“What the hell are you doing?” Becci said, grabbing the dash in front of her.
I pulled into a deserted corner of the garage. It was well past nine, and the mall was closed for the night. Throwing the vehicle into park, I looked at Becci. “I’ll show you what I can be.”
“Gill, what…”
I didn’t let her finish. I took her head in my hands and kissed her. But not the way I usually did. Not the kind of kiss that had them quivering at the knees, hungering for more. A sweet, delicate kiss. You know, the kind that made them think, what else could this guy have to offer if he’s this gentle? Of course, Becci knew over the last twenty-three months I was capable of a lot more, but this time, I had to show her I was different.
She responded by kissing me back, fiercely, deeply. Her hands roamed my chest, unbuttoning my jacket and white shirt underneath, sliding them off.
Fucking in an ambulance isn’t the most comfortable, or sanitary, for the most part. I bet if a lot of people knew what went on in the back of one, they would be less likely to call 911 in the face of an emergency. The sex is always down and dirty, and most of the time you keep the majority of your clothes on. That was what Becci and I shared: a blowjob in the locker room or a quickie in the back of an ambulance. For the better part of two years, Becci had been my fuck buddy. A little to my horror, I realized Becci was the primary reason I carried more condoms in my wallet than I did dollar bills.
“You haven’t lost your touch,” Becci said, sighing happily twenty minutes later, as she deftly buttoned her uniform back up. She pulled the review mirror towards her, tugging her hair back in a ponytail and pulling it through the back of her hat.
I finished buttoning my pants, which, like I said, never fully came off in the first place, and slid my arms into my shirt. “You realize you’re getting married in like, three weeks, right?”
Becci looked at me. “Well…”
“And are you planning on telling Francis at some point?”
“Why should I?”
“I mean…”
Becci laughed. “Oh, Gill,” she patted my leg. “You’re not in love with me, are you?”
The way she spit those words, ‘in love with me,' made me cringe. I put on a smile, despite the bad taste in my mouth. “No, that’s gross. You’re just… no way man. Not you, Becci, not ever.”
“Good.” She turned the mirror back towards me. “Because I’m getting married tomorrow, so I don’t want any… strings here.”
“Tomorrow?” I panicked a little, though I wasn’t sure why. Why should I care if she was married? It was her conscience, not mine, after all. “What happened to ‘I’m getting married in three weeks’?”
She shrugged. “He was tired of waiting, we are going to elope. He’s flying up tomorrow morning.”
“Think he knows about… us?” The last word tasted bad in my mouth.
She laughed. “Of course not. And he won’t find out, right?” The mirth still danced in her eyes, but she was serious.
“Well, it’s not like I’m ever going to meet him,” I shrugged.
“Come on, let’s get back to work before Sally figures out what’s going on.”
As if summoned from a perfect pentacle that may or may not have involved salt, Sally’s voice crackled over the radio. “Ambulance 319, report to Broadway and fifth. Police report possible rape and assault victim with multiple wounds to face and arms. Perpetrator at large.”
“Oh no,” Becci said softly.
“I fucking hate these calls,” I murmured. Sighing, I started up the ambulance and headed towards the exit. “What a way to end the night.”
We left the garage and headed towards our next trauma, but I couldn’t help thinking of Becci’s words: You’re not in love with me, are you Gill?
Was I?
How many other girls had I fucked recently? High school wasn’t that long ago, two years, but there was… that one girl… at prom. Emily? Amy? Something like that?
Shit.
It really bothered me she was getting married. In between girls, Becci had always been a phone call – or a night shift – away. I guess that was going to stop, but I didn’t like thinking about that.
Maybe Becci was right, and I did have some attachment. Not love, but a need to have her around. I wondered how this would change when she was married. Would it even change?
We finished up our shift with the rape victim, which took us beyond our hours. Contusions to the occipital bone, possible broken arm, it was bad, though I’d seen worse. Someone had fucked her up – used her and abused her, and it turned my stomach. Part of being a paramedic was dealing with society’s lows every day, but this… this was the lowest. Men who raped women should be burned at the stake, or something.
And as always, Becci carried on like nothing had happened. She was brave, even with the shit we had to deal with on every shift. Except for one thing: our call to the young woman, who had been assaulted, shook Becci up, somehow. She was anxious and fidgeting as we drove our unconscious victim to the hospital.
“Who could do that to another person?” Becci said from the back, where she’d just administered a sedative and our patient had slipped into a calming sleep.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “My money is on the roommate.”
“Why?”
“Seemed shady.”
“You saw him for like two seconds, Gill.”
“Still.”
“He seemed concerned. Did you see the way he looked at her? How hard it was for us to get him to leave her side?”
“Yeah,” I said, pulling into the ambulance entrance of the hospital. “It could have been remorse, though.”
“Or love.”
“Or guilt,” I shot back.
“I want a love like that, where he won’t leave my side,” Becci said softly.
I turned and looked at her. “That’s fucked up.”
“Why?” She blinked at me.
“No one should ever wish that on another person,” I told her, and the look on her face said I’d been too harsh. I back peddled for a minute. “I mean, the punishment for harming an innocent human being is never harsh enough. Love has nothing to do with it.”
