He Dreamed of Another Woman's Name

It hadn't been Ray who got contaminated by the patient's blood.

It was Phyllis.

No wonder a man this steady had come apart.

I pressed a hand to my abdomen and told Head Nurse Abbott quietly,

"Go get Dr. Pruitt. She's the only one who can stop him."

She didn't believe me.

"This whole thing started because of her. Bringing her here will only make Dr. Delgado worse—"

She'd barely finished when another voice cut in, cold and furious:

"Ray! Stop it! That's enough!"

Phyllis only shouted it from the edge of the crowd, and Ray's raised fist froze in midair.

Then he let go of the man, scrambled up, and stumbled toward her.

As if remembering the filth all over him, he backed off three steps and kept his distance.

But his eyes clung to her, frantic, full of worry.

"Are you all right? Did you get the shot? Are the results back? Were you infected?"

Four questions in a row, and each one knocked me a little further off balance.

A year ago he and I had been in surgery together. The patient was unconscious too, and the family had deliberately hidden his HIV status.

I'd finished the anesthesia and was pulling the needle when the patient suddenly woke and thrashed.

The needle that had been in him drove straight into the back of my hand.

All Ray said was,

"Go clean it. Take the meds."

Afterward, when I wanted to hold the family accountable, he stopped me.

"Let it go. It's already happened, there's no point chasing it, and doctor-patient tensions are bad enough. Don't make trouble."

He told me not to make trouble.

He never asked if I was scared. He never asked how the results came back.

Now, for Phyllis, he was using that precious right hand of his to beat a family member who hadn't known a thing.

Beating it until the hand was swollen and raw, and not caring in the least.

Anyone who didn't know better would think he was Phyllis's boyfriend.

The next second a man rushed over, shoved Ray aside, and pulled Phyllis into his arms.

"Phyllis, are you okay? Are you scared?"

"Don't worry, you're going to be fine!"

Phyllis's real boyfriend, Byron Jennings, had come.

Ray staggered backward and knocked me to the floor a second time.

Only then did he notice I was there at all.

A bitter, hollow smile crossed his face.

"What are you doing here?"

I didn't answer. I just watched him, watched the way his gaze kept sliding back to the man and woman locked in that embrace.

The envy and jealousy in it, he didn't bother to hide.

He was in love with Phyllis.

But he could never hold her like that, out in the open.

So that was the real reason he dreamed of Phyllis night after night.

I gave a small, self-mocking laugh and walked toward the office.

At the door, I looked back once.

Ray hadn't followed me.

He was doing as Phyllis told him, head bowed, apologizing to the patient's family.

They hadn't forgiven him. They were giving back, blow for blow, every bit of the violence they'd just taken.

And he knelt there on the floor, silently taking one ringing slap after another.

As if he felt my eyes on him, his head snapped up.

There was guilt in his eyes, and hope.

He wanted me to do what I always had: rush to the family, shield him, make his excuses, take the blame for him.

Remembering how he'd once pulled me out of the path of a runaway truck, I turned and started back.

Then a warm rush spilled out of me from below.

That was when it hit me. My period was already half a month late.

I stared at the blood dripping to the floor, and the color drained from my face inch by inch.

I opened my mouth to scream for Ray.

But he was already lurching to his feet, rushing toward Phyllis, who had clutched her head and fainted.

"Phyllis!"

But Phyllis had collapsed into Byron's arms.

Ray's outstretched hand froze in midair, then drew back, useless.