“Grace, please listen.”
Her jaw set. Her lips stiffened against her teeth, “You leave me, tell me you’ll be back in a few days. It’s been over a week! You didn’t call. I couldn’t get hold of you, and now you come back at this awful time in my life and want to make it worse? Get out! When I know Buns is out of the woods and when I have time to mend my relationship with Sal, we’ll talk. Until then, you’re on the back burner, buddy, just where you put me. Now go!”
Grace pushed Paul out of the car and slammed the door. She slumped over her steering wheel and sobbed until she hiccoughed. When she raised her head and saw Paul standing in front of the car, tears streaming down his face, her heart broke a little more. Damn him. Damn him for becoming so important to me.
She opened the car door and went to him. He held her close. She held him closer. When stars twinkled in the sky and the moon rose high above the earth, they walked hand-in-hand back to the hospital. They were a team. And they had a job to do.
* * *
John shook Paul’s hand. Sal turned her back. “Any improvement?” The concern in Paul’s voice softened John’s stiff demeanor.
“Not yet. They’re running tests.”
“I’m so sorry. I can only imagine what you’re going through.”
Sal turned on Paul bitterly. “There’s nothing you can do to help, French fry. Why don’t you take Grace and go home? She’s done enough.”
“I realize your upset, Sal, but Grace wasn’t driving the car.”
Sal’s eyes flashed, her tongue sharpened by his retaliation. “Who asked you to come here and lecture me? That’s my son lying in a coma, not hers. We don’t need her pitiful excuses why he wasn’t in school. She fucked up! The great psychotherapist couldn’t handle a few ten-year-old bullies. She thought all she had to do was tell them to make nice and everything would be okay. She fucked up. If she had taken care of business, he wouldn’t be lying in that bed, fighting for his life, so don’t tell me—”
“Where were you, Sal?” Paul’s hands planted firmly on his hips.
“I was…we were—” Her eyes found John’s and froze. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. A lie stuck in her throat.
“Sal? Baby? What’s wrong?” John bent down to meet her gaze.
“Baby? Sal?” Sal didn’t answer.
She collapsed.
John moved quickly, catching her before she hit the floor. He scooped her up and ran from the room, yelling for help. Two nurses directed him to an empty bay in the ER.
Grace was speechless. Paul didn’t dare say a word. He put his arm around her and steered her into the waiting room. He settled her in a chair and went to fetch two coffees. It would be a long night, sitting vigil for the boy and Grace’s best friend.
Staring at the stream of dark brew filling the Styrofoam cup, Paul heard Grace’s words niggle at his mind. I feel the evil in his silence. How could that be? He wanted to tell Grace the truth. How could he? Hearing Grace say she received a call from Jess unnerved Paul immensely. He’s dead. According to Grace, he wasn’t. Coffee reached the brim of the cup and threatened to spill before Paul came back to the moment. Wait and see seemed to be the name of the game. Life was on hold until all the chips fell into place. He hoped the gods were in his corner.
CHAPTER 9
DARREN SHEPPARD
S now? Mixed with cinnamon? Jess’s eyelids felt heavy as he inhaled the clean, sweet flow of air. “Count backward for me,” the looming voice instructed.
“Three.” Or was it five? His voice echoed in his ears and his skull. Who cares? His brain manifested a smile behind his eyes. He could no longer feel his body. Light as a cloud, he drifted away.
After six-and-a-half hours of surgery, he awoke. Diffused light hurt his bandaged eyes. A woman’s voice called his name. He wanted to kill her. How dare she interrupt his sleep!
“Mr. Sheppard? Can you hear me?”
Yes, he could hear her. Her Portuguese accent was so thick, the question was, could he understand her? Oh, how his mind fucked with his head. He wiggled his toe. Would that please the bitch? How about this? He flexed one hand, then the other. He wanted to wrap his hands around her neck, and although he lacked the strength to squeeze, he’d love to try. All he wanted to do was sleep.
