by M. Leighton
“Very good. Now I’m going to slip a piece of ice into your mouth, okay? Don’t swallow. Just let it melt on your tongue.”
God, ice sounds wonderful! I open my mouth a little and feel like sighing when the tiny, cold sliver hits my tongue.
I close my eyes for a second, enjoying the liquid before I open them again, focusing more easily on the woman.
She’s young and very attractive. Her hair is dark red and pulled back into a pony tail. Her face is pretty and scrubbed free of makeup. She’s wearing nursing scrubs. I recognize them because I saw my mother in them nearly every day for the last fifteen years. After Dad left, she put herself through nursing school. She worked the night shift for years while she went on for her master’s degree. She doesn’t wear scrubs anymore, but she still works at the hospital.
“You’re a nurse,” I say, stating the obvious. I don’t even know why I make the comment.
“Yes, I am. Do you know where you are?”
“I assume at the hospital.”
“Yes. You’re just coming out of surgery. Do you remember what happened?”
I try to think back, but it all seems pretty blurry. I remember feeling the car start to slide, and I remember seeing snatches of grass go tumbling by. I vaguely remember hearing some loud, metallic sounds, but none of it really makes sense. The best I can gather is that I was in a wreck, but the details just aren’t there.
“I suppose I wrecked, but I don’t remember much else.”
“Yes, you were in a car accident. You suffered a severe concussion, numerous contusions and your right arm was nearly torn off. You were taken to surgery within an hour of arriving in the ambulance. You’ll be spending some time in ICU until we can make sure you didn’t suffer any internal injuries. Are you in pain?”
Her words jumble around in my head. “Uhhh…” She’s telling me too much too fast. I can’t think.
“On a scale of one to ten, one being no pain and ten being the worst pain you’ve ever experienced, where would you rate your pain?”
I only feel pain in one spot. “My head. It hurts.”
“You have a headache?”
Isn’t that what I just said?
“Yes.”
“That could be from the anesthesia or from the narcotics. Once we get you upstairs, I’ll get you some Tylenol.”
I nod, feeling grumbly and irritated all of a sudden.
I close my eyes against the sight of rectangles of light passing by overhead, and I relax against the mattress of the gurney. As we roll through the halls, I digest what I’ve just been told.
“Which arm was hurt?” I ask, unable to clearly recall everything the nurse said.
“Your right.”
A mild feeling of alarm passes through me, but the world is too fuzzy for me to process it or dwell on it.
“Can I use it?”
“You’ll need some physical therapy, but the doctor repaired everything as best he could.”
“My car?”
“I don’t know about that, but considering the shape you arrived in, I’m thinking it’s going to need a lot of work.”
Dammit!
After a short trip in the elevator, the nurse wheels me down a short hall and through automatic doors. The world gets quiet all of a sudden. I barely hear the click of the doors closing behind us.
As the nurse rolls me farther into the new area, I hear muted whispers and faint beeping sounds. I open my eyes again just as I’m being backed into a room. To my left is a window that looks outside. The curtain is pulled shut against the setting sun. To my right is a wall of windows that look out into a semi-circular configuration of counter tops—a nurse’s station. This must be the ICU.
Within a few seconds, there’s a loud thump as the nurse sets my bed’s brake, and then I hear my mother’s voice.
“Was he able to fix it all?”
I lift my head to try and locate her, but it falls right back onto the pillow. It must weigh at least fifty pounds. “Mom?”
I feel her cool hand take my left one. “I’m here, Jeff,” she says in her calm, practiced, nurse voice. I feel like smiling. She’s the only person on the planet that calls me Jeff. Jeffrey when she’s mad. “Give me just a few minutes to talk to the nurse. I’ll be right back.”
She kisses my forehead and then I don’t hear their voices anymore. I want to wait for her to come back and answer all my questions, but damn! I’m so tired all of a sudden. Maybe if I rest for just a few minutes…
********
When I wake, my eyes open immediately and effortlessly.
Bout damn time! I think to myself.
I raise my head and, despite the dull throb that starts up instantly, I look around. There are some people behind the tall counter of the nurse’s station. All the lights are on and, when I turn to look out the windows, I see that it’s dark outside. But what puzzles me is that I have to look past some kind of contraption to see.
My right arm is immobilized by a series of cords. My upper arm is casted and there are straps coming out of it at my elbow. They attach to some fixed point that I can’t see. My elbow is bent to ninety degrees and my lower arm is casted, too. There are straps coming out from beneath it at my fingertips, and they attach to some wires that go up into a pulley that is counterweighted somewhere down around the foot of the bed.
“What the hell?” I say to no one in particular.
A shadow falls across me and I look back toward the door. My mother is standing there. Although not one short, strawberry hair is out of place and her clothes and makeup look like she has just come to work, there’s a frazzled look about her I’m not used to seeing.
My stomach sinks.
“What? Something’s up. I can see it on your face.”
She walks farther into the room and gives me a smile as she perches on the edge of the bed. “Can’t I just be happy you’re all right?”
“Sure you can. Was there ever a doubt that I would be?”
