by Carolyn Nash
“Dr. Richards how does it feel to have your name cleared?”
“Good.”
“Uh, could you elaborate on that?”
“No.”
“I think what he means,” Caren said, “is that it is wonderful to have the ordeal over. But, he is very tired.”
“Is that what you meant?”
“Yes.”
“Ms. Granzella, you mentioned to the nurse that Dr. Richards is your fiancé. So is it official now?”
I stopped, one hand against the corner of the waiting room. The entire crowd paused. For an instant there was absolute silence.
“Andrew?” I heard Caren say.
“Yes,” Andrew said. “It’s official.”
I pushed off the wall, headed toward the stairwell.
“What about this Melanie Brenner who has been helping you?”
“Who?” Andrew said.
“Melanie Brenner.”
“I don’t know a Melanie Brenner,” he said. I turned back. The crowd shifted slightly, and through a brief opening I saw Caren standing straight and beautiful, smiling down at Andrew sitting in the chair. I saw Andrew’s face, looking up at one of the reporters. The side of his face where the men had struck him had darkened to a deeper red with shadings of yellow and black. His lip looked a little better with the blood washed off but it was still puffy. “There’s a Melinda Brannan who works in my lab,” he said. He started to turn my way, but the crowd shifted, cut off the sight of him. “She gave me a ride to the airport,” came his voice from within the crowd, and I pushed open the stairwell door, and headed down the stairs to the street below.
CHAPTER 14
I stood beneath the hospital sign, my back to the lobby door, staring out into the city. A middle-aged couple passed me going in, seeing me only long enough to avoid running into me as they looked up at the hospital windows, eyes staring and red-rimmed, hands tightly clasped together. The automatic sliding glass doors behind me whooshed open to let them in and to let out a wheelchair carrying a young woman with a babe in arms, her husband walking beside them, a nurse pushing. I watched their progress down to the curb and into the mini-van parked there as the man and woman cooed over the child and beamed at each other.
I crossed my arms, cradled my injured hand in the crook of my elbow and shivered. No sunlight penetrated the mid-morning overcast that hung low over the city. Grey clouds shrouded the top of the hill across from the hospital. I had my coat, but it didn’t keep out the chill that seemed to be all the way through to my bones. My purse hung from my good hand like a lead weight.
I stepped back through the doors and walked over to the information desk. An older man sat behind it, a tag on his blue smock announcing, Hi, I’m Bob, Med Center Volunteer.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“Yes?” He looked up and smiled cheerfully.
“Is there a hotel nearby?” I asked.
“There’s a pretty good one five blocks south of here. Reasonable price. Clean.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you like me to call you cab?”
“I’m walking.”
His eyebrows went up. “Pardon me, ma’am, but are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said softly, and turned and walked back out the door.
I called Cheryl on the walk over. She didn’t answer so I left a quick message that I was okay, that everything was over, and to let Maggie know.
I used my credit card to check into the hotel, went to my room, pulled off my coat and dropped it on a chair, kicked off my shoes, pulled off my jeans, climbed under the covers and was instantly asleep.
I woke sometime after six o’clock Thursday morning. There was no period of half-wakefulness; I was instantly alert. I stared at the ceiling for several minutes, eyes wide and dry as I planned the day, then I reached to flip back the covers on the bed. My bandaged hand came up and I winced as I tried to bend it enough to take hold of the bedcover. “Ouch,” I whispered, as I stared at the bandage, and my dry eyes began to moisten, but I shook my head fiercely and swung my legs over the side and sat up.
I called the Pacific Crest. The desk clerk practically had a heart attack when I said my name.
“Call the police,” I said. “They will tell you everything is over.”
“But ma’am…”
“Just, please have my things packed and my bags brought downstairs. I will have someone pick them up.”
“Certainly, but…”
I ended the call and then punched in Mr. Kent’s number.
Within the hour, Mr. Kent had dropped off my bags, I was clean, had changed my clothes, and Mr. Kent waited for me outside in the limo.
I called the airport to confirm a flight and to switch my ticket to today, and then I called Maggie.
“Hello?”
“Oh, Maggie. I’m glad you’re home.”
“Melanie!” Maggie cried. “My god, are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been worried sick.”
“Didn’t Cheryl call you?”
“Yes, but still. Where have you been?”
“It’s a long story. Could it wait until I get home?”
“It can wait,” she said. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“No,” I said, and with that small word, I lost my struggle to hold back the tears. “No.”
“Honey, I’m coming. Where are you?”
“No, I’m coming home. Can you pick me up at LAX at 3:45?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. United, Flight 208.”
“Got it.”
“I’m checking out of this room as soon as I hang up. There are a few things I have to do this morning then I’ll head straight for the airport.”
“What happened, Melanie? Is it over? Are you safe?”
I waited for a second, staring down at the bandage on my hand. “Yes, Maggie.” I paused to clear my throat. “It’s over.”
As I stepped down to street level Mr. Kent climbed from the front seat and came around to take my bags and stash them in the trunk. He opened the back door of the limo, but as I bent to step in, I looked at the seat where Andrew and I had sat together, at the window he had leaned through to kiss me. I backed up and straightened. “Mr. Kent, would you mind if I rode up front with you?”
