by Kim Boykin
“I’m Jake Randall,” he said to the woman at the information desk. “My client, Tara Jordan, was brought in just a few minutes ago. I need to see her. Now.”
The woman was about sixty and Jake knew he was pretty much dead in the water when she didn’t look at him like other women do. “Have a seat. I’ll let them know you’re here.” She didn’t pick up the phone right away, but shuffled some papers about and took a couple sips of her coffee to make him pay for his attitude. Maybe he should have been honest with the woman, but his guess was that wouldn’t have gotten him any further.
Finally she picked up the phone and talked to someone for a few minutes. She hit the button under her desk and the door to the ER room opened. “Room twenty-seven.”
He hurried down the hallway. When he got to the small room, his heart stopped. No longer streaked with blood and mascara, Tara’s face was ghostly pale. Eight tiny stitches marked the jagged cut above her left eye. Her hands were cold; he warmed them pressing them against his neck. Why had Jake let things get so out of hand? Why didn’t he run next door the minute he heard the bastard shouting at Tara? And why in the hell had Jake done what he had done after he burst into the hotel room?
Her eyes fluttered open and then closed. She smiled a little. “I’m so sorry, Tara.”
There was a soft knock at the door and a doctor came into the room. She looked to be about Jake’s age. “Are you her husband?” If he had anything to say about it, yes.
He shook the doctor’s hand and introduced himself. “I’m Tara’s publicist.”
“She’s got some nasty bruises on her legs and a severe concussion. We stitched up the gash on her head while she was out. She’s in and out of consciousness, but the fact that she was out for more than a few minutes is concerning. She’ll need to be admitted. At least for tonight, but she should be okay.”
“Thank God.”
“Judging from the bump on her head, she must have been running at full tilt when she hit her head. We’ll know more about her injury after the CT scan. Until the swelling goes down, she’ll need to be monitored.”
The doctor had been looking at her notes the whole time she was talking, like she knew if she looked at Jake, she’d say more than the law allowed. But then she did and her demeanor softened. “I know it seems bad, but it’s not serious enough to induce a coma. As she recovers, the best medicine is physical and cognitive rest. So when she wakes up and asks for her laptop, cellphone, et cetera, don’t give it to her.”
“What else does she need?” Jake knew he sounded a little too desperate. He saw it on the doctor’s face, like she’d suddenly remembered all those privacy laws and they’d made her rethink being so candid with him. But Jake was desperate.
“I understand her husband came in with a heart attack.” She emphasized the word husband and looked up from her clipboard for a reaction. Jake took a different tact.
“How is Jim?” he asked. “He looked like he was in pretty bad shape when he left the hotel.” There. That sounded like he knew Jim too, like they were one big happy family.
The doc wasn’t buying it. “He’s in bad shape,” was all she would say. “We’ll get Mrs. Jordan up to a room as soon as there’s one available.” Jake could tell the doc felt sorry for him, but she didn’t want a lawsuit on her hands. “You can stay with her if you want,” she said, and then she left.
He held Tara’s hand, and if he hadn’t been so worried about hurting her, he would have crawled onto the gurney and held her. Two hours later her eyes fluttered open and she smiled at him. Electric. Full on. Her smile dissolved into a thin line. Her chin quivered hard. More tears.
“I wanted a baby, Jake.”
“I know, honey.”
“He took that away from me.”
Jake had no idea what she was talking about, but if he was anywhere near Jim Jordan at that moment, he would have made sure he was dead. “It’s okay, Tara, I love you.”
The look in her eyes broke his heart. “I could have had a baby. It wasn’t me. I could have had a baby.”
“It’s okay, Tara. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“No it’s not okay. Jim didn’t deserve to die.” She turned her head away from him. “I could have saved him, but I wanted him to die.”
“Jim’s not dead.” Jake wished that wasn’t true. “I saved him.”
Tara was asleep when the orderly brought her back from her CT scan. Jake watched her, glad the nurses had put her in a private room like he had asked.
He wanted her back. Now. But he was powerless. At his core, Jake hated the feeling that way. He had always been the big guy, always the strong guy, but seeing Tara like this. He was none of those things.
He loved her. He would love her forever. But he was torn between the part of him that refused to leave her side and the part of him that wanted to beat the hell out of an old guy in the cardio unit. One thing he was certain of, Jim Jordan would never get anywhere near Tara again. Not if Jake had any say in the matter.
The nurse came in every hour to wake Tara and test her symptoms. The nurse called Tara’s name. At first, she didn’t respond, but then she stirred and cried out from the pain. “Don’t move, Tara. You’re going to be okay. Just try to lie still.” She squeezed his hand and he was surprised how strong her grip was.
“I killed him.” Her eyes were wide and scared, like a child’s. “Jim had a heart attack. You didn’t kill anybody.”
“Do you still love me, Jake?” Her chin was quivering so hard, the last words came out in little puffs of breath.
He pressed his lips gently against her cheek. “Yes. Always.”
“And you won’t leave me?”
All Jake could think about was her getting better and then her leaving him when she found out how critical Jim’s condition was. The old guy had a long history with Tara and a million cards to play and Jake only had one. “I can’t leave, Tara. I love you.”
