The Dead of Winter (Seasons of Jefferson: Book 2)

by Julie Solano

  “No more waiting,” I shake my head at my sister. “Jenna, go on. This needs to happen today. What are we going to do?”

  “I’ve stopped by her room a couple times, trying to get a look inside. There’s an empty bed, and I don’t think she’s sharing a room with anyone. I scoped it out again before I got here, just to make sure. When I peeked through the window, the extra bed was still made. I’ve come up with a story to get you into it for a bit. That way, you’ll be right next to her. The only problem is, in order to actually see Peyton, we need to get her mom out of the room for a minute.”

  Yeah, right. This sounds impossible. “There’s no way. This is never going to work.”

  “Trust me. We can do this. I’m going to push you down there in the wheelchair. I don’t think they’ll recognize me in this outfit, but no matter what happens, just keep your face toward the ground. We can’t let anyone see who you are. This will work, I swear. Once you’re in the room, I’ll get you situated on the bed and make sure the curtain is closed. You’re going to need to wait until we can get Mrs. Carter away from the room. Promise me you’ll be patient. We don’t need security called on us. Do you think you can handle it?”

  I take a deep breath, releasing it slowly as I visualize how to play my role. At this point, I’ll try anything to see her. “I’m ready. Let’s do it!”

  “Kaitlyn and Brody, are you guys ready? You’re a big part of this. I’ll text you when he’s all settled. That’s when you guys will come down and get Momma Bear out of the room.” Relief hits me when they begin nodding their heads in agreement. “Okay then. Stay here until you hear from me.”

  My stomach begins to grind and churn at the thought of sneaking down the hall into room 83. Maybe it’s just the pain medicine I’ve taken mixed with the Gold Rush burger, but I think I’m going to be sick. My cheeks are beginning to quiver. Trying to swallow down the thick saliva, I continue fixating on the potential hazards that lie ahead. I have no idea what will happen if we’re caught. Does this small town hospital even have security? Why are they guarding her from us? Do they think we’re the reason she almost died? Or, maybe they’re trying to protect us from something they don’t think we can handle. Is she missing a limb? Is she tragically disfigured? My mind is plagued with “what ifs.” I can’t rationalize why they haven’t let us in to see her.

  Pushing all of the disturbing thoughts aside, I gather enough nerve to give Jenna the go ahead. “Okay, we can go now.” Even though we’re just five doors apart and we won’t have to pass the nurses station, my biggest fear is that a real nurse or doctor will spot us. Or even worse, come into the room and see me in the bed next to Peyton. Jenna, on the other hand, doesn’t appear to be scared at all. She seems to be enjoying her part in the risky, little adventure that she’s orchestrated.

  “Relax. I’ve got everything under control. Don’t forget most of the staff is at the wedding. There aren’t that many people to dodge. I’ve thought this through, and it’s going to work. Trust me. Just remember, don’t let anyone see your face. Are you ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  Concern etches itself on my sister’s face, as she warns, “Be careful, guys.”

  Jenna nods, and begins to wheel me toward the door, when Brody steps in front of me. I watch him peek his head through the doorway to make sure the coast is clear. He turns to all of us and gives a thumbs up.

  I watch the green tiles turn into a blur as Jenna rolls the wheelchair through the hallway. I have to remember to keep my face down. As we roll over each square of tile, I work to pull the grout lines into focus, counting each one. Click, click, click, click, the wheels of the chair roll rhythmically across the floor. Square foot by square foot, we make our way down the hall. I keep my mind occupied with the counting. If I allow myself to think about anything other than the lines, I may lose my burger all over the shiny, green tiles. Jenna gently nudges me as she whispers, “Walkin’ the mile, walkin’ the green mile.” My stomach flips from the thought of the scene. She knows how much that damn movie upset me. I would totally elbow her right now to shut her up, but I can’t move my arm. Leave it to Jenna to take a serious situation and make a joke out of it. And what’s with that reference anyway? Thanks for reminding me that someone down the hall probably wants to kill me. My nerves flare once again.

