by L. U. Ann
“Are you bringing it in here?” Devon asks scared shitless. Seriously?
“Yes!” I bite back.
“What if it has lice?” Him and his precious car.
Eye-roll. “Devon, if it has lice, I will deal with it. This is one of God’s creatures, and I refuse to participate in one of your ignorant moments allowing it to suffer. Let’s drive home and once we get the children settled, I will drive the goose to the wildlife sanctuary where I took the other wild bird. Okay?”
“All right,” he says as a warm liquid begins to slip down my leg causing me to almost lose my stomach. “OH, MY GOD, LACEY! That thing just shit in my truck!” Repulsive thoughts are replaced by amusement. Doing my best to stifle the impending laugh, I do not make eye contact.
“Shit, I want shit!” Evan shares from the backseat causing me to lose all composure.
“Evan, stop saying that! There are no chips in the truck. Gross, Lacey! It’s running down your leg.” I cannot control my laughter as this bird barely weighing anything sits in my lap and nonchalantly poops numerous times. Its eyes move back and forth most likely deluding us to the loony farm in its birdbrain.
“Now what?” Devon asks as we pull onto our beautiful tree lined street. I have attempted to be quiet most of the ride. The endless entertainment we provide Grandma Pain is apparent in her uncontrollable laughter and egging Evan on to say shit.
“Uh, can you let the dogs out back and bring one of their crates out here? We can put the bird in it so I can wash up.”
“You mean bleach yourself and my truck?”
Laughter continues to ensue in the backseat. “I’m not bleaching your truck. I need to get the bird to the rehabilitator tonight so it’s not stressed too much. Get the damn crate, Devon!” I yell with the warmth of another secretion running down my leg. “Really, bird? You can’t hold that for just a little bit?” As if the bird is going to understand me.
Grandma Pain excuses herself following Devon inside with Baby Lane and Evan. A number of minutes later, Devon comes out carrying this enormous crate and sits it on the grass close to the driveway. He turns to a nosey neighbor explaining the situation. “Devon!” I silently yell—if that is actually something one can do.
“What?” he turns back as if mummified.
“I can’t get out. I need you to hold the bird’s head while I unbuckle my seatbelt.” I watch him as if he has grown two heads and thinking it’s okay to talk to the neighbor when I’m holding a wild bird. Talking over his shoulder, he diligently holds its head as I unbuckle. After hearing the click of the buckle, he turns back to his conversation. I slide the belt between the bird and the wing between us becomes free and flaps. Repeated strikes exacerbate my blinding vision the impact of each hit sends me further into a semiconscious state. Moving on autopilot, I manage to slip down the massive truck holding the bird as it tries every attempt to flee my embrace.
Securing the bird, I fall to my side watching the shining stars above swirl in a sea of confusion. What just happened? I just wanted to help the bird. The cool, damp grass is exquisite. I could fall asleep here. Very peaceful. “Lacey?” Devon stands above blocking the iridescent glow illuminating the front of the house. I barely make out his drawn eyebrows and wide eyes. What’s wrong? Closing my eyes gives me a sense of relief from the chaotic world moving in slow motion. An intense sensation of swaying sends me deeper into my head. “Lacey, stop! Stay with me, honey. Oh, my God, come here.” Movements sober my mind.
“It’s okay, Devon. Seriously. I need to wash up and just go to sleep. I’m tired.” My eyes are heavy. I just want to close them for a bit. “Perhaps I’ll just sleep out here with the bird—”
“Hell, NO! I’m taking you to the emergency room. You might have a concussion.” He refuses to let go of my arms. I recognize the concern written on his face when I sneak a glance.
“Wha—,” Grandma Pain rushes to my side, “Sweet Child, look at you.”
“I’m okay. I need to wash my hands. No, wait… I just need to have a seat. I promise you, I’m fine.” Nausea begins to rear its ugly head and now that is all I can focus on. Please, God, do not let me throw up. My stomach is healing to the point I can move around and now this shit. Ugh, I grab my head to ease the painful throbbing. Oh, dear! My fingers trace the growing knot. No wonder I’m having trouble seeing. Shit, that is one strong ass bird!
