by Karen Booth
“You’re killing the romance, you know.”
We brushed our teeth at the sink, smiling at each other through foamy mouths. The moment passed in slow motion, and it struck me how much we liked being with each other. It made me think for the very first time that we were doing the right thing. It wasn’t the way we would’ve chosen for it to happen, but we could find a way to still be happy.
“Taste test.” He pulled me close and brushed his lips against mine.
My hands washed over his back and his slid under my blue and white pajama top to ease it over my head. I arched into him as he worked his way across my back—usually his hands were so warm, but they were arctic. “Oh, ouch.” I separated myself from him by a few inches and looked down at my chest. I prodded my breast with a fingertip and flinched.
He seemed fascinated. “This is new. I like it.”
“I’m not trying to turn you on.” Another poke and I winced. “It’d be better if you didn’t touch my boobs.”
“Huh?” He lowered his head in complete befuddlement.
“They’re a lot more tender than they were yesterday. Try not to touch them.”
His shoulders drooped with disappointment. “But that’s like taking someone to Disneyland and telling them they can’t go on the rides.”
“I’m not thrilled about this either.” I took his hand and walked to the bed.
“But they’re starting to get bigger,” he said, just like a child. “When can I have a proper go at them?” He sat on the bed next to me and I popped up on to my elbows.
“What happened to liking a handful?”
“I never said I wouldn’t take more if I could get it.” He touched my stomach tentatively. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Just go easy around my boobs.”
“And you’re sure this is okay for the baby?”
“The little nipper has no idea what’s going on. I swear.”
* * *
The days began to run together once we were in our new routine, Chris and I adjusting to the idea of what was coming, on our own schedules. We both wrote all day long—he worked on new songs and I had a steady stream of assignments. At night, Chris would help me with dinner or more specifically, he would distract me with kisses and wandering hands while I attempted to make dinner. He and Sam would watch TV and goof around. We functioned like a family. We still didn’t have a plan, but we were only a few weeks into our new situation. Keeping things stable and normal seemed to be enough.
“Chris, I’m running to the grocery store to pick up a few things.”
He was catching up on email, mostly with his record label. It was only six weeks until the CD release and a few days until the Rolling Stone issue was out. He already had a handful of phone interviews scheduled the day the magazine would be released, when he could finally fight back.
“Hold on a minute and I’ll drive you.” He was hunting and pecking his way through the keyboard; it took him forever to compose a message.
“Don’t be silly, you have work to do. The coast is clear outside and it’s a quick trip. I’ll be fine.”
He looked up from the computer. “Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure.”
Stuck at the light around the corner from the grocery store, I flipped on my blinker and I remembered. Paper towels. I stretched across the seat for the grocery list in my purse. The handles flopped away and I wagged my fingers, straining to grab it. I almost had it—a few more inches—and then my foot slipped off the brake. The car lurched then began to inch ahead. I bolted upright as a white delivery truck ballooned in my window. I stomped the brake and missed. Stupid. The driver swerved but it was far too late.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
My brain woke up, but my body remained in a muddy detached state. My eyes were closed against my wishes and my muscles immobile. Still, I could hear noises and sense people around me. I could smell, too—the chalky antiseptic aroma of a hospital, and weaving in and out of the unpleasantness, Chris’s heady scent. My mouth tasted sour and metallic. My lips were frozen rubber, stuck.
I willed my leaden arms to move and my struggle brought a whimper that set off a chain reaction, telling me Chris had been holding my hand. I hadn’t felt it until he jerked suddenly.
“She said something,” he said, with his heavenly blue voice.
Wow. I love your voice. Keep talking, honey. I’m listening.
“Sam, she said something. Get your grandfather.”
Shit. Seriously? Who invited Richard?
“Claire, honey, I’m right here.”
That’s better. Just keep talking or maybe you could sing to me. I love it when you sing.
“You’re going to be okay. Sam’s here and she called your dad and he drove down this morning. We’re all here.”
That’s nice. My skin tingles when you touch my face like that. Your hand feels so warm, like you just took off your mittens.
“Is that a smile?” His voice trembled.
Don’t worry. I’m okay. I just feel a little funny.
He touched the side of my face again and my head turned to his hand as if he was the magnet and I was the metal.
“Oh, no, no, no.” His voice became panicked. “Don’t cry, honey. It’s okay.”
Am I crying? I don’t feel it at all. I can feel your fingers on my cheeks though. They’re soft, like a rabbit’s foot. Oh, wait. Hold on a minute. I’m sorry. My mom’s calling for me. I guess it’s time for me to go back to sleep now.
And then everything went away.
* * *
It was hard to know how long I was out, but at some point, my brain turned on the lights. I felt more connected to my body and that brought a monumental difference—the pain. It wasn’t that I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to. It hurt like hell.
One at a time, I forced my eyes open, the fluorescent light buzzed at me and I closed them before I realized that I’d seen what I was hoping for.
When I opened them the second time, Chris was floating above me with indelible green set within the framework of that face, covered in days of facial hair. Now I felt the tears bursting out of me with their full force. He did the same and that only made me cry more, but it was wonderful and cathartic, my lungs readily filled with air—it made me feel alive.
