Providence (The Velvet Series Book 2) Page 7

  Katrina answers the door, and it’s clear that she is shaken. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t want to bother you, hadn’t planned to, but…” Katrina trails off and shakes her head as she looks at the floor.

  “It’s alright.” I follow Katrina to the kitchen where I see she has a bottle of whiskey sitting on the counter and a tumbler with a few fingers in it.

  “Can I pour you some?” Apparently, I eyed the whiskey a little too closely.

  “Sure. Could I trouble you for a water as well?” Katrina turns to the cupboard and pulls out a tumbler and a glass, fills the glass with ice water from the refrigerator and returns to stand opposite me. Her hand is heavy as she pours the whiskey and I easily have three to four fingers sitting in front of me. Katrina says nothing as she downs hers and pours herself another. She turns away from me again, walking back to the refrigerator and opening the door.

  “Can I offer you anything to eat? Apparently, everyone thought I was starving or that I should eat my feelings.” While Katrina is trying to be polite, I can sense the anger starting to build-up below the surface, seeping out in her mannerisms and her tone.

  “Have you eaten anything?” I’m not particularly hungry, but I’m worried that Katrina hasn’t eaten since breakfast this morning, especially if she is drinking like this.

  “Breakfast.”

  “Why don’t you eat with me?” Katrina opens her mouth to protest, but closes it when she sees the look of disapproval I give her. She pulls two bowls out of the refrigerator, puts one in the microwave and sits the other on the counter near me.

  “Soup and salad?” She takes another deep drink from her tumbler.

  “Sure.” She tries to turn her back to me again, but I stop her by grabbing her arm. “Hey. What the hell happened today?” I can see some of the fight go out of her, she knows I will make her talk.

  “Nothing really. My phone has been blowing up since Friday evening, people asking if I’m ok, wanting to know where I am, if I need anything… As soon as I told one person I was at home, everyone seemed to know. People have been in and out of here all day. That would have been exhausting by itself, but to top it off they show up, and I have to deal with their grieving, their sadness and I had to look at the pity in their eyes all day. I just wanted to be alone today, to deal with being back here with her ghost haunting me in every inch of this damn house.” Katrina is nearly shouting by the time she finishes. The microwave beeps but neither of us move to retrieve the soup.

  “Feel better?” Katrina looks at me, questioning my meaning. “Well, do you? You obviously needed to get that off your chest. That isn’t the answer,” I say pointing to the bottle of whiskey. Katrina takes a deep breath, releases it and drops her head. The microwave beeps again; as if it’s impatient to have the contents removed.

  “You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just that…I don’t know.” Katrina turns her attention to the microwave, finally relieving it of the imaginary burden.

  “Hey, you can unload on me if it helps. Tell people you need your space if that’s what you require. Just don’t sit here trying to drown your sorrows.” Katrina sits the bowl of soup on the counter in front of me, a slight smile playing at her lips. A small chuckle escapes her, and I wonder if she has started to crack.

  “Sorry I unloaded on you, it isn’t you, please know that. You’ve been great. I don’t ever see those pitying looks, I don’t have to worry about you breaking down…you know?”

  “You don’t have to apologize for your feelings. Just try to remember that those people today were friends with both of you. They’ve lost someone too, not on the same level that you have, but they have. You have a right to feel everything that you’re feeling, just be careful not to take it out on those trying to offer you support.” Katrina looks ashamed as she stirs her potato soup. “Don’t feel ashamed, I’m not scolding or judging you. You asked me to come over here, I assume for a reason, I just want to ensure that you’re alright, or as alright as you can be.” Katrina nods and takes another bite of her soup. As we eat the small meal, Katrina asks about my day after we parted company. I’m happy to see that she neglects the remaining whiskey in her glass opting to switch to water. She stays quiet as she cleans up, this time the silence between us is uncomfortable, the heavy silence between two people when both know that one person needs to ask for something that they haven’t worked themselves up to requesting yet. The clock reads that it is approaching 8:30, nearing my usual bedtime. I’m still waiting for the real reason Katrina asked me over to come out, but don’t want to push her. She invites me into the den to watch a movie, a movie I know I’ll likely never make it through, yet I agree to watch. She starts up Fight Club, and I feel her staring at me.

  “This an ok pick?”

  “Yeah, it’s a classic in my book. I’m going to be honest though, I might not make it through the whole movie.” Katrina laughs.

  “Past your bedtime? Need a blanket?” Well, at least she is joking around a little bit, better than when I first arrived.

  “More like approaching my bedtime. I’m fine without the blanket, thanks.” We continue to watch the movie in silence. I try to become fully immersed in it, but thoughts of why Katrina called me over still weigh heavy on my mind. About halfway through the movie, I feel myself start to doze off. I look over to find Katrina fast asleep. I look around the den for a blanket but don’t see one. I debate with myself whether or not I should start searching the nearby closets for one or if I should just stay where I am. Finally deciding that Katrina’s warmth outweighs the guilt I’ll feel looking through her closets, I extract myself from the comfortable sofa to begin my search. Katrina’s eyes snap open at the slight movement, the visible disorientation only lasting a few seconds.

