Consumed

by J. R. Ward

  “Well?” Danny glanced over. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  “So it wasn’t helpful.” He frowned. “But what was? Seriously, Anne, how did you pull yourself back up to normal?”

  His expression was so intense, she knew he was dead serious, and that earnest searching was a surprise that opened her up.

  “It wasn’t the therapist at the hospital. Not that she wasn’t well intended . . . we just didn’t connect, I guess.” She focused on her prosthesis as it sat on her thigh, a sculpture of what had been lost. “They can be helpful, though.”

  “You’re saying that because you want me to keep going.”

  “Yup.”

  “So again, what was it for you?”

  Anne turned the prosthesis over and looked at her “palm.” Then she pulled up the sleeve of her windbreaker and followed the carbon fiber length that plugged into what was left of her lower arm.

  “I got an infection,” she heard herself say. “It was about a week after I got out of the rehab hospital. I’ll never forget waking up in my bed and feeling this terrible fatigue, like I was coming down with the flu. The end of my stump didn’t hurt—well, that’s not true. I had phantom pain, and I assumed that any discomfort was all part of the damaged-nerve thing. So I just kept going, but then I popped a fever, and when they did a wound check, they found the beginnings of the infection. My skin was so red, it was like it was made of blood. Things went downhill fast. They took samples to target the antibiotic, put me on broad spectrums at first, then they ratcheted it up. It was a race and we did not win for a while. I developed these bright red lymphangitis streaks, and shortly after that, I went septic. I just crashed. That was when I was readmitted.”

  She was aware she was giving him factual particulars instead of other things that were much more personal: It was like she was reporting the stats of a patient, and that distance was the only reason she could get through the story.

  She’d never talked about it before.

  Anne glanced out the front windshield. “It’s green.”

  “What?”

  “The light is green. We can go.”

  Danny seemed to shake himself. “Oh. Yeah.”

  As he hit the gas, she wanted to stop talking—and told herself she didn’t because she wanted to help him. Inspire him. This was about proving to Danny there was another way.

  It was not connecting with him on a personal level.

  Or sharing her story because it was something she probably needed to get off her chest.

  Crap.

  “You must have been scared,” he murmured.

  “It was touch and go.” She told herself not to go too deep. “But your brain gets fuzzy so you can’t think clearly.”

  “I didn’t know it got that bad.”

  “I was very lucky. It wasn’t MRSA. The intravenous clindamycin saved me.” Her heart tripped and then pounded, as if the memories were an intruder trying to get back into her body. “Anyway, you wanted to know what turned me around.”

  She fell silent as she tried to find the right words. Somehow, this felt more intimate than the sex they’d had. “So the night of the fire and the first day after, I was all ‘I’m going to beat this’ and ‘nothing is going to stop me.’ And pretty much I kept that up until I was released and I went home. Something about being around my things, my house, my routine made it real in a way that it hadn’t in the hospital. That was when . . .”

  “When it hit you.”

  “Yeah.” She refused to speak of the sleepless nights, the toxic depression, the distortion of her anger and fear. “I got into a tailspin—‘life is over,’ that kind of thing. But then suddenly I was back in the hospital and it was not at all apparent that I was going to make it.”

  Anne glanced over at him. “When you were little, did you ever picture your funeral?”

  “No. God, never.”

  “Well, I did. Like out of A Christmas Story when Ralphie was blind? I’d pretend I was in my coffin and people were coming to pay last respects and weeping over the loss of me. It was usually in response to a punishment I thought was unfair.” She shrugged. “So there I was, an adult, on the verge of dying . . . and all that actually happened. I stared up out of the death spiral I was in and saw all these faces looking down at me. Everyone so upset . . .”

  An image of her mother, that hair all done, the makeup perfect, stung. Even when that woman’s daughter had been close to dying, she’d had to be sure to look presentable.

  “Tom came.” She frowned. “He sat in a chair in the corner of my ICU room almost the entire time. I figured he was waiting for me to rally so he could tell me again how irresponsible I’d been.”

  “Like the infection was your fault? Come on.”

  “More like my getting stuck in that hot spot in the first place.” She shook her head. “Anyway, at the worst point, I had a dream that my father appeared from out of nowhere. He stood at the side of the bed and he told me that it wasn’t my time. That I had to fight because I was his daughter and that’s what men in the family did.”

  Danny’s head swung around. “Holy shit, he came to you.”

  “No, I don’t believe in ghosts. I think my subconscious coughed that up out of the fever and the drugs I was on because I’d spent my whole life trying to make up for the fact that I was born a girl. It’s inherent in my personality inventory. But it worked—so clearly my brain pulled the right lever for motivation. I decided that I had to fight and I couldn’t let anything stop me. Not the loss of my hand or my job or . . . yeah, anything.”

  Up ahead, Timeout’s sign glowed red and gold, a beacon on the down-market street.

  She couldn’t remember when she’d been in there last. But she knew which pool table tilted left, and how the stall in the middle of the ladies’ room had the toilet that ran, and what to order: Fries, yes. Burger, yes. Never the fish, because even though they were on the ocean, the place only served frozen cod.

