Desi nods and walks over to speak with Sarah and offer me some space.
Two voicemails. Again. I ask them to call me back without leaving any details. I hope it’s soon.
In the privacy of the elevator Desi provides me an update, though she isn’t technically allowed to do so. She says it’s a cruel practice and she knows how she would feel so she will break the rule. Liz has minor injuries and isn’t staying overnight. Cassandra, the other woman, has a severe concussion but nothing life-threatening. Kyle’s life hangs in the balance. I feel evil when I wonder what outcome would be best for all involved. He’s going to jail if he lives. What if he has permanent physical damage, not to mention the potential mental issues he may face?
I think Desi may understand without anything spoken when she says, “Grace is the best gift you can give him.” I reply with tears but no words.
We are in the surgical waiting room to check on Alexandra. My phone rings. Jack! Several signs dictate no phone usage here. I text him that I will call him right back. Desi escorts me around the corner to the nurses’ station where she has a telepathic conversation with the woman behind the desk. “Twenty-two zero four.” Desi gives a wave of thanks.
I follow her to an empty room and she outstretches her arm for me to pass through the door then closes it behind me. Jack answers on the first ring and starts right in, “I got your message. Car is loaded up and I took a quick trip to Target for provisions. Plenty of junk food!”
He is so enthusiastic I hate to burst his bubble. “I’m not on my way, Jack. I am at the hospital.”
“What? Oh my God, Peyton. Are you okay?”
“I am fine. Unfortunately, several others aren’t, and it’s because of me.” Fresh tears find their way down my cheeks.
“Car accident?”
“No, Jack. It was Kyle. My ex-boyfriend from California. He overdosed on something and came to the yoga studio. He shot my yoga teacher, and a few others were injured in the process.”
“Oh my God, Peyton. Where are you? I’ll be right there.”
I appreciate his willingness to come because right now I have no one else. If only J.T. was in town, I might be in his arms right now, getting through this together. I tell him to text me when he arrives.
We make our way back to the waiting area, and since we may have missed them coming out to provide an update, approach the reception desk. I’m counting on the badge to get information that is only provided to family members. Considering I don’t know Alexandra’s last name I can’t exactly pretend I am that.
The elderly woman wearing a round green and white ‘I’m A Volunteer’ pin on her blazer consults her clipboard, a raggedy finger scrolling to the bottom where a name is written in ink beneath those typed. The woman picks up the circa 1990 phone—with a cord!—and dials four numbers. After a brief pause, she asks, “Is there any update on Alexandra Walker?”
The room spins under my feet. My knees buckle as the earth seems to drop from underneath. Sounds and faces blur together in a kaleidoscope of images. Voices sound like they are underwater, incomprehensible over the dialogue in my head. Alexandra Walker. It’s a common name, right? There has been no mention of a yoga teacher in any conversation. Alexandra Walker cannot be related to J.T. Walker, can she? No. No. No. Err on the side of love. What had she said about the plane ride meeting the yoga teacher? She was moving to take care of her son. She had struggles. She had insinuated she might not like Christmas. I know a reason that might be. This cannot be happening. God’s joke was cruel enough without this for a punchline. Someone is sitting me into a chair. I am far, far, away. I may avoid coming back to reality forever.
“Peyton! Peyton!”
It sounds faint and distant but it’s right in my ears. My shoulders are shaking. They have been all day with the rhythm of my crying. This is different. More urgent.
“Miss Jennings!”
I close my eyes, then reopen them, with the intention to focus on what is in front of me. Desi. Yes, Desi. Strong hands. Holding me by the shoulders. I blink rapidly to bring her into focus.
“Phew, I thought I lost you there. Are you okay, Miss Jennings?”
Definitely not. I force a nod.
“Good news. They said Alexandra is out of surgery and in recovery. She made it through the surgery just fine. I have a good feeling.” She smiles, her compassion-filled eyes twinkling. I am glad someone has a good feeling about something. On the contrary, I have a very bad feeling.
