The door opened and there stood two-dozen long-stemmed red roses. Sonja's legs were underneath the vase. “Look what I have. They're for you, Amy.”
My eyes bulged. An audible swallow broke the silence in the room. “I thought your husband was in a coma.”
Sonja set the flowers down and waited for my answer. I was practicing a few excuses in my brain before handing them over to my vocal chords. “He is actually. My sister is in town. Maybe they're from her.”
“Why would your sister send you flowers?” Yeah, that did sound hokey. Who was responsible for letting that one out of the cerebellum chamber?
“She's crazy like that. She feels guilty for something she said the other evening and she knows that I will forgive her when I see these.” I touched the tips of the petals. The sweet fragrance was intoxicating.
“Is that a twin thing?” Sonja looked as weirded out by the explanation as I did telling it.
“Kind of. It stems from our adolescence. Anyway, thank you, Sonja. Are we on for lunch? Say, in about thirty minutes? I have a few more reports and then I can meet you in the break room.”
“Sure, I'll be there with Paige and the other girls.” I finally have gossip that will make your head turn, and I'm not able to share it.
I waited until Sonja shut the door before looking at the card hidden in the bouquet. My jaw fell as I read it. “Let's do that again soon. Thinking of you, Tom.”
I sat back in my chair, gasping for air. Not once did I ever receive flowers from anyone. Hold on, this could be a problem though. Did he think there were going to be more nights? How did he find out where I worked? Shit. Why couldn't my husband just wake up so that all my relationship problems would be solved? Dating wasn't an option if I had a coherent husband. The question remained. Would he corroborate my story of being married?
Thirty minutes later and still nothing on the computer screen looked remotely like anything I recognized. Client names, case numbers…it was all gibberish. My brain could not perform under the pressure my heart was under. It wasn't as though Tom was renting space in my heart, but now I'd have to deal with him. As drop-dead handsome as he was, surprisingly, he was interested in me. Gauntlet flung, kind of interested. Sure, Mark hid around the bushes and threw a few pebbles of attention my way, but Tom was sending flowers, signing notes, and asking me out. No one had shown interest in me since middle school when I was suspected of having the pink eye.
Mason Wright was the coolest bad boy in Caroline Middle. When he took a seat next to me at lunch, I couldn't handle my milk, for fear he'd see my hand shake. When he smooshed his head against mine, I thought I was either in love or had suffered a slight contusion. After sixth period, my friend Jayden told me she'd overheard Mason tell Brian he would probably miss tomorrow's exam because he'd just scored some pink eye from the brainy twin sister. It seemed that I only knew how to transmit communicable diseases, not actually be the point of interest for the opposite sex.
Tom McTavish was not one to slough off. He was twenty quarterbacks, two lead singers, and one CEO rolled up into one fine piece of eye candy. I was giddy, just thinking about the fact that he liked me. He lacked some important qualities though. He didn't send chills up my spine, make my blood boil, and my hands leak all at the same time, like Mark Reilly did.
How was I going to gently take him off his white horse and thwart him and his apparent advances? On second thought, I wasn't hungry for lunch anymore. Sonja would have to tell her promiscuous stories to the others. I had more than enough drama in my own life that needed figuring out.
“Knock, knock,” came a voice outside my door.
“Come in.” I waited to see my sister’s head peek inside the door. “Ashley, what's going on? I figured you'd still be in bed. Did you need something? Is everything all right? I was about to go on my lunch break. Do you want to join me?”
“No. Amy, I came to say good-bye.”
The words pushed me off balance. “Good-bye? You just got here. Where are you going?”
“I got a call from my agent. It's a long shot, but they're holding auditions for some type of new science-fiction drama on a major back-channel syndicate. I'm reading for some type of life form they find on another planet. It's nothing major, but once I spin my take on it, they could write me more lines.”
I walked to the other side of my desk. “Ashley, please stay. Wesley's going to be awake soon and I presume we're going to take some time off, maybe tour the wine country or something. You can come along too.” I touched her arm. “I really want you to stay.”
Ashley flinched from the touch. “Amy, Wesley's the main reason I've got to go and part to blame for why I haven't been to visit you more.”
“What? Why would Wesley make you leave? I know there's a past between you two, but that's been over and done with for a long time.”
“Amy, you've got to let him go.”
“Ash, is that what you’re worrying about? He's not going to die.” Ashley never did do well with death. Losing our parents probably intensified it.
Ashley shook her head. “Of course he's not going to die. Don't you remember back in high school when he got tackled so hard that he lost consciousness for a half-day? He sprung up from the hospital bed like someone resurrected. He'll be fine. I'm just concerned for you.”
I went back to my side of the desk. I was never comfortable being the one in the spotlight. “Ashley, I'm fine. We're going to reconnect, do marriage counseling, whatever it takes. We got off track, but we'll get it together. As hard as it is to imagine, this wreck was a godsend.”
Ashley looked at me. Dead seriousness beamed from her eyes. “Amy, Wesley came out to California before you two got married.”
“Huh?” The room began to turn, just the beginning of a full-motion spin.
