Bridge to Fruition

by Laurie Larsen

  Dax looked over at the panicked young man. “No, it was an accident, man. But I need you to call 911. Do you have a phone on you?”

  The young biker stared, wide-eyed for a second, then patted his shorts pocket. “Yeah, but where?” He stood and took a few steps to where his papers were starting to scurry across the area due to wind. “Here!” He leaned and retrieved his cell phone from the grass beside the sidewalk. It must have flown out of his pocket when he fell.

  While the guy called for help, Dax turned his attention back to Jasmine. She was breathing shallowly, blood dripped from a cut on her forehead but fortunately, not a heavy flow like many head wounds. Although she’d fallen hard after the impact from the bike, a cursory inspection revealed that all her limbs were unharmed. Although once she got to the ER, the doctors could decide for sure. It was her unconsciousness that worried him the most.

  Dax overheard the biker giving the salon’s address over the phone, then he disconnected the call and came over. “They’ll be here in five.”

  “Thanks. You okay?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing compared to her. Few scrapes, got the wind knocked out of me. I’ll be fine.”

  Dax said, “You might as well get checked over, too.”

  The young man shook his head. “I don’t have any insurance. I’ll go if I have something wrong, but not just for a skinned knee.”

  Dax knew the feeling. He was uninsured as well. It was hard going these days for people of his age group — finishing school when there wasn’t much money in the coffers. Finding a decent job that paid a living wage. Getting the benefits needed for insurance and retirement. He was living paycheck to paycheck — heck, he was living massage to massage. Until he could build his reputation and clientele, he’d have to just be careful and hang on.

  The biker had walked over to his bike, picked it up and was inspecting it for damage. It looked okay, although one of the fenders was now scraping against the tire. He tugged at it and pulled it off. “Guess this isn’t vital.” He walked over to a trash container a half block down and tossed it in, came back. He kneeled and gathered his pages, stuffed them back into his bag.

  “You got this?” he asked Dax.

  Dax looked up, waved a hand. “Yeah. I’ll wait for the ambulance and go with her.”

  The guy nodded and threw a leg over his bike. Hesitating, he reached into his bag and grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper. He jotted on it and handed it to Dax. “Just in case you need me for anything. But you agree it was an accident, right? Nothing I could’ve done?”

  Dax glanced at the paper, containing the rider’s name and phone number. “Yeah. In fact, it was my fault. I distracted her while she was walking away so she didn’t see you coming.” Trying to build his business, he had intended to hand her his card, so she’d call and request him specifically next time. He’d spent a hundred bucks on professional business cards, hoping they’d result in added clients. Not an injury for a pretty girl who’d taken a chance on him.

  Satisfied, the biker rode off.

  As he waited, he settled into a sitting position beside her on the sidewalk. He knew never to move an injury victim in case of serious back injury, and she wasn’t awake to tell him what hurt and what didn’t. But she certainly didn’t look comfortable contorted on the hard cement. He caressed her face with his fingers, hoping that somehow she could feel the comfort he was trying to bestow.

  The ambulance arrived, and s sudden bustle of activity brought Dax to his feet. EMTs jumping out from the front and back of the vehicle, a stretcher pulled out, the wheels popped into place underneath it. Two stocky men taking charge, kneeling beside Jasmine on the pavement, straightening her neck, lifting her onto the stretcher, strapping her in.

  “Do we have an ID on the victim?” one of the men asked him.

  “Yes. Jasmine …,” he glanced down at her credit card receipt he’d stuffed into his pocket, since she’d left without it, “Malone. She’s a customer at the salon.” He gestured behind him. “They probably have full records on her, name, address and phone number anyway.”

  They loaded her onto the emergency vehicle and Dax hovered near the door, looking in.

  “You coming with her?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” He noticed her purse sitting close by on the grass, grabbed it, then jumped into the back of the truck.

