Free The Wild Zone by Joy Fielding Page B

of mine. You wouldn’t say ‘She told I when she got home.’ You’d say ‘She told me. ’ That doesn’t change just because you add another name. I thought your father was at work,” he continued in the same breath.
    “What?”
    “You told the admitting doctors your father was at work at the time of your mother’s accident, that he didn’t know anything about it.”
    “That’s right. He was. He didn’t. He didn’t have anything to do with this.”
    “I didn’t say he did. Is that what you’re saying?”
    “What? No. You’re confusing me.”
    “I’m sorry . . . Miss Carson, is it?” he asked, checking her mother’s chart. “Suzy?” he asked tenderly, her name as soft as a wisp of cotton candy. “Why don’t you tell me what really happened?”
    She shook her head. “I can’t.”
    “Tell me, Suzy. You can trust me.”
    “Nothing happened. Her feet got tangled up in the dog’s leash. She fell.”
    “Her injuries are inconsistent with the type of fall you describe.”
    “Well, maybe I got it wrong. I told you I wasn’t there. I didn’t see what happened.”
    “I think you did.”
    “I didn’t,” Suzy protested. “I wasn’t there.”
    “How’d you get those bruises on your arms, Suzy? Another accident with the dog?”
    “These are nothing. I don’t even remember how I got them.”
    “What about this one?” He pointed to a red mark on her cheek. “It looks pretty fresh.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Your father did this, didn’t he? He caused your mother’s injuries. And yours,” he added softly.
    “No, he didn’t. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Am I through here?”
    “You don’t have to protect him, Suzy. You can tell me what really happened. We’ll go to the police together. They’ll arrest him.”
    “And then what?” Suzy demanded. “Do you want me to tell you what happens next, Dr. Bigelow? Because I can tell you exactly what happens next. My mother gets better, her bruises heal, she comes home from the hospital, she drops all charges against my father, the way she always does. And then we move to another city, and everything’s all right for a few weeks, or maybe even a couple of months, and then bingo—surprise! It starts all over again.”
    “It doesn’t have to be that way, Suzy.”
    “I’m twenty-two, Dr. Bigelow. This has been going on ever since I can remember, probably since before I was born. You think you can just come along and wave your magic stethoscope and make everything better?”
    “I’d like to try,” he said.
    She’d believed him.
    She’d let him talk her into going to the police, let him persuade her to testify against her father, despite her mother’s wishes and fervent denials. He’d been by her side when her father was convicted and sentenced to six months in jail. Of course, he’d ended up serving less than four before being released and sent home to the welcoming arms of his wife. Three weeks later, those same arms had been broken in half a dozen places, along with her collarbone, and she was back in the hospital. Two weeks after the doctors signed her release, her father decided to move the family to Memphis, their eighth move in almost as many years. This time Suzy hadn’t gone with them. She’d stayed in Fort Myers, to be near her protector, the kindly Dr. Bigelow.
    She and Dave were married ten months later. Nine weeks after that, he hit her for the first time. She’d misused “I” and “me.” Of course he apologized profusely, and Suzy blamed herself. He was less apologetic the following month, when he slapped her over another egregious grammatical error. A full-scale beating wasn’t long in coming. Over the last five years, there’d been many such beatings: She took too long getting ready for bed; the pasta she’d prepared wasn’t al dente enough; she’d been “flirting” with the clerk in the bookstore. Too many beatings to keep track of, Suzy thought now, not