DECEMBER 30th
CHAPTER 33 | J.T.
I am finally within ten miles of the hospital just after midnight. It’s been a hell of a five-hour turned six-and-a-half-hour drive with blowing snow squalls. Doing it after a long ski day doesn’t add to its ease. I’d returned to the condo and into the car in record time after I got the call, but I’m still too late. I berated myself for four hours for being out of town but finally flipped the script. I could have been in Africa, continents, not counties, away.
It makes me shudder to think how my head, heart, and gut each responded to the words, “Your mother has been shot.” And damn it, I sent Peyton skiing because she wanted to be able to do it with me. I haven’t been able to get hold of her, and she is the one I need to talk to. I know it won’t seem so bad if I can process what is happening with her. I need her by my side at the hospital. I can get used to not handling tough shit alone.
We had a great day on the ski hill, behaving like kids again, making up games to compete with one another, like longest distance on one ski, best crash and best trick. The adult reality check happened as I’d just sat down in the log cabin-themed restaurant for an après-ski snack. I’d been bummed I couldn’t have a drink. Not indulging in a cold beer with the guys after a long ski day is one of my recovering addict triggers. It had made me think about midnight on New Year’s Eve, another tough one. How would Peyton handle my lame non-alcoholic juice toast? It all seems so irrelevant now.
What was worse, I’d ordered nachos and a soda. I had taken my time in the production of helmet, goggle, gloves-removal and hit the head before ever checking my phone. The cold kills the battery so I’d had it off. We’d taken a lunch break and I’d checked it but with little signal on the hill I didn’t have any call notifications, just texts, and none from Peyton. No one calls, so it didn’t cross my mind to worry about calls. I could kick myself now. The nine calls from numbers I didn’t know set off my worry radar, and it only took the word “officer” to have panic permeate my every cell from head to toe. The message was cryptic, only saying please call back regarding an accident involving a family member. I only had one. My short-term memory failed me three times when trying to remember the number to dial, the number different to the one I could just hit “call back” on.
My stomach drew into a tighter knot with each ring until Officer Fitzpatrick had answered. I couldn’t even get lucky enough to get any other of the thousands of nationalities besides Irish. I replay the conversation in my head as I white-knuckle the steering wheel the last mile.
I said I was calling regarding a message about an accident. They called Tim’s death the same. Like hell, it was an accident, and most likely this isn’t either. He’d said it was good that he hadn’t gotten hold of me until some time had passed because he had good news. My mother had been shot but was out of surgery. She didn’t appear to have life-threatening injuries.
Not exactly good news in my book, but I’d sighed in relief that she was alive. I won’t breathe again until I see her with my own eyes and can be sure. He explained there had been an incident at the yoga studio. I am unsure that incident is the right word, but what the hell else do you call it?
I’d processed the information. Shot. Surgery. She had survived. Who had done this? How had this happened? Who shot people up in a yoga studio? I’d asked what happened and how but knew the answers were irrelevant. He said he would share the details when I arrived. I said I was on my way.
I have a new appreciation for how my mother felt the night
she got the call. The punch in the gut. I will never be able to make up for what I put her through, but I can spend the rest of my life trying.
I finally arrive at the hospital still in my ski gear, with caffeine jitters and a full bladder from the coffee I’d consumed to stay awake on the drive. I’m met with the cold gaze of an uninterested woman at the information desk. It doesn’t look as if she has any intention of making this easy. I pull the most charming smile I can amid the exhaustion and fear. I show my license and she types then lifts her eyes. “First name of the patient?”
“Alexandra.”
“Nine-thirty-four, north tower. But you can’t—”
I’ve already started walking and let her words fade into the distance.
