by Jessi Gage
“Go to bed, you lush,” he said, and he held the door open for her.
“Goodnight, Derek.”
“’Night.”
When he got home, he made a list of things to do tomorrow to start fixing the multitude of problems he’d caused with his anger. Then he went to bed. For the first time since last Friday, the knot of guilt started to unwind.
Chapter 17
“Good morning, sunshine!” The singsong greeting at seven o’clock Friday morning came from Alejandro, an ICU nurse Cami loved for his uncanny ability to intuit whatever she needed, and forgave for his despicable cheerfulness so early in the day. “Guess what today is?” he asked as he sailed in and slapped a blood pressure cuff on her.
She blinked herself awake and attempted a smile—stupid breathing tube—she could never be sure her expressions were getting across. Since Alejandro could make even a blood draw sound exciting, she feared what he had in store for her. She didn’t bother writing out guesses on her notepad, eyeing him warily instead.
He recorded her blood pressure and temperature, then clapped his hands. “You’ve got a speech path consult today!”
She picked up her pen for that. Uh, hello, breathing tube. Can’t talk.
Dr. Grant had explained that due to the location of her head injury, she might need speech therapy, though it was a good sign she could write without difficulty. She’d been expecting an SLP consult, but she assumed she’d be off the breathing tube first.
Alejandro bounced on his toes, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes were wide with mischief. He was waiting for her to make the connection.
Understanding zinged through her, jolting her fully awake. She started to squeal with delight, but gagged on the breathing tube. Recovering, she scribbled out, Tube out! When?
“Right now, baby cakes. You’re Dr. Grant’s first stop. The powers that be have deemed you unlikely to relapse into a coma, so you get to take your voice out for a spin. And if SLP clears you for solids, you can move down to Intermediate Care.”
In the ICU, it would be hours of nothing and then bam, nurses, doctors, interns, and lab techs would descend in a flurry of activity. Prescriptions would be changed, IVs adjusted, vitals taken, tests ordered and blood drawn, all in the course of a few minutes. Then all would be quiet again. This morning was no different. The flurry started with Alejandro’s greeting. Immediately following, Dr. Grant appeared and removed the bane of her existence in a procedure so simple it seemed anticlimactic. Once she recovered from a fit of coughing, she sucked in a wonderful lungful of air and said a drawn-out, heartfelt, “Thank you!”
Alejandro gave her a round of applause. Next, Mercy Med’s speech-language pathologist performed an evaluation and declared she had no speech, language, or swallowing complications from her traumatic brain injury. On the heels of that blessed revelation, Alejandro removed her IV and catheter, strapped an enormous helmet over her bandaged noggin, complimented the way said helmet brought out the blue in her eyes, helped her into a wheelchair and set her up one floor below the ICU.
“IMCU is where all the action happens, baby cakes,” he said as he helped her into bed and stuffed pillows behind her back. “You’ll like it here. Visitors aren’t limited to family-only, you can use your cell phone, and best of all—drum roll please—you can use this little phone here to call food service and order anything you like from these…” He held up a laminated menu Vanna White style. “Scrumptious selections.”
She almost wept as she perused her options. Twenty minutes later, she shed a few actual tears as she took her first sip of coffee in almost exactly a week. And the scrambled eggs and hash browns were like a salty party on her tongue.
“I missed food,” she said to her new room. Her voice was scratchy and her throat hurt, but being able to talk again made her happy. Her tinnitus was fading. The throbbing in her head had decreased to a level where she could tolerate the strips of sunshine slipping through the partially-opened blinds. Free from ICU’s invasive tethers and with a hot meal in her belly, she was starting to feel human again.
But total freedom eluded her. Alejandro had to return to the ICU. A new nurse in lavender scrubs brought her next round of meds and helped her use the bathroom. Once she was up and moving like an invalid, she truly understood how hurt she was. Bruises up and down her left side had her wincing with every movement. Her legs felt like columns of Jell-O. The ridiculous helmet made her feel top-heavy and off balance. Worst of all was the sight that met her in the bathroom mirror. She didn’t recognize her swollen, black and blue face. In the shadow of the helmet, she looked like a Pee Wee football leaguer who’d taken one too many hits. The helmet had racing stripes and everything.
“Sporty,” she said on a sob as her chin quivered.
Her nurse summarized the helmet’s many virtues as she helped her back to bed.
She missed Alejandro. He would have made her laugh instead of feeding her a lecture.
On the bright side, she was healing. Dr. Grant had told her she might be able to go home on Monday, depending on how she did with Physical Therapy. She refused to dwell on the fact that once she left the hospital, she’d have to wear a helmet at all times—even in bed—until the surgery to repair her skull.
At nine o’clock, a familiar voice brought a smile to her busted face. “Miss me, sunshine?” Alejandro sashayed into the room. “I’m representing ICU lost and found this morning. Well, that and I missed you, dearest. This belong to you?” He stepped aside, and Cade strode past him.
“Cade! Hi!” To Alejandro, she said, “He’s my brother.”
Cade raised his eyebrows. “You can talk. And you’re not hooked up to anything. Way to go, sis.” His casually affectionate words filled her chest with warmth.
