Flash Burned

by Calista Fox

  “Sure. Sometime.”

  I wasn’t in any hurry to make plans—for anything. Luckily, I had eight months before I had to put thought and effort into converting one of the spare bedrooms into a nursery.

  I only picked at my meal, taking a few bites to partially satisfy Kyle and my father. Then I claimed I was too exhausted for extensive company and my dad left. Kyle wouldn’t budge, of course. I sensed he had found a new duty in taking care of me in Dane’s stead. I was too wiped out physically and emotionally to battle Kyle on that front.

  Returning to the sofa, I curled up again and was asleep minutes later.

  * * *

  The void inside me vanished the next morning.

  Only to be replaced with the very real and finite fact that I was pregnant. My eyes flew open at the crack of dawn. I tossed off the blanket, leapt from the sofa, and raced across the stone floor to the bathroom. Where I promptly heaved the previous evening’s dinner. And then some.

  As I huddled around the porcelain, afraid to move just yet, Kyle came in, dampened a washcloth, and handed it to me. I pressed it against my mouth for several seconds, finding relief from the chill of the material.

  The numbness I felt because of losing Dane abated. I pulled away the cloth and stared up at Kyle. “Okay, now I feel pregnant.”

  That sentiment triggered some sort of defense mechanism that made me even more powerfully aware of what it was I needed to protect—my child, who was also a part of Dane’s legacy.

  I told Kyle, “I have to eat again.”

  “I agree. It’s going to be hard to keep it down, though.”

  “Then I just keep eating.” I’d need to go online and learn all about morning sickness.

  In the meantime, I felt a curious survival instinct kick in. As much as I wanted to disappear into thin air because Dane was no longer with me, he was still a part of me—a living, breathing one. I owed it to the three of us to pull myself together. To find some strength to go on without Dane. To take care of his child no matter how devastated I was.

  “How about scrambled eggs?” I suggested to Kyle. “No seasoning, superbland.”

  “And more tea.”

  “Yes, that might help.” Dr. Lindsey had told me that I’d have to find an OB-GYN soon and start on pre-natal vitamins and such. It was time I jumped on that.

  The upside of my mental breakthrough was getting past that dazed and shredded state so I could focus on what I’d gained, rather than what I’d lost. The downside was that I was violently sick three days in a row. Queasy in the afternoons and well into the evenings.

  “You’re really pale,” Kyle finally commented with notable concern. “Like this is getting worse, not better.”

  “And I feel as though I’m marathon eating.”

  “I think it’s time we seek professional help.”

  “I called three OB-GYNs. I can’t get in to see any of them until the middle of next week.”

  His teeth ground together as tension gripped him. “There’s not going to be anything left of you next week, Ari.”

  He exaggerated, of course, but I was equally concerned that the scale had moved in the wrong direction. The weight I’d gained from the Thanksgiving and pre-launch festivities at the Lux had melted right off, along with several additional pounds.

  “Maybe I should try someone in Phoenix?” I wondered aloud.

  “Actually, I have a better idea.” He polished off his portion of the steel-cut oatmeal he’d made for us and then said, “My aunt’s an M.D. She used to work at the hospital, but left to open a private practice, of sorts.”

  My brow rose as I glanced at him across the table in the kitchen. “Of sorts?”

  He scowled. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s legitimate. She really considers it more of an inpatient rehabilitation retreat. Four bedrooms—all with private bathrooms—so it’s quiet and conducive to individual care. She has nurses on-staff twenty-four-seven and contracts with physical and occupational therapists. Those are mostly the types of patients she deals with, though she takes on others. And has specialists to treat them. Currently, she only has three patients who live on-property. If she hasn’t filled it, that leaves one bedroom available.”

  “You mean … I’d move in?”

  “Yeah. It’s a fully accredited, certified facility. Although that word doesn’t do it justice—sounds too clinical. It’s really a beautiful place,” he insisted. “About as big as this house, but bright. Cheery. Less … Gotham.”

  My gaze narrowed.