  The wheelchair slows to a stop as I listen to the knock of a wooden door. “Don’t look up,” she reminds me. When the door swings open, Jenna’s voice drips with a sweet southern accent. “How y’all doing today? Sorry to disturb you, but I need to move this patient into that empty bed for a little while. His roommate just woke up from surg’ry and with all the moanin’ and groanin’ this sweet fella couldn’t get any rest. Don’t worry, we’ll only leave him here for a bit, but this is the only bed left on this wing. How ‘bout if I pull the curtain shut so you won’t have to watch him snore? Hmm?”

  Thinking about that black, bobbed wig swinging to the hilariously fake accent, I try not to choke out a laugh. I appreciate the fact that Jenna has completely submerged herself in the role and is taking on all of the attention while I get to hide under this blanket. My tension eases when I hear Peyton’s mom reply, “No problem. My daughter’s been sleeping most of the day. It should be nice and quiet in here.”

  “Thank you ma’am,” Jenna replies sweetly as she rolls me through the doorway toward the bed. She turns the wheelchair around so I’m facing away from Peyton’s side of the room. After pulling back the sheets, she helps me into the bed, slightly covering my face with the blanket. “I’ll be back to check on you later, son.” She bends down and squeezes my hand, leaning into my ear and whispering, “Good luck.” Those are her last words before I hear the screeching metal sound of the curtain being pulled around to shield me from Peyton’s mother.

  The door opens and closes. My body tenses as I hear footsteps slowly walk across the room and stop nearby. My stomach flips with the thought that only a thin piece of material separates the two of us. She’s so close, I can sense her energy filtering through the curtain. One little, curious peek from Mrs. Carter could blow my entire world apart. I can’t risk being exposed. I work to stay still, despite the fact that I need to shift my weight to relieve the pain in my arm.

  Hold your breath. Stay still. I pull the blanket from my face, and notice the silhouette of Peyton’s mom standing at the foot of my bed. Why is she standing there? Is she suspicious? Breathe. Through your nose. Don’t make a sound. Breathe. I remain frozen beneath the covers as I talk myself through the anxiety. I don’t know what I’ll do if I’m discovered. Why can’t she just leave? I need to get up and see Peyton. Leave. I pray. When is Jenna’s plan going to kick in? Hurry up, Kaitlyn. Come get Mrs. Carter out of here. I repeat these words over and over in my mind.

  After what feels like twenty minutes, I hear a knock at the door and thank God when Mrs. Carter walks away from my bed, allowing me the chance to shift positions and take in a much needed breath. I listen intently as the door creaks open, and I hear my sister’s voice softly drift into the room. “Good evening, Mrs. Carter. We’re sorry to disturb you, but we wanted to check on Peyton again, and …”

  With a low, stern tone, I hear Peyton’s mom interrupt, “I thought we made it clear the first three times you came, that Peyton isn’t taking visitors.” There is a brief silence. This isn’t going to work. I’m never going to get over there to see her. Disappointment stabs at my heart. I close my eyes and focus my attention back to Mrs. Carter as she pulls in an audible breath. When she begins to speak again, I hear her voice soften.

  “Okay, how about this? You can let Caden and the others know that Peyton woke up yesterday. She’s still out of it from her brain surgery, but they relieved the swelling, and she is stable at the moment. She’s on a lot of medication, and she hasn’t moved or spoken. To tell you the truth, she’s not out of the woods yet. Aside from drowning, she took a pretty severe blow to the head. It was a lot for one little girl to endure. The doctors don�
��t know if she’ll make a full recovery. It’s just too early to tell. Look, Kaitlyn, we don’t want to add any more shock or stress to an already volatile situation. I hope you understand. I’m sorry if this is hard on you and your friends, but I have to protect my daughter.”

  At the words brain surgery, adrenaline spikes through every nerve ending in my body. I gasp and stiffen, making the bed squeak and the covers ruffle. I see Mrs. Carter’s silhouette flinch at the sound of my sudden movement, and watch her figure turn toward my bed. Think fast. I let out a small snore, trying to disguise my shocked movement as restless sleep. Dear God. Brain surgery? What did I do to my girlfriend? Now more than ever, I have to figure out how to see her. I have to make sure she’s going to be okay.