The next morning, “Mr. Sheppard” was greeted by the doctor and his entourage. Fortunately, one was an interpreter. He couldn’t see her, but her voice produced the sensation of grit on his tongue. She bent close to his ear. He gnashed his teeth, wanting to bite off her lips. You’re cranky, man. Real cranky. Remnants of anesthesia and the pain NSAIDs pumping into his veins played havoc with his brain chemistry.
“How are we this morning?” the doctor inquired. The guttural tone of his native language fit his stumpy form. Jess had difficulty staying focused during their consultation; the doctor’s bushy mustache resembled a tarantula. Overall, he resembled a troll, but his credentials were impeccable. Only the best por moi.
Today his dexterous performance wasn’t enough to please the staff. The doctor lifted the corner of the bandage to examine his handy work. He babbled to his team in Portuguese, then returned the bandage to its original state. Jess groaned. His sinuses throbbed, and he couldn’t breathe through his nose. What the— An epiphany. Rhinoplasty, duh. His Anglo-Saxon nose that bent slightly to the left was replaced with a straight, shorter version. He’d look totally different. The joy in his head never reached his lips. His face felt as though it were encased in Elmer’s glue. Mr. Sheppard’s brow and eyelids needed time to heal. Hair plugs formed into a widows peak. Eventually, dental veneers would complete his new look. Excitement took hold, and pain couldn’t squelch his party-tude.
He estimated six weeks before he would be able to leave Buenos Aires and another six before he’d be able to see Grace. A silent giggle filled his chest cavity. The staff mistook his elation for convulsions. Soon, a swarm of hands and instruments invaded his space.
Next time, he would refrain.
* * *
Sal sat vigil at Bun’s bedside. Time swallowed eight days whole. She allowed ten-minute breaks for showers and meals but little else, afraid she would miss a twitch or a moan. She had lost another five pounds. John felt helpless watching her whittle to nothing. He resorted to crossword puzzles. He entertained their four older sons when they came to visit. He remained good-natured, but given a closer look, his fingernails were bitten to the quick, His cuticles bled. The dark rings under his arms matched those around his eyes.
“When are you going to let Grace visit? It’s been over a week.”
“Never.”
“C’mon, Sal. You know this isn’t her fault. Why do you insist on punishing her?”
“She should’ve known better.”
“You know that’s bullshit. And what about us? I’m kinda blamin’ myself, aren’t you? We got home before it happened. Had we known…had anyone known— Christ, Sal, the asshole driving the car is the one that should be crucified! Not Grace and certainly not you or me.”
Sal’s eyes flashed. John retreated. The last time she got riled, she ended up in the ER. He didn’t want to make matters worse; he wanted to go home. He wanted life to be normal again. More than anything, he wanted his son to wake up. One doctor suggested donating the boy’s organs. Another had the gall to ask about funeral arrangements. The rest were generally supportive. Many cases had been reported of people waking up from comas. The brain had miraculous healing abilities, and in most cases, all that was required was time. Bun’s body had begun to heal, and they held out hope that his brain would follow. Meanwhile, John and Sal drifted further apart. Remnants of their lovemaking banished to a do-not-open place, alongside any mention of Grace.
Sal smoothed the blankets over her son’s stiff body. She pictured him as the small boy she once held close to her heart, needing to be mothered and nurtured.
“Buns, Mommy’s going to use the restroom, I’ll be right back. Your father’s here. No one is leaving you, sweetheart.
We’re both here.” Sal rose and waited for John to take her seat. Once he assumed the sentry position, Sal took leave.
She closed the bathroom door, approached the sink, and splashed cold water on her face repeatedly. She checked her reflection in the mirror. “You look like shit, dear.” Isn’t that what her mother said when she came home late? She patted her face, encouraging blood to rise in her cheeks. Her reflection was pale. Her pulse felt weak. She was ready to die. If her baby lived on the other side, that’s where she wanted to be—with him.
John tapped on the door. “Sal? Baby? You all right in there?”
She didn’t realize sound came from her lips. Sobs came out of nowhere, wracking her body with pain. She slid down the wall, emitting a sound that didn’t resemble her human side.
John barged in to find his wife lying on the floor, blood dripping from her mouth.
“Help me!” he yelled. “Somebody help me!”
