Page 98 of Priestly Sins

“Mrs. O’Shaughnessy, how are you feeling?”

“Would be better if I hadn’t cut my hand.”

Dr. Brennan looks a little confused, but sees Clara and nods once.

“I agree. The lacerations did some damage. I told your husband here that I would find a good orthopedic surgeon for you to consult.”

Sirona’s head whips around and she shows feisty humor at the doctor’s words. She turns to the doctor and asks, “Any permanent damage?”

“Only time will tell. We”—she looks at Clara and then back at Sirona, hesitating— “were able to save the tissue and reattached the tendons. The damage was significant and a good orthopedist will be able to save function.”

She’s speaking clinically but saying what she can say without being graphic in front of Clara.

“What’s ‘fuxshun’?” Clara asks.

“It means we think your mom will be able to wave and wiggle her fingers after she heals.”

“She’s a good baker. Her cupcakes are delicious! Do you like cupcakes?”

“I do,” replies Dr. Brennan.

“What’s your favorite?”

“Chocolate.”

“Chocolate with what?”

Dr. Brennan thinks a while and replies, “Hazelnut.”

Clara scrunches her face in confusion and repeats the word under her breath.

“I don’t know that one.” She turns to Sirona. “Mommy, what’s hazelnut?”

“It’s what’s in Nutella.”

“Oh!” Clara turns back to the doctor. “I like Nutella, too. I help Mommy when she bakes.”

“Well, just be careful with knives. Don’t want to see you in here because of an accident, okay?”

She glances at Sirona knowingly. She knows something doesn’t add up, but she doesn’t know why.

“We’re going to keep you overnight and you can go home tomorrow, so long as you continue progressing as you have been.”

“Thank you.”

As the doctor turns to leave, I follow her through the door.

“Doctor, thank you! I—”

“Mr. O’Shaughnessy, I don’t know how your wife cut her hand, but that wasn’t a pastry wound. And she had to be sedated in recovery due to panic.”

I nod but don’t confirm.

“She will need extensive therapy and could lose feeling or movement in her fingers and hand, almost to her wrist. I suggest she not bake” — she holds my gaze while emphasizing the word—“for a while.”

I nod again.

“Thank you for not being graphic in front of Clara.”