  It wasn’t till they were pulling into the hospital parking lot moments later that he realized a few things. First, he hadn’t told his employer that he was leaving. Second, he was missing his next massage appointment. And third, he’d left his cell phone behind the front desk.

  He quickly opened Jasmine’s purse and located her phone. He pulled it out and dialed the salon’s number by memory. He got Melinda, the receptionist.

  “Hey, it’s Dax.”

  “Dax, where are you? You just disappeared. Your next appointment is waiting on you, and you know we’re short-handed today.”

  “I’m sorry. When my last client, Jasmine left, she got hit by a bike rider on the sidewalk. She’s unconscious.”

  “Oh, my gosh!”

  “I got in the ambulance and rode to the hospital with her. I’d like to stick around until she at least comes to, and I know what her injuries are.”

  Melinda sighed. “Okay, I guess I’ll rearrange your other appointments. I’ll try to get them covered, or ask them to reschedule.”

  “Thank you, Melinda, you’re the best.” He hung up, trying not to think about the loss of income and potentially long-term clientele he was risking. He was doing the right thing.

  The EMTs whooshed Jasmine into the Emergency Room. Dax was following them when one of them pointed to a seat in the waiting room and ordered, “You stay here. They’ll keep you posted.”

  He nodded and stood for a moment before taking a seat. He dropped Jasmine’s purse on the chair beside him and settled in.

  * * *

  The clock on the wall indicated he’d been waiting almost ninety minutes when the person behind the desk said, “Excuse me, are you here for Jasmine Malone?”

  He stood. “Yes.”

  She nodded and stepped into the waiting room. “I can take you back to see her now.”

  Dax followed her through a big swinging door into the curtain-separated cubicles of patients.

  “Here she is, number five.” The nurse pushed back the curtain to reveal Jasmine, lying on a hospital cot, her forehead wrapped impressively with gauze, and other than that, looking perfectly healthy.

  “The doctor will be with you soon to talk about releasing her.” The nurse walked away.

  Dax made his way carefully around the bed. An IV tube connected to her arm and another one made its way into her nose, oxygen, he assumed. A little start of a bruise decorated the skin under one eye. He sank into the guest chair, reached up and took her free hand into his. “Hey, you gave me quite a scare there.”

  She gave him a sad smile. “Sorry ’bout that.”

  He shook his head. “No need for you to be sorry. Seriously. I need to apologize to you. Your accident was all my fault.”

  She frowned. “I don’t remember much of anything.”

  “You had left the salon after our massage, but you didn’t take your receipt. So I followed you out and called to you — just in time for you to get hit by an oncoming bike rider.”

  “A bike? I feel like I was hit by a truck! A bike is a much less impressive story than I had worked up in my head.” Her fingers came up and found the mound of gauze taped to her forehead. “Do you believe this?”

  “You were bleeding. I think your head against the pavement was your first impact.”

  She shook her head gently. “I have a pounding headache, but they put something in my IV for that so hopefully it’ll take effect soon.”

  “Do you have a concussion?”

  “Not that they can tell, but they advised me not to sleep for at least eight hours, just in case.”

  He squeezed her hand, grateful that she was talking
normally. “Any other injuries?”

  “Nope. They took x-rays of my leg because it was hurting me, but no broken bones. Thank God.”

  “Yeah. He was watching over you. Could’ve been a lot worse.” Dax watched as she stared vacantly at the bed in front of her. “I’m sorry I distracted you. Can you forgive me?”

  Her eyes moved to his slowly. Her lips twitched into what she probably intended as a smile but was more of a grimace. “Nothing to forgive you for. It was an accident. You didn’t call my name, hoping that an oncoming bike rider would plow right into me. Right?”

  A wave of relieved laughter escaped his lips. “Right. Thanks for being understanding. Tell you what, your next three massages will be free.”

  She smiled lazily at him. It occurred to him that she may be under the relaxing influence of pain killers. “I won’t be around to claim them. After I graduate, I’m going back home.”

