Surge (St. Martin Family Saga: Emergency Responders) Book 3: St. Martin Family Saga: Emergency Responders

by Gina Watson

  “And how was he?”

  “He was fine.”

  “Did he say anything about me?”

  “Clara, I don’t think this is the best road to go down.”

  She stood and threw down her napkin. “Oh, you don’t? Well, what if I’d meddled in your relationship with Eve? Would you have let me tear you apart?” Drops were steadily streaming down her face as she ran to her room and slammed the door. She plopped down on the bed.

  The shadows on the wall moved and she turned into the face of Clay kneeling at her bedside.

  “Just leave me alone.”

  “I know it’s hard, but it will be better this way.”

  “It won’t be better. He was everything to me and you pushed him away with your you are dead to me macho bullshit. Not to mention beating him to a bloody pulp.”

  “He took your youth and innocence. You were sixteen.”

  “He didn’t take it. I gave it to him.”

  Clay clicked his tongue and exhaled sharply. “He asked me to check on you.”

  “Is that all he said?”

  Clay looked down, shielding his eyes from her. She sat up in the bed. He was keeping something from her. “Tell me.”

  “I don’t know, he said you guys broke up.”

  “He broke up with me.” She bawled.

  Clay’s forehead furrowed.

  “What?” She placed her hands on his shoulders. “Tell me. God, please tell me.”

  “I got the impression from what he said … how he was acting that it was a mutual breakup.”

  “How was he acting?”

  “Intense, low energy, brooding. But then he’s always like that.”

  “He’s not always like that.” Her tears slowed and she sniffled. “Is that all he said?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Did he say anything else about the breakup or about me?”

  “No.” He stood and walked out of her room.

  Clara was skeptical, but she wouldn’t press her brother anymore. She pulled Jackson’s shirt from her bag and laid it across her pillow. Inhaling deeply, she smiled for the first time in over twenty-four hours.

  Chapter 14

  It was eleven-thirty. He’d been working hard for over sixteen hours and now Jackson returned to a Clara-less apartment. Had she been there she would have greeted him at the door, taken everything from his hands, kissed him, massaged him, showered with him, made love to him. Tears filled his eyes. It had been ingrained in him that men should not cry so much. But now that he was a man without hope he let the tears flow.

  Sighing, Jackson sat down to read the mail. He opened an envelope labeled: Time Sensitive Document. He’d been approved for a loan he’d applied for before the breakup. He’d had an idea, but now it seemed it would never culminate in the happily ever after he’d been so sure of. He’d not thought it possible, but with that realization his world became even darker.

  He tossed the envelopes on top of the coffee table and then walked slowly through the apartment, as if he thought something sinister was waiting for him around the corner. He pulled fresh clothes from the dresser and pressed play on the iPod speaker. When the sounds of Clara’s music hit his ears he turned to see her iPod in the dock. She hadn’t taken it with her. In fact, it appeared that she hadn’t taken any of her things and for the first time in over twenty-four hours he smiled. He knew his girl and he knew her lack of finality meant she refused to give up on them. Still he’d hurt her and her family. He couldn’t see a way for them to be together that wouldn’t require her to choose between him and her family, a decision he would not allow her to make. He knew what it was to go through life without the support of family and he wouldn’t let her choose him over her family. He thought of her happy, surrounded by her loving brothers and father and mother.

  Hoping a hot shower would soothe his sore muscles he turned on the water and let it heat. He stepped into the tub and saw all of her bath products including the loofa she would use on him when he came home from a long day and night. His throat burned and tears fell and mixed with the water from the shower spray.

  When he finished his shower he pulled on the clothes he’d set aside and then plopped down onto the bed. He was immediately surrounded by her fresh, clean scent. He hugged a pillow and closed his eyes tight imagining it was her body his arms were wrapped around. For a few moments he could pretend that none of it was true. Her scent was so strong he imagined she was in the bed next to him, giggling the way she did when he couldn’t even keep his eyes open.

