Prima Donna

by Drewry, Laura

  She didn’t know how long they stood there with the rain drizzling down on them, but the only time he loosened his hold on her was when he pulled the sides of his coat open and wrapped them around her shaking body. Then he folded his arms around her again, holding her tight, safe against him, while she cried quietly.

  He waited until she finally managed to control her breathing again before he spoke.

  “I’m so sorry.” His low deep voice was like a caress against her soul. “I shouldn’t have gone in there. I—”

  “It wasn’t you.” She stepped back, rubbed her hands over her face and shrugged. “That’s what always happens. I just sort of…when Tina said it was time to try again…I should have known better.”

  “D’you want to go back in and talk to Tina?”

  “No,” she said slowly. “She’ll be a while with Mom, and besides, there’s nothing she can say; it is what it is. Let’s just go.”

  Carter didn’t look even a little bit convinced as he opened her door and helped her in.

  “Want to go get a drink?” he asked.

  “It’s not even lunchtime yet, Carter.”

  “Not here maybe.” He started up the car, adjusted the heat, and then did the one thing she needed most right then; he shot her one of his cocky little half grins and winked. “But it’s five o’clock somewhere.”

  Without even thinking, she leaned over the console and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  His face pinked a little, but he just shrugged off her thanks. “Is that a yes to the drink?”

  “No,” she laughed, then blew out her breath in a long rush. “Just get me away from here so I can think about something else. Let’s go meet this barber of yours; I have visions of him looking a little like Christopher Walken and working out of the back of a strip joint.”

  “Regan.”

  “Don’t.” Swallowing hard, she managed to find what she hoped was a smile. “It’s better if we don’t talk about it yet, okay? Give me a couple minutes and I’ll be fine. Truly.”

  She wasn’t fooling him one bit, but he didn’t push, and after a while, he sighed and chuckled quietly.

  “My barber’s not a him, and trust me, it’s no strip joint.”

  “So it’s a her,” Regan snorted. “Shocking.”

  Traffic clogged every street they turned down, but Regan didn’t care; she was still trying to come to grips with the fact she’d not only let Carter go in with her, but he hadn’t batted an eye about doing it. Not only that, but he hadn’t flinched when her mother started screaming, and hadn’t even come close to giving her that freaked-out look she’d come to know so well.

  While they waited at the next light, nervous laughter bubbled out of her before she could stop it.

  “So I guess next time I go visit Mom, you’ll make sure your receptionist has you double-booked all day.”

  She half expected him to grin back at her, or to make some smart-ass remark, but he didn’t. He just stared back at her with those dark eyes, so serious, so unwavering.

  “I’ll fire her ass if she even tries,” he said quietly. “I’m in, Red. Every time.”

  The light changed and he drove on, leaving Regan fighting to keep her tight smile in place. He took a right, then another, and pulled into an underground lot and parked in a spot marked “Reserved.”

  “Is this it?” Regan frowned. “Where are we?”

  Carter locked the car and used his keys to point to the small rectangular sign hanging from the ceiling.

  st. mark’s hospital staff parking only

  “I thought you were getting your hair cut.”

  “I am.”

  “But this is—” The rest of the words died on Regan’s tongue. “Oh my God, Carter. Seriously?”

  She didn’t realize she’d stopped walking until he gripped her hand so tight her bones clicked, and pulled her toward the entrance.

  The lobby was a wide-open space painted a neutral tan color with a bold green stripe across the width of each wall. Tidy, compact furniture, the same type you saw in every hospital and shopping mall across the country, circled a large round wooden table, which was covered in ripped magazines and crumpled sections of a newspaper. Off to the side was the child-friendly area, complete with bright plastic furniture, coloring books, and a wide flat-screen television that was presently keeping two little ones amused with an episode of SpongeBob.

  They walked straight to the elevators, where a tall wooden thermometer hung on the wall, a red line measuring the twenty thousand dollars in donations they’d received. Apparently they were hoping to buy a new MRI machine, and while Regan had no idea how much one cost, she was pretty sure they had a ways to go.

