by Carian Cole
“Well, Janet it was pretty crazy. Luckily, I had a whole bunch of (bleeping) food in the back of my truck so we were able to eat and drink water. I had my dog with me too, and he was basically eating Ritz crackers the whole (bleeping) time.”
“How did you keep from freezing to death out there? I understand your truck was totally dead?”
“Yeah, it was way (bleeping) dead, Janet. We crashed into a tree, and I have no (bleeping) idea how we weren’t killed. Any(bleeping)way, I had this huge blanket in the truck that the dog sleeps on, so me and the chick covered ourselves with that and luckily, it kept us pretty warm.”
Janet smiles knowingly at him. “Come clean with us, Storm. All the ladies know you are irresistible. What happened under the blanket? Surely you found ways to keep warm?”
Storm is puffing on an e-cig and blowing the vapor into Janet’s face. I can’t help but laugh. She makes a face at him and waves the vapor smoke with her hand. “Janet, I know what you and these other vultures are trying to get out of me and it ain’t happening. That chick isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met before. She’s not the type of girl to (bleep) in the back of a truck.”
“Well, it’s nice to know there are still some classy women around, Storm. Did she know who you were?”
“No. She was completely (bleeping) clueless and it was (bleeping) awesome. It was nice to be around a chick who wasn’t trying to suck my dick, ya know? By the way, our new CD comes out next month, so y’all should check it. It’s (bleeping) kick ass.” The audience starts to laugh and cheer.
Janet looks like she wants to die. “I’m pretty sure you can’t say that on this show, Storm.”
Storm laughs and takes a drag on his e-cig, the blue tip glowing. “I just (bleeping) did.”
Janet turns to the camera. “Well, that wraps up our interview with Storm Valentine. Ashes and Embers newest CD comes out next month, and the band will be touring in the spring.”
Well, at least he didn’t call me annoying and he made me sound much more flattering. Way to do damage control, Storm.
My phone beeps with a text message alert.
Storm: Can I call you?
Me: Why?
Storm: For fucks sake. You argue in text, too?
Me: We have nothing to talk about. Just thank you for paying for my car. I will pay you back.
Storm: No. It’s nothing. Is Michael there? I want to talk to you
Me: He’s at work.
My phone rings. Grrr.
“Hello?” I always feel stupid saying hello when I can see who is calling on the ID.
“Did you like my interview?”
“Yes, that one was much better. Especially you blowing vapor into her face. When did you start smoking e-cigs? Those would have been much more convenient while we were stuck in your truck, don’t ya think?”
“So fucking true. I just started them yesterday. I’m gonna try to quit smoking. These are way more fun. I can smoke anywhere.”
I close my eyes and slowly shake my head. “Thank you for paying for my car. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Stop. I wanted to. As you now know, I have money. I can throw a few thousand at a friend. It’s not going to hurt me.”
“Well, I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Storm, we really shouldn’t be talking. I feel really shitty about what happened between us. I need to focus on Michael. I’m sorry.”
“You never answered my question.”
“Which question?”
I can hear him dragging on the electric cigarette. “Did you like being with me?”
I start to pace around the living room with the phone. Why does he keep doing this to me? I don’t want to be cornered like this.
“Yes, Storm. I enjoyed some of our time together when you weren’t being an ass or luring me into an orgasm. Okay?”
“That’s a start. I want us to be friends. Why is that so bad?”
“It’s not. We can be friends.”
“Did you miss me last night? Not sleeping next to me?”
Truth be told, I tossed and turned all night, unable to get comfortable or fall asleep even though I was exhausted. I missed his closeness. I missed the warmth of him next to me, the scent of his fancy shampoo. I could still feel the pull to him. It’s just he wasn’t there to get pulled against. Michael’s body next to me felt like an invasion, an intruder of sorts.
“Evie?”
“Storm, stop it.”
“I missed having you next to me. I missed you holding my hand the way you do.” His voice is doing the raspy thing it does when he’s serious about what he’s saying. The rasp comes out when he’s emotional, whether he’s happy, sad, mad or sexual. I can hear it in his voice and it goes right through me. Knowing what I now know, my heart hurts for him. I understand grief all too well, and I have a bad feeling Storm masked his grief in drugs, alcohol, and women. The problem is, I want to hold his hand again, and show him love in a thousand ways, which despite his protests of relationships, I think he really does want closeness, but I’m not able to give it to him. I can’t be this man’s toy or passing phase. I can’t allow myself to love someone and then lose them, and I’m pretty damn sure he can’t either.
“I did miss you. But that’s only because we were stuck together for two days and only had each other to focus on. It’s natural.”
“Uh huh.”
“I have to go, Storm.”
“Hey, the band is playing at the Silver Cloud next month. It’s a small local venue we used to play a lot when we first started out. Why don’t you come? Bring Michael and any friends you want, okay? It would mean a lot to me.”
Michael will be over the moon if I accept this offer. I guess it would be nice to hear the band play, too. “All right. That would be great. Michael is a big fan. We’d love to go. I’m sure Amy will, too.”
“That’s awesome. I’ll text you the details.”
“Good. I really have to go, Storm. Take care, okay?”
