Annabel was sure she’d practiced this same song and dance about a thousand times. She’d stitched up various practice dummies, pig skin, and done quite a few in the hospital’s emergency room as she trained to be the nurse that she currently was. She’d had to sweet talk children into letting her do her job, distraction older residents, and even had to persuade drunks every now and then. Still, nothing felt like more of a challenge than stitching up her ex-wife. There was no small talk in the world that could’ve eased either of their pains. If anything, saying more than was needed would only make it worse.
“I’m going to start. Just – tell me if it’s too much.” Then again, what the hell was she supposed to do if the other did just that? She didn’t have a painkiller, not that she’d hand those out even to someone she deemed trustworthy. She couldn’t just stop midway through. Truth was, there was absolutely nothing she could do to ease Delaney’s pain. Gentle fingers worked easily against her palm as Bel began the stitch work that worried them both. “You can do that. If you don’t mind, you can just send me a text and I’ll let you know if I’ll be there that day? If not, you can just leave them at the nurse’s station and I can get them.” Then again, maybe it was best she did that anyway. Lips parted to argue that the drive was something she didn’t mind, but small ounce of thought she was able to maintain told her otherwise.
With the cut being only but two inches, the stitch work passed somewhat quickly to the nurse doing the job herself. She’d gotten lost in her focus that she wasn’t even sure how much time it’d actually taken, or if Del had voiced any pain at all. “You’ll need to come by in a week or so we can make sure the stitches are still looking okay. If you notice anything that doesn’t seem right, please call me,” she paused, “or the hospital.” Once she’d covered up the freshly stitched area of her hand with a loose bandage, Bel pulled off her gloves and stood tall, or as tall as her small frame would allow. “Can I get you anything else?”
Delaney hissed in pain as Annabel set to work, the first stitch sending a blaze of pain crackling through her palm and forearm. For all of the mental preparation she had done in the moments leading up to this, she felt utterly hopeless as her ex-wife basically sewed her hand up. Closing her eyes, she conjured the wisdom of every meditation podcast she’d tried and failed to follow. It wasn’t that she couldn’t sit still long enough to breathe her way to inner peace, she just couldn’t fathom allotting the time necessary to fully immerse herself in it. There were simply too many other things to do in the day. Sitting on the floor for twenty minutes of silence just didn’t have space in her schedule. But now she had the time. Closing her eyes, Delaney did her best to focus on any other sensory experience than that of the sutures being threaded through her skin: the scent of Bel’s perfume, the sound of gleeful children playing beyond the medical tent, the taste of red wine on her tongue.
Her eyes opened only when Annabel rattled off instructions for care. The wound was already out of view, hidden under a layer of gauze and bandaging. “Thank you, Bel,” Delaney said softly, turning her hand over to inspect the work. She hadn’t missed the insistence for her to call Annabel for any issues before the other woman suggested contacting the hospital. “I think I’m going to sit here for a minute and get my bearings before I go.” There was no question in her phrasing; after sitting sitting at the mercy of someone else, she was clawing at some semblance of control. A look passed between the women then ⏤ borne of understanding, appreciation ⏤ and with a quiet nod, they adjourned; Annabel withdrew to dispose of the supplies used, leaving Delaney to sit with her wounded hand cradled in her lap, staring out at the people that passed.
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