Deal sealed.
Without thinking, I threw my arms around his neck. “Perfect!” He smelled like cheap muscle rub. A whiff of camphor, menthol, and wintergreen made me hold my breath over his shoulder. Maybe it wasn’t so perfect.
Barry lightly patted my back, and I cringed at the gesture I hated. “But I have a condition,” he said.
I pulled away and sank down onto the chair.
“I get to take you out for coffee first. A pre-date date. Let’s say, tomorrow morning?”
Tomorrow. Cautiously, I waited a few seconds for him to assume I’d planned on going home with him that night, a question on how I wanted my eggs when I woke up in his bed, or some other sleazy line. None of it happened.
“Deal.” I reached out to shake his hand, feeling like I’d closed on a business transaction.
“Great. I’ll text you the address and time,” he said before waving at his friend who’d walked through the front door and up to the bar.
With our hands still connected, the soon-to-be bride and groom approached, Paige stomped in tow, angrily typing on her cell phone. Eli’s unyielding glare hadn’t tapered, which left me feeling unsteady all over again.
“Hey, guys!” I said with fake enthusiasm.
Miles noticed the group uniting and hurried to cut off Sienna midway. They argued while Miles gripped her upper arm. Maybe Sienna saw him with blondie, after all.
“I’d like to introduce you to my date for the wedding,” I said.
“Barry?” Bo stared while everyone else whispered. “Jade, can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked quietly. “Over there?”
“Sure.” I excused myself and trailed after Bo toward the jukebox. “What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me. You can’t stand Barry,” he said. “Don’t tell me one drink slapped beer goggles on your face.”
“For your information, I didn’t drink the beer.” I glanced across the room at Barry adjusting his bowtie with a tacky grin in the selfie view of his cell phone camera. Frowning was an involuntary reflex. It left me wondering what I’d done. Crap! Bo was right. I had dater’s remorse, and I didn’t have a receipt for a refund. All I could do was bury my newfound regret deep and pretend the commitment didn’t exist until the wedding on Sunday. Oh, and coffee too. Double crap! Roxy shouldn’t have been in Maui; she should’ve been in Cannon Cove, stopping me from doing stupid things.
“And regarding Barry,” I paused, finding my cool, “he’s acceptable.”
“Acceptable. Do you hear yourself right now?”
“Things change. People change.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Right?”
“Yeah. Change. And I’m starting to wonder what’s happening to you.”
“Me? You’re the one hanging out with Eli, boozing it up all the time lately.”
“Lemme get this straight. You’re jealous… of Eli?”
“No… I’m not saying… Ugh.”
“I’m calling you out. Whatever’s eating at you will result in a cove swim tonight. Guaranteed.”
I glanced around the room. “Nothing’s bothering me.”
“Right. I can tell by the way you’ve been acting lately. Hope your swimsuit and towel are washed and ready,” he said smugly.
I pulled my focus back in on him. “I’m an adult, Bo. Don’t look at me like a disappointed parent.”
He held up his hands to gesture he’d backed off. “Your life, Baby Girl.”
Signal welcome interruption. Strong arms reached around my waist from behind and lifted me from the ground. I squealed.
A male sounded over my shoulder, his voice smooth like ribbons of expensive silk. “Hey, Bo’s Baby Girl.”
“Maxen?” I turned around after the man set me down and hugged Bo’s older brother. “When did you get into town?”
“This afternoon. I’m just here for the weekend.” He turned toward Bo and initiated their signature handshake. “Hey, man.”
“Figured I wouldn’t see you until tomorrow morning,” Bo replied.
I raised an eyebrow. “Wait. You came for the wedding?”
“You couldn’t pay me to sit through that dysfunctional train wreck.” Maxen’s chest rumbled with deep laughter. “Just stoppin’ in to check in on Bo, Mom, and Pops.”
“Bummer on the wedding. You should at least go out with the guys tonight. What’s a little more testosterone in the group?” As angry as I was with my best friend, I knew Maxen would keep an eye on Mambo since I’d be chained to the girls. Plus, it’d keep Bo from getting behind the wheel. Maxen had a strong stance on not driving under the influence.
