Close Match

by Jerald, Tracey

  Linnie pulls her phone away from her ear and presses the End button. “I love her so much. I don’t know how I would have got through everything without her.”

  I growl. Linnie lets loose a light laugh. “Part of me loves that you’re so protective of me, but you don’t need to protect me from the people I love.”

  Something twists inside me when she says that. “I feel like I need to protect you from everyone.” Including me.

  “I don’t give up on the people I love. You fix the problems that are buried deep inside them.” My heart races when her hand that has a capped-off IV reaches up and cups my cheek. “Same goes for you, buster. Not that I expect you to step out of line anytime soon.”

  “I’ll try not to.” I chuck her chin lightly.

  “Good.” She plops back against the pillows. “Now, how about a cheeseburger?”

  “I believe the nurse said a light dinner. See? They even have them marked with an L?” I point out to her.

  She pouts in response.

  “The creamy chicken…” I start to read, but she interrupts.

  “Sounds like it will taste like ass. I want real food.” And that’s when I grin. She’s going to be just fine.

  Now we just have Ev to worry about.

  Sixty-Three

  Evangeline

  “You’re positive?” Char asks Dr. Spellman excitedly.

  “Absolutely. His bloodwork is showing a positive improvement, and there’s no sign of graft versus host transplant.”

  “Oh my God. We’ll have to do something to celebrate. How much longer until he can come home?” I lean forward. Char is squeezing the life out of my hand.

  “I’d say another few weeks. His immune system, while growing, is still weak. We don’t mind healthy visitors who wash and suit up. But too many people? Too much exposure? At his age, I’m still cautious about it.”

  “A few weeks,” Char breathes. Her face is alight with happiness. Then again, whose wouldn’t be after being told their husband is going to have years to live and not just days? “Oh, Linnie, I don’t know how to thank you.” And the next thing you know, I’m being toppled backward in my chair by armfuls of my stepmother.

  Monty chuckles from his perch on the far side of the room. His face has an ease to it I haven’t seen in weeks, months. “Why don’t we let Dr. Spellman get back to doing his rounds, Mom can visit Ev, then I’ll take you both out to lunch,” Monty suggests.

  “I think that sounds perfect.” I detach a weeping Char from my arms. “Come on, Char. You can’t go into Dad’s room crying.”

  “No, you’re right. He’ll wonder if somethings wrong—like maybe I’ve spent all of his money on shoes or donated it to some charity that sponsors growing wheat in the rain forest.”

  Spellman, who had just made it to the door, barks out a laugh. “It’s always a pleasure when I get to enjoy the results of my work.” Shaking his head, he steps past Monty after they exchange a handshake.

  Standing, I grin. “Let’s go celebrate.”

  Monty holds out his hand, first to me, then to his mother. And the three of us leave, promising to meet in the courtyard in an hour. As Monty and I make our way into the late-February sunshine, I spin into a series of pirouettes. “It worked!” I’m so happy, I could fly.

  “That it did. How does it feel to be a hero?” There’s an undercurrent to his voice I can’t quite pick up on.

  Ignoring it, I shake my head. “This was a team effort. If anyone’s the hero, it’s Ev. It’s one hell of a decision he made.”

  Monty goes to open his mouth but closes it. “That it was. So, what do you want to do for the next hour?”

  “This.” And I throw myself into his arms. Pulling his head down to mine, I kiss him senseless.

  I feel him smile against my lips. “Good choice.” He slants his head as he captures my lips under his.

  I thought so too, I think smugly before abandoning my heart and soul into the kiss and the man delivering it.

  Sixty-Four

  Montague

  “I promise I won’t be too long,” I tell a laughing Linnie. “I just want to go up to see Ev before he conks out for the night.”

  “Want me to come with you?” She steps into my arms and tips her head back.

  “I’ll be okay.” The reality is, now that Ev’s on the mend, I want to talk with him about some of the stuff clogging my head. Now that I don’t have this overwhelming fear he’s leaving us, I need to unburden myself of everything that’s been going on.

  The worry. The pain. The drinking.

  And I can’t have the woman I love there while I humiliate myself.

  “Then be careful driving.” She rises on her toes. “I’m just glad I got a hold of your mom before she got too far down the road.”

  “Me too. Text me when you get home.” It’s a request, but I know it comes out more like an order when she rolls her eyes.

  “Yes, sir.” She throws off a mock salute which, in the history of salutes, should never be seen by a military officer for the crime against nature it truly is.

  “I’ll see you later.” After Linnie and Mom are safely on their way, I head back inside the hospital. Taking the elevator up to Ev’s floor, I make my way down the hall toward his room. I’m scrubbing up when a nurse steps out. “Oh, hello, Mr. Parrish. We’re you hoping to see your father?” A frown appears on her face.

  “Well, yes. Why? Is that a problem?” There hasn’t been set visiting hours before, so I’m a little confused.

  “Your father was experiencing a little fatigue this evening and asked for us not to have him disturbed. I’m sorry, when a patient requests that, it includes family unless otherwise specified.” She lays a hand gently on my arm. “How about coming back first thing in the morning when he’s a little bit fresher.”

