“You making confetti?” Parker asked.
“Sometimes the world steps in and reminds you how tenuous happiness is. Happy one minute, devastated the next, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” Parker said.
“The boy Tess is taking care of. Rosa. Gary. Even those horrid men who shot them. So much heartache and evil all wrapped up together and somehow we have to sort through it all. What kind of world is this?” Amy asked.
“The one we live in.” Parker gestured toward the window, saying, “Out there, the sun is setting. The sky is pink and orange and violet. It’s breathtakingly beautiful. In here… not so much. But it’s all one world. The beauty and the tragedy. We’re even experiencing both at the same time.”
There was a long silence as Amy digested Parker’s words. Finally, she said, “That was deep.”
Parker shrugged sheepishly. “Too much caffeine does that to me.”
Steph reappeared. She sat down next to them and sipped at her coffee. Her knee bobbed up and down, up and down.
“How about a walk?” Parker asked.
“Can’t. What if the doctor comes out?” Steph said.
“Amy will text us. We’ll just walk the halls, burn off some of the stress.”
“Go,” Amy urged. “I won’t go anywhere.”
Steph nodded.
***
They did three laps around the hospital and there was still no word from the doctor. “This isn’t good,” Steph said when they returned to the waiting room. “It’s taking way too long.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Amy said.
“I’m a trained paramedic. I know things,” Steph said.
As if the universe had taken pity on them, Dr. McCoy and Susan came through the double doors into the waiting room. Dr. McCoy was a bear of a man, 6’2”, over two hundred pounds. He looked more like a linebacker than a surgeon. He smiled at Steph. “I’m Dr. McCoy.” He stuck out his paw of a hand. Steph shook it. Susan must have told him what Steph looked like because he had identified her immediately.
“How is she?” Steph asked.
“The bullet came out clean. It didn’t sever her spinal cord. Those are the good things,” Dr. McCoy said.
Steph couldn’t stop herself, “And the bad?”
Susan glared at her, but Parker glared back, saying, “She has a right to know all of it.”
“There isn’t a lot of bad,” Dr. McCoy said. “We’re giving her heavy doses of antibiotics. There is always the threat of infection with back surgeries. And with physical therapy, there’s a fairly good chance that she’ll walk. Not without assistance.”
Steph gritted her teeth. She opened and closed her fists.
Dr. McCoy stared into Steph’s eyes. “She’s going to need a lot of help. She’ll be in a wheelchair and hopefully after a few months and physical therapy she’ll get her strength back. But I’ve got to warn you, she’ll never be in the same physical condition she once was.”
“I understand,” Steph said. “Thank you for being so forthright.” Even though Steph was speaking to Dr. McCoy those words seemed to be aimed at Susan.
“Okay, then. We’ve got her in Intensive Care. You can go in for five minutes. She’s unconscious, but I know you’re anxious to see her. Come on, I’ll take you up,” he said kindly. “We can talk some more.”
He led Steph away from the others.
Susan turned to Parker and Amy. “I’ve got rounds. Where’s Tess? She told me over an hour ago that she was on her way here.”
“She had a crisis at work,” Amy said. “She said she’ll text when she gets a moment.”
Susan nodded her thanks and turned to walk off. Parker grabbed her arm. “What’s your deal?” she hissed.
“Deal?” Susan asked. She didn’t meet Parker’s eyes.
“With Steph? She didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Unless you think being more concerned about whether Rosa will walk again than whether she lives or dies is no big deal.”
“Come on, Susan, anyone would ask that when someone has a back injury,” Parker said.
“Yeah, well, it could’ve waited until she was out of surgery. Rosa almost died, you know.”
“But she didn’t. Steph’s a planner, you know that, and that’s why she wanted to know—so she could plan how best to help Rosa.”
Amy added, “Different people handle trauma in different ways, Susan. Sometimes it’s sadness, sometimes it’s anger. Steph felt helpless. And she doesn’t deal well with being helpless.”