Maxen glanced across the bar. “I’m no party crasher.”
“Jade’s right. You should come,” Bo agreed with a slur. “We can catch up, and you can watch me beat the shit out of McCullough.”
Surprise crossed Maxen’s face. “The jerk’s back?”
“Better yet. He’s in the wedding.” Bo took another drink.
“No kidding? Now that’s drama I’d pay to see,” Maxen replied.
The strategy blew up in my face, and that aggravated me. Rather than endure another ambiguous Miles McCullough conversation, I excused myself to the restroom again while Bo and Maxen headed toward the bar.
When I returned a few minutes later, I saw Paige. “Where’s everyone else?”
“They settled up and headed out. Annelies changed the plan. Girls are meeting at Viper Vick’s, that new male strip club on the edge of town.” Paige applied a layer of red lipstick while staring at her reflection in a compact mirror. “I’ll be along later. Gotta make a hasty sexit to the back closet with a waiter first.”
I surveyed the room. “Did Maxen drive Bo?”
“I dunno. It’s not my night to watch your friend.” She rubbed her lips together.
“Paige. He’s sloshed.” I spotted Maxen at the bar… talking to the same blondie in cowboy boots Miles had his eye on earlier. “You just let him leave?”
“Sure. I guess.”
I grabbed my tote bag, made my way through the crowd, and blasted out the front doors. Cold air hit me in the face. “Bo!”
The stillness should’ve felt tranquil, but it didn’t.
Rocks sounded underfoot as I walked around the outside of the building, scanning the faint outline of vehicles in the dim lot. No people. Every overhead streetlamp had burned out except for one near the entrance. Bo’s car wasn’t on the left side of the building, and it wasn’t parked out back. The largest expanse of open gravel remained on the right. A few rows away, I heard an engine turn over. Without light, I had to trust my ears. “Bo?”
No response. The engine gunned.
My walk escalated to a jog. “Bo!”
My jog heightened to a sprint, the uneven ground and my sandals trying to slow me down.
I paused between rows, turning around in a full circle.
I’d made a mistake by stopping.
Bo’d made a mistake by driving.
I looked down at my unfortunate, black outfit choice and then up at a vehicle accelerating toward me.
That moment began my introduction to dying. Two white beams of light blinded me, and I reflexively shielded my eyes. I didn’t realize it’d happen so quickly and so slowly— a total contradiction. In the latest communication struggle, my legs tried to initiate forcing me out of the way while my brain signaled screaming would somehow save me instead. Either way, neither happened.
A violent collision connected with my left hip and ribs. I shrieked. The car hit hard, launching me sideways with a solid blow. I landed on the ground and slid, bits of rock snagging and grating at my flesh. The blazing pain and steady burn radiating across my body took centerstage with my lungs under the limelight while I relearned how to breathe.
I heard a meaty thunk. And anot
her. Then, a crunch. A crash of metal on metal. Lastly, nothing.
Something didn’t add up.
If the car struck me head-on, how did the impact hit from my left? Why didn’t the two thudding sounds coincide with my body hitting the gravel. They happened afterward. Didn’t they? My mind tried to rewind and replay the events in order, but my thoughts were wavy and my head heavy.
I wasn’t sure how much time passed. Maybe one minute. Maybe fifteen. The indigo sky dotted with specks of jeweled stars hadn’t changed after I opened my eyes. Still nighttime.
Everything ached when I struggled to sit up. So, I’m not dead. My arms and legs didn’t feel broken. I could move my hands and feet. Knees? They bent okay. My wrists flexed without issue. But the impinged nerve brought me to the brink of tears. Come on, Jade. Focus.
I took a deep breath and looked around in the darkness at the shadowy parking lot. Dirt. Rock. Faint outline of a building. Sea of parked vehicles. Body.
Body!