“Not really. You’re here just as a precaution, in case they might’ve missed something internal.”
“Well then, why the worry?”
“Well… It’s just that… Jeff, your arm is in pretty bad shape. And I know how impatient you are. You need to understand how important it is for you to let this heal right and to realize that you’re going to be very limited for a while. But if you push it, son, you could have permanent damage.”
“Push it? What the hell am I gonna push? They’ve got me strung up like a damn puppet!”
“For good reason. You were thrown from the car and your right arm must’ve gotten tangled up in your lap belt somehow. Nearly tore it off. Your rotator cuff is torn, you dislocated your shoulder, your humerus is broken in two places, your—”
“Speak English, woman,” I interrupt gruffly, trying to add a teasing note to my voice, but failing miserably. The fact that she’s acting like this has me worried.
“You dislocated your shoulder, you messed up that joint, you broke your upper arm in two places, you broke both bones in your lower arm, sustained significant ligament damage in your right hand, cracked three ribs and badly bruised your right hip. You also had a concussion and they picked a bunch of glass out of your face. Is that plain enough for you?”
“So what you’re saying is my whole right side is banged up?”
“Yes, to put it mildly.”
“Okay, so how long will I be in here?”
“Weeks. You don’t—”
“Weeks? Are you kidding me? Why can’t they just put me in a normal cast and send me home in a few days?”
“Because your injuries are severe, Jeffrey. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You can’t rush this or you could have permanent damage.”
“Like what kind of permanent damage?”
“Like the kind that means you could never regain full use of your right hand and arm.”
Oh shit.
Now I see why she looks so upset. My job, my livelihood, all my dreams depend on
me being able to use my hands and arms to work on cars. Hell, I’d have been better off to have broken my leg than my arm. Or even my left arm. But not my right one. God almighty, not my right one!
What the hell am I gonna do about my garage? About the vehicles I’ve already been contracted to restore? I was just getting that part of my dream under way. It’s been slow going, but I could see it starting to take shape. But now… After this…
“Well, I guess I’ll just have to heal fast and right then.”
“I know you will. If you do what they tell you.”
“I will, I will,” I snap, already aggravated and ready to leave this conversation behind. “Who else is out there? Anybody?”
Mom shakes her head. “You’ve only been out of surgery for a couple of hours, Jeff. Give them some time.”
“Well, Trick’s on his honeymoon, I’m sure. And Jenna probably doesn’t even know yet, does she?”
“I talked to Leena. She called when she heard. She said she’d tell Trick, but I asked her to wait until they had a couple of days to enjoy their trip, and to tell them you were doing fine. I knew you wouldn’t want them to rush home to see you. You’ll still be here when they get back.”
“No, I wouldn’t have wanted that.” After a few seconds, I ask her again about Jenna. “So you didn’t call Jenna then?”
I hear her sigh. “Yes, I called Jenna.”
“Is she coming?”
“I don’t know. She hung up.”
She hung up? What the hell does that mean?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN- Jenna
I’ve never been so torn and conflicted in my whole life! Granted, I was just turning four when my mother died, but I still learned to hate the hospital. Luckily, she wanted to spend her last days at home, which she was able to do, but I remember the smell and the hopelessness, and riding home with my father while he cried quietly in the front seat. All in all, I hate hospitals. With a passion. I feel short of breath just thinking about going to visit Rusty. So much so that I just freaked and hung up on his mother, which I’ll have to call and apologize for. And I will. Later.
After I conquer step one, step one being Rusty.
Despite my fear of hospitals, despite the fact that I probably just deeply offended his mother, despite the fact that I made one of life’s biggest confessions and he said nothing, despite the fact that he totally bailed at the wedding, I’m going to see Rusty. At the hospital. Because I love him.
I was more than a little hurt when I found out that he left before the reception. Not only did he not find me and tell me, but he almost seemed to be avoiding me altogether. I just don’t understand it. The only thing I can figure is that my use of the L word freaked him out. I’m sure Rusty knows I love him, but I’ve never gone out on a limb and told him. Until last night.
Maybe this all adds up to the fact that he really doesn’t have deeper feelings for me. Maybe it’s just great sex and great companionship, nothing more.
It’s as I’m pulling on a pair of jeans, getting ready to leave that I find something else to be nervous about. What if he doesn’t want me there? What will I do then?
I push the thought out of my mind. I can’t think about that right now. I have to go. Not only is it the right thing to do, but it’s Rusty. And I love him. And he was almost taken from me. I have to see him again. I have to.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN- Rusty
Time feels different for some reason. Slower. Like every minute is an hour. Maybe because I’ve slept so much. Maybe because I can’t sleep now. Maybe it’s because I’m waiting. On Jenna.
I don’t know what to think about her anymore. I can’t figure her out. And I’m not sure I should even try.
I was hoping I was wrong about her, that she’s really not like my dad. He always thought there was something better somewhere else, too. So he left. He abandoned me and Mom, and never looked back.
I’ve always been bound and determined that I won’t make the same mistake she did. And, the more I think about it, the more I realize that leopards don’t change their spots. The things I loved so much about Jenna are likely some of the very things that will take her away from me. I guess you really can’t have your cake and eat it, too.