  “Are you leaving?” It seems like the question is laced with a little bit of sadness.

  “No, I was just going to look for a blanket for you. You fell asleep. I didn’t want you to get cold, and I didn’t want to wake you. I probably should get going though, I have surgery in the morning.”

  “Actually, I…” Katrina looks at her hands, seemingly unable to make her request.

  “Do you need me to stay?”

  “Would you mind? I have a guest room you can use, I’m planning on sleeping on the couch.”

  “Why would you…right.” It takes me a few seconds to connect the dots. Katrina can’t bring herself to sleep in the bed that she and Jill shared for so many years. I know that I’ll likely regret it tomorrow, but the part of me that always wants to help people can’t say no. “Why don’t you take the guest bed and I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

  “Are you sure, you have to operate tomorrow. You’d probably sleep better in the guest room.” She’s right on all counts, but I know I’ll be fine.

  “I’m sure, besides I’ll likely be up and out before you wake up. I just need to get the overnight bag from my car.” Katrina gives me a look that conveys her shock.

  “You knew what I needed?”

  “I suspected, yes.” I head towards the entrance, slip on my shoes and retrieve my bag from my car. When I return to the den Katrina is arranging a pillow and some blankets for me. I set my bag down next to the sofa and Katrina surprises me by pulling me into a big hug.

  “Thank you. Thank you doesn’t begin to cover everything you’ve done for me the last couple of days, but thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. If you need anything I’ll be here, don’t be afraid to wake me. I’ll check on you between cases tomorrow.” Katrina nods and makes her way upstairs.

  *****

  A sharp clatter rouses me from my sleep. I sit up, briefly disoriented as to where I am. Reality sets in when I hear Katrina’s expletive emanate from the kitchen. The smells of breakfast hit me then, coffee brewing and bacon frying. I fold the blankets and leave them and the pillow in a neat pile on one end of the sofa before making my way towards the heavenly aromas.

  “Morning,” I say as I stifle a yawn. Katrina nearly jumps out of
her slippers and one hand shoots to her chest. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” She grabs a coffee mug and pours me a cup. “There are a few different creamers in the refrigerator. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks. What’s all of this?” I ask, indicating the multiple frying pans Katrina has working on the stove. I find the french vanilla creamer and dilute my coffee, hoping I can get enough caffeine to jump start my workout free morning. Katrina turns and looks at me briefly, I can see the dark circles under her eyes. Either she didn’t sleep at all, or she slept fitfully.

  “I wanted to make you breakfast. You were nice enough to stay here last night, on my couch. I know this isn’t how you typically start your day. I put some towels in the bathroom if you’d like a shower.” Katrina quickly forces each sentence out as she shifts her focus between frying pans.

  “Thanks, that would be great.” I head down the hallway to the bathroom, coffee in hand, hoping that the combination of coffee and a shower will get me moving.

  Loaded up on bacon, eggs, pancakes and two cups of coffee, I thank Katrina and head for the hospital. Halfway there it’s apparent that my body misses getting the endorphins going. I know I’m going to need a double shot from the coffee shop to really get myself through the morning. I make my way to the doctor’s lounge to review my cases, happy that my first case is a quick fat grafting case to finish filling in a few areas around a set of bilateral implants. I also have an exchange of expanders for implants case and an implant exchange for reduction case. I silently hope that I have a good tech, or today could easily become a long day. I’m thankful when I find out I have Alex in my room today. Her relationship with Catherine is the best thing to happen to my surgery rotation in a long time.

  We knock out the first case, and I head out to manage my usual post op activities. Once finished, I send a text to Katrina checking in. She responds quickly letting me know she is doing alright. It occurs to me that I might actually be bothering her with the texts, so I message her again asking her if it does. She assures me that it doesn’t. I let her know I’ll check in again after my next case and head back down to the OR. Alex has the room turned over in record time, and my patient is being intubated when I arrive. An extra bit of luck falls into my lap when Dr. Yates, a fourth-year resident, shows up, enabling Abby and me to operate on both sides simultaneously. We finish up the case, I do my usual post operative tasks and head up to grab a quick lunch in the cafeteria. Sushi and a soda in hand, I find a vacant seat and check in with Katrina. She responds that she’s ok and asks if I am done for the day. I let her know I have one more case, but should be done by four at the latest. I also ask again if she needs anything. She assures me she’s ok, so I shrug it off, inhale my food and head back downstairs. Abby and company are prepping the patient when I return. I’m happy to see that Dr. Yates is joining us again, meaning this case should go pretty quickly.

  I break scrub at 3:30 and head out to take care of my required tasks. Tasks completed, I head upstairs to check on the one patient I have staying in house. Everything seems fine with her, leaving me free to head home. I pull into my driveway and am surprised to see an obviously upset Katrina sitting on my porch. I park in the garage and sneak under the door as it starts to close, making my way over to Katrina.

