Next to Me

by AnnaLisa Grant

  We’ve had some beautifully romantic dates, including actually going to the insanely good Mexican restaurant he intended for us to go to on our first date. I also made him take the architectural boat tour of the city. He loved it, of course. I try to cook dinner for him as often as I can. He said he’s been living on hotel and restaurant food for so long he forgot what it was like to have a home cooked meal. One morning he met me after work and I made him eggs benedict. He loved them so much I think I’ll make them for him this weekend. I’m not working, but I think I’m ready for our Saturday night date to extend into Sunday morning.

  The best part has been how well he’s fit in with my little family. Jack and Jerry like having another guy around. He’s just metro enough for Jack and tough enough for Jerry. It’s funny how Landon falls in the middle of the Jack-to-Jerry Spectrum.

  He caught on to our version of Would You Rather quickly. Instead of it being a free-for-all on topics, we choose a topic and every scenario has to fit. The last time we played all the scenarios had to be about music. We threw things out like “Would you rather have to sing everything you say, or listen to everyone else sing what they said?” and “Would you rather be a one hit wonder, or an average singer for as long as you wanted?” Landon stumped us all when he posed “Would you rather be in a 90’s boy band, or in Nickleback?” We were rolling with laughter and no one could decide which was the lesser of two evils. That was the night I knew things with Landon were better than I could have ever hoped. It makes me feel really optimistic about where things could go.

  I’m reviewing the chart of a man the ER just brought up when a woman rounds the corner and enters the unit. She looks a little lost and a lot out of it. Her clothes are less than clean and don’t leave a lot to the imagination. Her red bra is quite visible through her tight pink tank top, and I’m afraid of what I might see if she bends over in that short denim skirt. She’s barefoot, carrying electric blue patent heels in one hand.

  “Where is she?” the woman with stringy hair and sunken eyes says aggressively to me.

  “I’m sorry. Who are you looking for?” I ask, trying to ascertain who she’s referring to.

  “My sister. Lola Washburn. I heard she was on this floor. Where is she?” she says, clarifying who is she talking about.

  I’m sure I know whom she’s referring to but look up the chart anyway just to make it official. Yes, it’s her: Aunt Lola from about a month ago. I spoke with her niece, Heather, for a few minutes on what would be the night before she died.

  “I’m so sorry to tell you this, but your sister passed away about a month ago,” I tell her solemnly.

  “Where did they take her?” The woman has become more aggressive and I ready my hand near the phone to call security.

  “Your sister would have been taken to the morgue, and…” I begin but am quickly cut off.

  “I don’t care about the fat fucking bitch! Where did they take my daughter?” she yells.

  This must be Heather’s mother. No wonder she was in Lola’s custody. This woman is so strung out there’s no way anyone was going to let her raise a child.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know where Heather is,” I tell her.

  “You know Heather?” she asks, her aggression increasing by my familiarity with her daughter.

  “No. I don’t know her. I just spoke with her briefly once when her grandmother brought her here,” I tell her, immediately unsure if I’ve told her too much.

  “So my old hag of a mother has her. Figures. Give me the address,” she demands.

  “I can’t do that, ma’am,” I tell her.

  “Give me that address!” She’s raising her voice now and I know I’m going to have to calm her down and call security.

  “I’d like to help, but HIPAA laws don’t allow me to release any information in a patient’s chart. I’m sure if you’re trying to find your daughter that the local authorities will be happy to help you. Why don’t I call them for you?” I pick up the phone to call security. I glance down to dial the number and the phone gets knocked out of my hand. I look up, startled and see that the woman in front of me is now holding a switchblade about a foot from my face. The blade is rusted and jagged and has tetanus written all over it. God only knows where it’s been.

  “I swear to God I will cut that pretty face of yours if you don’t give me what I want. She’s my kid and I’m going to get her back!” She’s waving the knife around aimlessly, clearly having no idea how to use it. That makes her more dangerous than a sober person with knife skills.

