On Friday, Oliver left the hospital fifteen minutes after Suzanne drove out of the parking lot. It had been a tense week. He wasn't any closer to the missing $185,000, and he didn't understand what was happening to him personally. He had avoided Suzanne, although at least once a day he put his head in her door and they exchanged smiles, a moment that was a relief to both of them.
When he got out of the Jeep, Suzanne was standing in her doorway. "You remembered how to get here. Come on in." She shut the door behind him and came into his arms. "Hi, Stranger," she said.
He breathed in the familiar minty smell of her hair which was brushed out fully and freely to her shoulders. "God, you smell good." She squeezed him and stepped back.
"Let's get that coat off you." She had changed into dark brown cotton pants, a cream colored T-shirt, and a red plaid flannel shirt, unbuttoned. She hung his jacket on a peg by the door.
"You look great," Oliver said. It was the truest thing he had said all week.
"Thank you." She stopped a moment, pleased. "I put the water on. Want some tea? Some lunch?"
"Tea would be good. I'm not too hungry—maybe a piece of toast?" He followed her to the kitchen. "I've got a headache."
"I thought you looked tense. Well, you just let me fix you right up." She pointed to a chair, and he sat down. She knelt by his feet. "Boots," she said, untying the laces, "here we go." She pulled them off and led him into her bedroom. "Lie down there; I'll be right back." Oliver stretched out. He heard water running. Suzanne came in with a washcloth that she doubled and placed across his forehead and eyes. It was cool and moist. "There," she said. He felt her hands on his ankles and then his socks were drawn off. She loosened his belt and fluttered a light cover over his knees and bare feet. "There," she said again, satisfied.
Oliver was rarely sick. It was odd but comforting to be treated like a patient. He relaxed into the coolness of the washcloth as sounds floated in and out of consciousness. Suzanne moved around the house. A jazz combo started up quietly in the living room.
"Feeling better?"