Crazy Ride

by Nancy Warren

  If they sat in this dying room much longer, what little courage she had left would wither. “What’s on TV?” she asked.

  He brightened. “I think it’s changed over now. Want to come see?”

  “Sure.”

  The den gave her hope. It was obviously Eddie’s favorite room, with a leather couch, big screen TV, a well-thumbed remote and the faintest scent of microwave popcorn.

  She sank onto the couch. “You got any more of that popcorn?”

  He chuckled. “I buy it in bulk.”

  She didn’t worry about matching up her knees and her ankles, but curled her legs up beneath her. By the time they’d split a bowl of popcorn and talked through two game shows, she knew he was the same Eddie she remembered. Only better. Age had faded him in some ways, but it had strengthened him in others. He was funny. A little more sure of himself. And when he drew closer on the couch, she saw the gleam of interest in his eyes.

  “I’m glad you came, Lydia.”

  “Well, I got tired of waiting for you to come to me.” She’d meant it to sound light – good old Lydia, giving the guy on the couch a hard time – but it didn’t come out that way. She heard her own voice sound wistful and sad.

  Eddie touched her knee. “Oh, don’t you worry, lady. I had my eye on you all right. I was wooing you online.”

  Her old, bruised heart sped almost painfully. “What are you…who…?”

  “I thought you would have figured it out. Don’t you remember how you used to play that old record I liked? I Only Have Eyes for You?”

  Her eyes misted. “Of course, Eyes4U.”

  “That’s me.”

  “Well.” She wanted to throw herself on his chest and weep for the sheer joy of the moment, but she was Lydia and she’d spent a lifetime being the tough cookie. “Well. You’ve got competition, you know. Other men have been writing.” Of course, she hadn’t known how to narrow the geographical boundaries on the online site so most of the men who wrote to her were miles – in some cases entire countries – away. But she didn’t tell him that.

  “I am not surprised,” he said, and kissed her. She realized in that moment that one of the reasons he’d crawled into her heart all those years ago when she hadn’t suspected a thing was that he saw the woman she really was inside. He truly saw her.

  Maybe you couldn’t turn the clock back, but sometimes, if you were very lucky, you could time travel through memory. She rediscovered the feel of him, and the taste and smell of him, different and yet the same. The young man and the old. When her emotions nearly claimed her again, she grabbed for her bag.

  “I almost forgot,” she said. “I brought some wine we had left over from dinner.”

  By the time the news came on, they were going at it like teenagers. Oh, she thought, she’d taught him well.

  He had her panties off and was about to enter her body, which she’d been wishing for off and on for forty years, when he suddenly stopped. “What am I thinking? I’m sorry, Lydia.”

  “Oh, gosh, do you need those blue pills? I never thought of that.”

  “No. I don’t need anything. I was thinking of you. I shouldn’t rush this. Maybe we should get to know each other better first.”

  “Eddie,” she said, laying her hand against his cheek, “I’ve known you most of my life. Now shut up and get on with it.”

  He chuckled and kissed her, then entered her as slowly and carefully as a man with a new bride. Foolish tears filled her eyes, and then spilled over.

  He kissed them away.

  “No more crying,” he said. “No more being alone.”

  Joe stared at the dull green ceiling, painted to match the dull green walls. He felt like shit, but he figured that was good news since it meant he was still alive.

  The county hospital smelled like hospitals everywhere. The food tasted like hospital food everywhere. “Do you suppose there’s some great hospital food factory somewhere? Hidden from prying eyes and guarded like a toxic waste dump?” Joe asked Emily as his gaze moved from the ceiling to the gelatin dessert on his lunch tray – also green.

  It looked exactly like something out of a toxic dump.

  At least he was out of ICU and into a private room now.

  Emily was fussing with a big bouquet of flowers from her own garden, arranged in a cut glass vase. He liked them a lot better than the formal arrangement his office had sent. Although seeing the floral tribute from his colleagues and staff reminded him that he had a bone to pick with Ms. Busybody Inn Keeper. “I told you to contact Anna if I died. I didn’t say anything about telling them I was in hospital.”