  “Just sayin’,” he muttered.

  “I don’t want to leave here.”

  “What’s the big deal?” he demanded with a serious expression. “You won’t go toward the back of the house. You won’t go into your dressing room or bedroom or even your bathroom. You sleep on the sofa, and to tell you the truth, I’m getting all kinds of bent out of shape and kinked up from crashing in a chair in there.”

  “No one said you had to stay with me,” I reminded him. “You know where the door is.”

  His scowl deepened. My gut clenched. I didn’t want him to leave, honestly. I didn’t want to be alone. My dad had gone back to work after taking the week off to be at the hospital. He still came by at night for dinner, but Kyle had packed a bag and designated himself my new shadow.

  I was grateful. Deeply comforted, even. But I didn’t like him criticizing the fact that I preferred he leave most of the lights off. And I forbade his cleaning the glass in the living room. He’d swept the shards into small piles but resisted the urge I knew he had to remove them.

  “Why don’t you just drive out with me?” he suggested. “Give it a chance before you shoot it down. It’s peaceful, surrounded by red-rock canyons. You’d have people around you who know what the hell they’re doing and can help you through this.”

  My stomach took the opportunity to clench tightly—a now-familiar sign of what was to come next. I shoved back my chair and hurried into the bathroom, giving up my oatmeal before I’d digested it.

  After brushing my teeth, I returned to the kitchen. Kyle was doing the dishes. I’d given Rosa an extra two weeks of paid vacation while I adjusted to my more delicate condition and still assessed who I could tell about the baby. I hadn’t even mentioned it to Mr. Conaway, and he was one of the people Dane had assured me I could trust. After the bombing of the Lux, I had the very distinct and terrifying view that anyone was capable of anything, if properly motivated.

  So mum was currently the word.

  “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to check it out,” I said of Kyle’s aunt’s medical retreat. “Especially if she can help me with the morning sickness or get me an appointment with an OB-GYN a bit faster.”

  “My immediate concern is how ghostly you look.”

  I couldn’t combat that without lying. And the torment in his eyes broke my heart further. So I forced myself to finally go into the dressing room, thinking I might as well pack a suitcase in the event Kyle’s aunt still had space available to take me on and I opted to stay.

  When I was finished, I stood outside the door of mine and Dane’s bedroom, not overwhelmingly compelled to enter, but I wanted one last peek before I left indefinitely. Just to keep the memory of it in my mind and to soak up a little of his essence that permeated the space most reflective of him.

  From an end table I collected the last book he’d been reading, Dickens’s Great Expectations. Pressing it to my chest, I felt a razor-sharp pain slice through me. Dane’s voice filled my head as I thought of us stretched out on the sofa in front of the fireplace while he read his favorite novels to me.

  Fat drops pooled in my eyes and my knees felt a bit wobbly. I sank onto the edge of the bed and pulled in deep breaths. I ran a hand over the soft, bronze duvet, the ecru sheets.

  I frowned. Took a closer look.

  Flannel.

  My brow furrowed.

  I’d told Dane I liked them in the winter. But these were not the sheets we’d slept in the night before the med
ia event at 10,000 Lux.

  He must have changed them that morning while I was in the shower. Or maybe he’d had Rosa switch out the sateen ones.

  I shook my head. Maybe, at the moment—in the beginning stages of my mourning—I really shouldn’t be surrounded by all of these memories and enveloped in a life that no longer existed. Maybe clinging to yesterday wasn’t the healthiest thing to do while I tried to move forward—toward tomorrow, with a baby.

  Losing Dane was all too new, too fresh, too raw, to think about, anyway. And I feared I just might snuggle under these warm sheets and cry myself to sleep … stay here for the next several months.

  An appealing, alluring notion. One so strong and palpable, I actually considered it quite seriously. I was exhausted after all. Wrecked.

  But I had an obligation to Dane. To our baby.