My mouth fell open. About ten feet away, I saw Miles lying on his side, his form bent at an awkward angle. Maybe I’m wrong and we’re both dead.
“Oh, fuckity fuck,” I whispered, crawling over to him. “Help! Call 9-1-1!” I cried out and reached for my cell phone, realizing my bag wasn’t on my shoulder anymore.
The only reply came from a few distant crickets.
Even through the countless veils of blues and grays night created, I saw a slow trickle of glossy crimson that trailed from Miles’s hairline, down his temple, and onto his cheek. His eyes were fixed but on nothing. My nausea doubled from within and pushed for outward escape, knowing I’d been put in the position to act. Yet, helplessness did the opposite from the outside and pressed inward. Those two severe sensations pinned me in place while fight or flight fought in a war. I did my best to ignore everything I felt, evaluating him with quaking hands.
He had a pulse. That ruled out Miles not having a heart.
His chest rose and fell. No need for CPR.
But his vacant stare, stillness, and the blood scared me.
Instinct said to keep him awake. “Miles!” I patted at his cheek, but he didn’t flinch. “Miles!” I tried again, and twice more before his eyelids finally fluttered.
He adjusted his torso without much success.
“No. Don’t move,” I said. “You were in an accident.”
“Mmmm.” He relaxed his body against the gravel, his eyes barely open.
“Okay, but you can’t sleep, either. Wake up.” Conversation. I needed conversation. “Where does it hurt most?” I fumbled for something, anything, finally unknotting my flannel and applying pressure to his head.
He winced with a groan. Miles’s right hand slowly reached for my left, pressing my palm flat against the warmth of his chest.
I felt his heartbeat mimicking mine.
“Here,” his voice sounded rough, and his head nodded slightly before his glazed eyes drooped again. “Always here.”
“Oh, no you don’t. No sleeping!” I instructed.
Sirens wailed, and a horn urgently honked. That familiar, sickening feeling sank deep within my bones again, threatening to ship me to the past.
The location didn’t matter; emergency vehicles were my catalyst. Every time.
Don’t, Jade! Not now.
Until then, I hadn’t noticed a small group of people rushing from The Salty Seaman’s exit over to a nearby Honda Element. The rest of the equation solved itself, and I stupidly didn’t piece it together sooner.
Bo.
Holy…
Is he conscious? Is he hurt? Is he alive?
I didn’t know what to do— go to Bo or stay with Miles. Whatever choice I made, there would be a wrong answer.
The next series of events happened in an overlapping mess. Paramedics arrived. A team of men and one woman maneuvered around us, their stoic facial features intermittently heightened with flashes of emergency lights. My blood ran cold as the flickers of color fought for my fear. Red. White. Blue. I shook.
Someone draped a wool blanket over my shoulders, and I absentmindedly pulled it tighter around myself. They questioned me. They examined me. I did my best to provide information, but everything was so fuzzy.
“Is he… okay?” I watched Bo get loaded into the first ambulance.
“Your friend needs to be evaluated at the hospital,” a bald paramedic replied, handing me my tote bag.
I faintly recognized him as the man who’d done chest compressions on Joyce. When I stared into his hazel eyes, I wondered if that night still haunted him, if the sadness ever dwindled, if he found a way to escape any feeling of responsibility, and if he could sleep without nightmares. I came so close to vocalizing all of those questions, but he beat me in the race to ask in a much simpler way.
“You sure you’re all right?” he assessed my pupils with a tiny flashlight.
“Huh?” I blinked. “Yes. No. I don’t know. Are you? Okay, I mean.”
He studied my face. “Maybe you should get checked out, too.”
“I already told you I’m fine. It’s just a few scrapes,” I lied.
Truth be told, I was far from fine.
The doors to the back of the second ambulance slammed shut, causing me to flinch.
I touched the medic’s arm. “Wait. What about him?”
His eyes conveyed sympathy. “Sorry. I can only release information to immediate family.”