  “Ok. Ok. Can you just pull that thing away from me? I can’t exactly think straight with a knife in my face.” I’ve lifted my hands up near my shoulders in surrender. “What is it that you want exactly?”

  “I want my mother’s address. She’s got to be on there as some kind of , of, of… relative or, what do they call it?” she asks, confused.

  “Next of kin?” I say, filling in her inebriated spaces.

  “Right. Next of kin. Now give me the fucking address or I swear to God…”

  “I know. You’ll cut me. I believe you. Now, I have to get that information from another computer.” I lie so I can get to the other side of the desk and do something about this woman.

  Right about the time I’m rounding the desk and meeting the crazed woman, Mercy comes up the hall and enters the nurse’s station from the opposite side.

  “What the hell?” Mercy says in shock of what she’s walked into.

  “Back off, bitch!” the woman yells.

  “I’ve got this, Mercy. Just stay there. I’m going to the other computer to pull the information this woman is asking for.” Mercy just nods, recognizing what my tone and facial expression are telling her.

  I approach the woman, planning out my strategy. She’s so high or drunk, or both, that it won’t be difficult to subdue her. I’m trying to figure out the best way to do that without causing the nearby patients to panic. I glance over at Mercy who is inching toward the phone, readying herself to call security as soon as she can. Even in her strung-out state the woman catches my signal to Mercy and she becomes even more agitated.

  “Bitch!” she yells as she lunges for me with the knife.

  I wasn’t sure I would remember it or not, but the training my dad made me take when I was 16 comes back to me as if I just learned it. Dad said that as long as Dellinger had a hold on him, I had to be prepared for anything. I took months of classes that combined mixed martial arts, krav maga, wrestling, and basic self-defense. I hated it at first, thinking it was going to bulk me up too much for dancing, but after a while I started to like it. I actually found a few moves to incorporate into my contemporary dance pieces.

  As the knife is hurling toward me in her hand, I throw my arm up across my body and block her arm. My left hand is in front of my face, with my forearm in front of my torso. I feel the sharp pain of the knife cutting into my right thigh before I’m able to grab her hand holding the knife. I tighten my grip and thrust my knee into her stomach. Hunched over from the pain my bloodied leg caused her body, she releases the knife with ease and falls to the floor.

  I kick the knife away from us and fall to the floor in front of her limp body, my leg now throbbing from the wound. It’s a deep cut and I apply as much pressure as I can to control the bleeding. Mercy is next to me in a flash as security is hauling the woman away.

  “C’mon Jet Lee, let’s get you sewn up.” Mercy’s use of sarcasm has always been one of the things I love about her. I try but can’t put any weight on my right leg, so Mercy practically has to carry me to the closest unused patient room while two security guards subdue the crazed woman. The other two nurses on the floor are doing their best to calm the patients who heard the commotion. It’s after eleven and all but a few were already asleep. “Ok, let’s take a look at this.” Mercy tears my pant leg where the knife cut it and we both examine the wound.

  “Wow. That looks just as bad as it feels. Ahhhh,” I wince as Mercy’s now-gloved han
ds touch around the gap in my leg. “That crazy bitch cut into the muscle. It’s going to be weeks before I can dance again.”

  “It doesn’t look like it’s that deep. Dancing is the least of your worries. She could have seriously injured you, Jenna. Where did you learn to defend yourself like that?” Mercy is questioning me and gathering supplies to clean my wound at the same time.

  “I took some self-defense classes before I moved to Chicago. I was coming to a new city and didn’t know my way around. I figured I should be able to take care of myself if and when I got lost,” I tell her. It’s not a complete lie, but the details of when and why I learned to defend myself aren’t important.

  “Well, you totally kicked her ass. I was impressed,” Mercy smiles proudly.

  “It wasn’t that hard. I mean, seriously, she was so out of it. She came looking for her kid. Her sister had been a patient and had custody of her daughter. The patient died and no one told her. It’s no wonder she didn’t have custody of her kid. It’s sad, really.” I wince again as Mercy finishes cleaning the gash in my leg.

