to the bowl and gave her one of the spoons. “You should be able to scoop it up.”
She did, with the shaky skill of a two-year-old. “This is good, thank you, but you needn’t stay if they won’t let me leave today.” Then she had a terrible thought. “I must look awful.”
“No, not at all, but your hair could use a comb.”
“I should shampoo it. That’s silly of me, isn’t it? I could have died and all that concerns me is my hair. That’s not true, of course, but I don’t want to think at all.”
He leaned down to kiss her and tasted like chocolate. “We have a lot to think about, but not today.”
She’d eaten enough and let him finish the bowl. He’d never been this reserved, and regardless of what he’d said about taking her home, he didn’t need the burden of an invalid’s care. He’d argue that she’d be no trouble for him, but it would be a loving lie. “Where will you be next weekend?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I want to talk with the surgeon. I hope I didn’t sleep through his visit.”
“No, he hasn’t been in yet.”
She saw no trace of his usual fiery temperament and spoke before her courage deserted her. “I want to go home, Rafael. I usually visit my family during the Christmas holidays, but my sisters are home from college for the summer, and they’ll help me with whatever I need. I’ll be back in Barcelona several times a year for the Aragon trust. We can see each other then.”
He set the ice cream bowl on the rolling table and laid his hand against her forehead. “You’re not feverish, but you must need more blood if you think I’ll agree.”
She covered a wide yawn. “I’m so tired.”
“That’s to be expected,” he assured her. “But nothing has changed between us.”
“We’d never made any plans, and you’ve always known I couldn’t stay here indefinitely.”
He lowered his voice to make his words cold and crisp. “Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”
He’d finally shown some of the fierce pride she expected from him. “We need to be practical. As a matador, you’ll have to travel, and I have a place I’m supposed to be in September, even if I can’t hold a pen to grade papers.”
A tall, fair-haired physician, as thin as a pencil, knocked lightly and entered the room. “Good afternoon, I’m Antoine de Guzman, and I had the pleasure of being your surgeon. How are you feeling?”
“Exhausted.” She held out her wrists. “Do you need to check your work?”
“Not yet. I’d like to see you in my office on Wednesday morning. I’ve had calls from tabloids asking about your suicide attempt. Quite naturally, I don’t discuss my patients.”
“I didn’t attempt suicide,” she swore emphatically.
“Of course, not,” the doctor agreed. “I’ve every expectation you’ll recover your usual dexterity. It will simply take time for the tendons I repaired to fully heal. I’d like you to stay with us tonight, and if all is going well, I’ll sign a release for the morning.”
“Thank you.”
He handed Rafael his card. “Will you be bringing her on Wednesday?”
He looked at Maggie to make certain she understood. “Yes, I will.”
“I’ll see you both then. There’s a curious policeman waiting to speak with you. He’ll only grow more annoying if you delay seeing him.”
“Send him in, please,” Maggie replied, but she had no answers. “I barely remember arriving at the beach house, so I can’t add to what you already know.”
Sergeant Villa was a portly man with the booming voice of an opera baritone. “What I know, or was told, is that you were speaking with Mrs. Aragon, your grandmother. Your wrists were slashed, but she failed to summon help. Had you told her you wished to die?”
“What? No, of course not. Is that her story, that I announced I was going to kill myself, and she respected my wishes to the point she’d allow me bleed to death?”
The sergeant’s brows rose to a comical height. “I’ve not visited her as yet, but it’s a plausible story.”
“A story is all it is,” Rafael interjected. He told him how Carmen had shifted the time for Miguel’s funeral. “Does that sound like a loving grandmother to you?”