  So I hauled myself up and closed one door behind me while Kyle opened another.

  chapter 9

  The rehabilitation retreat was set back in a secluded canyon and surrounded by full trees and vibrant flowers, spanning several acres. A detached garage sat outside the elegantly walled property and there was a security gate just off the stone pathway that led from the red-dirt drive. There were a couple other houses in the area, about a half mile or so away in all directions.

  Kyle plugged in the code at the gate but still had to wait for verification before the lock released. He gestured me through the opening and I took in the gorgeous grounds, with a few private courtyards, a stream, small fountains that trickled water in a soothing way. Wind chimes hung in the trees and added a soft trill as a gentle breeze wafted through them.

  We wound our way to the front double doors. Benches and chairs were scattered all over the patio, a welcoming respite, silently inviting guests to sit and relax. Chill out. Hang and heal.

  I liked the atmosphere immediately. Perhaps I had been a little too wrapped up in my bleak world, not turning on lights while I hid from reality.

  I inhaled deeply, the fragrant flowers filling my senses. I felt a little calmer. Though my stomach was still a tight pretzel and the nausea lingered on the fringes.

  We were greeted by a lanky man in his forties, wearing tan Dockers and a hunter-green polo shirt with a shield embroidered on his left chest, below the name Parker.

  Kyle said to him, “Adam, this is Ari DeMille. We’re here to see my aunt.”

  “Adam Parker.” He held his hand out to me. “Head of security. Please, come in.”

  The house was warmly decorated with a lot of comfy-looking furniture, interesting knickknacks, books, and whatnot. In the back of the house was a large solarium. The tall windows and the wood-and-glass-enclosed doors looked out on another cozy patio and gardens beyond.

  “What a wonderful surprise,” said a petite woman with a soft, youthful face, cornflower-blue eyes, and a smart strawberry blonde bob. She smiled prettily at Kyle. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  He gave her a gentle squeeze, then told her, “Sorry I haven’t been by in a while.”

  “I was just so relieved to hear from your mother that you were okay after the explosion at 10,000 Lux.” She placed her hand over her heart. “What a harrowing experience it must have been.”

  “This is Ari DeMille—she was there as well,” Kyle said. “Since then, things have gotten a little … complicated. She needs your help.”

  “Nice preamble,” I muttered. To Macy, I said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr.—” I suddenly realized I hadn’t asked Kyle her last name on the drive over.

  “Stevens,” she politely offered.

  Extending my hand, I simply said, “Ari.”

  “Very lovely to meet you. Now, why don’t we step into an exam room and you can tell me why you’re here.”

  We left Kyle in the solarium and returned to the front of the house. When the door closed behind us and we had some privacy, I told her, “I’m pregnant. Four weeks.”

  It instantly dawned on me, as I considered the date, that we’d missed Christmas. At least, my dad and I had. Which didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things, since we weren’t holiday oriented and there was no way in hell I could ever have mustered Christmas cheer when all I could think of was the fact that Dane was—

  I shook the thought from my head. I couldn’t dwell on that currently, though it would forever fester in the back of my mind. If I could trap it in those shadowy parts where I also kept memories of my parents’ venomous arguments and all the volatile smashing of glass and slamming of doors, I might maintain my sanity.

  Maybe.

  “Well,” Dr. Stevens said as she eyed me from head to toe. Then gingerly lifted a few wispy strands of my hair to inspect my stitches. When she stepped back, I raised my arms, palms up, to show her the stitches there as well.

  “All of these injuries are from the night of the explosion?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  She made a soft tsking sound. “You took quite a hit.”

  “I was lucky,” I assured her, our gazes locked.

  With a slow nod, she said, “You were. I understand the owner of the hotel didn’t—”

  “I’m having a bit of trouble with morning sickness,” I interjected, not able to hear the words that were about to come out of her mouth regarding Dane. “I can’t keep anything down and I’m losing weight, not gaining.”

  “That’s not a pleasant pallor you have, either.”

  “I sleep, but … not really. I wake up constantly and then I just lay there, stressing about everything.” I didn’t tell her about the nightmares, which were no longer of scorpions and rattlesnakes but of the blast at the Lux and all that bomb had destroyed—much more than just a building.

