"Oh no, Annie. You want to sit up with your
back to the headboard so I can put the bed table over
your legs."
He put the tray down on the night table and
took hold of my upper arms, pushing me back and
turning me. My feeble resistance had no effect. "Please," I cried. "Please. Let me up." "After you eat and rest, I'll see how you are,
Annie. That's a promise." He smiled as though we
were the best of friends and began to set up my bed
table. Then he put my breakfast tray on it and stepped
back, the corners of his mouth drawn up in a clownish
grin.
He was mad, I thought. Something had
definitely snapped in him last night. There was no
point in trying to reach him.
I gazed down at the tray. There was a glass of
orange juice and some hot oatmeal with what looked
to be honey spread over it. There was the usual dry
toast and a glass of low-fat milk. Rye hadn't prepared this breakfast. Tony must have gotten up early and done it all himself. With him standing over me as he was, I thought I might just as well eat and get some energy in my body. I drank the juice and spooned in some of the oatmeal. The toast tasted like a piece of cardboard, but I washed it down with gulps of milk.
He nodded, his face locked in a maddening smile. After I finished and sat back, he lifted the tray
and then removed the table.
"There now," he said, "that should make you
feel so much better. It does, doesn't it? Now, do you
want me to rub in some body oils?" he asked. "No," I said as emphatically as I could. "No? You mean no because you feel much
better?" "Yes," I said through my tears. "Please,
please, get e my wheelchair."
"After your morning nap, we'll see," he said. He
went to the dresser and took out a new red nightgown,
another of the ones he had brought to me at the
Boston Me orial Hospital. "You should put on a fresh
nightgown. I think this one suits you, don't you? I