As I’m taking a deep breath, the elevator doors open to bring the nurses’ station into view. No one is there. I can’t feel my feet as I move forward across the gray-tiled hallway, managing to sidestep any nurses or another medical professional before I stand outside room nine-thirty-four. Anyone could sneak in here! What if whoever has done this is still on the loose? Surely she would have police protection if it was needed? I anxiously bite my nails while worrying about what could happen and what I will find on the other side of the door. I taste blood. I’ve been doing it for hours, though I hadn’t done it since I was ten. Courage can’t find me soon enough.
I crack the door to get a glimpse and ease myself in. I need to prepare myself before she sees me. I hope she will be sleeping, but just in case, I wouldn’t want her to read any expression of horror at her appearance I might be unable to hide.
As luck would have it, her eyes are closed, and she doesn’t look nearly as bad off as I had made out in my head. Her hair splays a rainbow of soft gray across the pillow, and only one shoulder is covered with a gown. The right one is covered in a large white bandage and held in place against her body with a sling. I rush to her side but remain silent, gripping the bed rail with both hands until my knuckles turn white. So much for giving that up, having finished driving. This is a whole new level. Who the hell had done this? And why? It’s probably good I don’t know because if I did there is no telling what I might do.
She must have sensed my presence because she stirs, and without even opening her eyes says my name, “Joe.” Her voice is hoarse but still retains the cheerfulness she is so well known for. Somehow, I know deep down she will be fine. I blow out a breath and relax.
“Mom. I came as fast as I could. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“You would have just sat around biting your nails.” She manages a light chuckle as she opens her eyes, directly looking at my hands on the rail. “I hope you got your full day of skiing in. I was in good hands. Really good hands.”
“Are you in pain?”
“Not more than I can handle.”
Of course not. I’d already put her through the most insufferable pain. Nothing could compete.
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Can you get me out of here?” She hushes her voice, “You know I don’t do doctors! This is torture!”
“I know, Mom, but in this case, I think you are going to have to suck it up.”
“In that case, then you should go home and get some sleep. I am sure you are tired.”
It is so like her to be thinking of me instead of herself. “Sure. I will. Right after you tell me what happened.”
Her eyes have closed again, groggy from pain meds. Damn it. I need to know. My laptop is in the car and my phone is now dead, having left my charger in the condo wall in my rush to be getting out of there. Too daunting to get back to the car and back in here sight unseen. And no one had been there to stop me, so I need to be here just in case.
I do need a shower badly too, and can only do so many more things before sleep takes over. The rose leather recliner looks very inviting. I guess I will have to wait a few more hours for details.
Time passes, and sleep evades me with the onslaught of pokes and prods from nurses. I wake each time to make sure everything is okay. Just after 7:30 a.m. I figure I should just coffee up. On the way back from the cafeteria and coffee area, I pass the hotel gift shop open at the ungodly hour, and pick the nicest bouquet on display, and thankfully a phone charger. I need to text Peyton.
Stubborn as she is, my mother has refused the pain meds she can control herself so I figure nine o’clock will be the next visit. I have time and my laptop. I don’t want to wake her with a video so I read the articles written. A picture of the studio covered in yellow tape turns my stomach. The caption reads ‘small town shocked by studio shooting’ and the writer explains that a deranged ex-lover of one of the yoga students shot one person. One person. And it had to be my mother? I know she put herself in harm’s way protecting someone else. Damn her kindness! It’s not enough to be my hero, she has to be one to others as well. Of course, I love her and hate her for it in the same breath.
The news report also explains that three others had been wounded. They said the suspect was also being treated for an unknown condition and is in police custody. Is the bastard in this very hospital? I feel the blood rushing to my head, face hot, veins in my neck throbbing.
“Hey, relax over there.”
My mother’s voice is scolding. Even in her compromised state I can’t get a thing by her. “Mom.” I shut the laptop and move quickly to the side of her bed. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Nope. The smell of flowers did actually. They are beautiful. Thank you. Stop watching that trash and I will fill you in on the details. Everything is fine, Joe. Life happens. It’s my fault for not locking the door.”