  “That’s not good. For you or the baby.” She patted the exam table and said, “Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll see what’s what. Do you have your records from the ER?”

  “Yes. And from my stay at the hospital.”

  She crooked a brow. “How long were you there?”

  “A week. I was pretty out of it at first. And they wanted to monitor the baby.”

  “But they cleared you to leave.”

  “Dr. Lindsey said everything’s fine. And it was at first. But then I started vomiting. It lasts into the day. Sometimes happens at night, after I’ve eaten. I’m afraid I’m not getting the right nutrients to the baby, but I can’t get in to see someone until next week. I don’t want to wait that long.”

  With a delicate smile, she said, “You won’t have to. I have contracts with a number of specialists. One happens to be a fantastic OB-GYN in Scottsdale. I can arrange to have her come up routinely. I can also treat the morning sickness.”

  “I’m nonstop nauseous.”

  “We’ll do something about that. I have several natural remedies, herbs, teas. I believe in a holistic approach to healing. Including the mind and spirit. Helps to keep the body strong.”

  I cringed. She was one of the New Agers. She didn’t want to know how damaged my mind and my spirit were. But I’d come willingly to her, so I’d try to be open to her skill set, the tools and teas in her medical bag.

  She recorded my vitals and noted my blood pressure was low. I told her that was a change from when I was in the hospital. She wasn’t happy with my weight but kept the optimistic smile on her face. Then she showed me around the house, telling me there were always at least two chefs in the kitchen from five in the morning until ten at night. There were two TV rooms and a study. Plus physical rehabilitation facilities.

  On the west side of the house were the empty accommodations for me. A lovely space with lots of windows that overlooked a secluded courtyard.

  “Security is of utmost importance,” Dr. Stevens told me. “There’s one guard inside at all times, and others patrol the grounds and monitor the electronic surveillance of the perimeter.”

  I thought of the people who’d decimated the Lux and wondered if they took an interest in my whereabouts. I doubted they could find me here, yet was relieved I’
d be behind monitored gates and walls.

  Dr. Stevens further explained that only the security guards answered the front door. I was safer here than at the house, I surmised, even with Dane’s state-of-the-art system. His property wasn’t patrolled or manned. Not without Amano.

  Then again, 10,000 Lux had been well protected and someone had been able to fuck things up there, not to mention kidnap me.

  I shuddered. It was no wonder I remained tense. I hadn’t exactly been leading a normal life as of late.

  Still … I’d give anything to get it back—my life with Dane, that was.

  I collected my belongings from Kyle and settled in. There were forms to fill out and, despite my being Kyle’s friend, Security performed a background check. I contacted Mr. Conaway to have Dane’s accountant set up wire transfers to Dr. Stevens’s practice, under my maiden name. I had no intention of spilling the beans now on my marriage to Dane.

  Then I drank some tea and slept.

  * * *

  My first week at the retreat was more about observation of the environment and trying to keep food down than anything else. One of the other patients, Gretchen Lang, had breast cancer and was recovering from a double mastectomy, she told me. As a side note, she sadly reported that the surgery left her feeling inhuman. And certainly not the least bit feminine. She wore yoga suits every day, as I did, and vibrantly colored silk scarves on her bald head. She was into meditating—for hours on end—as well as yoga and Pilates.

  Another patient, Hannah Olden, was in her thirties and in a wheelchair following knee surgery that came right after a hip replacement—all from a degenerative disease she suffered. She had her doubts that she’d ever walk normally again, and I could see the toll it took on her, similar to Gretchen’s battle with feeling useless and alien in her own body. Hannah spent her time painting gorgeous floral arrangements when she wasn’t in physical therapy.

  I knew very little about the youngest of Dr. Stevens’s patients, Chelsea Brooks. She was a tiny girl with blonde, springy curls and big, amber-colored eyes. She kept to herself, in the corner of the solarium where she sat at a four-foot-long table.