“Lacey, please let me take you.” Invading all personal space, Devon caresses my cheek. “Grandma Pain can watch the children while I drive you,” he finishes before I give in.
“Can I wash up, please?” Giving into him is the easiest of all options. With my arm around his shoulder, he helps me inside leaving the goose on the front lawn in the dog crate. Holding onto my arm, he lowers the toilet lid for me to sit on top of the cold surface. My eyes descend with the bright bathroom lights and observe the large soiled area of my brand new white blouse and shorts. Lifting my arms, Devon removes my shirt, tossing it in the trash. I smile at his ability to read my mind or maybe it’s just the sensible thing to do here. The constant pounding in my head obscures normal thought patterns from forming. He hands me a washcloth and I begin to wipe myself clean. Shortly, he leaves my side to retrieve another shirt. I hold my head, hoping the action eases some of the throbbing wreaking havoc. The pain increases with every blink, but the darkened shades spin in the absence of light causing me to sway depleting any sense of balance. Slowly, not without effort, but slowly, I slide off the porcelain toilet and onto the startling unsympathetic granite. It takes skill to make such a spectacle.
“Lacey, what on earth happened?” Without giving me an opportunity to respond, he continues, “We need to go now.”
Protesting, “I need to wash my hands.” His strong hands brace my figure not allowing a repeat occurrence.
Some time later after washing up, Devon helps me out to the garage. “We’re taking your car,” he says opening my door. “Sit tight. I’m going to have Ben help me carry the goose into the garage.” Ben was the nosey neighbor from earlier. We pull into the circular drive resting just ahead of the entrance. Ignorance of the jackknife hammering unapologetically fails, for fear that my stomach will oust without question. Devon walks around, opens my door, and supports me into the building, snubbing security as they threaten to tow my car. Eyes focus on the pavement before me, every possible stumble is diffused. Chilled air, trees above wrestling with the wind promising to test their strength, indicating a storm is approaching. Slowly, the woman behind the glass asks questions upon questions, making my head ache even more. I close my eyes seeking a reprieve, but my head swirls and fear of getting sick arise. The chatty nurse pulls a wide wheelchair and helps me take a seat. Devon finishes answering the precocious nurse’s multitude of questions before landing a peaceful corner in the overtly loud waiting room.
Lowering himself, Devon says, “Lacey, did you see the look she gave me? She doesn’t believe a goose did this to you. I need to go home and take a picture of the bird before they arrest me for domestic violence.” The whitewashed face, large eyes, and stoic features subconsciously send alarm signals while my own nerves take control and I burst out in laughter. “What are you laughing about?” The compassionate and questioning eyes bid my embarrassment to reel it in.
“You aren’t leaving me here by myself, Devon. Don’t you dare leave!” I demand after he informs me Grandma Pain cannot possibly take a picture with her ancient flip phone to secure his innocence.
Great, so while I wait here to contemplate my head injury, Devon scurries across town to take pictures of the damn bird. Rolling my eyes at the image, I squint reminding me why I am here in the first place.
“Mrs. Holmes?” The nurse asks with growing eyes as she takes in the beautiful new appendage sitting on my forehead. “Oh, my, how did you get that goose egg?”
“Seriously? Who told you?” I ask dumbfounded information passed among the nurses already. I’m sure they are all getting a kick out of this. They are probably saying, �
��Look, everyone, we have a head case.”
“Who told me what?” The nurse asks innocently. Wait, I am supposed to believe no one told her a goose, in fact, did this. She must have eavesdropped on a conversation, a private conversation, with my delusional husband who thinks he will be reported for this. “Did you drive yourself this evening?” She pulls me from my insanity.
“Uh... No, my husband drove.” I quickly add, “He left a few minutes ago thinking you all were going to lock him up for assault.”
“He knows this isn’t the Adult Humane Society, right?” she asks me teasingly and in an amused tone. What is Adult Humane Society? No way, she must be related to my best friend.
