Still Life by Joy Fielding

there was a man here looking for you a few minutes ago,” Donna said. “We sent him to the visitors’ lounge.”
    “I can tell him you’re here, if you’d like,” Patsy offered.
    “I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”
    “It’s no trouble at all. Oh, and Mr. Marshall,” she continued, and then paused. “If there’s anything you need, anything at all …”
    “Thank you. You’re very kind.”
    “I’d be happy to volunteer my services if you require any help once your wife leaves the hospital.”
    Oh, you’re good. You’re good.
    “What about your job here?”
    “It’s just temporary.”
    “Then thank you. I’ll certainly consider your offer …”
    “Patsy,” she told him.
    “Patsy,” he repeated.
    You’re the only patsy here , Casey all but screamed.
    “Well,” Patsy demurred, as Casey pictured her lowering her chin and lifting her eyes coquettishly. “I can only imagine what you’re going through….”
    “Thank you. I know how much Casey would appreciate the kindness you’ve shown her.”
    I wouldn’t be too sure about that.
    “I’ll see if I can locate that gentleman.”
    Warren thanked her again as Patsy left the room.
    Don’t even think about hiring that woman , Casey warned. I don’t want her anywhere near me. Can’t you see the only thing she wants to do is you? Even I can see that much, and I’m in a coma, for God’s sake!
    What was it with men? Were they really so blind when it came to women? “Men are basically very simple creatures,” Janine had once remarked, and Casey had dismissed it as the cynicism of someone who’d had her hopes dashed one too many times. Was it possible she was right?
    “We marry our fathers,” Janine had also pronounced, a remark that had given Casey pause when she felt herself falling in love with Warren. Casey knew that women had been coming on to Warren ever since they’d met. They made no secret of their attraction to him, brushing up against him on the street, or smiling at him from the bar of a crowded restaurant. She’d actually seen one particularly brazen young woman slip a piece of paper into the palm of his hand as he walked past her on his way to the washroom, and she’d held her breath, thinking of her father and all the scented scraps of paper with unidentified phone numbers she’d regularly found hidden about the house. But seconds later, Casey had watched as Warren tossed that piece of paper into a nearby wastepaper basket without even bothering to glance at it. So Warren Marshall was nothing like Ronald Lerner. Nothing like her father at all.
    Which meant women like Patsy were of no consequence; they posed no threat to her whatsoever.
    “Let’s put the TV on, shall we?” Warren said, clicking it on.
    Immediately, other voices filled the room.
    “You never loved me,” a woman was saying. “You’ve been lying to me from the very beginning.”
    “Maybe not from the very beginning,” a man answered, a cruel laugh in his voice.
    “How’re you doing, sweetheart?” Warren asked, back at her side. She wondered if he was patting her hand, or maybe caressing her hair. She recalled the gentleness of his touch and wondered if she’d ever be able to feel it again. “The nurse said you seem more comfortable since they put the tube in.”
    They’re not nurses. They’re nurses’ aides. And that one named Patsy. Watch out for her.
    “She seems very nice,” he said with a sigh.
    He sounds exhausted, Casey thought, as if someone had reached inside his chest and pulled out his heart. How different from the first time he’d walked into the small downtown offices of Lerner, Pegabo, wearing a dark gray suit with a pale pink shirt and a silk burgundy tie, looking tan and lean, and exuding confidence and energy. “I have an appointment with Janine Pegabo at eleven o’clock,” he’d announced, peeking his head into her room.
    “You’re Warren Marshall?” Casey asked, trying to ignore the quickening of her pulse,