Sultry with a Twist

by Macy Beckett

  “Y’ello,” Trey answered.

  “Thank God you’re home!”

  “Where else would I be, buddy? With this effing cast, it’s not like I can just—”

  “Listen,” Luke interrupted, “I need a favor. It’s an emergency.”

  Trey’s voice darkened. “What’s up?”

  “Call Pauly, or even that idiot Karl, and ask for a ride to Pru’s house.”

  “Okay…”

  “Tell Pru—but be careful, because she’s, you know, old and fragile and stuff—that June got bit by a coral snake, and she’s at Sultry Memorial. They’ve got her on a breathing machine, but I don’t know anything else.”

  “Christ,” Trey breathed. “I’ll do it right now.”

  The line disconnected, and Luke jogged back into the waiting room—this time with a clear head. He didn’t know if the nurse had an update yet, but he’d be ready and waiting when the time came. When he approached the information desk, the receptionist—the same young brunette who’d flirted with him when he’d picked up Trey last week—widened her eyes and pointed to his belly.

  “Hey, hon,” she said, “you need a shirt, if you want to stay inside.” Her playful grin told Luke she’d prefer to see him in even fewer clothes, and then she winked—actually winked at a time like this!—and pushed a clipboard into his hand. “Fill these out please.”

  “Can you tell me anything about June Augu—uh, Gallagher?”

  “Is that the woman you brought in a few minutes ago?”

  “Uh-huh. My wife.” He yanked his left hand below the counter before she noticed his missing wedding ring. “Anything at all?”

  The woman—Heather, according to her name tag—narrowed her eyes, apparently disappointed to learn he was off the market. “I need your wife’s insurance card.”

  Uh-oh, did June even have insurance? “Left it at home.”

  “Give me her social security number, and I’ll try looking her up in the system.”

  “I don’t know it.” When Heather rolled her eyes and geared up for a rebuttal, he added, “I was in such a rush to get here that I left my wallet and her purse at home.”

  She nodded at the clipboard. “Fill those out the best you can, then bring them back.”

  “What about June? Can’t you tell me anything?”

  She clicked a few keys on her computer and scanned the screen in silence. “Nope. Nothing yet, sorry.” But she didn’t sound sorry, and she quit making eye contact. “Don’t forget that shirt. There’s a gift shop this way”—pointing to her left—“and a lost-and-found bin on the second floor, right outside the elevators.”

  Luke thanked her and rushed to the second floor. He didn’t have his wallet—no lie there—so the gift shop was out. He rummaged through the bins, shoving aside umbrellas, pink jackets, and paperback books, until he identified a man’s T-shirt that just might fit. Plucking it from the heap, he charged back to the elevator and then pulled the navy blue, cotton fabric over his head without a care for who’d worn it last, or how many germs infested it.

  There was no reason to rush back to the waiting area—still no news about June’s condition—but he needed to feel as close to her as possible. Taking the seat nearest the information desk, he leaned forward, resting his forearms against his knees and folding his hands.

  An hour later, that’s how Pru found him.

  “Lucas!” With one mammoth hand clutching her heart, Pru scurried across the lobby, followed closely by Pastor McMahon, the preacher from her church. Hopefully, the old guy had driven her here, because Pru didn’t look fit to operate a bicycle, let alone a car. “How is she?”

  Luke stood and met her by the information desk. “No word yet. And not for lack of trying, either.” He’d bugged the receptionist, each passing doctor and nurse, patients and their families, candy stripers, janitors—anyone who had access beyond those damned double doors—for news of the curly haired snakebite victim, but his efforts were useless. Twice, he nearly stormed the doors himself. Only the threat of being barred from the premises had kept him glued to his seat. That, and the fact that a nurse had to buzz them open. He was beginning to wonder if they’d transported June to another hospital and forgotten to notify him.

  “I know the chaplain here,” the pastor said in a low voice. He covered his mouth and whispered, “Maybe he can slip back there and let us know what’s going on.”