He kissed me on the cheek with salty tears mixing from his face into mine. Finally able to part, my lips quivered, overcome with how badly I’d missed him.
“You’re awake.” He touched my face with the tips of his fingers and I hoped that I was still alive, that this wasn’t the other side of my original dream, happening because I was dead. “I love you so much, Claire. I was so scared, you have no idea, but you’re going to be fine. Sam and I have been here the whole time. Your dad came yesterday.”
I wanted to speak, but it came out like a quiet cough, a precarious sputter. “The baby.” The tears burst again when I saw the answer in his eyes.
Chapter Forty
“I’m not eating Jell-o.” I coughed. “Nothing that color is good for you.”
“Mom, Chris told me I have to make you eat something. What about the broth?”
I made a face. “It tastes like salty dog water. Why can’t I have real food?”
“Dog water? Grandpa, can you help me out here?”
He peered through his glasses, over the newspaper, from his spot in the corner. “Just make an old man happy and eat something. You’ll feel better.”
“Fine. I’ll have the broth.” I took a sip of the tepid yellow liquid and the salt stung the cuts around my lips.
That morning had been the first time I’d seen myself in the mirror since the accident. The doctor described it as multiple lacerations, but that made it sound so insignificant, as if there were only four or five when it looked as though there were forty or fifty. None of the ones on my face were huge, just big enough to bother me.
Bruises—purple, blue, and a most sickening shade of yellow—were everywhere, especially on the left sid
e of my body. The worst one was nearly black, in the perfect shape of a seatbelt, across my chest and stomach. Otherwise, the doctor said I got off easy considering my car had been totaled, a few cracked ribs and a concussion. The miscarriage was likely a result of the accident, but there was no way to know for sure and I didn’t want to dwell on it because it was too sad, for both of us.
“When is Chris coming back?” I asked. “It seems like he’s been gone forever.” The broth went down, but my stomach wanted more, now that it had sustenance beyond ice chips and flat store-brand ginger ale.
“Soon,” my dad replied, without looking up. “He had to do something.”
A knock at the door postponed the litany of questions I had for my dad about where Chris was and what he was doing.
“Hello?” Jeremy peeked around the door anxiously, like he was worried about walking into the wrong room. “There she is.” His voice was drawn out and he smiled, seeming relieved. “How are you?”
I watched the way his eyes were immediately drawn to the toll the accident had taken on my face. “This is a surprise.” I fussed to straighten the sheet and cover my one exposed leg. “Dad, you remember Jeremy.”
They shook hands and Sam waved to me silently, on her way out into the hall.
Jeremy asked, “Did Chris mention I came by twice yesterday?”
My dad seemed to relish this turn of events. “Let me take these flowers. Aren’t these beautiful, Ladybug?” My dad had never cared about flowers in his life, ever. Now it was like he was a wedding planner.
“Yes, Dad, they’re beautiful.” He took the pale pink lilies from Jeremy and set them on the cart next to my bed being so prissy about it that I thought he was going to bust out a doily. “I guess Chris forgot to tell me. Thank you for the flowers. They’re great.” They were pretty, but lilies were the perfect reminder of funerals, not a pleasant subject considering I’d just narrowly avoided my own.
“I’m so glad you’re awake.” He smiled and my dad offered him the chair at my bedside where Sam had been sitting. “Chris told me you’re lucky to be in one piece.”
“That’s what they tell me.” I rubbed my wrist. My bracelet had been damaged in the accident. Chris was sending it in to have it repaired and the charm replaced, but I missed it.
“When do you go home?” Jeremy asked.
The snooper was making things awkward, hanging on every word between us. It was so obvious that he liked Jeremy and didn’t like Chris. He was like a senile old caveman: orthodontist good, rock star bad.
“Tomorrow, hopefully.”
Jeremy grinned at me again. “That’s good news. I hope you know I’m going to call you this week about our coffee date. I can bring it to you if you’re too tired.”
“We’ll see.”
He hesitated and his eyes tried to break into mine, creepy with my dad in the room. He had to know that I wasn’t on the same page. “I know you need to get your rest, so I’ll get going.”
Jeremy reached across to put his hand on top of mine, just as Chris walked into the room with a smile that disintegrated when he saw the placement of hands. “Hello, everyone. Jeremy.” He set down some brown paper bags.
I jerked my hand away from Jeremy, but that made me look guilty for something I hadn’t enjoyed. Chris shook hands with his adversary before stepping to the head of my bed to tend to me, fluffing pillows and smoothing my hair back. “How’s my girl?” he asked and rested his thumb on my chin.
“Get better, Claire. I’ll call you about our coffee date.”
I willed my dad from the room after Jeremy was gone, but he kept reading the paper.
“I brought you some real food,” Chris muttered. Like a dead-sexy magician, he produced a chicken Caesar salad and a mango smoothie. “I had them put protein powder in the smoothie.”
