No Magic Moment

by Angel Payne

  “You’re doing a great job. Can you hear gurgling? Does it sound like there might be fluid in her mouth or throat? Blood, maybe?”

  “I—I can’t tell.”

  “It’s okay. Do you have something you can cover her with? A blanket, maybe? Is anyone else there with you?”

  “I can get a blanket. Yes, my boyfriend’s here, but I think he’s in shock. He’s—he’s freaking out. I think.”

  I looked at Michael again. Freaking out? Was that his deal? Working at Andrea’s heels for so many years, I’d witnessed crisis reactions of all kinds—but always from a distance, never as close as this. Never caring like this. He hadn’t moved at all. Had he even taken a breath? He stared straight ahead, no longer at Diana, his lips still working on incoherent mumblings. I yearned to stop and be with him. I couldn’t. Di needed me more. Didn’t stop my heart from breaking in half at watching my strong, capable, protective man reduced to a catatonic mess.

  “Do you know who did this?” The operator’s voice snapped me back into action.

  “No, god damn it.” Recognizing her question had to be a formality didn’t ease my defensiveness. “There was a knock on the door. When we answered it, she was just lying there.”

  “Okay. Easy.” She soothed it as I ran upstairs to get a blanket from the linen closet, taking the phone with me. “A few more minutes. Dispatch shows them pulling up in front of your building. You can probably hear the sirens.”

  At the same time, Andre barreled through the front door. “What the fuck?”

  Under other circumstances, I would’ve gaped. I couldn’t remember the last time I heard profanity come from Andre’s gentle, kind soul.

  “Who’s there?” The nine-one-one operator hadn’t missed it, either.

  “It’s my assistant. My driver.”

  “That’s—this—it’s Mrs. Pearson.” Andre gawked from Diana to me. “Who did this to her?” He knelt on the floor, stroking Diana’s bruised cheek, until Michael’s rapid murmuring caught his attention. “Shit. He’s in shock.” He yanked the blanket from the back of the sofa and settled it around Michael’s shoulders. I blinked, calling myself five kinds of an idiot. Why hadn’t I grabbed that blanket for Di, instead of running all the way upstairs?

  You’re not thinking clearly at the moment. And nobody’s going to fault you for it.

  More poundings came at the door. My heart punched my ribs just as violently.

  “That’s the police and the paramedics,” the operator told me.

  I groaned. “The police. Fucking wonderful.”

  “For everyone’s protection,” she clarified.

  “Of course,” I replied, apology lacing the tone. If I was being honest, I was glad of the cops’ presence now. I wouldn’t put it past Declan or his men to linger nearby, looking for more chances to spill blood for water—literally.

  I gave a shaky thank-you to the operator before hanging up with her. As soon as the police declared the area clear for the paramedics, I pointed to Diana. The guys dove into action, calling out vital signs and other statistics to each other. They also barked out questions relating to Di’s health, which I struggled to answer to the best of my ability, but they needed answers I just didn’t have. I curled my arms against my body, fighting the encroaching helplessness and dread.

  She’s going to be okay. She’s going to be okay.

  She has to be okay. She has to be okay.

  The mantra pulled a mantle of strength around me. I couldn’t rely on Andre for the stuff right now. Both his arms were braced to Michael’s shoulders, his entire face stamped with worry. “Michael? Michael, my man?”

  His firm but gentle voice seemed to reach where I couldn’t. Michael looked up and turned a little, lips vibrating with an out-of-place smile. “Hey, Dre. What brings you here this morning?” He looked down then laughed. “And, dude, why are you all octopus arms around me?”

  His face changed as soon as he took in the whole scene again. Andre, face locked in sympathy, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. Next to them, a paramedic with a metal clipboard, writing feverishly as his partner continued to call stats. The medic on the floor, still roll-calling Diana’s injuries—

  Which yanked Michael’s gaze back to his mother. “Oh my God!”

  “Michael.” I reached to reassure him, but he lurched away.