“Devon does not think this is the Humane Society for people, he will be here soon.” I shake my head and immediately cringe in a lapse of judgment from the shooting pain. Miss Priss wraps the strap around my arm, takes my temperature, and asks numerous questions. For the love of God, twist the knife why don’t you. I bet they cut first and diagnose second.
“As you can see, we’re busy tonight. A room just opened, though.” Miss Priss hums that annoying pitch that adds fuel to the pain. Gathering her sticker print outs, she pushes me toward the room I get to visit. “So...” —she sings— “did you have a nice Easter?” I appease her with a nod, forgetting the throbbing pain as she wheels me through doors and toward my room. “Like I said, we are busy tonight. Many people are out and a number of car accidents have been reported. However, we want to get you seen so this is going to have to do,” she finishes. My heart stops at the thought of what this room means. With wide eyes, I search for camcorders. It has to be a joke. After pushing the brake lever on the wheelchair, she assists me in sitting on the bed. I’m worried she’s going to turn and secure the door once she leaves. My fingers unknowingly reach for a strand of hair. Twirling the fiber, I sit nervously.
Deep breaths, Lacey. There was no other room open. That is why they have put you in here. The sunflower yellow walls do not cheer my insides as they would on any other occasion. No, my mind is walking alone in the rain. I smooth down the wrinkles in my pants to distract myself. I look for anything to change my thoughts. “This room is under surveillance at all times,” is found painted on the wall. My stomach drops as my eyes move to the small window in the door. Please God, let what the nurse said to be true. Are they locking me away in a padded room because I wanted to save a helpless animal?
I close my eyes, rest my head in my hands, and press my aching temples to dispel the endless nagging pain. My head hurts too much to worry about what is going to happen next. Devon will be here soon enough to put an end at them thinking I am crazy. I am not. Just because my conscience cannot leave an injured animal on the side of the road does not mean I am crazy. If anything, it shows undeniable compassion. Crap, perhaps I am out of my mind. Heart pounding in rhythm with my head, I find my leg bobbing up and down on its own accord while the fingers on my hands begin to thread the hem of my shirt. I will do anything to stop the nervous energy fighting to escape.
A knock on the door has me lifting my head too quickly. Throwing my hands up to brace my agonizing head relieves a little bit of the pain. “Hello, Lacey?” I nod with closed eyes and hands on my head. “Oh, wow, look at that. Am I reading this right, it says a goose did this?” I nod again. “Okay, this is a story my wife will enjoy hearing tonight.” I raise a sore eyebrow and peek at the asshole. He chuckles.
“Nice room, Lacey!” Devon says whistling as he looks around. Ass! “Looks like they think you’re crazy, too.” I narrow my eyes and he understands to shut it. Now, sarcasm does not suit him. The doctor of the evening extends a hand to Devon, “Dr. Lorde.” Devon shakes it diligently. Why did he not introduce himself to me? He had better not be some male chauvinistic pig who projects women as inferior to men. Perhaps he saw I was in too much pain and all. I need to stop over-thinking things. Devon proudly shares pictures exonerating him of any wrongdoings.
The doctor examines my head, ordered the CT scan they just finished, and now Devon and I are back in my padded room awaiting the results. Why do things like this happen to me? Drama is not searched out. I just want to be happy and enjoy life. Maybe that lifestyle was not meant for me. I have worked diligently to seek repentance. It must be something I will not be afforded. My heart sinks as I gaze into Devon’s warm eyes. He is my knight in shining armor. Our love is so much stronger for the shortcomings we have endured and the number of blessings we were granted over the last year.
“Lacey, we need to get away.” I smile at Devon’s sweet cantor as I come out of my daydream. He had his fun with the hospital room and injury but now, thankfully, has moved on.
At the thought of a vacation, my heart sinks. “Wait, I’m not getting on a plane and neither are you,” I bellow. My soul bleeds at the thought of a plane ride. Devon squeezes my hand and places a finger up to his lips as the doctor enters with my test results. My heart is still racing while the doctor speaks. I try to focus, but my mind drifts to his plane crash. Closing my eyes, I will the tears back telling myself he is safe and unharmed. My nerves have yet to move forward. The fear of losing Devon forever is too much to bear. I have tried to be strong and pretend I am not looking back. Guilt continues to consume my daily thoughts. One day I pray I will wake up feeling a little lighter.