  “Really. Ok…you’re going to need a tetanus shot and a blood screen. God only knows where that knife has been. I’ll get a doctor from the ER to come up and take care of you. Then I’m calling Demi and having her take you home,” Mercy tells me with certainty.

  “Fine,” I say, immediately giving in. I know I’m not going to be able to walk on this leg for at least 24 hours. That means I’m going to have to be off tomorrow night, too, but I should be ok to cover that shift in the ER on Friday night. I’ll be hobbling around, but at least they won’t be short-staffed. I almost tell her to call Landon, but he’s working a lot over these three days that I’m working. I don’t know if he has early mornings or had late nights. I don’t want to worry him either. I'll call him sometime

  tomorrow and leave him a message.

  “Good girl. I’ll get the doc and call Demi. She’ll be happy for an excuse to be out of work tomorrow!” We both grin knowing just how right Mercy is. Demi hates her marketing job and is trying desperately to find something new in PR.

  Mercy’s gone about ten minutes before she comes back with Dr. Culpepper from the ER. He’s an older doctor, in his 60s, and is the best of the best. He’s also one of the sweetest people you could ever meet. He comes into the room applauding, which tells me Mercy physically went and got him and recounted the whole story to him. He commends my bravery and suggests I give the hospital security team some training.

  He gives me a tetanus shot and an antibiotic shot, not wanting to wait days for an oral antibiotic to kick in. After stitching me up, he instructs me to stay off my injured leg for at least 24 hours, and promises that if I come to work in the ER on Friday night he’ll make sure that I’m not running all over the place.

  I’m finalizing the paperwork for the reports with security as well as the on-shift injury forms when Demi arrives.

  “Dear Lord! You look like shit!” Demi says entering the hall.

  “Thanks for the encouragement!” I laugh.

  “I heard you were a total badass and kicked that junkie’s ass,” she beams. “Way to go!”

  “Thanks. I’d prefer to not have had the encounter, but…yeah, I totally kicked her ass!”

  Demi gets my pain meds from Mercy and wheels me down to the main entrance of the hospital where she hails a cab. I tell her the whole story from beginning to end all the way home. When we pull up to my building the cabbie tells us there’s no charge for someone as brave as me. I give him a tip

  at least and Demi helps me from the cab and I get settled on my crutches.

  We get off the elevator and round the corner to find Landon sitting with

  his back against my door. He’s got his head hung over and he’s wringing his hands. When he sees me he bolts up to help me, practically knocking Demi out of the way.

  “Jenna! Oh, my God! Why didn’t you call me?” he says putting an arm around my waist. He gives Demi the crutch he’s just replaced.

  “I didn’t want to worry you. I know you’ve been working a lot,” I tell him. “How did you know?”

  “Mercy called me two hours ago and said you were getting stitched up and that Demi was bringing you home.” He takes my keys from my hand and opens the door quietly knowing that Spring is asleep. “I’ve been here for over an hour, worried sick. I was about to call you!”

  “I was going to call you tomorrow. I knew you were super busy,” I begin.

  “Thanks for bringing her home, Demi. I really appreciate it,” Landon says with a smile. “I’ve got her from here.”

  “Alrighty then…I’ll leave you with your Prince Charming and call you tomorrow.” Demi smiles and gives me a hug. “I’m glad you’re ok, Jenna.”

  Landon closes the door behind Demi and turns to me.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t call me,” he says with a hint of chastisement.

  “I told you I didn’t want to worry you. I know how busy you were supposed to be over these next few days,” I tell him in my defense again.

  “I don’t care what I have going on, Jenna. If something happens to you I want to know. I need to know.” He’s boring his eyes into mine, driving home his message.

  “Ok. I’m sorry,” I tell him. He wraps his arms around me and holds me like he’s hanging on for dear life.

  “Good. Now, let’s get you into bed.” Landon releases his grip on me and takes my crutches, leaning them against the couch before he gingerly scoops me up in his arms and carries me to my room. With the pant leg missing where my bandages are, he can see the area of my leg to avoid so he doesn’t hurt me.