  On the third floor, Carter greeted all the nurses by name, but didn’t slow down until they got to room 308. It was then he finally released her hand and indicated with a simple gesture for her to wait near the door.

  A twenty-something man sat in the recliner near the window, rubbing his thumb over a long-eared threadbare bunny in his hand. He pushed to his feet as they entered, his face pale, his smile weak, and shook Carter’s hand.

  “It’s good of you to come,” he said. “She just went down to the Games Room to get set up.”

  “Okay.” Carter’s voice was low and quiet as he crossed his arms over his chest. “How’re you doing?”

  The man shrugged slowly. “She’s doing better every day.”

  “Good, but that’s not what I asked.”

  Another shrug. “I’m okay. Be better when we get her home.”

  “Yeah.” Carter sighed and nodded slowly. “I know. Soon, right?”

  “Couple days.” His face brightened a little. “She’s been fidgeting all morning waiting for you. Hope you haven’t grown too attached to your hair.”

  “Nah. It always grows back, right?”

  A knowing look passed between the men; an unspoken connection that seemed to go deeper than just a doctor-patient bond.

  There were only two children in the Games Room when they arrived. A boy who looked to be about sixteen or so barely glanced away from the game controller, but he grinned broadly and tipped his chin up the way guys did.

  “What’s up, Doc? Looking to get your ass kicked again?”

  “Watch the language,” Carter warned. “And not today. I’ve got a date with Hazel.”

  Decked out in a pale pink leotard with matching tutu and sparkling purple fairy wings, the little girl couldn’t have been more than four or five, with huge blue eyes and sparse white-blond wisps of hair that sprouted from her head like soft down feathers.

  Carter’s words slammed into Regan’s heart like a freight train. It always grows back.

  “Hey, Haze.” He’d barely crouched down when the little sprite threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him tight.

  “I thought maybe you weren’t gonna come.”

  “Are you kidding? And miss out on a date with my best girl?” Still crouched, he thumbed toward Regan and lowered his voice. “This is my friend Miss Burke. She’s the one who cut my hair before and I was hoping you could show her how it should be done.”

  “Hi, Hazel. It’s very nice to meet you.” Regan crouched down, too, and smiled as the little girl walked around her, slowly dragging the tip of her finger over Regan’s hair, hanging loose down her back.

  “You got pretty hair.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Daddy says I’m gonna have pretty hair again soon, too. See, it’s already comin’ back just like Doc Scott said it would.”

  “It’s…” Regan fought to get the words past the lump in her throat. “It’s the prettiest hair I’ve ever seen.”

  Channeling the most diva-esque of supermodels, Hazel flipped one of the gossamer strands behind her ear and flounced toward a small plastic green chair in the middle of the room.

  “Come on, Doc Scott,” she said. “I got your chair ready.”

  Carter lowered himself to the pint-sized chair and wrapped his arms around his le
gs to pull them in tight, leaving his knees jutting up almost to his chin. Hazel wound a giant paint-stained bath towel around his neck and pointed Regan to another chair, just as small, but several feet away.

  “You can sit there, Miss Burt.”

  “Oh, right. Thank you.” The lump in her throat could have been a knot of tears or a bubble of nervous hysterical laughter, she wasn’t sure which, and honestly, it could have just as easily gone either way.

  Hazel twirled over to the craft cupboard and returned with a pair of snub-nosed children’s safety scissors. Dried chunks of clear glue clumped on the side of the blades and the handle, but that didn’t seem to matter. She just reached up, twisted a clump of Carter’s hair in her fingers and hacked it off.

  With her tongue clamped between her teeth, Hazel twirled around him after each snip, humming something that sounded an awful lot like a funky mix of Lady Gaga and Taylor Swift. Some cuts were easy, but others took all her concentration and both hands to work the scissors.

  It was mesmerizing watching her flounce around Carter, fluffing her tutu and pushing the front wisp of hair out of her eyes. Regan’s heart both ached and beamed with every step Hazel took, especially when she stood back, studied Carter’s head, the amount of hair on the floor, and then twirled around him one more time before chopping off three more chunks.