Discharged with a minor concussion, Devon wraps his arm around my waist feeding my senses with his cologne and we walk to the car. “I love you.” He kisses the side of my head. “Sugar Pants, you get yourself in crazy situations, though.” He chuckles and opens the car door for me. I ignore the comment and buckle my seatbelt. He leans in and places a warm endearing kiss on my lips. Surprisingly, it causes my heart to dance and insides to flutter.
Along the way home, I remember the trip he mentioned inside my padded cell. “About that trip—” I turn my head toward the handsome body driving us home. My heart shines bright with thoughts of how incredibly lucky I am to have Devon. My pulse races to color my cheeks. He looks amazing and delicious in his low-slung shorts and tight shirt. Relaxed and easy going, he is everything I could ever want and more. My insides scream from the lack of action since before giving birth. Unconsciously, I part my lips and lick them. When the moisture registers in my mind, I chastise myself. Clearly, the concussion has injured my brain for having lust-filled thoughts of my husband while my head bangs within itself.
Across the console, he reaches for my hand lacing our fingers and intertwining our hearts. Butterflies fly with the simple, intimate act. “I want to take you away. You, the kids, and me. We can take a drive to the mountains in North Carolina.” That seems so appealing and all but my body is interested in something else at the moment. Feeling naughty, I bite my lip trying to control my growing smile. “You need to stop looking at me like that or we will be making a detour and forget what the doctor said about waiting six weeks postpartum.” I continue my steady focus.
While he continues to ignore my devious plan, I ask, “Where in North Carolina?” Some sort of sense beginning to wash away what I was thinking.
“My dad owns a house in Asheville. It’s secluded on 41 acres. You will love it. My parents took Ryan and me as kids a couple of times. The purpose was a quiet place to escape with the family and set some of his high-profile clients up to relax. The coolest thing is that it’s off the grid.” My eyes grow. Off the grid?
“As in no internet... no television...” I ponder. “What if Baby Lane has an emergency?”
“There is a hospital close by, Lacey.” He eases my throbbing mind.
“Please tell me the toilets flush, and we won’t need to boil water for a warm bath.” What will I do without my iPad and cellphone? I mean, I don’t have anyone I need to contact, but still. Holy cow. We will be secluded... with bears... “What about bears?” My heart skips in fear of the large, unforgiving animals. The skin on my arms tingles at the thought of being in the same five miles of one of them. Shuttering, I remember my headache. I close my eyes and take in a
calming breath for strength. Devon appears shocked by my plethora of questions. Since I cannot rewind time, I continue. “Are you planning on Frank or one of the other drivers chauffeuring us?” I undoubtedly want this to be just the four of us. However, if we are in the middle of the boonies, I may find comfort in having another big brawly man in our presence.
“Just us, Sugar Pants. We’ve been through so much this past year. It’s time for us to have our happily ever after.” He gives me his melting smile just before returning his eyes to the road. I turn my head and watch the lights pass and think how blessed I am to have found such a wonderful guy. Cars milling about doing what they want. When a vehicle blinds me with their high beams, I realize... Holy shit, he is taking me into the wilderness where bears live. I am scared to death of bears!
My phone chirps indicating a text has come through. Digging through my bag, I quickly check to make sure it’s not Grandma Pain. With the loss of Mom and almost Devon, I constantly worry needlessly. ‘Dad’ is written across the screen. Opening the message, “I just want to let you know I will be going in to have a vasectomy reversal on Thursday, your birthday. Happy early birthday. ;)”
A fucking smiling face? The phone drops from my hands and I immediately have trouble breathing. No, this cannot be. Is it even possible at his age? What are the odds it will work? No, he can’t get her pregnant. This cruel cycle of abuse was supposed to end now. Oh, my God! WHAT IF HE HAS A BOY? “Devon, pull over!”
Fourteen and a Half
“Hey Ryan,” I say wrapping my arms around his neck.
“How are you?” he asks.
“What’s up, man?” Devon asks walking toward us.