  “Mom? What the fuck happened?” He looked up, searching for me in the small throng now crowding our living room. “Margaux? What the fuck?” As forcefully as he’d just rejected me, he reached out for me. “Tell me!” His words were as painful and desperate as his expression.

  I returned the force of his grip, as much for me as him. “Baby, do you remember opening the front door…about twenty minutes ago? And the burlap bag…from the orchard?”

  His handsome features twisted with an agony that made my heart explode. “I’m going to kill him,” he seethed. “I’m going kill that motherfucker for this.”

  I dropped to my knees to make us eye level—then leaned in and whispered for his hearing alone. “Damn it, Michael. Listen to me. You need to shut your mouth, right now. This place is crawling with police and it’s not going to change anytime soon.” I clawed my fingernails into his wrists, forcing his attention. “Are you getting this? Do you understand me? We have no concrete evidence about who did this or what happened, so before you land back in jail while your mother is fighting for her life, you need to stay very, very quiet.”

  He looked away, disgust racking his face. I was right, an acknowledgment that clearly burned him to the core. He needed to be here for Diana, but his temper pushed him to the brink of losing that freedom. While we both had a good idea of who was responsible for this sick message, we had no physical way of linking the deed back to Declan—as if it were even a priority right now. Getting Diana to the hospital was the only goal we could or should focus on. If she had any chance of survival, the next hour of action was key.

  But once she was out of the woods, Declan and his goon squad would get their payback. I silently vowed my allegiance to Michael on that.

  There was another knock on the door, making everyone but the paramedics jump out of their skin. The medical guys were oblivious to anything but Di, moving around her to start an IV line and clean up her wounds. “That’s the ambulance, for transport to the hospital,” one of them explained. He glanced up at Michael. “We’ll be taking her up to UCSD, since they’re the closest trauma center.”

  “Okay.” Michael’s answer, level and tough, indicated his head had finally gotten back in the game. I breathed easier, knowing he was getting his shit together. “Let me grab my shoes,” he said as I opened the door for the guys with the gurney, “and I’ll be ready.”

  The paramedic shook his head. “Sorry, man. We’re going to need all the room we can get in the ambulance to keep working on her. But you can meet us in the UCSD emergency department.” The guy continued informing Michael of how things would go after their arrival at the hospital. I listened carefully, too, just in case Michael wasn’t as together as he looked.

  Everyone stood back while they loaded Diana onto the stretcher and prepared to depart. As soon as everyone left, Michael and I sprinted upstairs to gather necessary shit like Michael’s wallet, my purse, and cell phone chargers.

  When we came back down, the condo was eerily quiet, especially in the wake of the chaos and violence that had just reigned. Only Andre remained, standing in the middle of the living room, staring at his shoes like they were the most interesting things he’d ever seen.

  He spoke calmly into the stillness. “Do you want me to drive?”

  “Yes,” Michael answered at once. “You can take her. I’ll be in the truck.”

  “No,” I protested. “Michael, I’m not sure that’s—”

  But he’d already stomped out the front door, slamming it hard enough to whack the foyer wall before it bounced back and closed in the frame.

  I swallowed hard, wondering for a second if I’d simply blink and wa
ke up from this morbid dream. When I turned around slowly, reality confirmed by the blood smears remaining on the floor, I choked against a sob.

  Andre held out his arms. Folded me into them, letting me sob against his chest like the emotional little girl I’d become. It was pathetic, but I couldn’t help myself. I indulged a minute then two, but finally pulled back, swiping angrily at my tears.

  “This bullshit needs to stop.” I poked his wall of a chest.

  True to form, he rumbled a deep laugh before guiding me toward the door. “It’s our little secret, Miss Margaux.”

  “Damn straight it is.”

  “How about getting you to the hospital to see what’s going on, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  * * * *

  Hours passed. Literally, hours. I waited with Andre in the outer waiting room of the emergency department at UCSD Medical Center, hoping for word on Diana’s condition. Eventually, I marched to the nurses’ station, demanding to know about her treatment and possible location, thinking we might have gone to the wrong hospital.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the sweet-faced brunette at the desk said. “If you aren’t next of kin, I can’t give you any information. I’m sure you understand.”