  “Anna phoned,” Emily said. She poked a finger into the bottom of the office arrangement, then added water from the plastic water glass on his bedside table. She couldn’t seem to help herself around growing things.

  “What do you mean she phoned? Did you answer my cell?” He sounded sharp but he didn’t really care. He’d begged, wheedled and bullied her but she refused to bring his cell to the hospital. Patients in Back of Beyond ER weren’t allowed to make long distance calls. So he was stuck, isolated, wondering what deals were falling like dominoes because he wasn’t there to complete them.

  “Of course I didn’t answer your cell phone. She called the Shady Lady. I told her what happened.” She plucked a tissue from the dispenser by his bed and wiped a bit of damp moss from her finger. “I assumed, since the woman knows all your affairs including where your will is kept and your final wishes, that you’d want her to know you were in hospital. I apologize if I’ve done wrong.” She didn’t sound sorry, though, she sounded like someone who’s been told not to get the weak heart in 3B all worked up.

  Naturally, the very idea of being treated with kid gloves riled him considerably. Simply because he might have a weak heart didn’t mean his intellect had to follow suit.

  “No. You did the right thing. Of course they have to know.” He gazed at the corporate bouquet moodily. How many times had he told Anna to send one of these very arrangements out to clients having babies, inking new deals, opening apartment buildings, factories, airline hangers and the like. He never imagined receiving one himself.

  “I feel fine and I need to get back to work. I want to get out of here.”

  “Of course you do,” she said in her soothing tone. “And as soon as the doctor has all your test results and knows how to treat you, then you will get out of here.”

  She was looking prettier than anything in that vase, and gazing at her made him feel better. But she treated him the way he imagined she’d treat any guest who nearly kicked the bucket while staying in her B&B. She was calm, pleasant, friendly, helpful.

  He might never have been anywhere near her naked body. It was like there was an invisible force field of friendliness that she’d squeezed behind so he couldn’t even apologize for not only almost dying in her bed, but for making a complete fool of himself while doing it.

  He ought to be worrying about his heart, but in truth he felt like his pride was the more damaged. Soon they’d have all the bazillion test results back, then he could get the hell out of here.

  It didn’t matter that he’d nearly died, all he could think about was that he’d choked in bed.

  When Emily had finished fussing, she kissed him on the forehead on her way out. And didn’t that tell the whole story?

  He was tempted to call her back when she reached his door and drag her into his hospital bed. If he was going to have a heart attack while making love, at least he should complete one or the other. They’d both have a satisfactory climax or he’d die. Anything seemed preferable to the kiss-on-the-forehead treatment.

  But, she no sooner reached the door than the great Doctor Hartnett himself entered the small room.

  She didn’t treat the doc like a retard, he noted. She treated him like a man whose body wouldn’t let him down at crucial moments. As she left, he got the feeling the doctor would have opened the door and held it for her except that Joe’s door was permanently open so anyone
in the world could walk by and gape at him. One more joy of hospital life.

  “How are you feeling today, Joe?” the doctor asked him.

  “Like shit.”

  “Sorry to hear that. I’ve got good news.”

  Since he’d been expecting everything from a month to live to a triple bypass, his ears perked up.

  “You were lucky.”

  Hah! If his attack had come an hour later. Even a quarter of an hour later, he would have died happy. There was nothing lucky about humiliating himself while inside Emily. Nothing.

  “Your heart is fine.”

  “I had a heart attack and my heart’s fine?” Why, oh, why couldn’t this have happened in a normal city.

  “That’s the good news. You didn’t have a heart attack. You had a gastric attack.”

  A long pause ensued. Somebody was paged, a food trolley rattled by his ever-open door and still he couldn’t find words.

  “It was your stomach, Joe. Not your heart.”