  “At this point, I’ll try anything short of taking hostages.” Hell, maybe even that. Luke gave the preacher an enthusiastic pat on the back and watched him hurry away. Then he linked his arm through Pru’s and guided her to a cluster of empty chairs by the soda machine.

  The late afternoon sun cut through the glass, illuminating Pru’s white hair so her bun practically glowed from within. Bathed in the harsh light, each of her lines and wrinkles seemed amplified, and she looked so fragile—a word he’d never, ever used to describe her before now.

  “Lucas,” she said in a tiny voice. “What happened?”

  He pulled his chair closer and held her hand tightly in both of his. “She was gardening. I didn’t see it, but I heard her scream, and then I got her here right away.” Dropping to one knee, he peered into Pru’s watery, blue eyes and lied like the devil. “I know she’s gonna be fine.”

  “I just got her back.” Pru pressed her thin lips together, her chin quivering. Tears spilled over her cheeks.

  “She’s not goin’ anywhere,” Luke said firmly. He wrapped his arms around Pru’s shoulders and pulled her close, feeling her large frame shake with each sob. Swallowing the thickness in his throat, he rubbed her back and repeated, “She’s gonna be fine,” until several minutes passed, and Pru pulled away, blotting her face with a crumpled tissue from her purse.

  When Pastor McMahon returned, Luke had to physically restrain himself from tackling the man and shaking the information out of him like coins from a piggy bank.

  “Okay,” the pastor said, taking a seat across from Pru, “he said they’ve given her the antivenin, and they’re keeping her asleep until they see how she reacts to it.”

  “What do you mean ‘reacts to it’?” Luke asked. He’d expected the cure to work instantly, neutralizing the snake’s venom in June’s body the way baking soda neutralized acid.

  “Seems some folks are allergic. In that case, the cure’s worse than the bite.”

  “But that’s rare, right?”

  “No idea, Luke. Sorry, I wish I had more to tell you. Maybe we should find the hospital chapel and put it in the Lord’s hands.”

  Luke chewed the end of his tongue, literally biting back his sarcastic response. Where were “the Lord’s hands” when June had needed them earlier? Or when her parents had wrapped their car around an oak tree, leaving her an orphan? How about when his own mama’d abandoned him to a stranger? In Luke’s experience, he was better off taking matters into his own hands than leaving them up to God.

  “You and Pru go ahead,” he told them. “I’m gonna stay here and wait for the doctor.”

  After they left for the sanctuary, a familiar, dingy John Deere cap caught Luke’s eye, and he turned just in time to see Chuck’s linebacker form shuffling toward the front entrance.

  “Hey,” Luke called, rushing to meet him at the automatic doors.

  When the giant glanced over, Luke noticed the awful change in him right away. It was his eyes—bloodshot, glassy, their lids swollen half-shut. Bracing himself for the worst, Luke asked, “Any word on Cindy?”

  Chuck sputtered and grinned so widely it split his face in two. “Yeah. She’s sleeping now—the baby too—but I got to see ’em for a few minutes.”

  “So the surgery went okay?”

  “Uh-huh, just fine. And when I told her the news, she wasn’t mad about what I did. Y’know, for letting the doctors operate. Cindy was so relieved the baby was okay that she didn’t fret too much about what she’d lost. She said we’ve got each other, and now our little girl, and that’s all that matters. And there’s plenty of
kids out there needin’ a home. We can still have a house full of babies.”

  “That’s great.” The tears that had wrecked Chuck’s face were of relief then. Luke tried to picture the Goliath in front of him holding a six-pound infant, and the mental image curved his lips. “I’m glad things turned out for you, Chuck.”

  “Thanks. Any word on your…uh…girl?”

  “No, but that’s about to change.”

  “Well, good luck.” Nodding toward the parking lot, Chuck waved a quick good-bye. “Gotta put the crib together. The baby came a little sooner than we expected.”

  Luke watched him walk to his car and stumble over his own feet in obvious exhaustion. A cocktail of happiness and envy blended together and seeped through his body. Damn it, Chuck had closure—his happy ending—and now, it was Luke’s turn. He’d waited long enough.

