Chapter Two

“OK.” Sam took a deep breath, caught the eye of a hovering nurse. “Now, Mr. Noah Matthews, who I met here three years ago with your sister Sarah Matthews, trauma patient, the first thing that doctors do is look at injuries.”

The nurse nodded, rushed off to the computer.

“I have one,” Noah said, pointing at his head. “So you can look at mine. But what am I going to look at?”

“My elbow,” Sam said.

“It hurts?”

“Yep.”

“Is there blood?”

“Not anymore.”

“Oh.” Noah was clearly disappointed. “I want to look at blood like you do.”

“That can maybe be arranged. First though, let me show you how to examine a patient. Watch close now.”

“OK.” Noah stared at Sam, almost unblinking. “I’m watching.”

“So…” This was the tricky part, and Sam knew it. “It means touching a person. Can I touch you, Noah?”

“Yes, Doctor Sam.”

“OK, good. Slow and easy.”

Sam was as good as his word: he was nothing but gentle with Noah as he parted his thick red hair carefully, and found the gaping wound. There were shards of glass embedded in the blood, and Sam winced, knowing that he’d have to tweeze them out before stitching that cut up. He also knew that he’d be sending Noah for some scans to check for any internal damage, and he wondered how the other man was going to handle that.

“Can you tell me what happened now, Noah?” Sam asked as he prepared the injection to numb the area around the cut. “How you got hurt?”

“On the bus,” Noah answered promptly. “A car hit the bus.”

“You were in an accident?”

“Yes.” Noah stared at the needle. “Is that for me?”

“Yes.”

“Can I give you one too?”

“No. Tell me about the car.”

“The one that hit the bus?”

“Yes.” Sam held the syringe up to the light. “This might hurt a bit. You ready?”

“Yes.”

“Were you on the bus alone?” Sam said, suddenly wondering if maybe Annie or Sarah had been hurt too. He shot a look around the E.R. “All alone?”

“Yes.”

“Where were you going?”

“To work.”

Sam paused. “Work?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, right.” Sam deftly injected the novocaine, and Noah stiffened a bit, so he hurried to distract him. “Whet’s your work, Noah?”

“Painting,” Noah mumbled. “I don’t like needles, Doctor Sam.”

“Me neither. What do you mean, ‘painting’? What do you paint?”

“Paintings.”

“You’re an artist?”

“Yes.” Noah nodded earnestly. “I’m quite famous.”

Sam choked back a laugh. “Are you really?”

“Yes.”

“So… you sell your paintings?”

“Yes.” Noah furrowed his brow. “Why does my head feel funny, Doctor Sam?”

“Because I had to numb it so I can stitch up your cut.”

“Oh.” Noah stared at the suture kit. “Can I stitch up your elbow?”

“No.”

Noah huffed. “So what do I get to do?”

“Here.” Sam handed him a piece of gauze. “Hold that.”

Noah clutched it in a death grip. “Doctor Sam?”

“Yes?” Sam focused on the tiny pieces of glass as he carefully picked them out. “What’s up?”

“Has someone called my Mom?”

“A nurse has. Don’t worry, OK? She’ll be here soon.”

“Sarah too?”

“I don’t know. I imagine that your Mom will call her, right?”

“Do you know that Sarah is going to marry Jax?”

“Yes?” Sam paused, delighted at that news. “Really?”

“Yes. Do you know that I have a girlfriend?”

“You do?” This truly was one hell of a bombshell, so Sam gave Noah his full attention. “What’s her name?”

“Callie Winter. She’s also an artist, but not a painter. She does pottery.”

“Is that how you two met?” Sam resumed his painstaking work. “Because of your art?”

“Yes. At the Art With Heart Centre.” Noah grimaced as Sam dug out a particularly deep piece of glass, but he didn’t react beyond that. “We both work there.”

“Oh, now I understand.”

Of course Sam had heard about Naomi Abbott’s Art With Heart program, aimed at autistic kids and adults. From what Sam knew, Naomi provided a huge space for free, for people to come and express themselves creatively. If someone showed artistic promise and marketability, she sold their work to art galleries all over the country, and paid the artist a fair commission. If Noah was truly and genuinely talented, and if Naomi had spotted that, then it explained how he was earning a living off his work. If he was in demand, he might even be painting on order, which meant that he was getting personal advances on top of any commission and earnings.

“You know Naomi?” Noah asked him.

“No, I’ve never met her.”

“Do you know that she’s going to marry King?”

Sam stared at him. “King? You mean Matt Kingston? The man who was here with you and Jax and Annie three years ago?”

“Yes.”

“Good Lord. It’s a small world.”

“Not really,” Noah told him. “It’s actually quite large. Its circumference is 21,639 nautical miles, and its total surface area is about 197 million square miles. Quite large, you see.”

Sam laughed. “My mistake, Noah.”

“It’s OK.” Noah shrugged. “Mistakes happen, Doctor Sam.”

Silence descended as Sam concentrated on what he was doing. Glass shards were nasty things, and if he missed one and then stitched Noah up, he ran the risk of a serious infection. But the silence didn’t seem to bother Noah at all, and Sam recalled how quiet he had been all those years ago, sitting next to Sarah’s bed for hours on end, doing his puzzles, looking at his cards, watching TV. Back then, Noah had had the amazing ability to retreat into his own head, and he seemed happy enough to do that now.

The silence also allowed Sam some time to think about what was surely going to happen, and happen soon: Annie was going to come to the hospital, frantic about her son and looking for him. She was going to be here.

I’m going to see her again. Soon.

I’m going to see her today.