WHAT THEY GAVE HIM

Nico released my hand.

For a moment, I thought he'd ask me to repeat myself. Instead, he said, "Can you explain that somewhere we don't have an audience?"

We went to the library. He told Paul to wait in the corridor, left the door open, and nodded at my phone.

"First, call Wes."

My neighbor June answered on the third ring. My brother was already in pajamas, complaining because she wouldn't let him have cereal for dinner. His voice came through the speaker, impatient and wonderfully ordinary.

"Are you coming tomorrow?"

"I am, sweetheart. Something happened at work tonight."

"Was it the grumpy man?"

I closed my eyes.

Nico raised an eyebrow.

"He can hear you, Wes."

A short silence.

"Good evening, sir."

"Good evening. Does your sister call me that often?"

"Only when she's tired."

Nico looked at me.

"That would be often, then."

I promised to call again in the morning. When I put the phone down, he still wore the faintest trace of a smile.

"Grumpy?"

"You don't respond well to suggestions."

"You start making them before I've had coffee."

The humor didn't last. I checked the places he said hurt, documented what I found, and recommended an in-person assessment. Nico agreed, provided it wasn't with the physician his father had chosen.

I pulled up a chair and placed my phone on the table between us.

"Six days ago, I found a discrepancy between your prescription and the electronic chart. It could have been an error. I told Dr. Bell."

I showed him the dated photograph.

"The next morning, the entry had changed. No identified correction, no explanation."

He enlarged the image.

"And the pills?"

"They were in a bottle in the cabinet, but they didn't look like the tablets I'd been administering. I set two aside, documented what I found, and left the rest untouched. I don't know what they are. Someone independent needs to identify them."

"Did you tell Bell?"

"I told him the contents needed checking. That afternoon, Camille asked why I was counting pills as though I worked in a prison."

Nico went quiet.

I could hear the clock above the fireplace and the last guests leaving the foyer.

"You should have told me that day."

"I should have."

There was no point pretending it had all been professional caution. I'd been afraid. The salary, my brother, the Alfieri name on the contract. All of it had mattered.

"I thought I could get an explanation before I frightened you. Then I realized my questions were getting back to the wrong people."

"And you didn't know if I was one of them."

I nodded.

He ran his thumb along the edge of the table.

"That makes me angry. The fact that you had a reason makes me angrier."

I'd met him three months earlier, beside that same window. He'd informed me I was the fourth nurse and advised me not to try to make him like me. I'd said I intended to manage his care, not compete for his affection.

He'd said they'd finally hired someone sensible.

Then we'd discovered that my patience ended when he concealed pain to get through another set of exercises, and his ended when someone touched his wheelchair handles without asking.

Now his left hand was clenched the way it always was when his pain got worse.

"Are you feeling anything?"

"An overwhelming urge to smash that lamp."

"I meant your shoulder."

"That doesn't feel great, either."

I did what I could while he made calls. During the first, he asked for an address. During the second, he said, "Rafael, I need you here. In person."

I couldn't hear the reply, but I saw his expression change.

"No. Don't tell my father. That's the reason I'm calling you."

Afterward, he explained that Rafael Cruz had run his security for years. Matteo had transferred him to an out-of-town operation after the crash.

"He tried to visit," Nico added. "Camille said I'd turned him away."

"Did you?"

"A few times. The other times, I was probably asleep."

I remembered whole afternoons when he could barely finish a sentence. I'd been told it was part of his recovery. I'd begun to question that when the episodes fell into a pattern, particularly after nights when other people handled his care.

Nico rubbed his face and winced when his fingers reached the mark on his cheek.

"How can you tell when I'm getting worse?"

"You take longer to answer. You stop complaining about the coffee. And you lean to the left to compensate for the dizziness."

"You pay too much attention."

"You hide too much."

He looked at me long enough for the silence to change. I was putting my supplies away near his knees. Suddenly, I was aware of his hand resting inches from mine.

A knock separated us, although we hadn't touched.

Edna came in with water and an ice pack wrapped in a towel.

"Your father's here."

Nico straightened.

Matteo didn't wait for an invitation. Still in his overcoat, he looked at the ice, his son's face, and finally me.

"Camille is very upset."

Nico gave a humorless laugh.

"She should have kept her hands to herself."

"I won't discuss your private life in front of an employee."

"Then wait in the hall. I'm finishing a conversation with her."

Matteo's face remained calm. That frightened me more than shouting would have.

"You're exhausted. Bell agrees. You're being transferred to the facility tomorrow. Arrangements are underway."

"I haven't authorized a transfer."

"The staff need proper conditions. Here, you interfere with everything."

He laid a sheet of paper on the table. The facility's name was at the top. Beneath it was a list of approved care providers.

My name wasn't on it.