  He decided to quit playing nice. People always said the squeaky wheel got the oil, so he decided to squeak like nothing these bastards had ever heard.

  Stalking to the information desk, he cleared his throat loudly. When Heather-the-horny-receptionist glanced up, he held her gaze, practically singeing her eyelashes with the intensity of his glare.

  “I want to know what’s happening to my wife. Right now.” Remembering what Chuck had said earlier, he added, “I’m her next of kin, and I’ve got the legal right to make medical decisions for her, if she’s unconscious. So far nobody’s asked for my consent, and whatever they’re doing back there might be a violation of my wishes. Now listen good. Are you listening?” When she pulled her brows down low, he grasped the counter with both hands and leaned in close enough to smell the peanut butter sandwich she’d had for lunch. “I’m going to wait right over there”—he pointed to the soda machine—“for exactly ten minutes. If a doctor or nurse doesn’t materialize in front of me during that time, the next person I talk to will be my lawyer. Got it?”

  He didn’t wait for her response before charging away, but when he reached the seating area and turned around, she was talking animatedly with someone on the phone. In exactly seven minutes—he checked the clock above the front entrance—a young man in a lab coat approached him. The kid’s baby-smooth cheeks had never seen the edge of a razor blade, so he wasn’t a doctor. Probably a lab tech, but Luke didn’t care, as long as the guy had news of June.

  “Hi, there. Sorry to keep you waiting.” He extended a hand, and Luke shook it, instantly turned off by the blond stranger’s limp-fish grip. You could tell a lot about a man from his handshake, and this one screamed, I’ll turn around and take my wedgie now, thanks. Be gentle when you shove me in your locker. “You’re the husband, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’m Dr. Benton. I’ve been taking care of Mrs. Gallagher.”

  “Ho-o-ly sh—…you’re her doctor?” Christ, how old was this guy? He didn’t look a day over fourteen. Luke didn’t trust the weak-fisted adolescent any farther than he could drop-kick him, and he wanted a hell of a lot more than just news. He wanted visible proof that June was still alive. “I need to see my wife.”

  “Sure, I can take you back, but only for a few minutes. But I want to prepare you for what you’re going to see.”

  Luke’s heart dipped. “That sounds bad.”

  “No, no, no. She’s perfectly stable, but we’re keeping her in a medically induced coma overnight, so she’s still on the ventilator. Her face is a little puffy, and there’s some significant swelling near the bite wound. Sorry, didn’t mean to alarm you.”

  “So she’s gonna be all right?”

  “I can’t make any promises, but I think the prognosis is good. I’ll take you back to see her. How does that sound?”

  It sounded like the best damn news he’d heard all day. “Lead the way, Doc.”

  A distant, tiny voice needled Luke’s conscience, telling him to wait—to find Pru first, so they could visit June together—but he shook his head and pushed the voice aside. Right or wrong, he wanted this moment all to himself. And besides, all those tubes, wires, and machines hooked up to June might frighten her grandma. So instead of being selfish, he was doing the right thing. Or, at least that’s what he kept telling himself as he followed the doctor through the infamous white double doors.

  Instantly, the atmosphere changed. The stinging, almost nauseating odor of ammonia replaced the scents of coffee, corn chips, and concerned relatives, and when the doors whispered closed, they blocked the sun’s natural light. The same polished, black and white floor tiles he’d paced in the waiting area appeared even gloomier here beneath the yellow glow of a hundred fluorescent ceiling panels.

  Luke and the doctor continued down a long corridor lined with open rooms. Nothing but a thin, blue curtain shielded the occupants inside, and if he looked hard enough, he could make out the outlines of bodies curled in their beds. Without the clamor of conversations, crinkling snack bags, and the distant drone of television news, each cough and moan seemed amplified. Sickness and misery closed around Luke like a fog, and he quickened his pace, hoping Doc Benton would do the same.

  After so many twists and turns Luke doubted he’d ever make it out again, they finally arrived at June’s room. Benton tugged the curtain aside and gestured for Luke to enter.

  What he saw stopped him in his tracks and snatched his breath away.