  “Indigestion?” Joe couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d come to trust Gordon Hartnett, but obviously he was as qualified to be a doctor as Beaverton’s ersatz Napoleon was to rule France or Katie the Kleptomaniac to be in charge of security for Tiffany. “I had all the symptoms of a heart attack.”

  “Yes. I know. We checked everything and the good news is your heart’s strong and healthy. Your cholesterol’s good. Blood pressure a little high but that’s probably stress and lifestyle related. What you have is a hiatal hernia. Basically, it means you’re going to have to change your diet, eat small and often and avoid stress. Also avoid large heavy meals and alcohol right before bed.”

  Dr. Hartnett sat down on the chair beside Joe’s bed in true television-doctor-bonding-with-patient pose. “Joe, what happened is a wake-up call. From what you and Emily have told me, I’d say you’re a heart attack waiting to happen.”

  “Well you’re wrong. You can’t have it both ways, Doc. If there’s nothing wrong with my heart, then I’m not an attack waiting to happen. If I am then this can’t be indigestion.”

  “I didn’t say it was indigestion. I said it was a gastric attack. Of course you should be glad there’s nothing wrong with your heart, but your body is still sending you a strong message. Take it easy. Enjoy life. Stop and smell the roses.”

  “You sound like Emily.”

  “Emily is a very intelligent and sensitive woman. You should listen to her.” Something about Hartnett’s tone made the hair on the back of Joe’s neck prickle. But then Hartnett was speaking again and he forgot the odd momentary impression.

  “I want you to rest and take it easy for a week, then come and see me in my office.”

  Joe shook his head. “I can’t hang around for a week. I’ve got a business, clients, a life.”

  “Remember when you thought you were having a heart attack?”

  Joe nodded, remembering all too well, not only the acute pain but the fear that his life would suddenly be over before he’d had a chance to live it.

  “You’ll have a lot more of a life if you treat your body with respect.”

  “Yeah, yeah. But why can’t I fly home and see my own doctor? I can rest in New York.”

  “Can you? Emily will follow my advice and feed you what I tell her to. You can relax and let your esophagus heal. It’s been burned you know. It needs a rest. Do you have someone in New York who can nurse you?”

  Joe eyed him with disfavor. “Are we talking boiled chicken and milk?”

  “The diet’s not so bad. Don’t worry. You’ll be in good hands.”

  It suddenly struck Joe as a little pathetic that he had to rely on the proprietor of a bed and breakfast inn to look after him, but the truth was the Shady Lady was a hell of a lot more home-like than his apartment, and if he went home, who’d look after him there?

  “Emily is a very restful woman,” the doctor was saying, as though he knew her well. Joe cocked an eyebrow.

  “She was good to me when I first moved here, and she and my wife have become close friends.”

  Joe liked the sound of the wife. Not that he had any claim on Emily, but still, he liked the sound of that wife.

  Something the doctor said played back in his head, and since this was Back of Nowhere Idaho, the doc seemed to have all the time in the world to chatter. So he kicked the old conversational ball in the air. “You said she was good to you when you first moved here.”

  “Yes. She was.” Was it Joe’s imagination or did he seem guarded? Maybe Emily had done more for the good doctor than bake him welcome to the neighborhood brownies? Not that it mattered, of course. The part that had him curious was that the man said he’d moved here. He could understand someone like Emily being born here and coming back when she inherited the old brothel – at least, if he tried really hard he got it. But who’d move here?

  “Why would you choose to live here?”

  The doctor looked at Joe as though he might be running a very high delirium-causing fever. “Beaverton’s a great place to live.”

  “It’s the back end of nowhere and it’s full of lunatics.”

  Gord Hartnett smiled. “Some of the residents around here are a little eccentric it’s true, but they’re good people. Crime’s nil—”

  “Ha, don’t forget Klepto Katie.”

  “Miss Trevellen. Yes. An unfortunate habit, but she always returns what she’s…um, borrowed. It’s also gorgeous countryside, the weather’s good. We’re close to the mountains if you like skiing and hiking.”