  Minutes later her scent was dissipating, blending with his own. Franticly he paced to the kitchen and retrieved a zip lock bag from beneath the counter. He stuffed the cases from her pillows into it and zipped it up tight. When he spotted two of her worn shirts on the floor he grabbed those and placed them in the bag with the cases.

  He set the bag next to him on the bed and rested his head in his hands. He was losing it. He needed an endorphin release to get rid of his pain. A vigorous bike ride is what he needed. He gathered his keys and wallet and shut the door behind him. Jumping on the bike he pedaled as fast as his legs would allow. He raced away, enjoying the wind in his hair and the burn in his thighs. Gaining speed, he adjusted the gears to allow for maximum torque. Her face, her body, her sighs filled his brain. The love they’d shared for two incredibly glorious years was now broken and he had to find a way to let go.

  He took the bridge with more speed than he ever had before. When he hit the top he sat straight and left only one hand on the bars. Lifting his head to the sky he let the moist warm air beat against his face. He’d remember her as an angel, as he did his parents. A phantom memory that could make him happy, and sad, and calm, and anxious. He’d remember that at one moment in his life he’d been part of a love so great it could carry a man through a lifetime. Two years was all he’d been given, but it was enough. Her vitality for life would carry him through his.

  His front tire locked on some tire tread in the road. Vibrations shook his bike hard and his back tire fishtailed. Using his weight he tried to apply more pressure on the front handlebars to counter the effects, but he was no longer in control. The bike went to the left, his body went to the right and his head collided hard with the ground. Skidding vehicles could be heard all around him. His senses slowed and he couldn’t hear things as clearly as before. His vision went spotty and his eyes closed. She was there, Clara, talking him through the pain, telling him he’d be okay and speaking about cheese and what the cows had eaten.

  Then she was seven and her bright honest eyes stared into his:

  “You will be part of our family forever because marriage, don’t you know, is unbreakable.”

  “But we’re not married.”

  “But we will be. I’ll marry you into the family so you won’t feel lost.”

  “I’m not lost.”

  “You are lost. Like the time I got left at Macy’s because I was hiding in a rounder. I was lost. I didn’t have any family. I was scared and alone. But they never stopped reaching for me. That’ll be you and me,” she said as she pointed to herself and then to him.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t you want to marry me?”

  “If it means I won’t be lost, scared, and alone, and that you’ll always be reaching for me, then I’ll marry you today.”

  She giggled. “I can’t marry you today I’m only seven.” She held up seven fingers.

  ≈

  Jackson’s body ached worse than the time he had a bad case of influenza. A faint humming funneled around the wisps of fog in his head. People mumbled about fractures and cracked bones. He managed to force one eyelid open. The vision before him was blurry, but he’d spent so much time in this place he’d recognize it even if seeing it through a thick sludge: Baton Rouge General Hospital. Those were his fractures and cracked bones the doctor and nurse spoke about.

  He recalled his bike ride and some tire tread in the road that caused him to go out of control, but he could remem
ber nothing after that. Knowing the signs and symptoms of concussion, he knew he had one before they discussed it. CAT scan had already ruled out traumatic brain injury. That was a good prognosis. Or was it?

  He’d be alone in his recovery and rehabilitation was long and hard. He’d witnessed it when he did orthopedic rotation. He’d never seen anyone do it alone. Family supported the patients’ efforts and motivated them to premorbid status. He was alone. He wouldn’t be motivated or supported. No one would be coming to worry for his life or to bring him cards and teddy bears. No one would cry for him. At least if he’d died he wouldn’t have to figure out how to survive and recover without Clara.

  With those thoughts he depressed the button on the patient-controlled morphine drip and closed his eyes.

  Chapter 15

  Soft knocking at Clara’s bedroom door disturbed her light sleep.

  “Yeah?”

  The door opened to reveal Clay disheveled and standing in a pair of sweat pants. Not bothering to change for bed, Clara still wore her day clothes. When had she fallen asleep? After their argument? Maybe he couldn’t sleep.