  His little Junebug seemed so broken, swallowed up by a sea of white linens, bandages, hoses, and wires. There was no doubt he’d done the right thing by leaving Pru behind—she didn’t need to see this. Someone had taped a breathing tube to June’s soft, pink lips, and her chest rose and fell with each quiet whoosh and hiss from the machine at her bedside. Stepping forward, Luke lifted her left hand and cradled it in his own.

  “Good thing you remembered to take off her wedding ring before the swelling began,” Benton said from behind. “Especially if it’s platinum. She might have lost a finger.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Luke turned June’s arm over, considering the tight, stretched skin puffing from beneath the bandage. “She wasn’t wearing it. We were doing yard work.”

  “Mmm.” The doctor moved to the end of June’s bed and began flipping through her chart. “Now, keep in mind that all this”—he swept his hand toward her intravenous lines and the wires monitoring her heart rate—“will come off later tonight. We already stopped the medication keeping her asleep, and after it’s out of her system, we’ll turn off the artificial respiration. Once she’s breathing on her own again, I’ll remove the tube—probably early tomorrow morning. She should wake up pretty quickly after that. They always do, because the process is a bit painful.” Closing her chart and hooking it back in place, he added, “Any questions for me?”

  The word “yes” formed on Luke’s mouth, but he couldn’t summon a single question except, “When can I see her again?”

  “When she wakes up, after I remove the breathing tube. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds awful.” Clearing a spot on the edge of the bed, Luke carefully sat beside June, so their legs touched through the thick blanket. “But I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

  “Honestly? No.” With a grin and a small laugh that puffed out his baby cheeks, he added, “Don’t know why I asked. Just a habit, I guess.” He stepped out of the room and swept the curtain across the doorway. Not much privacy, but better than nothing. “I’ll leave you alone with your wife for a couple minutes, then the nurse will take you back out front.”

  When Dr. Benton’s rubber soles had squeaked down the hall several paces, Luke lifted June’s swollen fingers to his lips.

  “Damn it, Junebug,” he whispered. “This is exactly why I didn’t want your help. Chaos follows you like a freaking shadow, and I can’t have you hurt on my watch.”

  June’s only reply was a mechanical whisper of breath pulled from her lungs, but had she been awake, he knew how she’d respond. You can’t keep me away. I said I was here to stay, and I meant it. I’m not leaving, so deal with it, you son of a biscuit-eater.

&n
bsp; Caving to June’s demands had been easier than standing up to her and seeing the disappointment in her eyes, but look how well that had turned out. What if he hadn’t gotten her to the hospital in time? Or if the doctors had run out of antivenin? She could’ve died today—and for what? So he could get his house on the market a few days sooner? It wasn’t worth the risk, not even close. He was done hurting her.

  “It ends right here, Junebug.”

  He’d wait until June’s doctor released her, and then he’d make his intentions perfectly clear. It was time to man up and get serious where June was concerned.

  Chapter 18

  June awoke to the biting scent of antiseptic and the clinical whisper of voices. One-ten over eighty someone said, sounding pleased. Far in the distance, a cell phone chirped, ringing to the tune of a pop song she recognized, but couldn’t identify. Where was she? While struggling to recall her last waking memory, she heard a woman’s soft voice call, “Paging Dr. Benton,” and then everything clicked into place. June remembered now: the vibrant coral snake with steely jaws, Luke’s truck thundering down the highway, suffocating pain.

  And the pain wasn’t done.

  Her mouth was so dry, like someone had forced her to gargle with kitty litter. She tried to lick her lips with a thick, arid tongue. Water, she wanted to ask. Just a sip. Clearing her throat, June tried to speak, but flames scorched her raw, throbbing airway. God Almighty, what had they done to her?

  “Mae-June?” a man’s soft voice asked. She wanted to correct him and say, “Just June,” but it wasn’t worth the effort. Instead, she opened her eyes and squinted against the light. The smooth, round face peering down at her was too young to be a real doctor. He must’ve been a volunteer. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Dr. Benton.”