“You too, Evie.
Chapter Nine
Thursday morning I wake up sick as a dog. My throat so swollen, it feels like a piece of raw meat when I swallow, barely able to breathe through my nose and my head is literally pounding. I’m pretty sure I have a fever, too. I feel hot and clammy one minute and freezing the next. I stare at the clock next to the bed. Eleven a.m. I can’t believe I slept so late. Slowly sitting up, my head feels like a bowling ball, and the room feels like it’s spinning. Shit. I really do not have time to be sick.
I call Michael’s office. “It’s me,” I croak into the phone when he answers.
“Did you just wake up? You sound awful.”
I cough into the phone. “I feel like I’m dying. Can you take me over to urgent care? I’ll never get an appointment with my doctor today. I think I need some meds. I feel like I have strep throat.”
“Evelyn, I’m at work.”
“I don’t have a car, Michael.”
“Fuck. How the hell are we going to get your car home?”
“You were supposed to drive me there to get it.” I cough again and my throat feels like it’s on fire. “Can you take me to urgent care and then for my car?”
“Evelyn, it’s just a cold. Don’t be a hypochondriac.”
“Michael, I’m not.” I hate when he does this to me. Like I want to sit here and pretend being sick just for attention. “Michael, please. I really don’t feel well, and I’m supposed to go back to work tomorrow. I need to get some meds so I can feel better.”
“I’m leaving this afternoon. I have to fly back to the office in South Carolina. I’ll be there until Sunday.”
“Michael? Really? I just got home. I haven’t seen you hardly at all. Do you really have to go?” I don’t want him to leave again, especially when I feel sick. I have a huge fear of passing out and cracking my head open and laying on the floor bleeding to death.
“Babe, I don’t have time for this. I told you my job was going to
be really busy with the new software platform.”
A coughing fit takes over for a few seconds. “I’m sorry, Mike. I’m not trying to bother you, really. I just need a little help. Please? Can you just take me to the doctor? I don’t care about the car right now.”
He’s silent for a few moments, but I can hear him rustling stuff around on his desk. “All right, all right. I’m going to take my lunch break now and come home for you. I’ll take you to urgent care real quick, okay? But then I have to get back here and catch my flight this afternoon. You’re going to have to see if Amy can take you for your car or maybe the garage can drive it to our house for you if we pay them. Get dressed. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Love you.”
I feel dismissed, but at least he agreed to take me to the doctor, which is a good thing because my visit doesn’t go so well. According to the doctor, and the tests she put me through while I’m there. I have a high fever and suffering from dehydration and exhaustion on top of an extremely bad cold or flu. She gives me antibiotics, cough medicine, some supplements to take, and faxes a note over to my boss saying I can’t return to work until next Wednesday—if I feel better by then. My boss will have a cow for sure. If I have a job by next week, it will be a miracle. In the meantime, she says I need to get as much rest as possible and drink a lot of water and juice.
On the way home, Michael stops at a convenience store and buys me orange juice and a few cans of soup. He plants a quick kiss on the top of my head after he parks his car in front of our condo. “I have to get back to the office. My flight leaves at five. Just go rest, and I’ll call you later, okay?”
I smile weakly at him through my hot and dizzy, sick daze. “Thank you. I’m going to go inside and lay down. I’m sorry I interrupted your day.”
“It’s all right, Evelyn. I’m sorry to be rushing you around. I know I seem like a dick, but I’m really stressed out at work.” He grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. “I know you’ve had a rough time lately. I promise when things settle down, I’ll make this up to you, okay? We’ll go away for a long weekend.”
“I would really like that. Now you go so you don’t miss your flight. I’m not going to kiss you goodbye because I don’t want to spread germs. Call me later.” I grab my bag of juice and soup and go inside.
I try to remember the last time Michael and I had a vacation together. It must be about four years—give or take a year. We used to go away for long weekends together to the beach, but when he was promoted, he became so wrapped up in work, and he could never really commit to taking an entire weekend away from work. I don’t even think that was a conscious decision on his part at all. It just kind of happened that way. He slowly took on more and more work, started to travel more to visit clients, and when he did have some free time on the weekends, he wanted to use the time to relax by golfing with his friends or just watching the game on television. Which is totally fine, of course, but I would be a liar if I said it didn’t bother me that we didn’t spend a whole lot of time together anymore.
Amy and I used to spend a lot of time on the weekends together, but since she broke up with her boyfriend of five years a few months ago, she is now on a dating frenzy every weekend. I would need a matrix right now to try to keep track of all the different men she is currently juggle-dating. Unfortunately, most of them turn out to be total jerks after the third date, or at least that’s what she keeps saying. She hasn’t let me meet any of them yet, so I can’t do my own evaluation.
I drag out a big comfy blanket and pillow from the closet, throw on a tank top and yoga pants, and get all comfy on the couch. I always feel weird sleeping upstairs when Michael is away. I guess in a way I’m afraid to be alone, and I feel safer downstairs. Which is ridiculous, I suppose, as living in a condo there are people pretty much right through the walls on both sides of us.