  “I understand, Mrs. Carter. Thank you for giving us an update. I know this has been awful for you, and we’re praying for Peyton and your family. We also came to give you this.” There is a pause as I watch the silhouette of Mrs. Carter’s arm travel toward Kaitlyn’s outreached hand. My sister continues. “This is my brother’s pocket knife. It’s pretty special to Peyton. She gave it to him for his birthday. She was holding it when I found her in the river. She insisted on keeping it. She told me she used it to cut herself out of the seat belt. I’ve been saving it for her until we could see her. I hope it brings her some kind of comfort to have it back.”

  I hear Mrs. Carter sniffle, followed by a long stillness. The deafening silence between the two of them allows me to focus on my own reaction to the heartbreaking image of a drowning Peyton struggling to cut herself out of my submerged truck. It makes me sick to think I was too weak to help her myself. I let her down. I let us fly over that cliff. I almost let her die. I wasn’t even there to save her. What kind of a boyfriend … no, what kind of a human being am I? I listen to the greasy dinner grind in my stomach. The churning burger pushes a small amount of bile up my throat. I force it back down, covering my mouth to keep it from coming up. The heat of my body’s furnace begins to roar. Sweat jumps from the flames and begins to escape down my forehead. Oh no. I’m going to be sick.

  I try to distract my mind so I don’t lose it all right now and blow my cover. My cheeks quiver. They begin to pucker as thick, bitter saliva fills my mouth. I’ve got to find something to throw up in. I don’t think I’m going to be able to hold this back much longer. Slowly rising from the bed, I scan the room. My mouth is filling fast. I can no longer swallow. Ready to lose it any second, I find a pink, plastic bedpan on the table stand next to my bed and hold it under my mouth, just in case I’m not strong enough to keep it all down.

  Think Caden, think. Clear your head. You can’t blow chunks right now. Mind over matter. Scanning through my store of memories, I work to replace the horrifying image of Peyton struggling to cut herself out of my truck. Flipping through the last month, my mind stops at the beautiful picture of the two of us holding each other in the lightly falling snow. I’m taken back in time to the night we played truth or dare; the night we carved our names into the green, chipping paint of Mule Bridge. I wrap her in my arms, and see her looking up at me, before she leans further in and giggles into my ear. I actually feel the tickle of her whisper float across my skin. Goosebumps rise on my arms and back. I love her so much. I can’t handle not seeing her for one more second. Maybe if she can just see that I’m here for her and feel how much I love her, it will help her heal. It’s worth a try.

  I sneak over to the edge of the curtain nearest Peyton’s bed, and peek around the thin veil. My eyes follow the white tiles across the floor and down to the foot of her bed. They scan their way up and across the scraggly, tan hospital blanket and come to rest on her face. When my eyes take in the first vision of her since the accident, the tsunami of nerves flares once again. Seeing her pale, lifeless body hooked up to all those machines knocks the wind right out of me. I can’t help but lose it.

  The battle of elements within my body causes me to break. A low guttural, rumble grows inside my stomach. As hard as I’ve tried, there’s no way to stop it. I double over. With a deafening growl, the burning, bitter chunks claw their way out of my stomach and up my throat, splashing into the pink container. I pull away from the curtain, making my way back toward the bed. Just seeing the hospital-pink, plastic bedpan makes the wave of vomit worsen. There’s no way I can hold back the sound as I wretch over and over. I pray this thing is big enough to catch it all, but it’s filling up fast.

  “Are you okay in there, honey?” I hear Mrs. Carter’s voice as the first wave hits the ground.

  I’m busted. There’s no way she’s not coming in here now. “I’m, okay,” I groan. “Just the pain meds.” I try to mask my voice with a low grunt to buy myself some time.

  “Can I come help?”

  “No. No. No. Please don’t. It’s embarrassing. I’ve got it,” I mumble.

  Through my low moaning and groaning, I hear Mrs. Carter pick up the phone beside the door and call for a nurse. Crap. A nurse? Don’t do it. I shouldn’t even be in here. I’m screwed.

  SHE CAN’T SEE WHO I am. I’ve got to hide my face. Setting the full bedpan on the table, I crawl back into the bed. The rancid smell overpowers the room and even if she is asleep, I feel bad that I’ve subjected Peyton to it. I tense myself in anticipation of getting my hide kicked by a real nurse or doctor. Oh Jenna, what have we done?