  I nodded, trying to look like I did—and shoving aside the admission that if I’d accepted Michael’s proposal six weeks ago, I’d probably qualify as next of kin. Spilled milk now. Not worth stressing over.

  I leaned over the counter. “Please. Please. Can you just tell me if she’s here? Diana Pearson. P-E-A-R-S-O-N. You can check that, right? My boyfriend should be here with her. Since cell phones aren’t allowed back there, he isn’t even answering my texts. Can you just give a yes or no if she’s here?” When she surrendered a hesitant glance, I went in for desperation and guilt-imposing. “That really isn’t too much to ask, is it?”

  When cutie pie realized I wasn’t retreating without an answer, her sympathy turned into a glare. She wiggled her mouse, stabbed at the computer keys and stated, “Yes. Diana Pearson was brought in via ambulance five hours ago. She was taken to the operating room and is still there. It’s likely your boyfriend is upstairs in the waiting area outside the operating suites.”

  She pulled out a hospital map from a Plexiglas holder alongside the window we were talking through, unfolded it and gave me directions using the back of her pen.

  “We are here, in the emergency department.” She exaggerated an X over the same words on the map. “Go down this hall, take the elevators on your right to the fourth floor and follow the corridor to the ORs.” More exaggeration, this time with a big circle around the words Operating Rooms. “The waiting area is just outside the suite. You can look for him there.”

  With that, she pushed the map through the cut out at the bottom of the divider, turned her back and walked deeper into the nursing pod. Despite her words, I didn’t pick up anger from her. She was just protecting herself from getting in trouble—or at least that was my rationalization for stifling the litany of swear words on my tongue.

  Hell, maybe she was angry. My human barometer was out to lunch, and guess how many fucks I gave about getting it back at the moment?

  I was only sure of one thing right now. Somebody was going to catch hell soon. I was nearing the end of my rope.

  When I got back to where Andre sat with his head lolled against the wall, I nudged him in the shoulder.

  “Hey, big guy, wake up.”

  “I’m not sleeping, you little shrew.”

  “No kidding? You should hear the sound that comes out of you when you’re ‘not sleeping’. It sounds remarkably like snoring.”

  “Do you want me to start telling people about the waterworks?”

  “Aw, that’s low.”

  “Some things just need to be done.”

  “I hate you.”

  “So why did you not wake me?”

  “Mary Sunshine at the desk told me Di was taken to surgery and is still there. We have a good chance of finding Michael upstairs in the waiting area outside of the operating rooms.”

  “Then I guess we’re going upstairs.”

  We headed for the elevator, soon stepping off at the fourth floor. It was easier to follow the overhead signs than rely on my addled brain, so we made our way through the maze of corridors until we came to the OR’s waiting area.

  Sure enough, Michael stood in the corner of the big room, clutching a paper cup of coffee. He stared out of the window into the courtyard of the hospital complex.

  When I walked in, he looked right through me, as if I were a ghost. Out of habit, I grabbed for Andre, but he wasn’t there. The traitor waited in the hallway.

  “Hey.”

  I wrapped my arms around his waist, pulling him close. At once, he sagged into me with his full weight, forcing me to brace myself to avoid being knocked off balance. I welcomed every pound. It felt damn good to be near him again, letting his heartbeat fill my ear. He was physically exhausted and I had a terrible feeling we’d just begun this awful journey. I held him, silently vowing to be there for every step with him.

  “Give me an update?” I finally asked.

  He drew in a long breath. “They’ve taken her into surgery.”

  “Right. Have they come out with any word?”

  “No. There are internal injuries…they said they wouldn’t know how bad any were until they got inside. She’s lost a lot of blood, but they were able to give her a transfusion. The head surgeon doesn’t think there is brain damage. She doesn’t look like she had a lot of head trauma. I don’t remember exactly how he said it. Something like…surface damage to her face. Fuck.”