  An erratic beat begins to thrum in my heart. “Sure, that’s fine.” Stripping off the paper gown, I toss it into the trash receptacle. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Distracted while she makes notes on the chart, the nurse smiles briefly before returning to her work.

  I’m walking past the nurses’ monitoring station when I pick up bits of conversation. I slow my stride to hear more. “…doing so well. It came on so suddenly.” “It’s so sad; he’s such a nice man.” “Well, you know the donor was only a close match. There’s always a chance the transplant is being rejected.”

  Turning abruptly, I give them my broadest smile. “Hello, ladies. Could you let me know what time I’ll be able to come back to see Everett Parrish in the morning?”

  All of their faces close up. “He has a do-not-disturb order for his room. It’s probably best if you call,” one says gently.

  “Yes, that’s for the best,” the other agrees.

  “Thanks,” I choke out. Turning, I practically run for the elevator.

  Oh, God. They were talking about Ev.

  It’s Ev rejecting the transplant.

  Linnie was unable to save him. She wasn’t a miracle, after all.

  * * *

  Panic and fury drove me out of Inova. I didn’t bother to slow down to gather my thoughts. I only know I need a drink fast.

  I drive past several popular haunts, not wanting to make conversation. I want to forget what I just heard. I need to obliterate the nurses’ words from my mind. There’s a chance the transplant is being rejected. The next forty-eight hours are critical.

  Finally, I see a broken neon light up ahead announcing what I so desperately need.

  B-A-R

  I swing the Jag into the gravel parking lot. I hear ping after ping of rock hit the body before one flies up and nicks the windshield. I don’t care.

  All I need right now is behind the front doors of a place that looks like it’s going to ask no questions and demand no answers.

  Perfect.

  Pulling open the door, I stalk up to the mostly empty bar. Reaching for my wallet, I pull out all the bills before shoving it back inside my back pocket. I feel my cell buzz
in my pocket, but I ignore it. Slapping the money on the counter in front of the startled bartender, I snarl, “Take 20 percent off the top for yourself, and then just keep the vodka coming.”

  “Will do, hoss. You want it to taste good, or you want it to last?” he asks before he turns toward the well.

  Settling down on a barstool that feels like it has a spring shoving deep up my ass, I growl, “I want it to last.”

  * * *

  “Dude, I think if you even put him in the car, you can be arrested.”

  “Ain’t my problem. He can’t sleep inside the bar.”

  “Fine,” I slur. “Goin’.”

  “See? He can talk. You’re fine, ain’t ya, hoss?”

  “Fine. Fine, fine, fine.” Everything’s always fine. Or it will be when I get to sleep and this nightmare ends.

  “Come back anytime.” The door slams behind me. I get my bearings for just a moment while I try to figure out where I am. I hiccup, and bile starts to rise.

  “Food,” I mumble. I squint. There’s an all-night Krystal next door. I think? I’ll just get a sack of burgers before I head home.

  Ev’s home. Tears begin to fall down my face. I sniffle as I engage my Jag and drive it from one parking lot to the next. I sit up straighter as I drive past a police officer. “Can’t get caught driving by the po-po,” I chuckle. “That’d be no bueno.”

  I wipe the tears of mixed laughter and pain from my eyes as I order. Realizing I used all my cash at the bar, I hand over my card to swipe at the window. Greedily, I begin chugging the drink when I realize I have to take a piss. “Hey, are your bathrooms open?” I ask the drive-thru cashier.

  She shakes her head. “No, sir. You can try the Wawa down the road a ways.”

  I wave as I pull away from the window.

  By the time I get to Wawa, I need to take a leak so badly, I leave the Jag running and race inside holding my crotch. All the urinals are in use, so I bust into a stall. My movements are so jerky, my phone—precariously pocketed at best—falls into the toilet. “Fuck,” I yell out. Ah, the hell with it, I think. I don’t have time to deal with a phone that’s likely destroyed. I’ll get a new one.

  So, I drop my zipper long enough just to pee all over it, the seat, and the floor. The relief is so pervasive, I brace myself on the stall, not realizing I’m still peeing, this time on my shoes.

  I tuck the most crucial shit away and walk out of the bathroom, hearing screeching behind me.

  Jesus, how many men had to take a piss? And why were their damn urinals set so high? You’d have had to have arced your dick to land in those fucking things.

  I almost collide with a guy coming out of the bathroom on the other side. Slapping him on the back, I think I’m whispering when I tell him, “Dude, you just came out of the women’s room.” Then I begin to laugh uproariously.

  It’s the last coherent memory I have. I don’t remember him shoving me away. I don’t remember leaving or getting back in my car.

  But I do.

  And in some alarming ways, it may have saved my life.

  Sixty-Five

  Evangeline

  “You want to see what your ‘help’ has done?” I shiver as he gets closer. His anger is palpable. “You want to see what hope got him? Where faith led him? Then fine, let’s go.”

  I hesitate, not because I don’t want to be there for my father when he wakes up in a few hours, but because something is off with Monty. There’s a subtle tremble to his body, and he reeks as if he hasn’t showered in three days. “Do you want me to drive?” It’s so late, and he looks like he’s ready to collapse at the wheel.