  The door closes, as I listen to Mrs. Carter’s footsteps back away from it. Again, the soft pattering pauses at the foot of my bed. “You’re sure I can’t help you in there?” The inflection in her voice makes her sound as though she feels sorry for me. If only she knew who she was really talking to.

  “Uh uh,” I groan, hoping she’ll go away and let me hide.

  I lie in the bed, releasing soft moans. It makes me feel better to release the groaning sounds and break the silence of the room. All the while I think of what I’m going to say to the nurse or doctor who comes to help me. As the door swings open, I tense again, anticipating the worst. Here we go. I hold my breath and pinch my eyes closed as the curtain slides open, letting the dim light filter in. That’s when a familiar voice finds its way to me.

  “Oh dear, God, what have you done?”

  Footsteps grow louder as they approach my bedside. My eyes pop open in fear when her hand unexpectedly comes down on me. She begins to speak again, “Ca…”

  “Shhhhh.” I bring my finger to my lips. “She’ll kill me.”

  It’s Nurse Sarah. I’m pretty sure I have her wrapped around my little finger. Thank God it’s her and not that cranky, old biddy that comes in after visiting hours are over. There’s light at the end of the tunnel after all. I send up a prayer of thanks for this one.

  “Sarah,” I mouth. “Please. Help. I’m sorry, I just had to see her.”

  She closes her eyes and drops her shaking head as she pulls her hand up and pinches the bridge of her nose. I’ve really put her in a bad position. She knows, as well as I do, that I’m not supposed to be anywhere near this room. I stare up at her with a pleading and helpless frown, hoping against all hope that she can get me through this. When Sarah finally bends down to me, she whispers in my ear, “You realize you could get me in a lot of trouble for this, don’t you?”

  I nod my head slowly, acknowledging the risk I’m asking her to take by covering for me. I feel the desperation plastered across my face, and I’m sure she can see it. Raising my eyebrows apologetically I whisper, “Sorry, Sarah.”

  With her eyes steeped in contemplation, Nurse Sarah studies my face. I hold my breath anticipating her next move. Finally, she looks as though she’s arrived at a decision. I watch as her head nods thoughtfully, and she disappears behind the curtain.

  “Ma’am,” I hear her say to Mrs. Carter, “I’m really sorry, but I’m going to need you to step outside for just a few minutes. I have to take care of a … uh ... situation in here. He had more than one little accident. It’s very embarrassing for our young patient, and I don’t think he’d want you to see the extent of the damage he�
��s caused.”

  I hear Mrs. Carter gag. “Yes, I thought I smelled something.” Her voice grows stern. “I know you’ve got to take care of this mess, but my daughter is the primary concern here. I’m sure you know the circumstances that put her in this hospital. I don’t want her left alone for a second.”

  “I’ll make sure to look out for her. I promise.” There’s a brief pause. “Oh, and since I can’t leave the room, would you mind running down to the nurses station in geriatrics? They keep extra diapers there, and I’m sure he’ll be needing them again tonight.” She’s raising her voice and enunciating every word. It’s clear to me that the extra care she’s taking with her words is for my benefit. She’s paying me back for pulling her into this. Diapers? How embarrassing. “I’m sorry for asking you to go, ma'am, but we’re short-handed, and I don’t want to take any chances leaving her alone.”

  “You’ve got it. It’ll give me something to do while you clean up this awful mess.”

  “Take your time. I promise I’ll keep good watch over your daughter. I’ll be right here mopping and changing the sheets.” She pauses again. “Our patient also needs to take a shower. You’ll definitely want to get a little fresh air while we’re taking care of all this. Give me about a half hour or so.”

  “Thank you, Nurse.” I listen to her footsteps as Mrs. Carter walks out of the room.

  The clanking metal sound of the curtain rips across the ceiling. “Wow,” I smirk at the sight of Sarah’s proud face. “Did you have to make it sound like I crapped my pants? That’s so humiliating.”

  “Well, I bought you a little time, didn’t I? It’s all I could think of to get her out of the room for a while. You can say ‘thank you,’ you know. Now quit feeling sorry for yourself and get on over there and see your girl.”