“Why, not at all.” To his credit, he looked no more than a little puzzled. He escorted me around, held the door, and I slipped in and buckled my seatbelt. I didn’t give the backseat another glance.
Mr. Kent slid behind the wheel and smiled over at me. “Where may I be taking you this fine morning?”
I handed a slip of paper to him. The apartment’s address was on it.
He nodded. “We’ll be there in two shakes,” he said as he put the car in gear. In no more than fifteen minutes we turned down a street that looked familiar. We turned once more and pulled up in front of the apartment house. Cars lined the curb all along the street; Mr. Kent had to double-park to let me out.
“I’m afraid it will take me a while to find a parking place,” he said.
“What I have to do here will take me no more than an hour,” I said. “Why don’t you go get a cup of coffee then come back?”
He beamed with delight. “Well, that’s certainly a very nice suggestion. I’ll do that.”
I really did want to smile at him in return, but it just couldn’t come, so I shut the door and he pulled away. I turned and walked up the path to the old house, up the steps that Andrew and I had first walked up five days before. Less than a week, I thought. It can’t possibly be anything less than a year, an eon, a lifetime. The bougainvillea was scarlet in the daylight, and quite beautiful. The porch no longer looked in the least eerie. The front door was unlocked. I walked through, closed it behind me, and stood for a long moment, seeing myself trying to hold Andrew up as he staggered, nearly fell. I had held him to me until he had recovered and could go on.
I closed my eyes tightly, took a deep breath, then crossed the lobby
and stopped at the door on the left to knock.
Tim answered. He smiled his bright, charming smile. “Well, hello there. We haven’t seen much of you. How are you liking the apartment?”
“I have loved the apartment,” I said, more truthfully than I would have liked. “But I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to stay after all.”
Tim’s smile faded. “Well,” he said slowly. “That’s too bad.”
“Look,” I said quickly. “I really am sorry. I hope I haven’t put you to too much trouble. Of course you can keep the rent and the security deposit. And I’m on my way in now to clean up.”
“But if you like the place.”
“I do.” I stopped, swallowed, and blinked quickly to keep the tears at bay. “I do like the place. I love it. It’s just…” I shook my head.
Tim stepped through the door and put his long, delicate hand on my arm. “Oh, now, don’t be crying. You and your husband haven’t had a fight, have you?” He caught sight of the bandage on my hand. His eyes narrowed and flicked up at mine. “Did he do that to you?”
I shook my head quickly. “No, no. It was an accident.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Really,” I said.
“But you’re leaving him anyway?”
“Yes. No!” I shook my head. “Andrew and I just realized… I realized that we don’t have… anything in common… and…” I stopped.
He patted my arm. “Don’t you think you might be being a little hasty?” he said gently. “Maybe you’ll work things out. It took Doug and me a lot of ups and downs, but look how happy we are.”
I looked down at the floor and shook my head. I took a deep breath. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible for us. I’m just sorry it’s put you to so much trouble.”
“Now that’s the least of your worries.” The look of sweet understanding on his cherubic face brought me right to the edge of losing it again. He stepped forward and took my hand and cupped it between his. “Now, honey, don’t do that.”
I smiled and began to pull away. “I’ll just go straighten things up.”
He patted my hand and let me go. “All right. But do stop by to say good-bye before you leave.”
I nodded and turned quickly and nearly ran to the apartment door. I rested my hand on the knob, then took a deep breath and stepped inside.
A cross-hatched pattern of morning sunlight lay across the hardwood floor of the living room and up over the brick fireplace. Out through the French doors, the leaves of the elephant ear palm bobbed gently in a light breeze. Tiny grey-green needles shed from the mimosa tree covered the patio table in a misty coat of green. Pink and red petals from the geraniums Andrew had plucked and arranged in the cut-off plastic soda bottle lay scattered across the grey-green. The white Persian from next door slept in the warm sunshine, curled on the burnt orange cushion of the chair Andrew had sat in.
At the thought of him, the pain tightened my throat, but something else happened at the same time. Feelings and memories of the last few days started to coalesce in my mind and formed one thought: I did this.
I stood up to seriously bad guys. I got Andrew out of the airport, out of the hotel, found an apartment, nursed him, and helped find the evidence to clear his name and mine. I did this. I had been smart, brave, and resourceful. And, regardless of the outcome, Andrew Richards had been attracted to me. I knew that. That wasn’t a fluke.
A shiver went through me as the truth settled in and I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time, a very strange feeling. Maybe, just maybe, my parents had truly been idiots (and much worse). Logically, I’d known that for years; but standing looking through the apartment to the garden was the first time that I knew it in my heart as well as my brain. Feeling washed through me, and while I still felt the loss of the possibilities with Andrew, for the first time in my life I knew that I could find love. It would never be easy, it would never be like one of my fantasies, but I could and would find it.
In “Steel Magnolias,” one of the characters mentions that her favorite emotion is laughter through tears. I completely and utterly agree. I stood in the hall smiling as the tears rolled down my cheeks and felt the potential opening within me. Amazing, wonderful, forever to be remembered.