Susan looked away, saying. “I love Rosa. She’s like my sister. I’ll stand up for her. Especially when she can’t stand up for herself.” She turned and walked away without saying goodbye.
Chapter Three
As Dr. McCoy and Steph rode the elevator up to the intensive care unit, he explained that Rosa most likely wouldn’t regain consciousness anytime soon. If perchance she did, it would only be for a few minutes. And since he had used an amnesiac drug during surgery, she wouldn’t remember much once she did wake.
“Just a few moments,” Dr. McCoy said, leaving Steph at the entrance to Rosa’s room.
Steph had thought she was prepared. She wasn’t. Not even close. She looked at the sleeping form of the woman she loved and didn’t recognize her. Rosa, usually so strong and vibrant, was a shell of her former self. The woman lying in the hospital bed was pale, and… shrunken. Steph knew it was impossible to actually shrink, but that was how Rosa appeared. Steph’s heart broke. Not for what had happened, but for what might never be.
A single bullet had done this. It had not only shattered Rosa’s spine, but had shattered their future. Rosa would always have this dark stain on her life. No matter if she did learn to walk again, she would always have to carry this burden. Steph knew that a person didn’t just jump back into their life as if nothing had ever happened.
Steph flipped into her emergency training mode. She checked the heart monitor and the IV drip. Rosa was pale, which was to be expected with the blood loss. There was a bag of blood on a drip.
Steph pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. Taking Rosa’s hand, she brought it to her lips and gently kissed it. Finally, all the tears she’d been holding back rushed out. She sobbed uncontrollably, resting her head on the edge of the bed.
“Some big, bad butch you are,” Rosa said. Her voice was thick with the drugs.
Steph looked up. “Babe?” Steph wiped away her tears with her sleeve.
Rosa smiled crookedly at Steph. “Should’ve worn my vest, huh?”
Steph wanted to scoop her up in her arms. “Babe, I was so worried I’d lose you.”
“Nope, I’m your very own bad penny,” Rosa said before her eyes closed and she faded back into a morphine fog.
Steph plucked a Kleenex from the bedside table. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She brushed Rosa’s hair back from her face. They’d taken her hair out of her de rigueur work bun and it lay fanned out on the pillow. She was beautiful. Her dark hair, always brushed out and shiny, her almost black eyes, closed now, her red lips that Steph had kissed millions of times, her delicate hands with their long, tapered fingers.
Steph suddenly remembered that Rosa had mentioned she needed to paint her toenails. “Now that I’ve got you sitting still for a few moments, I’ll paint your toenails. I’ll bring the polish tomorrow, okay?”
Rosa didn’t respond. That was okay with Steph. She was speaking more to comfort herself. “And clothes, too. I’ll bring you pajamas. And warm socks. Don’t want your feet getting cold.” Rosa’s feet were always cold. Could she feel her feet right now? Of course, she could. Her spinal nerves were still intact. Dr. McCoy had said so. He was based in Kansas City which meant he’d hand over Rosa’s care to Susan and she always knew what to do, Steph thought. Dr. McCoy would also monitor Rosa’s progress with periodic visits. Rosa couldn’t be in better hands.
Susan was a great doctor. She was a jack-of-all-trades, working at the hospital, and overseeing the Alzh
eimer’s patients at Brookside, the long-term care center. She’d been so kind and good with Amy’s mother when she’d been diagnosed .
“Everyone’s really worried about you,” Steph said. “Amy, Tess, Parker, and Susan, of course. Even Eric and Sal were beside themselves. You have a lot of people who love you.”
Steph pulled the thin blanket up to Rosa’s chin. “I’m going to help you through this, babe. It’s all going to be okay.”
Steph laid her head down next to Rosa. “I’m going to marry you. I want you to be my wife. We’re both going to live to be old together.” She stood and kissed Rosa on the forehead. “That’s a promise.”
The nurse was at the door. She cleared her throat. Steph looked over at her. “I know my five minutes are up, but can I come back later tonight?”
“Why don’t you go home, try to sleep and eat something. She’s going to be out for the rest of the night. She needs her rest and I’m going to give her another dose of morphine,” the nurse said.
