No Gabriel and Alex today, though. A bit of a turning point for Leesie. Question, mull this over. Do you think this works from Michael's point of view? It's happening to Leesie, so it would be more natural for her to narrate, but it's Michael's turn and I like his reaction. The next part of the chapter will be a poem from Leesie that must be in her point of view.
And I discovered something important I've been leaving out. Leesie's engagement ring. Hello. We can't forget that. I'll have to go back and weave it in. This ring serves as an invested object. Great tool. It's got a whole history tied up with it, so whenever Michael looks at it or Leesie touches it or the sun hits the diamond, we're reminded of everything that it means to them. That's one thing that I always work hard to develop better when I revise. So for today, pretend like Leesie's ring has been hanging around her neck on Michael's chain shortly after they got to the apartment, okay?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG – VOLUME #10
Dive Buddy: Leesie
Date: 06/08
Dive #:
Location: Grand Cayman
Dive Site:
Weather Condition:
Water Condition:
Depth:
Visibility:
Water Temp:
Bottom Time:
Comments:
Dove this morning. Seth and Dani. She ran the show. Whatever else you say about her, she knows her stuff. Great with the people on the boat. Not just the guys. Even the kids and their moms.
I’m off this afternoon to take Leesie to her appointment at the rehab place. She got all dolled up for the nurses. Pretty white dress and the hip white scarf twisted around her head—I hadn’t noticed the silver and white beads tied onto the fringe. Lots of makeup. The only color she’s got on is the bead and shell necklace she thought was Suki’s. It’s the first time Leesie’s worn it. Progress? I think so.
“Ah, Sugar, look at you!” Her favorite nurse greets her with a hug. “So pretty! Better, no?”
Leesie blinks, getting emotional. “No more pills.” She’s refused to even take over-the-counter pain pills since that same night.
“Good for you.” Sugar pats her back, the quintessential mother.
We wait for the doctor in a treatment room. She’s nervous. “What if it’s not fixed right?” She holds up her hand, twists it trying to see under cast and inside to the bones.
I take her hand. “Don’t worry.”
“What if he says I have to keep wearing the cast?”
“Then my plans for tomorrow are wrecked.” I want to get her in the water so bad.
“What if the ring doesn’t fit?” She’s been wearing it around her neck on my chain afraid she’ll lose it stuck on the top of her finger. [need to work this in earlier—I’ve totally spaced on all references to the ring. Fix that. How does it look with the other necklace? Hmmm.]
“We’ll stop at a jeweler downtown and they can resize it.”
“I don’t want to have fat fingers.”
I bring her fingers to my lips and kiss them. “Your fingers are fine.”
She tips her head to rest against my cheek. “I love you.”
“I know.”
She sticks her tongue out at me and the doctor walks in. Leesie gets cherry red and flustered, but the dude has his nose in her chart.
“Let’s see what we’ve got now.” He directs Leesie to perch on one of those doctor’s office exam tables. He checks how the wound on her head is healing. “Any headaches?”
“Only him.” Her eyebrows rise in my direction.
The doctor laughs. “How’s your nose?” His expert fingers press along the ridge of her nose, stop at the slight bump from the break. “Is it still tender here?”
“Not very.”
“Any nosebleeds?”
“No.”
“Good.” He unlatches her sling and pulls it off.
The dress is bare on top, shows how tan she’s getting.
The doctor runs his fingers all along her collarbone—spends extra time around the break. “This has healed nicely. Have you been using your arm?”
“Some.” She looks down at the white skirt of her dress draped over her knees.
“A lot.” I fold my arms across my chest.
She glares.
“Good.” The doctor helps her put the sling back on. “Wear the sling as needed for another two weeks. But you can take it off for exercise. Swimming would be good. Are you doing your physio?”
“Yes. Every day.”
Physio and more. She works out until she hurts. I think she wants to be buff like Alex. I got to change her mind on that one.
The doctor finally gets to her hand. He rolls a wheelie table in front of her and takes an electric saw with a round whirling blade out of a drawer. “Rest your hand here.” He puts on safety glasses and revs up the saw. “Hold still.”
The blade whirrs and kicks up a billow of white dust. It’s hot in that room. Airless. A vision of him cutting her hand right off invades. I breathe faster and faster like a newbie diver in panic mode. Choke on the dust.
Leesie stops the doctor with a touch on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
I wipe my face. “Fine.”
“Good—look.” She holds her hand up so I can see her cast hangs on by a mere half inch width.
The doctor puts down the saw and opens a drawer. “I’ll use my scissors on that. Don’t want to slice open your hand.”
He really didn’t need to say that.
I take a deep breath, move closer for a better view. Snip. Snip. He pulls the cast off and her hand emerges.
Pale, clammy, greenish contrasted with her tan fingertips. She turns it over. Four faint scars curved to fit my fingernails emerge and memory blurs my vision. She’s holding my hand for the very first time, talking about angels, and I hang on to her so tight I hurt her.
She sees them, too. Remembers? I hope so. I need her to remember the power and conviction she bathed my wounds with that night. I wish I could bathe hers like that now.
Not my element.
Saltwater, though. Healed me up fine in the end. It should work for her, too. A good place to start.
Tomorrow.