  A surprising stab of disappointment hit him. She was leaving the area. Why hadn’t he thought of that when she mentioned she was graduating from college? And it wasn’t just the disappointment of losing a client, either. It was more than that. It was the disappointment of losing … a potential person in his life. “Where’s home?”

  She stared at him, as if he’d stumped her. “Well, good question. I don’t know.”

  Dax frowned and looked around for a nurse call button. Whoa. The girl had a head injury and now couldn’t tell him where her home was?

  She must’ve read his distress and chuckled. “No, I mean … I don’t have a home, really. Or, I have two homes. Depending on how you look at it.”

  He leaned closer to her. “You’re going to have to explain yourself, or else I’m calling the authorities.”

  She smiled. “My parents got divorced last summer. They sold my childhood home in Pittsburgh. My dad’s living in a small but high-scale luxury condo. He has a bedroom for me there, but it’s empty. I mean, it has a bed and a dresser, but not much else. It’s sterile, you know? Not homey at all. My mom moved to South Carolina, bought a big old house on the beach and got remarried. There’s lots of comfy bedrooms there, and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if I moved in temporarily. But … I need to do my job search. I need to work on my resume and start looking for something to do in the fashion industry. I assume I’ll wind up in New York City, but it’s a hard field to break into. I’d start anywhere.” She closed her eyes briefly, then pried them open again. “I’m in flux.”

  He watched her eyes drift shut again. He looked at the meds flowing into her veins, probably causing drowsiness. However, if they’d told her not to sleep, those relaxing side effects weren’t helping her any. Her face looked so peaceful, and so beautiful, despite the bandage and bruising. She possessed a natural beauty, not a lot of makeup on to cover her gleaming, healthy skin. Her features were pronounced but unenhanced. He pictured her as a happy, beautiful farm girl, exuding the glow of living a healthy, natural lifestyle.

  She may be in flux, but this girl had a lot going for her and although he barely knew her, he was confident she’d land on her feet. Unlike himself, who’d had to battle complications and challenges. The jury was still out on whether he’d make his dreams actually come true.

  The thought of her graduation led to his thinking about logistics concerning her family — people to contact and inform about her current whereabouts. Besides, giving her the job of talking to people would help her stay awake, per doctor’s orders.

  He nudged her arm, “Hey, sweetheart. Jasmine. Wake up.”

  She did, her eyes rolling slightly before moving in his direction and focusing on his face. Her expression became an eyebrows-up question.

  “Shouldn’t you call your parents and let them know what happened?”

  Ahh, that brought her back to reality. “Oh, yeah. Man. They’re arriving into town today, checking into the hotel. Oh, shoot.” Her head darted around. “Where’s my phone? My purse? I must have dropped it outside the salon.”

  Dax smiled, the hero of the day, at least in this brief moment. He picked up the purse he’d set on the floor beside him and held it into her view.

  “You got it! Thank you!” She reached and he delivered, and she dug into the big leather bag. She located her phone, pulled it out, and although she was sitting two feet from a sign that said, “Please make your cell phone calls in the waiting room,” he didn’t stop her.

  She pushed a few buttons and lifted it to her ear. She rested her gaze on him, an expectant smile, then a roll of her eyes. “Yeah, hi, Mom. I was hoping you’d pick up. Okay. Call me back on my cell as soon as you can. I have something to tell you that I don’t want to leave in a voicemail.”

  She tried again, and this time he guessed that she connected with her father. “Hey Dad, where are you?” She waited a beat. “Oh, that’s close. You’re about twenty minutes out. Uh huh. Yeah. Listen Dad, I have some news. I just got into a minor accident. No, no, not a car accident. I was a pedestrian, crossing the sidewalk when I got hit by a bike rider. Yeah. Crazy, huh? No, I’m fine. I’m in the ER, in fact. Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, you could just come here.” She listened for a moment, then a frown marred her perfect face. She pulled the phone away and addressed him. “What’s the name of this hospital?”

  He told her, and she repeated it to her father.