  It was beyond disastrous—worse than when he showed up at Regan’s salon on New Year’s. Crooked, short, long, patchy, and those cowlicks…

  He’d never looked better than he did right then, sitting on that teeny-tiny plastic green chair with the paint-stained towel wrapped around his neck. He didn’t have to say a word; it was in the softness of his eyes and the peaceful, soothing way he smiled. This little peeps of a girl could have shaved him bald, and he wouldn’t care. She could have painted his nails in sparkly pink polish, and he would’ve worn it proudly.

  Hell, she could have asked him for Jupiter and he’d have found a way to wrap it up with a giant velvety bow for her. Anything to make her life a little easier, a little happier.

  When Hazel was finished, she squished Carter’s cheeks between her tiny hands and nodded.

  “See, Miss Burt, isn’t he pretty now?”

  The boy with the game controller cast a quick glance over his shoulder and snorted, but Carter’s grin widened, warming Regan down to the soles of her feet. She wanted to smile back, but her lips trembled so hard and her eyes burned so hot, she had to steeple her hands in front of her mouth to try and steady herself.

  When she did finally answer, she spoke slowly, forcing each word off her tongue with a steadiness she sure as hell didn’t feel.

  “Prettiest man I’ve ever seen, Hazel.”

  The little girl unwrapped the towel from Carter’s neck, dumped it on the floor, and twirled off to the other side of the room as he pushed out of his chair and stood in front of Regan, his hands palm up. A second later, Hazel twirled back.

  “Here’s your prize for bein’ good and sittin’ still.”

  Without missing a beat, Carter held out his right wrist and she wrapped a new bracelet around it; this one a thick blue band covered in tiny pink and purple plastic daisies. She fumbled with the knot, her tongue once again clamped between her teeth until she got it secured.

  “Thanks, Haze,” he said, fingering his new bling like it’d come straight from Cartier. “It’s my new favorite.”

  “Hazel.” Her dad’s eyes widened when he saw Carter. “Oh, uh, that’s, wow. Great job, honey. Grandma’s here.”

  “But I have to go with Doc Scott. ’Member how scared he was last time Miss Emily poked him?”

  Regan’s gaze shot up to Carter, but he was still focused on Hazel.

  “No pokes for me today,” he said. “I’m good for a while now.”

  “For real?”

  “For real. You go see your grandma; Miss Burke can help me clean up.”

  “Okay.” Hazel handed him the broom, then twirled toward the door. “Bye, Doc Scott, bye, Miss Burt.”

  It took Regan a long time before she finally stopped staring at the empty doorway and managed to stand up.

  “That was…” she breathed, swiping her hand across her cheek before Carter saw her crying again.

  Carter just shrugged as he ran his hand back through what was left of his hair. “She’s great, isn’t she?”

  “She’s…wow. Just wow.” As they cleaned up together, every once in a while, it would hit Regan again and she’d just shake her head and repeat the same word over and over again. “Wow.”

  Still in awe, she followed Carter back to the elevator and leaned back against the wall while he pressed the button and waited for the doors to close.

  “Who’s Emily?” she asked.

  Whatever Carter was about to say remained unsaid as the elevator stopped on the next floor and a couple other people got on. They rode in silence until the doors opened onto the lobby floor, but when Regan made to step off, he held her back with a gentle touch of his hand against her arm and the elevator continued down.

  Frowning, she leaned back again, waiting for him to explain.

  “I’m going to take you to meet Emily.”

  The door opened and they stepped out into what appeared to be the bowels of the hospital. A fading yellow stripe on the floor led them past a clutter of gurneys, racks of bedding, and broken wheelchairs, and around the corner past two cold-looking gray doors with authorized personnel only signs.

  “Good God, where are we going, the morgue?”

  “Not quite,” he answered, a slight edge to his voice.

  With every step, his breathing seemed to get a little more labored, his jaw a little tighter.

