The Battered Heiress Blues Read Online Free

now, Jewels. You need to rest.”
    I laid him in my lap and wrapped him in the same manner I found him, tucking the edges in like a package. I was a natural. A stray lock of hair poked out of the blue knit cap and my fingers were drawn to the curl.
    “Can you find a pair of scissors for me?”
    He left and quickly returned, offering the scissors and a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. He knew what I was after. Snipping the brown curl, I carefully wrapped it in the embroidered cloth and stared at that beautiful face awhile longer, kissing my son’s cold cheeks. He didn’t have that baby smell like I expected. He smelled sterile, like his surroundings.
    The nurse knocked on the door and walked in front of me with outstretched hands. She didn’t speak, but I knew exactly what she expected of me. The exchange felt like it took place in slow motion. She was kind and patient as he lingered in my arms. Once relinquishing my hold, she whisked him away before I could change my mind. He would soon be on his way back to the States, without me.
    My belly remained sore, but the doctors were pleased with the progress. After removing the drains, they marveled at how the incisions were neatly sutured. The chief surgeon gave me instructions about refraining from lifting for another month and cautioned about physical intimacy for awhile. Then he delivered grim news. My uterus had suffered a serious insult and was weak. The chances of being able to sustain a future pregnancy were slim. He encouraged me to seek the advice of a specialist when the time was right. In my view, there would never be another time. They should have removed it when they took Connor.
    Our days in Lima were spent roaming the hospital halls. The doctors lamented about the necessity of being mobile, instructing me to make daily laps around the surgical ward. At first, walking was dreadful. When I stood upright, my abdominal muscles and the underlying sutures felt like they were tearing me in half, causing a great deal of pain. I saw very little reason to venture out and comply, but Henry was a serious task master- a real masochist. Within a few days of his regimen, I was no longer hunched over. The exercise stayed off the blood clots that would have tried to form in my legs had I remained in bed.
    Henry slept in my hospital room night after night, refusing to go to a hotel. Once Connor left, he gravitated toward lying in bed with me. I looked forward to this time every night when his arms built a protective barrier between me and the rest of the world. In the morning, he would walk me to the shower and assist in washing my hair. After helping me dress, he’d sweetly brush my curls out, before making me comply with his carefully devised exercise program. With lunch digested, we’d participate in the beautiful custom known as the siesta, watching one of the English speaking channels on the television until I drifted off. There was a short period of time, between CNN and REM sleep, which left me anxious, thinking of Connor alone. I wanted to crawl out of my skin or peel it off altogether, but I didn’t want Henry to know I was troubled. I didn’t want to burden him further. I would solve my own problems. A Spencer shouldn’t need to be rescued. I found myself counting backwards from one hundred slowly, usually making it to thirty-four, before my consciousness shut down and I was alone with my son. In my dreams, we played together. He laughed and smiled. The visions felt real and fulfilling. Waking only led to great disappointment because it ended the fantasy.
    Over the course of the week, with little else to do, I began to notice how the nurses adored Henry. They paid me very little attention, but offered to have his clothes laundered and food brought in from local restaurants. If I weren’t so sad and tired, I might have minded. What they didn’t realize was that Henry was one of those men that didn’t know how attractive he was. Flirting was wasted on him. His