A woman in navy scrubs shoved John aside. She checked Sal’s vitals while colorfully clad bodies assembled in the small space to help. Sal moaned and struggled to sit up. The navy-scrubbed nurse assisted her to a sitting position. “Were you feeling dizzy, ma’am?”
“Don’t call me ma’am,” Sal lisped weakly. “John, get me up off this goddamn, dirty floor.” John rushed to her side.
“Excuse me, ladies. You heard my wife. She’s fine.”
“Your wife needs stitches,” a matronly woman in crimson scrubs announced.
“Fine, but not here. Not in my son’s room.”
John scooped Sal in his arms and blocked his son’s view from the bed as he carried Sal into the hallway. “Where should we go?”
“Over this way.” The nurse motioned to a bank of chairs lined up along the nurse’s station. John held tissue tight against Sal’s lip. Her front tooth had broken through the skin when she fell.
Once Sal was seated in a chair, a nurse brought a suture tray and a syringe filled with xylocaine. Another nurse took John aside to fill out paperwork.
“I want a consult.” John’s face transfixed into serious intent. “My wife has cancer. She’s passed out twice in the last week or so. It may be because she’s not eating properly and her blood sugar is low, but I want her gone over with a fine-tooth comb. She’s my world. My son may never come out of this coma, but if I lose my wife, you may as well…shoot me.” John’s shoulders began to shake. His face bunched into anguish. A groan built up in his chest, reached a crescendo, and catapulted over the precipice of his reserve. “I can’t bear to lose her.” Tears trickled down bristly cheeks.
Sal poked her head around the large maroon figure. “God, John! You cryin’ over there?”
“Hold still, ma’am. You don’t want your tongue sewn to your lip now, do you?”
Ignoring nurse’s orders, Sal stretched her lips as far as they would go. “My husband—he’s such a baby.”
* * *
After the seventh day, Jess was ready to go through the roof. Anticipating his unveiling played on his mind morning, noon, and night. If it hadn’t been for round-the-clock care and painkillers, he probably would have had his bandages off the first day.
“Mr. Sheppard, let’s see what we have here.” The doctor peeled away gauze and paper-tape. “Ah, I am genius,” he said, turning Jess’s face from side to side. “You look like diplomat.” His boisterous laugh filled the room. The nurse beside him took her cue and held up the hand-mirror for Jess to agree.
“Amazing.” Jess ran a finger along the bridge of his nose. He traced the peak of his hairline. Dark stubbles came to a slight V at the edge of his forehead. He smiled, reveling in his new look. “How long before the scars are gone?” He caught the eye of the petite nurse holding the mirror and winked. When she blushed, he felt the heat rising beneath his gown. He pressed his hand against his growing erection. The nurse followed his gaze, turning a brighter shade of pink. The doctor cleared his throat.
“You are free to go at any time. The risk of infection is minimal at this point. You must follow my directions, take your medication, and come back in two weeks. You should see much improvement by then, the swelling reduced, and the redness gone. Please see me if you feel any of the incisions are becoming bothersome. Also, if you have excessive itching, redness, or oozing. Right now, I see you as a perfect candidate for a speedy recovery, Mr. Sheppard. You will be singing my praises in no time.” The doctor shook Jess’s hand and turned on his heels to leave. The petite nurse, hung back, fluffing Jess’s pillow.
“You are very pretty. You make a man’s blood boil.” He smoothed his gown against his groin, giving her a glimpse of his growing reaction to her beauty. She reached across his body to reattach the call button, her breasts brushing against his arm. He nonchalantly raised his hand and cupped a handful of flesh. Their eyes locked in a gaze. His slow smile invited her to stay.
“Perhaps next time…when you are well,” she whispered in his ear. Her smile was wicked as she turned to go.
Jess had no recourse but to slip his hand beneath the covers to relieve his pent-up passion. Moments into his pleasure, he stopped and grabbed his cell phone. He dialed the number from memory. He closed his eyes and returned to the business at hand, waiting to hear Grace’s voice as he reached his climax.