“Mom, this is not normal life stuff.”
She lifts her good arm up to my face, wincing as she shifts to reach it. I lean forward to make it easier for her to lay her palm on the side of my cheek. “It never is, and it always is.”
I want to tell her that her stupid metaphors and mantras annoy the shit out of me. She isn’t Yoda, or Buddha, or Jesus, but I know exactly what she means. Everything we have gone through together might not be normal, but yet, it is our normal.
“The man was on drugs, Joe.”
She pauses and I know it is on purpose. She wants me to have some compassion, considering.
“He was out of his mind because of drugs and love. Unrequited. He was looking for one of the students in the studio, distraught over their breakup. I am worried about the woman he was coming for. I don’t know what ended up happening to her.”
Her eyes look away from me and to the doorway upon hearing a knock. “Well, speak of the devil. Come in. I was just telling my son I was concerned about you.”
I turn to face the woman who has just entered the room and feel the blood drain from my face. “Peyton?”
Clearly, I’ve pissed off God.
I watch almond shape eyes form circles with a much wider diameter though they are swollen and puffy. Definitely not the angelic image I’d been expecting to return to this morning. I see her deflate with the realization that we will never be the same. Everything inside me relates. How the fuck did we end up here?
“You two know each other?”
My mother looks up at me. I face her, eyes locking. A look of understanding washes over her face, then her lips curl up into a big smile, “Well, I feel much better about sharing my Joe now.” She looks back to Peyton. “I hate it when he calls himself J.T. I never understood why he’d want to think about trouble all the time.”
She looks back to me. Through clenched teeth, I share the truth, “Because it does seem to follow me.” I couldn’t make this up as my worst nightmare. She was too good to be true.
“Give the girl a hug or kiss or something,” Mom says, waving her good hand in Peyton’s direction. “God knows she needs one.”
I can’t even think of touching her. She is the only reason my mother lies in this hospital bed and the reason I might have lost her. I just stare across the room, knowing my eyes radiate hatred and bitterness. I want to push it away bu
t ‘deranged ex-lover’ takes all the space in my head. I can’t swallow the building fury.
“Joe!”
I look away from Peyton and back to her. “I can’t do that, Mom.”
“Joe, please. It’s not her fault. You two should go talk.”
I shift my eyes to avoid seeing the disappointment in hers. She won’t understand my need to choose her over Peyton.
“No way I am leaving you. If she is here, you aren’t safe. Peyton, I think you should go.” My voice sounds so cold I almost ache on Peyton’s behalf. I avoid her eyes, not wanting to take the risk they will suck me in.
“I understand. I’ll go.” Her voice is quiet.
“Joe! I am perfectly safe. No, Peyton, please. Don’t.”
She cringes with the painful effort to talk loudly enough for Peyton to hear, because she’s disappeared from the doorway.
“Mom, relax.” I try to settle her back into the pillows. Her resistance is fierce.
“How could you just let her walk away? You were so happy at Christmas talking about her! I saw the adoration in your eyes and heard it in your voice. Don’t be ridiculous. She has enough going on without losing you. Go after her!”
The disdain in her voice hurts. “Mom, there was a chance I could have lost you yesterday, and it was her fault!”
“You didn’t. And it wasn’t. She is the reason we all survived. Her courage was admirable, Joe.”
I am not in the habit of letting her down. “I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t think I will ever be able to be with the woman whose crazy ex tried to kill my mother.”
I swallow hard, not liking the permanency of my words. She sighs, “Oh Joe,” and her eyes take me back to another place in time. A place I had hoped to never be again.
CHAPTER 34 | Peyton
H ow. Can. This. Be. Happening?
A cold cinderblock wall is holding me up as I lean my back against it. I can’t believe what’s just happened. How could his eyes be so cold? Just days ago, those eyes smiled at me and for me.
One Day After Never (The Second Time's the Charm Book 1) Page 27