She just nodded at me. The grim look on her face told me she agreed, without saying a word.
I hopped out and opened the ambulance doors. “Come on, let’s get her to the doctors.”
As we were leaving the hospital, the hallway took us briefly through a corner of the ER waiting room. I swear I saw the patient’s roommate, that big blond guy, pacing in front of the check-in desk.
“Maybe it’s not remorse or guilt,” I told Becci when we were headed back to the depot.
“Maybe,” she agreed. “I’ll still never understand why people are horrible to each other. This isn’t the middle ages anymore.”
“Without it, we wouldn’t have a job.”
“About that…” she said, and I noticed she was twisting her hands in her lab. “I’ve turned in my notice. Frank wants me to travel with him.”
I hit the brakes a little hard at the red light just before the office. “What?”
“We can’t keep doing this, Gill, our little rendezvous. I’ll be a married woman and you…”
“Uh-huh,” I said, “I’ll still be on Girl-r-us.”
“Probably.”
She laughed – actually laughed at me! That bitch!
“It’s not my fault they all turn out to be psycho,” I said, irritated, pulling into the first ambulance bay.
“You should try a nice girl once in a while,” Becci said, grabbing her pack and hopping out of the seat.
She disappeared before I realized I probably wouldn’t see her for a very long time. I didn’t know how I felt about that, but like usual, I dismissed it. She was a good fuck, but she was one of many, and I knew there would be many more to replace her. I shrugged and threw the ambulance keys into my hand.
Before I could knock my door open, Trevor poked his head in the ope
n passenger side door. “Boss wants to see you before you leave,” he said.
I nodded. “Thanks, Trev.”
He dipped his head at me and disappeared to check out supplies.
Of course, so did I, but now it was harder, somehow. What had changed?
“I’ve got your request for time off,” Sally said as I walked by her office with fifteen minutes left on my shift. Damn, I had forgotten to remind her all night, so I stopped and sat down across from her desk. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, George is picking up your extra shifts, and Becci even agreed to take one, despite the fact that she’s supposed to be on vacation as of tomorrow morning.” Sally signed the slip and handed it to me.
“Wow, really?”
“Yes.”
“Well, thanks, boss. I really appreciate it.” I stood. “But can I ask one thing?”
“What’s that?”
“Why?”
“Why what?” She looked down at the papers in front of her, shuffling them around noisily.
“Why didn’t you hassle me more about the time I needed?”
Sally looked up at me. “In two years, Gill, you’ve never had an emergency, much less of a family emergency. You’ve never even called in sick. I checked.”
“Yeah, well…”
Her typically hard frown softened, as did her voice. “It’s not a secret you’re the ladies man, Gill,” she said, holding her hand up to stop me, “but it’s never affected your work, and I know you were top of your class in high school. So I figured this must be important, whatever it is.”
“My uncle died.” I blurted out, the lump in my throat threatening something less manly than I liked to admit.
Sally blinked at me as if she couldn’t believe it herself, and she didn’t even know the man. “I’m sorry,” she said, and it was the nicest thing she’d ever said to me. “That’s never easy. He live here?”
“No, they moved back to France last year.”
“Long flight.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, “Jules is picking me up at the airport in,” I checked my watch, it was a little after 5 AM, “two hours.”
“France, huh?” Sally whistled. “That’s a long way from home. Get some sleep on that plane.”
“I will.” I tipped my hat to her and left. Becci was already gone for the day, jetting back to the fiancé as soon as we returned to the station. Just as well. I couldn’t handle any more of these emotional issues, damn it.
I couldn’t sleep when I got home. I tried, but after packing a few things I’d need for the week, I sat down at the little round table in my kitchen, swiping through social media pictures of my vacation to France last summer, after I graduated from high school. Uncle Richard smiled up at me, a ghostly remnant from the grave of the father figure I’d lost. For the first time since I skinned my knee in fourth grade, I cried.
When Jules arrived promptly at 4:55 AM, she didn’t ask any questions, she just tossed me a paper towel and told me to wipe my face. Jules was cool like that. “We have to be strong, for Mom,” she said. She hugged me and picked up my bag. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, brother.”
Chapter Four: Paris, again
Everyone thinks Paris is this city of love, some magical, mysterious place where everyone is happy and, to quote Bambi, twitterpated. Having spent my time in the country, I never liked Paris. It was dirty, dingy, and rainy most of the time. The smog and fog held around like cloudy cling wrap over a blight on society. So I hated Paris, but I didn’t hate France. Not entirely. I spoke the language well, I knew the people, and the weather was okay, mostly.
My cousin Andre picked us up at the airport. Pudgy and annoying, he was every cliche cousin story you can think of. The annoying third wheel, he always hung out and creeped out the girls I was trying to score with. He was obsessed with card games, video games, and dressing up in a cape and playing hit-the-foam-swords-and-shields with his friends. Nerd. A few years younger than us and still in high school, Andre was just that one family member that you didn’t want to talk about when they came in the room.
Unfortunately, Jules and my mother were nice to him, and I was expected to be, too. No matter how much I imagined what his face would look like in a locker.
