Free Waking Up in Dixie by Haywood Smith Page B

“She’s my wife. I want my wife. God, if I don’t have her, my dick’s going to explode!”
    Oh, sweet Lord in heaven! Howe had never talked that way in his life!
    “Sorry about that,” the neurologist said. “We’ve only seen this particular manifestation once before. You two must be very close.”
    “Not exactly,” she said in a masterpiece of understatement. “My husband never talked that way in his life. Ever. No matter what, he was a gentleman.”
    “Lizzie,” Howe said, his arm extended weakly her way. “Please. I need you.” Then he went limp, along with the rising under the sheet.
    Breathing hard, all of them watched Howe and waited for what came next, but when minutes passed with no further activity, they all relaxed a bit.
    “He’s sleeping now,” the doctor said, indicating the EEG. “When he wakes up, we’ll want to do a brain scan so we can compare it to the one we did last week.”
    Elizabeth straightened her clothes and tried to recover her decorum, which wasn’t easy under the wry scrutiny of the watching medical corps.
    Was there a male equivalent for the term
nymphomaniac
? “Is he going to be the way he just was when he wakes up again?” she asked. “Because if he is, I’d like to see some restraints. And a prescription for saltpeter.”
    The underdoctors exchanged amused glances.
    What if he tried to jump her when nobody was around? As always, she projected the worst and tried to compensate for it. Howe had never liked condoms—birth control had always been her responsibility—so there was no telling what his whores had exposed him to.
    “Is he out of the coma for good?” she asked the doctor.
    “We can’t be certain,” he qualified, “but there’s a high probability that he is. This is all so new. We’re only talking forty-five patients over the past eight months who’ve responded to the drug so dramatically. But so far, those who have woken up with such high function haven’t relapsed.” He offered her a consoling nod. “There’s an adjustment period for them, and for their families, that varies from patient to patient, but the results have been good.”
    Adjustment. That was putting it mildly.
    Elizabeth smoothed her hair, compelled to explain, yet wishing she didn’t feel the need. “My husband was a very dignified and private person. I’d hate to see him embarrass himself again.” Or her.
    Lizzie,
for God’s sakes.
    My dick’s going to explode.
Really! Crass, crass, crass!
    Howe Whittington had never, ever talked dirty. Never talked about sex at all. Recalling his outburst, Elizabeth felt a tiny,unexpected stab of lust awaken the part of her she’d long since put to sleep, which only upset her further.
    No way was she having sex with him. Not till she knew he was safe.
    This was the twenty-first century, and promiscuity like Howe’s could kill.
    Thank God the children hadn’t been there.
    Or his mother.
    On second thought, it might have been fun to see the look on Augusta’s face . . .
    “Mrs. Whittington?” the doctor asked. “Are you all right?”
    “I was just . . .” She bent close to the neurologist, feeling her face go hot. “Could you please do a complete STD test on my husband?” she murmured. “We haven’t . . .”
    “Oh.” The doctor’s eyebrows shot up, but he kept his response low. “Of course.” He glanced at her in sympathy. “Of course. I’ll let you both know when the results come in.”
    “Thank you,” she said, doing her best to keep the others from overhearing, “but considering what my husband’s been through, and the . . . unusual condition of his current mental state, would it be possible to discuss the results with me, instead?” Her cheeks prickled with heat. “I need to know if he’s . . .
safe.
”
    There it was again. That pesky stab of ancient desire, Lord help her.
    The doctor considered briefly, frowning, then nodded. “It’s bending things a bit, but under the circumstances, since he’s