  He lays me gently on my bed and all I can think is how awful I must look. I’m wearing my scrubs, which is already not the most attractive look, but I’ve got blood on them and one of my pant legs has been torn completely off so I have one regular pant leg and one short-shorts pant leg.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  “I look ridiculous,” I tell him, motioning to my torn and bloody clothes.

  “You look beautiful, and brave. I’m so proud of you,” he says.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Landon,” I tell him, taking his hand as he positions himself next to me on the bed.

  “This wasn’t exactly how I envisioned the first time I took you to bed, but…” We both give a small, nervous laugh. “But I’m glad I’m here, too. Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

  “I’m not sure what Mercy told you, but there was this totally cracked out woman demanding the address for her mother so she could find her daughter. Her sister had custody of her kid, but the sister, who was a patient on my floor, died about a month ago and now the girl is with the grandmother,” I explain.

  “So what did you do?” Landon asks.

  “I played along until I could get in a position to get the knife out of her hand,” I tell him, playing down my krav maga skills.

  “Well, like I said, I’m very proud of you, Jenna.” Landon kisses the top of my head and pulls me just a tad bit closer to him. He’s lying slightly above and next to me on the bed. My head is nestled between his shoulder and his chest and, despite the insanity of the night’s events, I have an overwhelming feeling of peace.

  “Don’t you need to go? I know how busy you were going to be over these three days while I was working,” I say. “I don’t want you all groggy for work tomorrow. Oh, my gosh! It’s 2:30 am!” I hadn’t checked the clock at all since before the incident and am shocked at just how late it’s gotten.

  “I’ve already rearranged my morning appointments so I can be here to

  take care of you. Spring will be working and you’ll need me here.” His tone is so beautifully commanding. “Now, what can I get you? When do you need to take your pain medication? Mercy said it’s every four to six hours but I don’t know when you took it last.” Landon stands and shoves his shoes off, making himself even more comfortable. He looks at me, anticipating my reply.

  “Well, Mr. Bossy Pants�
�I took the pain meds right before we left the hospital, so only about an hour ago. I’m doing fine, but they’re going to make me sleepy soon. Why don’t you go back to your place, get some sleep, and then if you want to come back in the morning you can,” I tell him. This seems like a reasonable plan to me.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No. You can barely walk, Jenna. What happens when you have to get up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night? You’re going to need more pain medication in a few hours and I can’t trust that you’ll hear an alarm to wake you up for it. And what happens if I’m not here when you’re ready to eat in the morning? You can’t stand in the kitchen and cook! I’m staying.” It’s not a question, but a statement of intent. He’s smiling at me because I have no defense. Everything Landon said is valid. Even if it wasn’t, I’d still take it because I really don’t want him to leave.

  “Ok then. I guess you’re staying. This isn’t exactly how I planned on posing on the bed, but…” I smirk and Landon raises an eyebrow at me, smiling right through me. “I’d like to change. Do…you…think you can help me…with that?” It’s going to be a feat to get my pants off without making me wince.

  “Well, this night is just full of surprises! Again, not how I envisioned taking your clothes off.” Landon takes my ugly, yet wonderfully comfortable clogs off my feet and tosses them in the corner before looking at my legs. “Hmmm…do you think you can use your left leg to lift yourself up a little? I’ll hold you up on the right.” He moves around to the side of the bed and we work together to lift me off the bed enough that I can start to pull my pants down.

  “This is so embarrassing,” I mumble.

  “You’re just not used to be the patient,” he says, his free hand helping me with my pants while I hang onto him. “Do you want me to leave while you finish changing?” We’ve successfully moved the waistband of my pants past my injury so Landon pulls my pants the rest of the way off and throws them in the trash in my bathroom.

  “Um…you could just turn around I suppose,” I tell him. Landon just nods at my suggestion and turns to face the door while I pull off my shirt and take my bra off. “Oh, um, I forgot to ask you to get me a shirt. They’re in the second drawer in my dresser there.”