My cell phone buzzing next to me wakes me up. I grope around and find it falling behind the couch cushion. It must be Michael calling to tell me he’s at the hotel.
“Hello?” My voice comes out mostly in a ragged squeak.
“Evie? What the fuck is wrong with your voice?”
My heart jumps a little. It’s Storm. I take a breath and tell my heart to calm the hell down.
“I’m sick. Why are you calling me?”
“Sick how? You sound like pure shit.”
“Thanks. I went to the doctor. I have the flu and dehydration and exhaustion or something.”
“Holy shit, from the weekend?”
I take a sip of water to try to ease the pain in my throat. “Yes, I guess that started it.”
Admittedly, I purposely didn’t drink a lot while in the truck because I was afraid of having to pee too much and having to make Storm carry me outside to go to the bathroom like a weird dog. I thought by just drinking a little bit, I would be totally fine. Guess not.
“Are you okay? You don’t sound too hot. You sound pretty wasted, actually.”
“I’m fine, Storm. I just have to rest and the doctor gave me some pills to take. I have to stay home until next Wednesday. My boss is throwing a total fit.”
“Fuck that douche.”
“It’s my job, Storm. I kind of need it. So why are you calling exactly?”
“Seth called and told me you never came to pick up your car. I wanted to see what was up.”
“Michael had to go out of town so he couldn’t drive me up there to pick it up. I’ll have to deal with it next week. I’m sorry, Storm. I know Seth is your friend and you guys did me a favor taking care of it. I didn’t know I was going to get sick and that Michael had to travel again.”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about that at all. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. I’ll let Seth know. I’m worried about you though. So you’re home alone?”
“That sounds creepy, but yes, I am here alone. Well, the cat is here of course. Where are you? Are you at the cabin?”
“No, I’m at my other house.”
‘Other house’ must be nice. How many houses could he have? I can’t even imagine having several places to live. The concept of getting out of just one house and getting into another one is hard enough for me to deal with right now, let alone achieve.
“Well, thanks for calling about the car. I’ll get it straightened out and out of Seth’s way as soon as I can. I’m not feeling well so I’m going to go back to sleep.”
“Get some rest and make sure you drink enough water.”
“I will. Goodnight.”
I hang up before he can say anything else. I don’t understand why he keeps contacting me. I feel like we really shouldn’t be talking to each other anymore. There really isn’t a reason to, is there? Deep inside a part of me likes when he calls me, though. I like feeling as if he is thinking of me.
I notice I have a text from Michael. It must have come through while I was one the phone.
Michael: I’m here. I don’t want to call in case you’re sleeping. Let me know if you’re okay.
Me: I’m okay, just really tired from the meds. Call me in the morning. Love you.
Michael: Love you. Feel better.
My throat is freaking on fire. I want tea and honey so bad, but I don’t feel like I can walk all the way to the kitchen and boil water. I glance at Halo sleeping on my feet. “Halo, why can’t you be like those cats on the internet and do amazing tricks? Like make tea?” He blinks at me in the way only cats can. I wave at him.
When I realized Halo was deaf as a tiny kitten, I started to make hand signals at him. It’s definitely not sign language, but it’s our own little communication and I think he likes it. Yes, I realize the fever is allowing really random thoughts to seep in and out of my mind.
A warm, soft hand is gently touching my forehead. Mom always felt my forehead when I was sick and placed a cool cloth on my forehead. I feel her sit next to me on the couch. I’m so glad she’s here to take care of me.
“Mom?” I open my eyes. The room is dark with just the dim glow of the television.<
br />
“No, baby, it’s me. You’re burning up.”
Somehow, Storm is in my house, sitting on my couch. Touching my forehead.
I want to yell and jump up, but I can barely move. My entire body hurts and feels like lead.
“Storm… what are you… how did you get in?” I mumble groggily.
“I picked your front door lock when you didn’t answer the door. You really need a security system in this place. I got inside in like less than ten minutes.”
Is he kidding? He broke into my house? I must be dreaming this. I close my eyes and count to five. When I open them, he’ll be gone. One. Two. Three. Five.
He’s still here.
“Take these.” He hands me two pills and holds a glass of water to my mouth. “You don’t look good.” I swallow the pills and hand him the glass of water. I really hope that was my prescription I just swallowed and not some crazy pills he’s giving me.
I let my head fall back onto the pillow. “Thank you.”
“I’m going to make you some tea. I brought you soup, Gatorade, cough drops, flavored water, ice cream, sherbert…”
“Storm… you can’t be here.”
He’s already on his way to the kitchen lugging all the grocery bags. “Too late,” he yells from the kitchen. “Just sit there and be quiet.”
I can’t believe he is here, in my house, making tea, and putting groceries into my kitchen. I don’t know if I should be pissed off or grateful. I think I will settle for both right now, as I feel so crappy I can’t even muster up the strength to tell him he has to leave. And of course, here I am looking absolutely horrible with no makeup on.
He strolls back into the living room with a cup of tea, hands it to me, and then pulls something out of his pocket and holds it up. “Look what I got! For Halo.” It’s a tiny fuzzy mouse. “Look what it does.” He pokes it with his finger and it lights up. “I thought he would like this. It’s interactive.”