Steph wavered. “You’ll call me if anything changes?”
“Of course.”
***
The house seemed forlorn when Steph pulled up in front. Rosa’s Sentra, dead in the driveway, brought fresh tears, reminding her of how the day had begun like a thousand others. How drastically things could change in a single heartbeat.
She thought of Gary. She needed to go see his wife, Carol. How terrible she must feel. Gary dead. They had a little girl, Delia. A little girl without a daddy. Carol was worse off than she was. Steph needed to remember that she and Rosa were fortunate. After she saw Rosa in the morning, she’d go check on Carol and Delia. God, how do you tell a six-year-old that daddy isn’t ever coming home?
Gathering her courage, Steph got out of the car and reined in her feelings. No time for self-pity or what ifs. She needed to pack some things for Rosa. She’d make lasagna and fresh garlic bread and cookies. More cookies. Delia liked chocolate chip cookies. Gary had told her they were his little girl’s favorite.
Steph scrambled around the kitchen, pulling ingredients from the cupboards. She’d get the bread rising. It didn’t matter that it was ten o’clock at night. There was no way she could sleep in her and Rosa’s bed tonight. She’d stay up tonight and get the food going, get everything packed. In the morning, she’d need to call the florist and get Rosa flowers. And Carol, too.
Steph was in such a frenzy of activity, she didn’t notice Parker leaning in the kitchen doorway. “You need to chill.”
Steph stopped folding the chocolate chips into the dough. “Delia, Gary’s little girl… She loves chocolate chip cookies. I know it won’t bring Gary back, but they’ll be a good distraction.”
Parker placed two plastic bags on the kitchen counter.
“What’s that?” Steph said.
“Coloring books, a kit to make those rubber band bracelets, and a teddy bear.”
“Don’t you think I’m a bit old for that stuff?”
“They’re for Gary’s little girl.”
“I know that. What’s in the other bag?”
“Sub sandwiches from that new deli downtown. I didn’t figure on you going on a cooking spree.”
“The lasagna is for Delia and Carol. I don’t think I can eat,” Steph said. She went back to making the cookies, dropping dough on the cookie sheet in neat blobs.
“You’ll eat if I have to force feed you,” Parker said. She pulled the sandwiches out of the bag and took two plates out of the cupboard. “We can eat while we wait on the cookies to bake.”
Steph didn’t see any way out of it. And if she were being completely honest with herself, she didn’t really want to be alone right now. “Okay, the bread has to rise. But I’ve got to keep an eye on the noodles.”
“We won’t be far,” Parker said, laying out the food on the kitchen table.
“Where’s Amy?” Steph sat down at the table and allowed Parker to serve her. Her stomach growled.
“She’s interviewing the Chief about Gary for his obit. Morton’s Mortuary has the funeral planned for Friday.”
“Wow, no one’s wasting any time,” Steph said sadly.
“It’s how it goes, Steph. You know that,” Parker said. “It doesn’t mean the grieving stops.”
“I know.” She took a big bite of the sandwich. If she ate it quick, then it’d be done. She’d have enough energy to get on with her cooking and packing.
They made short work of the sandwiches and chips. They didn’t talk. That was one of the main reasons Steph and Parker had always been such good friends. Parker was comfortable with silence. She never pushed. She never asked for more than a person was willing to give.
When they were done eating, Parker helped her cook by staying out of the way. Parker was not a cook, not by a long shot. Steph couldn’t figure out how she and Amy were getting along. They were like two bachelors trying to run a household. Neither one of them had any cooking skills.
Steph gave Parker the job of kneading the bread. After a quick run-down on the correct method, she managed. They talked about Rosa. Not about the shooting. They talked about old times. That made Steph feel better.
Parker giggled as she kneaded. Steph threw her a quizzical look.
“Giggling? Really?” Steph said.
“I was just thinking about that hog.”
“What hog?”
“Or was it a pig? What’s the difference between a hog and a pig anyway?”