Chapter Seventeen
‡
“Jake.” He thought Tara was calling him and was so exhausted, he could hardly open his eyes. “Jake, it’s me, Marsha.” She was on the other side of the bed, a worried look on her face.
“Hi.” He stretched and peeled himself out of the horrible recliner that only hospitals are allowed to have. He looked at the clock on the wall. It was seven something, although he wasn’t sure if it was a.m. or p.m. “She should be waking up soon.”
Marsha threw her arms around him. “I’m so glad you’re here with her. Is she going to be okay?”
“She has a concussion. She’s in a lot of pain, but she’s more upset than anything.”
“I didn’t know Jim was at the show or I would have warned her.”
“It’s nobody’s fault.” Jake didn’t believe that. It was his fault. He should never have left her alone with that bastard.
“What happened?”
“Tara agreed to see him. I didn’t want her to, but she wanted to do it. I’m not sure what happened. I heard him shouting, but she’d made me promise I’d stay out of it. I should have gone in there when I heard him yelling at her.”
“Don’t blame yourself, honey. All that matters is she’s going to be okay.” Marsha stroked Tara’s hair. “Jim’s in ICU. Mike lied and told them he was his brother; he’s down there with him now. You know neither of them have any family. That’s one reason we were all so close. We are family.” It wasn’t like Marsha said that to be hurtful, it was more like she was preparing Jake for something. “As soon as Jim’s strong enough, they’ll do quadruple bypass surgery.”
Jake nodded, wishing Jim Jordan would just go on and take himself out of the equation, but he knew it wouldn’t be that easy. As long as he kept his focus on Tara, she would be fine. Hopefully that meant that she and Jake would be good too. “She’s still upset when she wakes up. She’s said a lot of things I don’t understand. She said she could have had a baby and Jim took that from her. What do you think she meant by that?”
“I don’t know, honey.
I know she tried for a long time. She was so young; it was really hard on her. Made her feel somehow less—of a wife, of a woman. It was awful seeing her like that; I was almost glad when she gave up. She seemed happier.”
“But how could he have taken that from her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he was the one who couldn’t have children, not Tara.”
Tara smiled and tried to open her eyes when she heard her name. “Marsha.”
“Yes, sweet girl, I’m here.”
And then Tara started to cry again and didn’t stop for a long time.
Jake knew at some point Tara would talk to Jim’s doctors, but that didn’t make him dread it any less. She was being released today, but before she left the hospital, the surgeon had asked to meet with her. Mike Lemieux fixed it so the cardiologist would be there too. Jake pushed her wheelchair towards the elevator, the cardio unit was on the fifth floor, but Jake had rather he and Tara be anywhere but there.
When they got to the room, the door was open. Tara turned and looked at Jake to let him know she didn’t want him to go with her. “I’ll be fine,” she said softly when he kissed her cheek.
“Either way, I’m staying right here,” Jake said.
My husband was asleep with his mouth gaping open. Even after working on his tan for almost two months, his skin had a gray cast to it, a sign of just how poorly his heart was working. He had a head full of grayish blond hair and was quite handsome when he smiled, but lying in the hospital bed, he looked much older than fifty-five. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled.
I’d wanted him to die and he almost had. But I didn’t want his blood on my hands; I didn’t want to carry that baggage into my new life with Jake.
“No tears, Tara. You warned me that fast food would kill me, and here I am.” He shrugged a little.
“Hi.” He reached for my hand, but I wasn’t ready for that and sat down beside the bed instead.
“So, it’s really like that between us,” he said like he was talking more to himself than to me.
“Jim, when you left—”
“I know I shouldn’t have. I was hurt and so damn angry with you for writing that book. Our friends snapped it up and read it when it first came out like the rest of the world did. Anybody who really knew us knew we had precious few of the things you wrote about. I was so mad, all I could think about was hurting you, making you pay for what you’d done, and the best way I knew to do that was leave.” He took a deep breath. I looked at the monitor, then at the floor, anywhere but at Jim. “I’m so sorry, Tara.”
Before I could say anything, both of the doctors with two other white coats, presumably interns, filed into the room. The doctors took turns talking. It seemed surreal to hear that Jim Jordan would be laid up and helpless for weeks.
I tried to listen to their conversation, but all I could think about was sitting on that floor in the hotel room, closing my eyes, knowing Jim would be dead when I woke up. The cardiologist had used his fist as a visual for what had happened to Jim’s heart or what they were going to do to it. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
“Of course. During the heart attack, about a quarter of your husband’s heart muscle tissue died. And the compressions cracked his ribs.” When he paused to glance down at his chart, it felt more like he was underscoring the fact I’d killed a quarter of Jim’s heart and, whether on purpose or not Jake had cracked four of Jim’s ribs when he performed CPR. “A bone fragment damaged part of the good tissue but it should recover after it’s removed and the bypass surgery is performed.”
“So what you’re saying is part of his heart is dead?” The surgeon seemed exasperated that I was still playing catch up and excused himself.
“Essentially, yes,” the cardiologist said.