* * *
At four o’clock in the morning, Grace awoke to the sound of her phone blaring on the nightstand. She had set her ringer to full volume every night since Bun’s accident in case Sal needed her. As she reached for the phone, Paul turned, cuddling closer to her warm body. “Hello?” She hadn’t checked the number. The silence chilled her to the core. “Sal? John? Hello?” She tilted the phone and processed the number in her head. “Why are you calling me?” Her cry woke Paul from his slumber.
“Who is it?”
“Guess?” She threw the phone on the bed. Paul picked it up.
“Hello?” He waited for someone to answer. When the phone went dead, he hopped out of bed. “Sweetheart? Are you okay?”
“It’s four o’clock. Why is he calling me at four o’clock in the morning?”
“Hard to say who it is. The number was blocked. See?” He showed her the “private” message on the screen.
“I know it was him, Paul. I’m not imagining things. It was him.”
“I believe you. I just need to be sure.” He stifled a yawn. “I’ll be right back. Keep the bed warm for me.” He bent down, kissed her cheek, and lifted her chin. “We’ll get some more shut-eye, and then I’ll dazzle you with a stack of blueberry pancakes. How does that sound?”
“What would I do without you?”
“Starve?”
“In more ways than one.” She reached for him, pressed her body close to his, and then released him.
Paul began dialing Skip before he reached the bottom of the stairs. His sleepy friend answered with a growl. “Fuck, man! We’re sleeping here!” Paul could hear Skip’s wife complaining in the background. “Do you know what time it is?” Paul heard the click on the other end of the phone. He chuckled and hit redial. This time, the greeting was friendlier. “Better be important, Fortier. Shoot.”
“He’s alive, Skip. The son-of-a-bitch is alive.”
“Impossible! We saw his body! The guy was dead; there ain’t no mistaken that fact, Jack.” Paul didn’t respond. Skip heaved a sigh. “What makes you think he’s alive?”
“He just called Grace. The number was blocked, but she’s sure it was him.”
“Does she know he’s dead?”
“No, I tried to tell her. She’s convinced it’s him.” The temperature had dropped into the low fifties. Birds began to chirp, breaking the silence. His adrenaline hit overload. He rubbed his sweaty palm on his flannel pajama pants. “We need to know for sure.”
* * *
Jess snapped his phone shut and placed it on the nightstand. He reached for the bottle of pills, sprinkled two large tablets in his hand, and washed them down with a long pull of birra. “Living large,” he sighed, leaning back into
a pile of pillows. The chemicals entered his bloodstream, and his scalp tingled. Floating. He started to doze when a knock at the door bolted him upright.
“What took you so fucking long?” He grabbed a handful of hair, slamming the pretty brunette against the wall. He kissed her hard, sucking her tongue, and biting her lip. She pushed him away. His smile turned wicked. “You want to play—good.” He shut the door, moving towards the woman like a cat stalking its prey. “Have you been taking your medication, Mr. Sheppard?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Closer.
“Are you running a fever, experiencing any oozing, or discomfort?” One long leg stretched behind her, then the other.
“Nope,” he said. “Following doctor’s orders to a T.” Closer, he inhaled her musky scent. She took another step back.
“Good, then my job here is finished.” She tossed her hair to one side, revealing a flawless, slender neck and the swell of flesh pushing against her top button. Her eyes remained on his, challenging his approach. “If you’ll please step away, Mr. Sheppard, I will take my leave.”
Closer, he felt the heat of her body. Flecks of amber, burned in her emerald eyes. Even closer, he towered above her five-feet four frame. He pushed her down, pinning her to the bed. She fought him, bringing her knee to his groin, tearing at his hair. He didn’t relent. Soon his mouth covered hers in victory.
He savored her lips, his hands wandering to her soft mounds. His hands worked their magic, bringing her body to a delicious frenzy. She squirmed beneath him, igniting his fire.
His breath ragged, he said, “I should break your fucking neck for making me wait so long.” He hovered above her, grinding his manhood against her thigh.
“I’m worth the wait.” She slithered out from under his weight to remove black lace. She crawled on all fours to the edge of the bed. “I’m hoping you won’t be the one to disappoint.” She glanced over her shoulder, wet her lips, and gave a wink.
The Black Dress Page 8