“One’s big and one’s small, I think. Who cares, they’re both pigs.” Steph wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “What pig are you giggling about?”
Parker plunked the dough into a greased bowl and put the damp dish towel over its top while Steph poured them each two shots of Maker’s Mark. Neither one of them usually drank, but this wasn’t a usual night.
Parker continued, “That night the Ford’s pig escaped his pen and went into town.”
“Oh my god,” Steph said. “I forgot all about that. Rosa had to set up a roadblock and chase him into a trailer.”
“Yeah, but only after he terrorized the town for two hours,” Parker said.
They sat in the living room, Parker on the sofa and Steph in her recliner. “His name was Tater.”
“A pig named Tater,” Parker said. “He tried to squeeze himself under that Volkswagen and turned it over on its side. Remember that?”
“Do I ever. I had to hear for weeks after that how Rosa was so peeved about being a pig wrangler. Man, was she pissed. Had her picture in the paper and everything. Everywhere she went people kept asking about that damn pig.”
They laughed.
Steph put her feet up and said, “Rosa got her revenge, though. She was so mad at Bob Ed for putting her in charge of capturing that pig that a week later she gave him a ticket for not wearing his seatbelt.”
They told stories long into the night. Not until Steph closed her eyes and appeared to doze, did Parker get ready to leave. She threw an afghan over Steph and said, “See you in the morning, bud.” She shut the door quietly behind her.
***
“How’s she doing?” Amy asked when Parker arrived home. She was sitting in the living room, staring through the wall of glass to the lake beyond. The water, as seen by moonlight, was dark and choppy. It was a perfect reflection of Amy’s emotions.
She had spent the past hour trying to write Gary’s obit for the Fenton Sentinel. Never in her life had she thought she would have to write an obit for somebody she knew. It was proving to be much harder than writing one for a stranger.
“When I got there, she was cooking,” Parker said. She sat down heavily into a chair. “It looked like the kitchen in a busy restaurant, there was so much food.”
“That’s a good thing, right?” Amy asked. “She likes to cook, right?” She’d been part of their group for almost a year but Parker had known Steph for a long time.
“It’s how she copes. She’s taking food over to Gary’s family. I made her drink some whiskey which put her to sleep in her ch
air. I didn’t figure she’d be able to sleep in their bed tonight.”
“No, probably not. Her neck will hurt in the morning and maybe her head from the whiskey, but it’s better than waking to an empty bed,” Amy said.
Amy knew she couldn’t sleep without Parker beside her. It was odd how Amy had never really given herself up to anyone before Parker. At the ripe old age of forty-four, she’d had her fair share of girlfriends, but none had sticking power.
Parker came over and knelt before her. “I’m so thankful you came into my life.”
Amy knew how much it took for Parker to say this. Having been diagnosed with borderline Asperger’s, it was very difficult for Parker to say things that other people said effortlessly.
“Even though I take up more than my fair share of the closet?” Amy asked coyly. She leaned down and kissed Parker lightly.
“You’re worth it,” Parker said.
Amy ran her hands through Parker’s hair. She kept it long and undone more often now. Amy loved it. Her blond hair lightened by the sun was thick and hung past her shoulders and her blue eyes reminded Amy of gazing balls where she could see her own reflection. Not how she saw herself, but how Parker saw her. And Amy liked what she saw.
Parker placed her head in Amy’s lap. If she’d been a cat she would be purring. “Rosa will be all right and so will Steph.”
“I hope so. Let’s go to bed. I can finish my work in the morning.”
Once in bed, Parker spooned Amy from behind. They lay that way, skin on skin. Parker’s hands gently caressed her side, soothing away the worry. Amy felt her body responding to the gentle touch. It never ceased to amaze her that she never got tired of Parker’s touch. Her body seemed to crave their lovemaking. It was like she had been a starving woman until Parker found her.
Amy pushed back against Parker, feeling the heat emanating from the joining of their bodies. Parker’s hand slipped around the front of Amy, caressing her stomach, then lower. Amy spread her legs, allowing easier access.
Straight from the Heart Page 4