I pulled a tissue from my coat pocket, blew my nose, turned right, and headed for the kitchen. The lovely sunlight also came through the kitchen window, warming the yellow tile counter and lying across the stove and oven. I walked around the room, running my hand across the brick mantle of the fireplace, then down across the counter to the place where I had laid the newspaper and set the groceries I looked down at the bucket on the floor, still sitting near the fridge where Andrew had dropped it.
And I still felt the joy, but I also felt the pain of loss, and it was okay because loss is the risk you take when you decide to open yourself to love.
I opened the refrigerator and took out the last of the eggs, the carton of milk and the two oranges and an apple out of the vegetable bin and put them in a paper bag. I left the paper plates, the cheap skillet and sauce pan, and the other things I’d bought that could be used by the next tenant. A quick wipe with the sponge took the dust from the counters. The floor wasn’t dirty. We hadn’t been there long enough to get it dirty. I left the kitchen, deposited the bag of groceries near the door and walked resolutely to the bedroom.
The mattress was where it had been, the sheet and blanket pulled up over it. Before we had left, I had spread my skirt and sweater out again to dry, and they still lay on the carpet near the patio doors. My make-up lay on the floor, still wrapped in the t-shirt. The newspaper with Andrew’s picture and mine lay near the bed where we’d left it.
I folded the blankets and sheets and stacked them with the pillows on the foot of the mattress. Next was the patio, a quick check around to make sure we had left no debris. As I swung open the French doors, the white Persian lifted his head and turned to look at me, but he didn’t move from the chair.
“You lazy bum,” I whispered and walked over and gave his head a scratch. He moved his head under my hand, trying to take full advantage of the opportunity to get as much scratching as possible. He began to purr loudly and I smiled. “I’m not spending my life here scratching you, you lazy thing.” I gave him one more quick pat and walked back in the apartment and closed and latched the doors behind me.
I walked into the bathroom, scanned the counters, turned toward the shower and stopped dead. Andrew’s torn white silk shirt hung over the curtain rod. It was clean, but the white was dulled by the wash in water and a tinge of blood. I slowly pulled it down and fingered where the bullet had gone through.
In an instant I was back in the hotel room, scared out of my mind, Andrew kneeling before me, bleeding, gasping in pain, needing me. I had grabbed at the ragged hole through the shirt and ripped the material.
“Owww,” he’d said.
I had jumped. “Oh, God!” I had said. “Did I hurt you?”
“Yeah. That was my favorite shirt,” he had said weakly, trying to grin, as much pain as he was in, trying to make me smile.
I brought the shirt up, twisting it in my hands and buried my face in it. It smelled of soap and still, very faintly of Andrew.
Yes, I knew that love would come to me, but I also knew that it had already come and the loss of that love burned.
A sob welled up. “Andrew,” I whispered. “Andrew.”
The front door of the apartment crashed open. I spun around, the shirt clutched in my hands.
“Melanie!”
A shudder went through me. I stepped to the door.
“Melanie,” he cried. I heard his footsteps coming up the hall then he ran in the room and stopped when he saw me. “Melanie,” he breathed.
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.
His long hair fell over his face but it couldn’t hide the bruise on the right side. It was black, purple and yellow. His eye was swollen, his lip puffy. It didn’t look like he had slept. He hung on to the doorfr
ame with one hand, staring over at me, breathing fast. “Where have you been?”
I just stood and stared.
He took a step into the room, then another, and stopped. “I called the hotel over and over and rang your room and there was no answer then I called this morning and they said someone had picked up your luggage.”
“I’m…” I swallowed. “I’m going home. My flight leaves at 2:30.”
“Going home? Why? You have until Sunday.” He was still breathing hard and he had trouble getting the words out.
“And this has been such a great holiday, right?”
I turned my back on him and walked over to where my clothes lay in the sunshine. I knelt down and picked up my sweater. “I’m tired,” I said. I unwrapped his shirt from around my bandaged hand and dropped it in front of me and started folding the sweater carefully. It was awkward, but I managed.
“I was worried about you,” he said.
I smoothed the sweater carefully, and then reached for the skirt. “There was no need.” I folded the skirt and put it on top of the sweater.
“No need? I wake up in the hospital, I can’t find you, you’re not at the hotel?”
I picked up the clothing, my bandaged hand hidden underneath, and stood. I balanced the load and carefully walked over to pick up my purse. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know that. But I woke up and you weren’t there.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been trying to find you.”
“There was no need,” I repeated.
“What do you mean no need?”
“You had already thanked me. You didn’t have to do it again.”
“You think that’s all I wanted?” he shouted, his voice suddenly rising from strained calm to flaming anger. “Damn it Melanie! Look at me!”
My head jerked around and my eyes met his. Though bruised, his right eye was no longer swollen shut. The sunlight shining in on the carpet reflected up and lit his eyes; I could see the green and gold clearly.
“Why didn’t you come to the hospital?” he asked.
“I didn’t need to,” I said calmly. “Melinda Brannan was there.”