Maybe I should just let her go. If she hated Greenfield before, she’d hate it twice as much if she felt like she had to stay to take care of an invalid who may or may not have a future at all.
No, the days of me having anything to offer Jenna that could compete with the rest of the world are over. I guess it’s time to cut her loose before she cuts and runs.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN- Jenna
As it turns out, my memory (and probably my imagination, to some degree) had vilified hospitals much more than necessary. At least so far, I think as I ride the elevator to the third floor.
I’m inclined to rethink my bravado when the doors open and a long sterile hallway stretches out before me. The heavy scent of sanitizer stings my nose and makes me think of unpleasant things, of sick people and dying people and people who are lost without each other. In a way, at least in the way my memory reacts, it’s like the hospital took my mother from me. Visit by visit, month by month.
The doors start to close again, so I step out in a hurry. After two deep, shaky breaths, I start to turn back, only to find them closed and my means of escape gone. For a second, panic strikes. I spin in a wild circle, looking for the glowing red EXIT sign. I feel my forehead prickle with sweat as the walls draw closer and closer and the air gets thicker and thicker.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!
Finally, I spot the exit. I take a step toward it, but a swell of heat gushes over my face, making the room swim right before my eyes. I reach for the wall, anything that’s steady in a world that’s grown disturbingly unstable.
Why did I come? Why did I come?
My palm hits the cool concrete of the wall and I lean toward it, pressing my cheek to the pale, painted surface. My pulse is racing, my heart is thumping and my addled mind is struggling to answer my own simple question.
Why did I come? Why did I come?
But finally, like a cool breeze to parched skin, my head clears enough for me to feel the answer.
Rusty. I came for Rusty.
I close my eyes and take a deep, steadying breath. Just the thought of him, of the fact that he was so nearly taken from my life in a very permanent, irrevocable way, gives me the focus I need to get a grip on myself.
I don’t move for several long minutes as I wait for my calm to be restored. Still leaning heavily against the hard wall, I give my shaky legs a test. They don’t feel strong by any means, but they’re strong enough to support me. That’s the main thing. I push away from the concrete and smooth my hair before I turn my back to the wall and face, head on, the two intimidating wooden doors in front of me.
As I approach, I read the large, red lettering emblazoned across both panels. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. I hardly fit that description.
I chew my lip as I think of what to do now. As I look casually from left to right, I see the little buzzer to one side of the door. There’s a sign below it that has a schedule of ICU visiting hours and the procedure for getting inside.
Following the directions, I depress the buzzer and wait. After a few seconds, a pleasant enough sounding voice comes on. “May I help you?”
“Um, I’m here to see Rust- er, I mean, I’m here to see Jeff Catron.”
“Hold please.”
The line goes dead, leaving me standing in front of the door, staring at the box like an idiot. I look all around to make sure no one is watching me. I’m still alone, thank God.
Finally, she comes back on. “Room three oh four. Come on back.”
A click is followed by a loud buzzing sound just before the two doors swing open in opposite directions, allowing me to pass into the sick people inner sanctum.
The center of the large, bland room is dominated by an enormous nurse’s station. Arranged in a semi-circle around it is a ring of patient rooms, all
with glass windows and doors that allow the nurses to see inside unless the curtain is drawn. I look to my left and see room three-twelve. I figure Rusty is all the way at the other end, so I start walking along the rounded edge of the nurse’s station until I get to his room.
The curtain is drawn and I hear no sounds coming from behind it. Hesitantly, I knock on the metal frame that surrounds the open glass door.
“Come in,” I hear Rusty say. My heart skips a beat and I wipe my damp palms on the butt of my jeans before I pull back the nondescript beige curtain.
When I peek inside, I see Rusty lying in bed, his arm attached to all sorts of wires or ropes or something. His cheeks already show the signs of dark stubble, as though the strain of the last hours has taken its toll in a very physical way. The frown he’s wearing only adds to that impression.
“Hey,” I say weakly.
He narrows his eyes on me before he speaks. “Hey,” he responds in kind, not making me feel any better about things.
“Can I…can I come in?”
“I just said ‘come in,’ didn’t I?” I’m sure the small curve of his lips is an attempt to soften his snappy reply, but it doesn’t sting my heart any less.
Pulling up my big girl panties, I return his tight smile and step through the curtain, heading for the only chair in the room. I perch on the edge, clinging to my purse like a lifeline.
“So, how are you feeling?”
“How do I look like I’m feeling?” he asks with a short bark-of-a-laugh.
“I’m sure you’ve been better.”
“Yeah, I’ve been better.”
“What happened? I mean, obviously you were in a wreck, but…”
Rusty takes a deep breath and shrugs. “I’m still fuzzy on some of the details, but from what I remember, I hit some gravel on the interstate and slid into the median. Must’ve caught it just right and flipped the goat a few times.”
Although he casually refers to his GTO as a “goat,” which he does often, and his tone is matter of fact, I don’t get the impression that he’s so blasé about the accident. “That sounds bad.”