Alejandro said, “Honey, those are some genes you’ve got. Wish I could stay for the family reunion, but I’ve got to shimmy. Ta!” Behind Cade’s back, he mouthed, “So cute!” Then he was gone.
She laughed, and felt ridiculously happy.
Cade had a big smile on his face too, and she had a feeling they would be okay. Years of ignoring each other couldn’t compete with the joy of being together now.
“How’s it feel to be off the tube?” he asked as he took over the visitor’s chair.
She told him about her morning, and finished with, “Where’s Mom?” Her mother had been by her side almost around the clock since she’d been admitted. Last night, the ICU staff had tactfully suggested her mother go home to get some sleep in her own bed. Cami appreciated it.
She’d been battling the urge to feel smothered. It surprised her that her mother hadn’t been banging on the doors to get in the second visiting hours started.
“I talked her into going to work,” Cade said. “Told her I wanted some alone time with you. You’re welcome.” He grinned as he grabbed the remote.
She didn’t think anything of him turning on the TV until ten minutes passed without a word to each other. Her elation at their progress faded, and she was left with a pang of loneliness as SportsCenter did a better job of engaging her brother than she had.
She tried not to be bitter. She tried not to think about how Derek would be if he were here. He’d talk to her and hold her hand, give her his undivided attention, make her feel like the most important person in the world. She had to get a grip. It wouldn’t do her any good to dwell on thoughts of her imaginary boyfriend. This was the real world, and he would never be part of it. No matter what she wanted. In the real world, she had a chance at fixing things with her brother. She wouldn’t squander it.
“Cade?” she said after building up a shield of courage.
He grunted and inclined his head toward her without taking his eyes off the TV. Good thing she’d tucked her expectations away behind that shield, because the gesture might have hurt otherwise.
“Why did you come?”
He looked at her then. “Because you’re sick. It’s what family does.” He shrugged and turned back to the TV, but the line of
his shoulders was tense.
Maybe she wasn’t the only one trying to convince herself she belonged to a functional family. Maybe he knew as well as she did that family implied love, affection, and communication, that they hadn’t been family for a long time.
Figuring his being here at all proved he was trying, she took pity on him. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. They might be off to a rocky start, but hopefully it was the start of something better for them.
“Yeah, me too.” He turned his chair so he faced her more than the TV. He wore a crooked smile.
“How’s LA?” she asked, and they were off and running, moving into the unchartered relationship territory of grown siblings who hadn’t had an honest to goodness conversation since they were kids. They kept things superficial, and that was okay. She had her brother back. She didn’t want to push him. Besides, she’d lost a sister’s right to nag when she’d caused the accident that had taken their father’s life.
The clock edged toward lunchtime. When a soft knock preceded the opening of her door, she expected it to be the lunch service she’d phoned in. A delivery man walked in instead, his chest and face obscured by a vase as big as a pitcher of iced tea, stuffed with dozens of long stem red roses, bunches of fluffy baby’s breath and crisp, green ferns.
They must have the wrong room.
She’d gotten a card from Helping Hand and a small arrangement from the staff at Enterprise, the high school she worked for, that her mother had taken home due to the ICU’s strict no-flowers policy. That had been more than she’d expected.
“Ms. Arlington?” the delivery person said.
She nodded.
Cade stood up and took the vase. He slipped the delivery person a couple small bills and set the vase on the rolly table in front of her. The arrangement blocked her view of the room, wall-mounted TV and all.
“Got a boyfriend I don’t know about?” he joked, but all levity had drained out of her along with the blood from her face. The silver envelope poking out of the bouquet had two letters printed on it in bold, black ink. DG.
“Cams? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Not seen one. Been one.
She blinked, clearing the silly thought. Surely this had to be some misunderstanding.
These flowers couldn’t possibly be from the man she’d been working so hard to convince herself didn’t exist.
Cade spotted the card. He reached for it, no doubt thinking to help her.
She shot out her good arm and grabbed it first, ignoring the flare of pain it caused along her spine.
He raised an eyebrow but wisely said nothing.
“I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to watch some TV,” she said.
“I’ll do you one better. I’ll go get some lunch. Be back in a while.”
There had been a few precious years between being rivals and strangers when she and Cade had been close. As he left her to her privacy, she hoped they’d get back to that place again.
With the TV off and her tinnitus fading, her IMCU room was eerily quiet compared to the room upstairs with all its machinery. When her finger tore open the envelope, it sounded like an avalanche. The pounding of her heart was like a frantic beat on a bass drum. With shaking hands, she extracted a sheet of plain white, eight and a half inch by eleven inch paper folded twice.
Smoothing it open, she saw tight slanting handwriting covering three quarters of one side. Her eyes darted to the signature. The writing in the body was print, but the signature was in cursive.
Derek, with a large, confident D.
A sob cut through the quiet. Hers. A knife of longing that wouldn’t be repressed a moment longer sliced up through the layers of her soul. She hadn’t read a single word he’d written except his name, yet wonderful peace blanketed her. He was real. They’d really been together. It was somehow both impossible and true.
Which meant he was the one who had cut her off last Friday.