  “I was knocked out when my head hit the pavement. But that’s about it. Concussion watch for a few hours, no broken bones. Yeah. But I’ll have a nice shiner for my graduation ceremony. Yes, lovely. No, don’t worry. I’ll be fine, especially with my daddy around to watch after me.” She looked up Dax and winked at him. “Okay, see you then.”

  She disconnected the call and explained, “My dad’s a doctor. He’ll get whatever information we need out of this crew.” She chuckled and then her cell sounded. It was her mom. She repeated the story, but this time, there was a lot more reassurance that she was fine, she was safe, no residual injuries and all would be all right. When she hung up with her mom, she took a big breath and sighed it out.

  He leaned in closer and without thinking, he took her two hands in both of his and squeezed them. Her skin was soft as velvet, but of course, he knew that, having spent an hour with his hands all over her. Her eyes looked alarmed before they settled into acceptance of his gesture.

  “This is it. The first time my mom and my dad will be in the same room together since their divorce.”

  His thumbs massaged her hands and she closed her eyes, melting into the pleasure. “Are you afraid they’ll make a scene?”

  Her eyes flew open. “No, no, they’re both much too civilized for that. But I know they’re both going to feel awkward, not quite sure of what the other one is thinking. I mean, after they sold the house, they’ve had no reason to be in touch with each other. It’s been a totally clean break.”

  Dax listened to her talk a little bit about her parents’ divorce. He could relate to a broken family, but not due to a divorce. He was a child of the system — given up for adoption, moved from one foster home to another, always in search of love and acceptance. It wasn’t the standard way to grow up, and certainly not the best, but he’d gotten through, relatively unscathed, and graduated now to being an adult with his own future to build.

  She quieted and pulled her hands away from his massaging thumbs. He took a hint and stood. “I’ll let you get ready for your parents.”

  She looked for a moment like she would protest, but then she squeezed her mouth shut and nodded her head. “I can’t thank you enough for helping me. I don’t know where I would be without you calling the ambulance and making sure I got here safely.”

  He shook his head. “Least I could do.” He edged backward to the curtain entrance, his heart feeling unusually heavy at the thought of leaving her. Disappointment that this would be the last time he ever laid eyes on her beautiful face. And a sense of loss that his life wouldn’t include a place in it for her. If only they’d met under different circumstances.

  If he didn’t
force himself to create a distance between the two of them, he knew he would want to reach out to her, to kiss her, to caress her angel face. So he made his feet head for the door, where he could give a casual wave and say a fond farewell. Like he met beautiful, happy, smart girls every day who made his heart twist at the thought of saying good-bye.

  “Daddy!” she said suddenly, and he turned to see a tall, well-dressed, put-together man duck easily into the curtained cubicle.

  Chapter Three

  “I’d hate to see the other guy.”

  Her dad had used that same line at least a half dozen times that she could remember during her childhood. Once when a softball had made an errant bounce in the dirt by first base and she didn’t have her glove in place. Once when she was the top of the cheerleader pyramid and instead of catching her, Tommy Latke had let her fall on the gym floor, face first. And other miscellaneous mishaps during her childhood as a tomboy. He probably thought it was funny and original, and she didn’t have the heart to tell him it was his most oft repeated corny line.

  “Hardy har har.” She reached her arms out to hug him, but he was more interested in her bruises and her bandages. First things first. She supposed she couldn’t blame him.

  He pressed on the bruise under her eye, firm but gentle. His fingers walked lightly across the length of it. Then he turned his attention to the bandage. He tugged at it, and removed the whole thing. She studied him as he examined her, hoping to see some reaction to her injured face; some way to judge if she was in medical trouble or not. Her dad spent his days taking care of others, and he’d taken care of her his whole life. But his expression was the medical equivalent to a poker face — nothing revealed there. He turned his attention to the knot on her forehead, kneading it gently with his fingertips, then brushed over the three short stitches required by her wound. Finally satisfied, he curled his mouth into a closed smile and his eyebrows went up as he nodded at her.