  “Just get in the damned car, Linnie.”

  My guilt about the transplant possibly failing carries me to the passenger-side door. I don’t know who I’m dealing with right now. This isn’t the man who touched my heart and my body with such care the other night. This is a man filled with so much undirected rage, I don’t know what to do.

  Other than being there.

  Slamming into the car, he engages the engine and peels out of the driveway. I yelp as one of the larger pieces of gravel flies up and slams into the windshield, turning a small chip into a larger crack. “Monty, slow down!” I cry out.

  “I’m trying to get us there as fast as I can. You don’t know what they said. You won’t get in there to see him. Are you going to run back to…” He’s so busy snarling at me he doesn’t slow down for the snakelike turns that run along the property line.

  “Monty, please slow down,” I beg. There’s something else wrong; I know it. I can’t pinpoint what it is.

  “What did you do with my phone? It’s your damn fault I went into the women’s room.” His words make no sense.

  “What?” I ask carefully. I don’t want to distract him. As it is, we’re crossing the double yellow line too much for my liking.

  “I hate the idea it was you who saved him. Happy? You’re not a damn hero. You’re someone who just invaded our lives and is going to leave. Why did you come at all?” His eyes come off the road to glare at me. As we pass under a lamppost, I see they’re shot through with red as if he’s been crying. My feet kick a sandwich bag at my feet. Well, that accounts for the stains on his clothes. But why does he smell like…

  “Pull off and let me drive,” I beg him. “Please.”

  “Why?” The car lists dangerously to the left. “I like fast. You like slow. Even fucking,” His smile is predatory.

  “I just want us to get there safely,” I plead. I’m dying a thousand deaths inside as memories begin to flash through my mind of my mother coming in and Patrick sending me to my room.

  “Safe?” His voice is full of derision. “Safe is an illusion created by people trying to sell you something.”

  The car swerves as Monty turns to look at me. My heart races in fear as we pick up speed.

  “If I learned th’anything my life, it’s that nothing is safe. No one can ’scape thiss living nightmare. Day after day.” His words come out slurred. My heart sinks at the confirmation he’s been drinking. But this is worse than the few drinks he’s had dinner or even the occasional one in our room at night. This is my past nightmares come back to life.

  Oh, God.

  “Please, let me drive, sweetheart.” I’m crying, sobbing, begging.

  His only response is to slam his foot down harder on the accelerator.

  “Monty, I promise we’ll get through this.” I want to reach for him, but I’m afraid my slightest touch will startle him.

  “What have you done but speed up the end of his life?” I shrink back against the door when he screams at me. My skin feels like ice.

  “Is that what you think?” My breath catches on a sob. I’ve forgotten about Monty’s erratic driving in the wake of that devastating blow.

  “Just let me concentrate, damnit. Can’t think. Maybe…”

  “Monty, look out!” I scream.

  Through whatever haze he’s in, my scream still penetrates. He jerks the wheel instinctively, but it’s too late. We’re already crashing through a picket fence. The windshield shatters and sprays shards all over the two of us. My hands lift to cover my face as the Jag tears through the rough spray of rhododendrons set a few feet back.

  The last thing I consciously remember is the wet sliding its way along my cheek from my eye towards my mouth.

  I don’t know if it’s blood or tears.

  Act 3 – Then don’t give up.

  Sixty-Six

  Evangeline

  February

  Ever since the night we were brought by ambulance to Loudoun County Hospital, I’ve calmly answered when asked who Monty is to me, “He’s the man I love.” I’ve endured pathetic looks from everyone. But they don’t know what I do. Montague Parrish—the man inside—is utterly broken. His strength is an illusion, and he’s been coping by using alcohol as a crutch. It’s not right. Nothing of what happened is.

  It wasn’t when my mother did it either. Did it make me love her less? No.<
br />
  Does it turn off my feelings for him? Of course not. This is the reason I refused to press charges and instead pushed for rehabilitation.

  But if at the end of his treatment, he’s unable to live without the bottle, I’m strong enough to walk away with a clear conscience.

  But in the darkest of moments, it’s hard not to let doubt creep in. Then I remember he didn’t realize what he was saying, that it was the alcohol taking over. The man who yelled at me wasn’t the man who held me so tenderly while I restored my sense of self. This is the man who made me realize I could rise even higher than the stars above Broadway through love. He cradled me in the tub in my fear and told me his secrets in the rain. It’s that Monty I remember when I put my hand to my heart, and it’s the rhythm of his beating I feel.

  I’m not a fool though. What he did negates my absolute commitment to him, to us, but it’s hard to obliterate my love. But it’s not me who has to fight for absolution, for forgiveness, for us. It’s him.

  I sit here waiting to feel the final blow of grief or to thank God for yet another miracle.

  What everyone’s forgetting is that down to his soul, Monty is a man built to protect the defenseless. It’s going to destroy him even further when his faculties are restored enough to realize what happened. It’s exhausting to keep reminding people we all succumb to demons when the foundations of our world have been shattered.