The blanket of peace billowed up and threatened to drift away on a gust of hurt, but she refused to let it go. She’d never had any illusions Derek was perfect. And she remembered how strong his guilt had been. It had been stamped on his face in somber lines and seared into his subconscious in the form of nightmares.
Would she still have comforted him if she’d known the dreams were because he’d acted aggressively on the road and she’d been the target of that aggression? Yes. She forgave him before she’d ever known he’d wronged her, before she’d known she’d been wronged at all. One bad decision didn’t make a person bad.
Her heart full and sore, she read the words on the page.
Camilla, my sweet DG,
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for cutting you off. I’m sorry for how bad you must be hurting. I’m sorry I never told you I love you. I hope you haven’t changed your mind about loving me, but if you have, well, that’s understandable. If that’s the case, just so you know where I’m coming from, I plan on winning back your heart.
I wanted to see you yesterday but chickened out. I’m good at running from the messes I make. It’s something I’m working on. Those aren’t just words. I really am working on owning up to my mistakes. I enrolled in an anger management class at the community center. It starts in 2 weeks and runs for 4, meetings on Tues. and Th. nights. By the time the class is over, we should be finished in civil court, and I’d really like to see you then, that is, if the judge for traffic court—I got my court date, it’s next Wednesday—doesn’t put me in jail for a little while. It’s okay if that happens, by the way. I definitely deserve it, and I’ll manage.
On that note, please know I will cooperate with whatever you want as far as a settlement for your medical expenses. I have no problem with you suing me if that’s what you decide, but I want you to know it’s truly not necessary. I have some savings, and if that’s not enough, I’ll find a way to put together whatever you need moneywise. Just name what you need, and it’s yours, along with my heart.
Please convey my apology to your brother for giving him a hard time. I didn’t realize he was your brother when I ran into him at the ICU yesterday, not that it’s any excuse. It’s just—I’m serious about you, and I don’t want to be on bad terms with your family, though I guess I already am since you’re in that bed because of me.
I think you’ll forgive me, because you’re compassionate and sweet and the gentlest person I’ve ever met, but if being in touch with me upsets your family, or if you just can’t stand to have me around, tell me to take a hike. I’ll understand. I won’t like it, but I’ll understand. But you’re going to have to tell me. I’m not going to run anymore. I’m here. Take me.
Yours in every way,
Derek
Below his signature he’d written his phone number and email address.
She read the letter three times, a new layer of emotion assaulting her with each pass.
Elation at his tender, confident words, confusion at his mention of Cade and a lawsuit, then fury as she understood he must have come to the ICU yesterday like she’d requested and been sent away. By Cade.
She grabbed her phone and dialed.
* * * *
The walkthrough was over. Days of work tension slid off Derek’s shoulders as the last of the architects and engineers drove off the lot. It hadn’t gone perfectly, but the list of questions and problems he had to address before the next project update meeting wasn’t long enough to crash his computer, so he figured the event had been a general success.
He got back to his desk at 2:30 and settled in with his lunch bag and a bottled water. A mountain of work had piled up since he’d been in and out of the office during such a busy time.
Maybe it had been pushing his luck with Jibb’s to come in late this morning so he could take care of some things he’d needed to do, but he was here now, and he hoped that after his court date next Wednesday, he’d be back to his usual 6:30 to 3:30 schedule. Wincing, he shoved away the fear that he might be calling Jerry Jibb while wearing an
orange jumpsuit to tell him he’d be out of the office not just for a morning or an afternoon but for a whole year.
He’d be lucky to be let back as a laborer after an absence like that. But his job wasn’t the worst of his worries when he thought about going to jail. He would miss weekends with his Haley-girl. And he’d have to wait a whole year to see Camilla again, if she’d let him see her at all.
After his talk with Deidre last night, he’d thought a lot about Camilla. He’d made a lot of assumptions when he’d left the hospital yesterday, the biggest one being he might be doing her a favor by letting her brother push him out of her life. How could he let some other guy dictate what would or wouldn’t make Camilla happy? He’d decided right then, he wouldn’t rest until he heard from her own mouth—or from her notepad or whatever, if she was still on a breathing tube—that she’d be happier without him. So he’d put his heart in a letter and sent it off with some roses this morning after signing up for that anger management class. The ball was in her court now. He could only wait. And hope.
Sitting down at his desk, he pulled his personal cell phone out of the drawer where he’d shoved it so it wouldn’t distract him during the walkthrough. He had a new message. Probably Deidre, since he’d texted her just before the walkthrough, to check on Haley. He dialed up voicemail. It was from Officer Reynolds.
“Got a call from Ms. Arlington this afternoon. I must be crazy to pass this along to you, but what can I say, I like you, Mr. Summers. Seems Mr. fancy-pants lawyer is in the doghouse. Ms. Arlington claims she never hired her brother in a professional capacity and now that she’s off her breathing tube, she plans to give him heck for it—her words. I’d give him something else, it were up to me. Also, interesting fact. She’s been upgraded to IMCU. That’s on the fourth floor. Another interesting fact. IMCU doesn’t have a family-only visitation policy. Just thought you’d like to know. So long, Mr. Summers. You take care.”