“And it will never heal?”
“No, once the tissue is dead, it’s dead. But once the bypass is complete, he should recover quickly. He’s fairly young. If he takes care of himself, he’ll be around for a long time.”
I felt Jim looking at me for a reaction. “So for now, what does he need?” I asked, unable to look at Jim.
“Ideally, he’ll need someone with him twenty-four/seven for a few days after he’s released, but when the blood starts flowing through his body properly, he should be as good as new in no time.”
“Thanks, doc.” Jim nodded at the white coats and they left the room and closed the door behind them.
I didn’t make Jim Jordan eat crappy food. I didn’t stop him from exercising, even though he was one of those weekend warriors who looked like they worked out all the time. But I had been angry enough to let him die, or at least part of a vital organ die. And had Jake meant to crush Jim? Maybe. Probably.
“Tara, I know I don’t deserve anything from you,” Jim said. “But I don’t want to go through this alone.”
I remembered lying in Jim’s arms, crying away the morning of my fortieth birthday because I was officially old. Jim said that it was okay, we’d grow old together. We promised we’d take care of each other, because it was just the two of us. I knew I didn’t owe Jim Jordan anything, but it felt wrong to leave him sick and wounded.
I didn’t look at him before I wheeled myself out of the room. I didn’t want to see him helpless, needy. “I’ll be here because I said I would, but just until you’re better, Jim.”
“So you love that guy?” My back was to him. I wheeled around to look at him and nodded my head. “I’m sorry for so much, Tara, but most of all I’m sorry I lost you.”
Chapter Eighteen
‡
The day after all hell broke loose in the hotel room, Jake took me home to the lake house, which felt really weird. Maybe there hadn’t been enough history at the beach to ignite feelings like that, but now there were plenty. To Jake it was just another space, like one of the hotel rooms we stayed in, and as much as I loved him, it was still bizarre to see him stretched out in Jim’s chair watching television or sharing the other sink in the bathroom.
Jake knew we were sleeping in the guest bedroom. Nobody’s real bedroom has empty bureau drawers and closets, but he didn’t say anything. Not that I felt like we were doing anything wrong by being together, but making love in the same bed I shared with Jim felt wrong and worrisome, like what I didn’t have with Jim could taint what I definitely had with Jake.
But the strangest thing about going back to the lake house had nothing to do with my history with Jim had everything to do with going back to the place where I lost myself. Slowly. Without even noticing the changes I’d made to fit into Jim’s life, to fit in with his friends. Don’t get me wrong, I love Marsha, but with a little coaxing and direction from Jim, I changed who I was under the mistaken idea that as a wife, I was supposed to blend into his life.
But with Jake, things were different. He was gorgeous and godlike, and the slightest touch from him ignited a desire in me that I thought had passed me by. Maybe things were that way because he was younger, and his views of women were less archaic than Jim’s. But Jake seemed to look at the whole world differently.
He grew up with a working mom. Powerful women didn’t turn him off like they did Jim. He admired them, admired me. Not that I was all-powerful, but still, that was a pretty heady thing after living with someone who kept his lip zipped when anything remotely related to feminism was discussed. Unless he’d had a few too many drinks, then I learned what Jim Jordan really thought of women, and by default, what he thought of me.
What surprised me most about Jake was an unexpected level of self-awareness that I didn’t possess at thirty and Jim and never possessed. If Jim had the emotional capacity of an eighth grader, Jake was in grad school. He was spontaneous, adventurous. He challenged me, pushed me to a new understanding of myself. I think this was rooted in Jake’s belief that we were equals, something Jim would deny until his dying day.
After Jake opened himself up to me, there was no going back, and I didn’t want to. There was enough commonality to bind us together and enough differ
ences to excite the hell out of us. He didn’t play any of the games that Jim had played with me when we were dating. Jake forced me to grow and ushered me into a new life. His worldview wasn’t necessarily my worldview, and he was good with that.
I woke up that morning to find Jake already up with his jammer on. Think gorgeous Olympic swimmer or magnificent water polo guy with a massive beautiful chest and long arms with gifted hands. “I need to swim,” he said. “Do you want breakfast first?”
“I don’t expect you to baby me.” I couldn’t hide my smile. Well, maybe a little. “I’ll come with you.”
The steps down to the lakefront were steep, like if you fell down them, you might never get up again steep. “Oh, hell no,” he said as I started down the stairs with the shaky coordination of a toddler.
“I’ll be fine.” The last word was a squeal that stretched into seventeen syllables as he scooped me up and carried me down to the beach. My head still hurt, but I bit my lip and laid my head against his chest as he walked down the steps and into the lake with me. The water was warm for June, but not too warm. I moved about slowly, treading just fast enough to keep my head above water.
“You’re better today.” He dove under the water and came up smiling, his thick chestnut hair slicked back.
“Yeah.” I touched the stitches above my eye. “But I feel like Frankenstein.”
“You’re gorgeous.”
There was a part of Jake’s body that was like a compass, always pointing toward the water, always begging him to swim. I could feel him wanting to take off, swim all the way out to the mouth of the cove and back. Instead, he held me, suspended above the water.