  “Carter.” She stopped walking about twenty feet back from the large black-and-white plastic sign pointing them toward the lab. “Tell me.”

  His head lowered slightly, his body heaving slowly with his intake of breath. After a second, he turned, but he didn’t look at her, just fell back against the wall with his hands stuffed in his pockets and stared at the floor.

  “Remember I told you about that summer we spent scrubbing out the church?” He stopped, licked his lips and sighed. “A couple weeks after that, school had just started again, and I, uh, found out I had testicular cancer.”

  “Oh my God.” Regan stared at him, waiting for him to say more, which he didn’t seem overly keen to do. “But you said you were only, what? Fourteen? I can’t even…oh, Carter…That must have been horrible.”

  Finally, he looked up at her, slowly, his eyes searching hers as if he was expecting something, and she knew exactly what that was. He was expecting to see that look, the one she knew so well herself; the one that gives away how freaked out the person is. Regan reached for his hand, but it was jammed down so deep in his pocket, she had to settle for resting her hand on his forearm.

  “And your poor mother—she must have been terrified, especially so soon after losing your dad.”

  “Yeah, it sort of made everything else I’d put her through seem kinda lame.”

  The tone of his voice, the barely there lift of his shoulder…of course! How many times had she done the exact same thing? It all made sense now; why he was never worried about his hair growing back, why he didn’t seem confused about why she felt guilty about her mom, and yes, why he always knew when she was bullshitting him.

  He was a bullshitter, too!

  “You didn’t put her through anything, Carter. You didn’t ask to get sick and you didn’t do anything to bring it on. It’s not your fault.”

  “I know.”

  “Really?” She quirked her brow at him. “ ’Cause you don’t look like you know, and you don’t sound like you know, so let me share a little bit of wisdom that was recently shared with me.”

  She waited until he looked up at her and then she smiled, not because any of this was funny, but because for the first time she actually started to believe what she was about to say.

  “Sometimes, for no apparent reason, biology
and chemistry cause some kind of shit-storm inside a person. It’s no one’s fault, it just happens.”

  Finally, a grin, small as it was.

  “I know,” he said, doing a horrible impersonation of her. “I’ve read all about it.”

  “Nice. Very mature.” She leaned back against the wall next to him and nodded slowly. “So is that what all the ‘poking’ talk was about? And is that why we’re standing outside the lab?”

  Before he could answer, the door to the lab opened and out stepped an older woman in a dull white lab coat. At some point, her entire name must been embroidered across her right pocket, but all that was left now was an E, an I and an L. Her hair was pulled back in a loose gray bun and her hands were full of thick paper-filled folders.

  “Carter! I was just about to call—” Her eyes widened at the sight of his hair. “Oh, Lord, you’ve been to see Hazel again.”

  “Yeah. We, uh…” He cast a quick glance at Regan, then pushed off the wall, almost completely blocking her view, but she saw enough to know that when the woman shook her head, and mouthed “okay,” Carter’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “We just came down to say hi. This is Regan.”

  “Regan?” The woman’s round face split into a huge bright smile as she juggled the charts to one arm so she could shake Regan’s hand. “Would you be the same Regan who told God’s Greatest Gift here that he looked like shit?”

  “Oh my God, Carter!” Regan choked. “I never said that!”

  “Yes she did, Em.” Carter’s eyes twinkled as he tried to look hurt. “Got me right in the feel-bads, too.”

  “I said you looked God-awful, I never once said you looked like shit.”

  Emily’s grinning face turned to Carter. “Same difference.”

  “I know, right?”

  Regan didn’t need a mirror to know her freckles were putting in an appearance. “I can’t believe you told her that.”

  “I’m glad he did,” Emily laughed. “Because between you and me, this one could use a few more people talking to him like that.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Regan grinned.

  “I wish I had time to chat,” Emily said, more to Regan than Carter, as she lifted the files a little. “But with all the layoffs around here, there’s no one to come and get them, so it’s up to me. Can you stick around awhile?”