  “Clay?”

  He walked to her bedside table. Soft light filtered from the shade of the lamp beside her bed.

  “Clara.”

  His face was gaunt. Prominent ridges outlined his lips and eyes.

  “Something’s happened.” His voice cracked. “I need you to get up and get ready to go.”

  He turned to walk away. Frantic, she jumped to her feet and reached for his arm. “Clay.” Her hair stood on end, electrified by fear. “It’s Jackson.”

  “There was an accident. He was on his bicycle on the bridge.”

  Her vision blurred, not from tears, something else. One million thoughts peppered her brain until something in her temple snapped like a rubber band. She’d gone numb. She stood frozen. The one thing she knew for certain was that one could not turn back time. She felt an overwhelming sense of hopelessness wash over her. She should have fought for them, for him. Now she may never get the chance.

  They rode to the hospital in silence. She didn’t recall getting into the car. Fireflies of light flickered through her window as cars passed with beaming headlights. Eventually the lights blurred into one solid ray, like those skewed photos that she used to enjoy of nighttime cityscapes with light trails. She wouldn’t like them anymore because the photos would forever remind her of this night.

  Suddenly the car door opened and a hand pulled her out. She hadn’t been aware they’d stopped. Clay guided her into the E.R. She felt her legs about to give out, but knew all she had to do was follow Clay. Differences aside, he’d lead her to Jackson because he knew, even if only subconsciously, they needed each other in order to survive. One could not exist without the other.

  She stood behind Clay at the counter and waited for him to make a move. It was the first time she noticed Eve was by his side.

  “He’s already in a room.” Clay said.

  They walked down a corridor and stopped in front of an elevator. Logan and Jessie were in front of them. Their son carried a plush Hedwig owl and held Logan’s hand. She wondered how they’d arrived ahead of them. Then she remembered Logan was a doctor. He didn’t actively work as one, but he’d completed his residency here at this very same hospital.

  She cleared her throat, “Logan, do you have any information about Jackson?”

  “No, I just got a call from Dad that there had been an accident and came as soon as possible.”

  “Guys!”

  Behind them St. Martins abounded including her mother and father. She ran to her mom and hugged her.

  “Oh, honey.” Her mother rubbed reassuring circles on her back.

  When she pulled away her gaze connected with Cash. Isa was there too.

  “Where’s Daria?” She asked.

  “We left her asleep with the nanny.”

  “I didn’t know you had a nanny.”

  “Remember mean Sister Timber?”

  Clara grimaced. Sister Timber taught them all third grade at Sacred Heart Academy. If you were caught talking during mass she’d slap your palm with a wooden ruler.

  They all migrated to the third floor waiting area. Cal and Chloe and Cory and Brook were already there. Seated and waiting.

  “How did you get here before us?” Clara asked, dumbfounded because they lived in Whiskey Cove.

  Cory answered, “We got the call from Dad and came as soon as we heard.”

  Clay leaned into her and whispered in her ear so only she could hear, “I may have given them a head start so that you’d have the support you would need when we got here.” He kissed the top of her head.

  She didn’t know if she should be mad at him for not telling her as soon as he got the call or pleased that he thought of her needs.

  “I want to see Jackson.”

  “Doors are locked. We’re waiting on a doctor.” She nodded.

  Just then Camp, Jenny, and Andrew exited the elevator. The entire family had come to support Jackson. Clara wanted Jackson to see how much family and love he had. Energy sizzled through her spine. She was finding it difficult to wait. Why weren’t they allowed into his room? Was he hurt? Was he unconscious? She wouldn’t contemplate any more questions, and instead focused on all of the support before her. She watched as her brothers doted on the women in their lives.

  Augie and Mia arrived, hand in hand. Clara was overcome with emotion at the sight in front of her—family and friends all here because they cared about Jackson. Even Clay.

  A man in green scrubs burst through the set of locked double doors. Clara gasped, her eyes intent on the doctor, hoping for any shred of information.