From beneath the cocoon of the wool blanket, I fabricated my next anti-truth, carefully moving the wrap ring I wore on my right thumb to my left ring finger and spun it until only a thin silver band would be in view. “I’m his wife, Jade… McCullough.”
“You’re just now mentioning he’s your husband?” the paramedic asked.
“Sorry. I’m flustered. There’s a lot going on.” I flashed him the top of my left hand. “See?”
He glimpsed my ring finger and nodded. “All right. Get in.”
* * *
When we arrived at the hospital, the whirlwind continued. Someone on staff handed me the belongings from Miles’s pockets, saying my husband would be taken back for x-rays and a CT scan. I glanced at the foreign wallet, cell phone, and keys. For days, I’d sought out clues with no success. Now, they were simply handed to me with zero effort. But I didn’t want them— not like that.
A receptionist handed me papers attached to a clipboard. Her nametag read “Catalina.” “Mrs. McCullough?”
I stared at the sea of blank spaces on page one.
“Mrs. McCullough?” she reiterated.
“Huh?”
“Could you fill these out and bring them back up to the front desk when you’re done? I’ll also need an insurance card copy and ID.”
“Um. Sure.”
She offered a gentle smile. “Why don’t you go down to the cafeteria and get a cup of coffee first?”
I didn’t move.
“Breathe. Your husband is in good hands.”
“Right.” I nodded, still dazed. “My husband.”
I followed the signs leading me to the cafeteria. It was mostly empty. Three teenagers sat at a table across the room, taking selfies with a bunch of blue mylar balloons that’d soon welcome a baby boy. They repositioned three times, citing bad lighting. Near an oversized planter, a man talked loudly on his cell phone about getting dinged an extra five hundred dollars on his new boat. Two employees argued over updating a menu board with specials for the next day, whether meatloaf or lasagna should be listed first. All of it, so unimportant.
I poured a cup of coffee and sat at a round table far from everyone else. Carefully, I set down the cell phone, wallet, and keys. Staring at them. Knowing I shouldn’t.
I read over the face sheet. It was an expectation, a test to prove how wel
l I knew Miles. What did I get myself into?
I had no other options; the hospital forced me to search his possessions for answers.
Knowing I’d surely go to Hell for my actions, I tried the cell phone first, but it was locked. No dice. Next, I opened the bi-fold wallet with only my thumb and index finger, as if that’d somehow lessen my shame. Miles’s ID sat front and center, his stony expression staring back at me, already disapproving my plan.
The expiration date showcased the following year. A foil-printed evergreen tree and wording showed issuance for Washington State. His height still listed six feet even and his weight one hundred and ninety pounds. It dictated brown eyes. Miles was an organ donor. All of it like I’d remembered from Sabina’s shop.
I blew my hair out of my face and carefully filled out the forms.
Name. Easy enough.
Gender. No problem.
Address. Aced it.
Date of birth. Maybe I can pull this off, after all.
Emergency contact. J-A-D-E N-A-S…M-C-C-U-L-L-O-U-G-H.
Marital status. I checked single and quickly scratched it out and marked married. This is getting harder.
Insurance. Crap.
“Please… please… please…” I mumbled, thumbing through the leather slots. I pulled out a debit card, a credit card, a CPR certificate, and a worn Steele Falls gym membership. Behind that, I found a laminated piece of cardstock labeled with a familiar health insurance company. Thank you, massage therapy background. Score!
I filled out his coverage details onto the form.
Health history. I’m screwed.
I thought back to the paperwork at The Triple C and struggled hard to recall anything on the coffee-soaked pages. Knowing he came in for a massage ruled out contraindications for tissue therapy. But it didn’t tell me if he had any drug allergies, if he currently took any medications, or alert me of prior surgeries.
I flipped past four twenty-dollar bills, a ten, and three ones neatly tucked away. After that, I found a small slip of paper behind everything else, folded in half. I rubbed my fingers across it, summoning guilt for even considering my next move. With the forms already completed, I had no business diving deeper. But I’d already sold my soul to The Devil that night. What was a little more?
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