Page 142 - In Five Years

Bella nods. “Maybe a sandwich? Do we have cheese?”
Svedka nods and exits.
“Does she have you on a baby monitor?”
“Oh most likely,” Bella says.

She sits up farther now, and I see that she’s bleeding. There is a dark crimson
stain on her gray pajamas. “Bella,” I say. I point. “Stay still.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “It’s no big deal.” But she looks woozy, a little bit
nervous. She blinks a few times rapidly.
Ever alert, Svedka returns. She rushes to Bella, pushes up her pajamas, and,
as if she were a clown, pulls gauze and ointment from her sleeve. She replaces

Bella’s bandages with fresh white wrappings. All new.
“Thank you,” Bella says. “I’m fine. Really.”

A moment later, the door opens. Aaron comes into the bedroom. His arms are
laden with bags—errands, gifts, groceries. I see Bella’s face light up.
“Sorry, I couldn’t stay away. Should I make Thai or Italian or sushi?” He

drops his bags and bends down and kisses her, his hand lingering on her face.
“Greg cooks,” Bella says, her eyes still locked into his.
“I know,” I say.

She smiles. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”
I think about the pile of paperwork I have, Aldridge’s email. “I think I’m
going to head out. You two enjoy. You might want to put on some armor before

entering the kitchen,” I say. I look toward the door at Svedka, who is scowling.
As I gather my things, Aaron climbs into bed with Bella. He gets on top of
the covers, still in jeans, and he gently shifts her so she’s in his arms. The last

thing I see when I leave is his hand on her stomach—gently, tendering, touching
what lies beneath.