  He encountered a blank stare from Joe whose idea of mountain climbing was taking the stairs when his elevator was out of order. He exercised with maximum efficiency and liked to be into the gym, exercised, showered and out within sixty minutes. No steam rooms, no rub down, just get in, sweat, breathe hard, get out. No likelihood of encountering bears or cougars.

  “I’ll tell you something interesting,” continued Dr. Hartnett, obviously realizing a listing of outdoor recreation opportunities wasn’t going to convert Joe into a Beaverton cheerleader. “The people in this area are healthier.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in a classic doctor ruminating over fascinating research data pose. “They are, statistically healthier than their counterparts elsewhere in the country.”

  “Statistics can be misleading.”

  “They live longer too. About five to seven years longer on average. Now why do you suppose that is?”

  “They’re all too crazy to know how old they are or if they’re sick?” Joe wondered aloud.

  “You are a very intolerant man. Pretty typical of serious type A’s. And I suspect you’re harboring a great deal of unexpressed anger.”

  “Oh, give me a break. You want to live in this town, fine. But spare me the real estate pitch and the bonus head shrinking. All right?”

  “I’ll say goodbye then,” he said rising and holding out a hand. “You’ll be released tomorrow. If you decide to stay a week call my office and set up an appointment. If you go home, get your doctor to get in touch and I’ll send over the file.”

  Knowing he’d been surly to a guy who was doing his best, Joe smiled and shook hands. “Thanks. You took good care of me.”

  “Now start taking care of yourself.”

  And with that parting zinger he was gone, his mountaineering, outdoors guy stride taking him rapidly out into the corridor.

  Joe was back to contemplating life from inside a pale blue gown that left his ass hanging out.

  But the good news was he was getting out of here tomorrow. When he judged she’d had time to get home, he called Emily – luckily not a long distance number – and she picked up herself on the second ring. “How are you feeling?” she asked when he’d identified himself.

  “Great. I’m breaking out of the joint tomorrow.”

  She laughed dutifully. “That’s wonderful. I’ll drive the getaway car.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” he admitted. “Do you mind coming to get me?”

  “Not at all.
”

  “I never asked you to keep my room for me, by the way. I hope you did.”

  There was a tiny pause. “I’m not exactly overrun with guests at the moment, Joe. The room’s yours as long as you need it.”

  “Well, tomorrow night anyway. I’m going back to New York the next day.”

  “But Doctor Hartnett said—“ she cut herself off. Why was he not surprised that the doc was discussing him with his hostess? Hell, she’d probably seen the pictures of the inside of his stomach.

  “The doctor advised me to stay, but it’s a bad case of heartburn. They have doctors in New York.” He didn’t mean to sound sarcastic, but telling him to avoid New York was like telling a chocoholic to stay away from Godiva.

  “All right. But I think you should at least stay the weekend. For the play. It’s the highlight of our summer, here in Beaverton. Aunt Lydia and Olive and the others will be so disappointed if you miss their show.”

  “What about you? Will you be disappointed if I leave?”

  A pause. Then a soft, “yes,” as though she wished she didn’t have to admit the truth.

  What was he going to do on the weekend anyway? Suddenly, a few days of Emily’s care seemed like a great idea. But only a couple. “Okay. Get hold of Anna. Tell her to find me some way out Monday. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He blew out a breath. “Sorry. I know you’re not my secretary, but could you please phone Anna and tell her to plan me a route home?”

  “Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.” It looked like he was going to have to do some flower buying after all Emily had done for him.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Emily put down the phone. Then picked it up again. She called Gregory. “Joe’s planning to leave Monday. We’re back with the original plan.”

  “Right.”

  Then she called Madame Dior. An organized woman, Emily had set up a phone tree to relay information relevant to the current crisis. She called three women, and they each phoned three people and before you knew it, the whole town was informed. She kept her messages simple, of course. This one said, “Joe’s out of hospital tomorrow. Meeting tonight at the bingo hall, seven o’clock.”