  So many nights she’d gone there with the crew, one of the few women in the boys’ club and proud of that fact.

  It was a lifetime ago. And she missed it. But then she deliberately thought of Soot’s dear face.

  “I think people who survive need to get to an aha moment,” she said quietly, “where the fog lifts and you realize there are things worth living for and goals worth pursuing. Even if they’re different than what motivated you before.”

  * * *

  As Danny parallel-parked in front of the bar, he knew who he wanted to live for. Too bad Anne wasn’t looking for a pedestal to stand on for the rest of their lives.

  He glanced over as he killed the engine. “I had no idea that things got so rough for you. I mean, beyond the . . . you know.”

  “You had your own things to worry about.” She turned to get out of the truck. “So when did Emilio and Josefina start seeing each other?”

  He reached out and put his hand on her arm. When he felt something hard and cylindrical, he pulled his palm back.

  “It won’t bite.” She put her prosthesis up. “I promise you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Anne shook her head sharply, the conversational equivalent of shutting a door. “Come on, let’s find Josefina.”

  She left him with no choice but to hurry his ass and catch up to her, and as they entered Timeout, they shook the rain off like a pair of dogs. The bar was not all that crowded, and Josefina was an easy spot across the field of tables. She was taking orders from a six-top of police officers, and as they nodded in Danny’s direction, she glanced over her shoulder.

  And froze. As her face paled, she said something to the cops and came over.

  “What is it?”

  They always knew, Danny thought. The loved ones always knew when there was bad news.

  “Emilio’s in the hospital,” Danny said in a low voice. “He was taken in about an hour ago.”

  “How bad is he hurt?” The woman put a hand to her mouth.
“Is he . . .”

  “He asked us to come find you. He’s going to pull through.”

  Josefina spoke some quick Spanish and made the sign of the cross over the front of her black-and-white pseudo-referee uniform. “Thank the Lord. I tell him to be careful on that job—too many hurt. Too many!”

  Danny stayed quiet on the whys of everything, and felt so badly for Emilio. This was going to be a hard road. “He wants to see you.”

  “Let me ask someone to cover for me,” the woman said. “My manager, she understands. She is married to an ambulance. EMT, I mean.”

  “Do you need a ride over?” Anne asked.

  “Yes, I take the bus here.”

  Danny swung his keys in his hand. “We’ll wait for you.”

  As Josefina headed for the back, he stared at Anne. She was looking around the place as if she’d never seen it before, and he wondered whether that was a good or a bad thing for her. She seemed to want to leave everything behind. Him included.

  Then she faced him. “Moose told me your fight here the other night was with some yachtsmen because they insulted her.”

  “They were being disrespectful. They got less than what they deserved.”

  “You always were protective.”

  He pictured someone doing Anne a wrong. “I still am.”

  There was a pause. “I really don’t think I should go to Moose’s dinner on Saturday.”

  “There will be other people there.” Or at least, there would be when he told the guy he better damn well invite half of town. “It won’t just be us. And I’ll make sure folks know that it’s not a case of ‘us.’ Besides, you’re missed.”

  “I’m not a member of the crew anymore.”

  “We do hang around with outsiders, you know. Particularly ones with a good sense of humor.”

  “I’m sorry. I just can’t. It’s not appropriate and you know it.”

  “Worried you might want to have sex with me again?” Danny didn’t bother hiding the bitterness in his voice. “We both enjoyed it.”

  “No.” Her jaw tightened. “I’m not worried about anything.”

  Liar, he thought.

  “Suit yourself.” He nodded toward the exit. “I’ll go start the truck. It’s cold as ice tonight.”

  Outside, he took advantage of a break in the downpour and lit up, even though the cig got soggy fast on the short walk to the truck. As he got in, his phone went off. When he took it out and saw the text, he cursed.

  Great. The chief wanted to see him first thing in the morning.

  Looked like he was getting fired sooner rather than later.

  chapter

  26

  Anne didn’t want to be rude. Except by the time Danny pulled the truck into the ER’s parking lot, she had a pounding headache and a knot in her stomach that might have been hunger but felt like a bowel obstruction.

  The fact that she’d ended up sitting between the two of them was a big part of her problem. The entire trip back, which lasted all of ten minutes but seemed like twenty-five years, she’d had Danny’s leg bumping against her own. Just like old times in the engines.

  Not what she wanted to be reminded of, especially after what they’d done at his apartment.

  Danny found a parking spot right by the ER’s entrance, and Josefina fumbled her purse as she got out, dumping everything all over the pavement. Anne immediately dropped down to help the woman gather keys and wallet, Tampax and makeup bag.

  “Listen, I’m going to let Danny take you in.” Anne passed over a Kleenex pack. “There are a lot of people here already for Emilio.”

  “Thank you for coming and getting me.”

  Anne looked away from those teary brown eyes. “No problem. Take care of him.” Straightening, she looked over the truck’s hood at Danny. “I have to go.”

  His eyes were in shadow, and that was just as well. She didn’t want to see what was in them.