  “Sorry to ambush you like this, I just didn’t know where to go or who I could deal with talking to.” I unlock the front door and let us into the house.

  “It’s alright, what happened?” I stop just inside the entryway, sensing that something isn’t right.

  “When you texted me after your second case I was speaking with a detective that had stopped by. They caught the guy, the guy that…” Tears start streaming down Katrina’s cheeks. I don’t need her to finish the sentence, I know what’s happened. I give her a hug before leading her to the kitchen. I put on a kettle of water to make us some tea and join Katrina at the bar while I wait for it to boil.

  “You could have told me this earlier. I could have figured something out if you needed someone there.”

  “No, you can’t cancel your cases for this. Besides I wasn’t sure how I felt, I still don’t know how I feel or am supposed to feel about it. Am I supposed to feel happy because they caught the guy? Relieved? Angry?”

  “How do you feel about it?”

  “Like all those things are in a bag that someone keeps shaking up. I’m happy that they caught the guy, and that he confessed. Apparently, he had his license taken away last year because of multiple drunk driving offenses. I’m relieved that he won’t have an opportunity to do it again, at least not for a long time. More and more though I’m angry. Angry about all of it. That he was given so many chances, that I had to make the decision to remove life support, that she’s gone long before she was supposed to be, that our time was cut short.” The tea kettle goes off as Katrina becomes increasingly animated; like her anger is responsible for heating the water. I turn the stove off and assess Katrina. It’s clear that she’s angry, but her jeans and t-shirt aren’t ideal for what I have in mind.

  “Wait here a second, I’ll be right back.” I head to my bedroom and change into a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt. I grab a second set for Katrina, estimating her to be similar in size. I return to the kitchen and hand them to Katrina, who eyes me with a quizzical look. “Go put these on and meet me in the basement.” To my surprise, she doesn’t argue. I head downstairs and turn on my iPod. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs start up, good for working off some angst for sure. Katrina joins me and looks at me expectantly. “Are you angry?” She gives me an are you kidding me look, she’s clearly not amused. “Well, are you? Are you pissed off?”

  “Yeah, I am!” Her voice booms over the music.

  “Good. Own it, admit it. You want to hit something?” This time she looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Not me. The bag maybe,” I wave my hand at the punching bag hanging from the ceiling. Katrina nods, the anger still blazing in her eyes. “Ok. Do you know how to properly make a fist and throw a punch?” She balls up her fist, and I’m pleased to see that she isn’t amongst the many who tuck their thumb inside of their curled fingers. “Good.” She moves to punch the bag, and I have to physically restrain her. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on there. Just one second.” If I thought she was pissed before the fire in her eyes burns threefold now. I quickly make my way to the storage closet and pull out a set of gloves. “Use these, you’ll thank me later.” I help her put the gloves on and watch as she gets used to how they feel. “Go ahead and hit the bag when you’re ready.” I barely get the sentence out before she takes a swing at the bag. Her form is sloppy. I try to correct her, but she is going to town. Knowing that this is what she needs, I allow her to take her emotions out on the bag. After a minute or so she stops and I think it’s because she has tired, only I quickly realize that she is sobbing, her mood swinging in an entirely new direction. She struggles with the gloves, fighting to get them off but gives up and slumps against the wall before I can help her. I cross the room to her and sit down on the floor at her feet, freeing her hands from the gloves. She wraps her arms around her legs and rests her head on her knees as she cries. I sit uselessly in front of her, waiting for her to calm down or let me know what she needs. When she finally looks up I know, she needs a tissue, something I don’t keep down here. I get up and grab a towel from the storage cabinet, knowing anything she throws at it will wash out. I hand it to her and she looks at me, but uses it when I nod my head to let her know it’s ok. She stands up and her eyes dart between me and the bag. “You want to try again?”

  “Yeah, I do. I don’t even understand why. I’ve never been an angry person, but every day I feel it taking me over, bit by bit.”

  “Let me show you a few things.” I slip the gloves on and show Katrina the proper way to throw a jab. After I demonstrate one in real time, I take it step by step, telling her to mimic my actions. I go over the proper stance with her, ensuring her feet are the appropriate d
istance apart, her hips remain inside her feet and her knees are slightly bent. I also tell her that it’s important to keep her hands up and her elbows pointing toward the floor. She looks tight, so I remind her to relax, that tightening up early will slow down her speed. When I’m confident she understands everything up to this point, I show her an actual jab in slow motion, making sure she understands the extension and rotation of the arm. We go over this a few times, and I have her demonstrate a few to me. When I’m confident she has it, I slip off the gloves and assist her with them one more time.

  “How do you know all of this?”

  “I had a friend in high school whose father trained Golden Gloves fighters. He was worried about me going off to college and wanted to make sure I could defend myself. So he gave me lessons.” Katrina gets into her proper stance and tries a few basic jabs. Once I’m confident she has it down, I show her how to expand on it. She practices until she’s out of breath and markedly more relaxed than she was before we started. I shut off the iPod, and we head back upstairs for some water. “Feel any better?”