I smiled at him and warmth rolled over me. It felt like he was the one person on the planet who really got me, who could anticipate my every want and need. “Thank you for doing that.” I slurped the smoothie and looked at him with my lips pursed around the straw, only thinking about how eager I was to get home, feel better, and be alone with him.
“Anything for my beautiful patient.” He promptly moved Jeremy’s flowers to the other side of the room, in the corner.
That seemed to miff my dad and he rumpled the newspaper in dramatic fashion. “I’m going to get some lunch,” he announced. He opened the door, but came to a halt before exiting. “Did you take care of the problem downstairs?” he asked Chris.
“Yes. It’s done,” Chris answered.
“Good,” my dad said brusquely. “I don’t want that guy within a mile of my daughter and granddaughter.”
“I don’t either,” Chris said, his voice short. “It’s taken care of.”
“What problem?” I asked, after my dad left.
Chris sat on the edge of the bed. “The photographer was hanging out in the parking lot and asking the nurses questions. I paid him to go away, for good. I should’ve done that in the first place.” He smoothed my hair back again. “You know, your dad hates me.”
“He’s like that with everybody, don’t take it personally.” I took a big bite of salad and my stomach growled in contentment. “I’m pretty sure he hates me too.”
“Claire, come on. Don’t kid around about this. He hates me. You heard what he said. He thinks I’m trouble.” He looked out the window and folded his arms across his body, totally unlike him. He never shut himself off from me, not like that. “I should go home. He really doesn’t want me here. I don’t want to create problems.”
I choked on my salad and took a slurp of the smoothie. “No, you can’t leave. We need to get him to leave. I need you here. I want you here.”
“But I don’t like feeling like I’m interfering in my own girlfriend’s life.”
“Don’t say that. I want you interfering in my life. If you hadn’t been here, he never would’ve known about this.”
“But, he’s your father. He should be here. I had to tell him what happened.”
“I know, and you were right to call him. You’re a much nicer person than I am. I’m an insensitive brat who would’ve bribed Sam to keep it quiet.”
* * *
The next morning, I found out exactly why my dad was so pissed at Chris the minute the car pulled up to the curb outside the hospital. Chris was driving a brand new white Volvo station wagon—this year’s model and probably loaded, another example of him throwing his money around if you were to ask my dad.
The smile on Chris’s face when he got out of the car was priceless, pure and proud. He bounded over to me and swiped off his sunglasses. “What do you think?” He helped me out of the wheelchair.
“I think you’re in trouble.” It’d likely taken him a lifetime of restraint to not buy something fancier.
He whispered in my ear as he walked me to the car, holding me up and being careful to avoid my sore ribs. “Good trouble?”
“Definitely good.” He leaned down and kissed me on the forehead after he eased me into the front seat.
My dad grumbled. “I told him to buy a used one. These new cars are a waste of money. They lose half of their value when you drive them off the lot.” He and Sam sat in the back; she thumbed through the keyboard on her phone, oblivious to the hostility, all of it coming from her grandfather.
Chris smiled politely at my dad’s attempt to spoil his fun. “But this model has the best airbags yet. It has a GPS, keyless drive and a blind spot detector.” He looked in the rear view mirror, to address Richard. “I don’t care about the value if she’s safe and happy.”
I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. “I love it. It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
At home, the only break we could get from my dad was by sneaking upstairs and locking the bedroom door. I needed to cool off anyway. My dad had had the nerve to tell me that he was uncomfortable with the idea of Chris and me sleeping in the same room since we weren’t married. I had no idea what he thought we’d been d
oing up until that point. Maybe he thought his mouthy daughter had managed an immaculate conception, not that my dad would even acknowledge that Chris had gotten me pregnant in the first place.
Chris propped me up with pillows, behind my back and under my knees, before he mercifully stretched out next to me and took my hand. I loved those moments with him the most; it was enough to make me forget my aches and pains.
“I mailed off your bracelet this morning. It’ll be ready in a few weeks.” He looked at my hand as he played with it. The cuts and the burns from the airbag were starting to fade.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked. He seemed preoccupied.
“Everything. There’s a lot to think about. I hate to say this, but I think I have to go back home tomorrow or the next day. I have some interviews to do and I need to get caught up on bills and things at the house.”
The thought of him leaving drove a pain through my chest, an awful burning. We’d been together for weeks and had just been through an insane amount of trauma—Elise’s book, the baby, the accident.
“I don’t want you to go, but I understand.” I hung my head, depressed because my dad planned to stay for at least a week and maybe longer, depending on how I was doing.
“It won’t be forever. You can fly out to see me, maybe bring Sam for a weekend after you feel well enough to travel.”
“That sounds great, but—” I didn’t want to bring up the dreaded subject, again.
“But what?”
“All we do is come back to the same problem. I’m just wondering how long we can sustain this. It’s really hard for me to be away from you.”
“Believe me, I know, but what do you want to do about it? You don’t want to move and neither do I.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to move, I said I didn’t want to do it before Sam graduates from high school.”
“And I have to be in LA. My record comes out in a few weeks and the label wants me to do a tour. That’s more time apart unless you can drop everything and come on the road with me.”