Maybe that’s why Uncle Richard liked me more. His own kid was a bit of a douche.
“Hi, Andre,” I said in my native English with a forced smile and clap on the back.
“My father died,” he said, deadpan, blinking at me.
“Jesus,” I said because I had no other clue what was appropriate. “I’m sorry, man.”
“Are you, really?”
“What?”
My mother to the rescue, soothing him in French. “Andre, I do hope your mother is doing as well as can be expected.”
“Oui,” Andre answered in French. “She is looking forward to your visit, Auntie.”
Jules and I exchanged glances and followed my mother and Andre to the car. Despite my expertise in French, it had been a year since I’d used it, so I was a little rusty. I don’t know how my mother, living in America for the better part of twenty-five years, was still so fluent. I picked out pieces of her conversation and translated to my sister, but most of it was lost to me.
“I can’t wait to see Aunt Alberta,” Jules whispered to me. “I wonder if she still has the mole on her nose.”
“Shh,” I said, “Remember, Andre has excellent hearing.”
“Ah, yes,” Jules said. “He could hear us talking about him even up in the attic.”
“Do you suppose they live in the same house?”
“Mother said they did.”
“Hmm,” I told her. “I wonder if it was really haunted when we were children.”
Jules smiled. “I hope so! I’d love a good old fashioned ghost story.”
“Did you find anything more about that ancestor of ours, the compte?”
“No,” she admitted, “but I did find out what his wife looked like. She was stunning.”
“Come along now,” Mother chided us, as we exited the noisy, packed airport.
“I’ll tell you later,” Jules said.
“Good, I’d love to hear it.” Because, I told myself, the next couple of days will be hell. I’d need anything to take my mind off the events to come.
Little did I know, my sister’s history lesson would be rather … hands on.
My cousin’s car wasn’t large, not by American standards anyway. I had a mind to ask him where my sister and I would sit in the two-seater that barely fit the narrow French roadways. The thought of his nasally whine irritated me, so I kept my mouth shut. My mother settled comfortably in the front seat, and without a trunk, my sister and I piled our luggage on top of us. It was an uncomfortable hour-long ride, to say the least. My mother and Andre chatted quietly from the front, and I tried to spark up a conversation with Jules. I always hated silence.
“So how’s the girlfriend, Maggie?” I asked her.
Over the top of my mother’s black suitcase, I could only see Jules from the nose up. She narrowed her eyes at me. “You mean Tara?”
“What?”
“Maggie was over a year ago.” She shifted the luggage between us. “And Tara and I split last month. The long distance thing wasn’t working for us. I’m currently…”
“On the prowl?”
“Single.” She rolled her eyes at me. “How’s Becci?”
It took me more effort than I wanted to check my watch. “Married, or should be by now.”
Jules sighed. “And you two are still?”
“As of about twelve hours ago, yes.”
“Gill,” she chided me, “what is wrong with you? Is nothing off limits?”
“Men,” I responded quickly and firmly.
“Ditto.” She smiled at me. “At least we agree on that one thing.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes at her.
“But seriously, do you ever listen while I talk?”
Up ahead, my mother clicked her tongue and chided
us in her native French.
“I listen,” I protested, lowering my voice. “You told me about our ancestor and his castle, remember?”
“Oh, yes, that one,” she said. “If I could reach my phone right now I’d show you a picture of him. He looks a lot like you.”
“You already said that.”
“You do listen.”
Andre spun the tiny car around a corner, throwing us into the luggage. “Ow!”
Jules just laughed.
***
“Mon nevue!”
I smiled as Aunt Alberta greeted me, her nephew, with open arms, her wide hips swaying in her housedress. Her eyes were red-rimmed, circled with dark lines, but her grin was just as wide as every summer I’d spend with them.
She chatted with me for a minute in French, and I answered hesitantly to all her questions about school and my job. Behind me, Jules was busy unfolding from the car, while Andre hoisted the luggage up the stairs to the ivy-covered four-story house. He tripped on the first step, but recovered quickly for his gangly size. My sister and I stifled giggles simultaneously, but didn’t offer to help. The curse affected everyone, it seemed. I turned back to answer my aunt’s questions.
My mother interrupted the conversation then, bragging about my scholarships. The more we talked, the more comfortable I became with my French.
When Jules appeared behind me, my mother and aunt switched back to their halting English. Jules frowned. I knew she felt like the outsider, she always had.
“It’s good to see you, Auntie,” Jules said and was pulled into another hug. “How are you holding up?”
Alberta mumbled in French, adding, “Good as to be expected, my dear, considering...”
“I’m so sorry, Auntie,” I offered, though it seemed the worst thing I could say.
“Let Andre show you to the guest rooms,” she said. Turning to my mother, she whispered in French, “Come, let us have tea.”
Aunt Alberta and my mother disappeared through the grand oak doors of the house, and Jules and I followed Andrew up the circular stairs to the second floor.
With a grunt, he sat our bags down outside the third door on the left. “Voici,” he said, meaning, ‘Here we are.’ He spun on his heel and retreated to a room across the hall, which I remembered was his bedroom.
Mirrors (Curse of Lanval Book 1) Page 4