  Dr. Weaver greeted her parents. Given their greeting it became apparent to Clara that they knew each other relatively well. She was grateful for that small granule of hope. Dr. Weaver seemed to be purposely speaking low so Clara walked over to stand shoulder to shoulder next to her mother. Logan stood next to their father.

  “ … fractured ulna in the right arm”—he traced fingertips across his arm—“grade two ankle sprain with complete tearing of some, but not all of the ligaments, grade three concussion due to closed head injury. CAT scan, as you know, revealed no long lasting trauma. However, he’s been unconscious for a while. When he wakes we’ll downgrade the injury and move him from ICU.”

  Medical questions went through her head that she didn’t know how to put into words. He wasn’t brain injured, but he was in ICU and unconscious. Instead she asked, “Can we see him?”

  “What are there, twenty of you?” Dr. Weaver’s eyes scanned the clan. “How about five?” He held up his palm to display five fingers.

  She accompanied her mother and father beyond the double doors. Clay and Logan followed, rounding out a group of five.

  The ICU rooms formed a circle around a nurses station. Dr. Weaver walked to room three. Clara followed her parents through the door.

  First thing she noticed were deep abrasions along his shoulder and neck. Deep abrasive wounds that seemed to ooze in the low light. She gasped as her hand instinctively went to cover her mouth. Slowly, she made her way to the bedside and stood next to his head.

  “Cracker Jack,” she whispered.

  His left arm was casted and his right foot was encased in a red puffy bag. She leaned over and kissed his temple. “I’m here, Jackson.” She whispered low in his ear. “Everybody’s here. Your family has come to take care of you.”

  Her mother and father took up the space next to her. “His face is all bruised and he has a black eye. The doctor didn’t mention that.” Her mother said.

  Clara’s anger at Clay immediately sizzled in her veins as she recalled how the bruises got there. “That’s because those bruises were put there by Clay, not the bike accident.” She glowered at him.

  “Clara.” Clay hissed. “I don’t think that’s something you want to bring up right now.”

  “Son, why’d you hit him?” Her father asked.

 
“I didn’t do anything that you wouldn’t have.”

  Clay and Clara glared at one another as the other eyes in the room observed their exchange.

  Clay spoke, “Let’s just focus on Jackson right now.”

  “Fine.” Clara turned her attention away from Clay. She clasped Jackson’s hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  As the hours passed she waited, never leaving his side, her eyes intent on him, willing him to wake up. Various members of her family had trickled in and out. A lot of his colleagues from the department came and Mr. Potter stopped by and dropped off a pot of tulip bulbs he’d harvested from his yard. Lexi even came to check on Jackson. Clara smiled at her when she’d squeezed her shoulder and given her a soda.

  By late morning Jackson was mumbling in his sleep. Something that sounded a lot like he was calling for Bug over and over. Clara reassured him by whispering of her love in his ear. More than anything, she was relieved he was coming around.

  As morning turned to afternoon more friends had popped in. Jackson was amassing quite a bit of get well paraphernalia. Teddy bears, plants, flowers, and cards dotted the small room. Clara was sure the nurses were tiring of the St. Martins overly abundant presence, but because they loved Jackson they tolerated his expansive family and network of friends.

  “Bug?” Jackson moaned in his sleep.

  “I’m here, Cracker Jack.” She whispered into his ear. His eyes rolled beneath the thin skin of his lids, but he didn’t open them. The doctor said he would soon and she continued to pray for that.

  The hours wore on and she passed the time by enjoying her family. In one corner of the room she observed Parker, a family friend, speaking with Brook while Cory sat broodily observing the exchange his wife was having with the friendly guy.

  “Hey, babe, we’re going to get some coffee. You want anything?” Brook asked Cory.

  “No. I’m good.” He rubbed her huge round pregnant belly and smiled. “Hurry back.”

  “Clara, you need anything?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Once they were gone Clara asked Cory, “What’s your problem?”