  His voice cracked. I hugged him again, showing I understood. It was a cruel joke, if the doctors told him to be grateful it was just surface damage.

  “Apparently, most of the bad stuff happened to her ribs,” he went on. “The bastards also punctured one of her lungs, and possibly lacerated her spleen. The docs speculated that she was probably kicked quite a bit. If—if her spleen has to be removed, her immune system will be compromised for the rest of her life. Fuck!”

  “Okay. Sshhh. It’ll all be okay. People live like that all the time. They have treatments for that.” I returned his incredulous look with a firm frown. “I’m not saying that it isn’t bad, Michael. Don’t freak, but I’m trying to be positive. It’ll be the key for her recovery. We have to stay positive.”

  He actually nodded—though he stepped back from me so decisively, it cancelled my confidence. “I’ve been thinking about that, too.”

  My stomach flipped strangely. “About…what?”

  “I’ve had some time to myself this afternoon. To really think.” He stared back out the window. “I’ve come to some…hard decisions. Ones you won’t be happy with—but I must ask you to respect.”

  I agreed. I already didn’t like the direction he’d just steered, simply by the new set of his shoulders—and not helped when he stepped back over, took both my hands and guided me into the seats nearby.

  He turned to face me, still clutching my hands and took another long breath.

  “Damn it, Michael. You’re—you’re scaring me.”

  He lifted his head. His gaze was rimmed in red and covered in torment—and still one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.

  “Margaux…we need to break up.”

  I shoved his hands away. “Fuck that.” Lurched to my feet, despite my liquid knees and swimming vision. “No. Wait. Fuck you.”

  “Sugar, I’ve given it a lot of thought, and—”

  “I’m sure you think you have. But you can go fuck yourself and your thoughts, sugar.” Screw the patience, the understanding, the positive thoughts and the sweet little girlfriend. I unlocked the door for fighter bitch Margaux and she barreled in, taking over, facing off at him, full glare blazing. “We’ve come this far. We’ve come so far, damn it. I love you!”

  “And I love you. But—”

  “No. Just no. If you think I’m going to walk away when you
need support the most, you have no idea who you really fell in love with.”

  He rose, infuriatingly composed. “It’s not just up to you. I get a say in this, too.”

  I whirled, needing to not look at him. To not feel the pull of his presence, even now when I yearned to beat on him, tear at him…cling to him.

  Finally, I could summon words again. “You—you once told me that your mom and I are the two people who matter the most in your life.”

  “You are.”

  “So…one is lying in there fighting for her life, but now you’re letting the other one die—of a broken heart. Why, Michael? Why are you doing that?”

  He pushed a hard breath through his nose. “You’re not making sense right now.”

  “No. You’re not making sense.” I couldn’t breathe, unable to escape this fight for my sheer existence. “What the hell?” I fell back into a chair. “How did we get to this? Why are we even talking about this?” Panic set in all over again. Back to suffocation. I shot to my feet. Michael followed right behind me.

  “Damn it,” he growled. “Margaux—baby—I need to protect you, okay? After this—after what happened today—do you even understand what it all means?”

  “Yeah.” I stopped. Let him collide into me. I hung on to his shoulders before he could get away. “I do. I understand perfectly, okay?”

  He yanked free, face contorting. “Then why would you fight me on this?”

  “Because I’m not afraid of him! Of any of them! Of Declan, Menger, those stupid goons, or any of their puppet masters. If we run, they win!”

  “Then maybe it’s time to let them.”

  I grabbed his hands. “Stop it! You’ve never surrendered before and you’re not doing it now. If your mother was standing here—”

  “But she’s not.” He didn’t let me go, but his tone was violent enough to cut me off at the knees. “Because she’s in there—in her sixth hour of surgery. What’s next, Margaux? You want to tell me that? What the fuck is next? Do I come home and find you in a bag on our front step?” He spun away to drop into a seat, hanging his head in his hands. “Do you know what that did to me today to see my mother like that? Do you have any goddamn idea?”