  As she waved and headed for her Subaru, she felt like she was dumping the whole situation on him—and that was not perception; it was fact. But she was a distant relative to all of this now, and she needed to respect the boundaries.

  Back in her own vehicle, she got turned around and ended up exiting through the entry, which was a commentary on the night, wasn’t it. But at least she was free of the drama.

  She was just going to go home, check and see if there was anything chewed up, and then go to bed early.

  Or at least that was the plan.

  When she came up to her little house and saw a familiar car parked in front of her walkway, she hit the brakes. And then debated on whether she could just drive on by.

  Her mother.

  Pulling into her driveway, Anne got out and went on the approach. As she came up to the ten-year-old Honda Civic, the window went down—and she realized she hadn’t actually set eyes on her mom for months.

  Nancy Janice Fitzgerald Ashburn did not look her sixty years. She’d never been a smoker or a drinker, had stayed out of the sun and followed a “regime”—whatever that was. So even without plastic surgery, her pale Irish skin was still fair and largely unwrinkled, the powder and foundation light, the lashes curled and darkened, the lipstick a perfect shade of pink for that complexion. And of course, the hair was done. She colored it to cover the grays, but not in a brassy way: Ginger streaks through the auburn, everything cut well so it framed her face and brushed her shoulders.

  “I was going to call you,” Anne lied.

  “I am so sorry to bother you, but I can’t reach your brother.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Do you want to get out of the storm?”

  “No, I’m fine.” Anne looked up and got a raindrop directly in her eyeball. As she squinted and rubbed away the sting, she was frustrated with the whole world. “Do you need something?”

  “You know that big maple tree in the backyard? The one you and your brother swung on—”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “Half of it broke off in the wind and landed on the house.” As Anne exhaled with exhaustion, her mother hurried through her speech. “The nice man behind me tried to put tarping up, but there’s terrible leaking in your father’s and my bedroom, and then downstairs. I’m looking for a place to stay—and I promise, I tried to reach your brother. He must be busy.”

  What Anne wanted to say was that Nancy Janice should try Tom again. Try him a thousand times. But she wasn’t going to turn her mother out into a storm, for godsakes.

  “Ah, let me go check my house. I’ve . . . ah, I’ve got a dog and I need to make sure he’s secured before you come in. I’m still not sure how he does with strangers.”

  “You got a dog? You should have told me.” The hurt that flared in that face went through Anne’s chest like a spear. “But it’s all right. I’ve been telling you for a year to get a pet. This is really good.”

  “Stay here.”

  Anne jogged over to her front door and punched in her code. Inside, she glanced around, expecting to see the sofa shredded. Nope. Proceeding into the kitchen, she found the trash bin was where she’d left it, no garbage strewn about. But he also wasn’t in his crate.

  Dear Lord, her mother was going to spend the night.

  As she wondered how this had happened, she was very cognizant that in most families, that was commonplace—parents staying with their children.

  But their family hadn’t been normal. It had only looked that way from the outside, the hero firefighter, the perfect homemaker, and a little boy and girl to boot. Real nuclear stuff until you scratched the surface, particularly when it came to Tom, Sr.

  And that was also Nancy Janice’s problem. The woman was only surface, no substance.

  Whatever, though. She could make it through one night with her mother.

  After Anne finished with the first floor, she got paranoid. What if Soot had snuck out somehow? With a surge of anxiety, she all but ran upstairs. Flipping on the hall light, she—

  As she looked through the open
door of her bedroom, she saw her dog curled up on her bed, his nose tucked under her pillow as if he wanted her scent with him in her absence.

  “Hi, Mr. Man,” she said softly.

  He startled and lifted his head, sleepy eyes blinking. Then that bony tail of his thumped on the comforter.

  Anne went across and stretched out with him, putting her face against his and breathing deep. In response, Soot nuzzled her, and she marveled at the connection they had. It felt as though they’d been together all her life.

  Pulling back, she stared at him. “I need you to do me a favor and not eat my mother, ’kay? She’s only going to be here until the morning, and she’s . . . well, I think she’d taste like a marshmallow Peep, anyway. Way too sweet. Not your kind of entrée.”

  * * *

  Soot was a perfect gentleman, and Nancy Janice fell in love with him. Then again, her mother’s very nature was fall-in-love. Everything in her life was “perfect” and “beautiful” and “wonderful.”

  Her glass was not just half full. It was overflowing with rose-scented denial. And Anne refused to see her intolerance of the woman as some kind of moral failing.

  They had nothing in common and had never been close—hell, maybe that was why Anne had felt so betrayed when she’d learned what kind of man her father really was. Tom, Sr., had passed before she’d found out the truth. And before her wake-up call, she had been prepared to live up to his memory for the rest of her days, to follow the example of bravery and charisma he had seemed to set.

  Instead, the curtain had been pulled back on his true character and that had left her without any kind of connection to her family. Her brother had already been living his own life at that point and going into the Academy, and as for Nancy Janice? Anne had barely made it through a childhood of being forced to wear dresses and ringlet curls and patent leather shoes.

  She’d been waaaaaaay done with being pigeonholed into a feminine standard she didn’t care about by a woman she did not respect.