“I, of course, didn't know you were getting married. I thought it was just a social visit.”
“So what did he go there for, if not a social visit? And how did he have time? His job started two weeks after graduation. We couldn't even stay for the seven-day cruise. We had to take the four-day one.” The room was picking up speed, my breathing along with it.
Ashley took her eyes off me and stared at the window behind my head. “I don't know how. I was shocked to see him. He wanted to know if there was any chance we'd get back together.”
Full spin-cycle commencing. “You must be mistaken with the timetable. When did you say he came out?”
“Amy, we slept together.” And there it was. The poisonous words wafted over to my nostrils. Unleashed, never to be taken back and kept buried. I began showing signs of degeneration.
With numb lips and a foggy mind, I uttered something. “When?”
Ashley's voice became softer. “When I told him there was nothing left for us, he told me you all were getting married that weekend.” She watched as I started to crumble. I rubbed my temples, closed my eyes, and could have sworn I didn't feel my legs anymore. “Amy, I never would have slept with him had I known.”
“Please leave.” Two words, a multiple of meanings.
“Amy, you deserve better.” Her words began rushing out. “Wesley was someone comfortable. Someone you knew. He even taught you how to drive straight-stick in that little yellow sports car you thought you had to have. You knew him all your life. Mom and Dad idolized him, thought if he turned out anything close to his dad, he was marrying material for Daddy’s little girl.”
“Meaning you or me?” I interjected.
“Neither, Amy. Wesley isn't the one meant for you or me.”
“Then why did you sleep with him? I know, you’re jealous. What, do you want him back now? Are things in California not going so well, and you want your boyfriend back? Well, he's not yours anymore Ashley. I've taken care of him for the past five years, not you.”
“Do you hear yourself, Amy? You've taken care of him. Who's taken care of you? Amy, you need a guy who's going to take care of you. Someone like Mark Reilly. For God's sake, he wouldn't shut up about yo
u, the night we went out.” She paused. “Let Wesley go. He obviously wanted to go before the wreck, now let him go.”
“I asked you to leave, Ashley. Please do at least that for me.”
Ashley gathered her bag and, with her head hung, opened the door and left. I put my head between my legs and began hyperventilating. What made me believe for years that Wesley had loved me? Chosen me?
It was only by default because my sister gave him her final answer of no.
“Psst, Amy?”
I sat up so fast, the blood didn't have time to catch up. The room swung around me. “Yeah?”
“You missed lunch, girl. You doing all right?”
Sonja was checking on me. “Actually, I'm not so good. Can you cover my calls while I get away?”
“Is it your husband? Is he all right?”
I began grabbing my things and stuffing my bag with a few tissues from my desk. “It is him. I have to go to the hospital. You're a lifesaver, Sonja.”
I whipped by my friend and darted out of the building. A missile with a clear destination. It was time to have a one-on-one with my husband. If my kiss didn't wake him, maybe the revelation of his secret would.
Chapter Twelve
I refused to cry in the car, but the feeling of betrayal superseded a Puff's moment. I held the steering wheel with one hand and with the other, blew out all the sadness. With one tissue left, I knew I had to keep it together. Anger and confusion seemed to have satisfied my empty stomach and I needed a confession for dessert. Wesley would wake up and give me one, or else I would cut off his supply of saline water.
I didn't remember parking my car or the elevator ride up to the fourth floor. My nerves went into neutral when I stood in front of my lying, cheating husband. I know, technically, he wasn't my husband at the time, but there was no five-second rule in this case.
I walked closer to my prey. He looked peaceful and rested, not someone who was riddled with years of guilt. I shoved his legs over and sat on the bed beside him. “So, Wesley, how are you today? Not working too hard, I hope.”
“Any dreaming going on in that empty mind of yours? Maybe of, oh I don't know, Ashley? Are you still pining for her, Wesley? She told me everything.” I hit him on the leg, refraining from poking his closed eyes.
“How could you? How could you sleep with her before our wedding? Am I so bad that you would have to go and double check there wasn't a tenth-of-a-percent chance she'd ever take you back? I may not have been better than Ashley, not as pretty, not as sexy. But I gave you all of me. Something that she could never give you. With it, I lost who I really was.”
I got off the bed and stood next to him, watching for a change. Anything. A double-beep from the machine, a tear running down his cheek. I knew this was the time to find out if I was enough to bring him out of his coma. Time to possibly put the knife in my side and twist it a little more. Why not? I've been walking around with one in my back for years.
I took a deep breath and moved closer to his head. This should be no big deal. We had shared the same bed for years, used toothbrushes that were neighbors in the cup by the sink. Wore clothing that had washed in the same water. Why did a kiss suddenly feel like the world hinged on its result? Because I made it into a hinge. If he didn't respond to the touch of my lips, and the love that transcended through them, we weren't meant to be together.
Leaning in like a Disney movie moment, at the instant where every viewer's mouth gasped, I placed my lips on his and closed my eyes. When I felt the connection, I waited a few seconds. Giving it time to register in his sleeping brain what was actually taking place. The point where he was supposed to spring up from the bed and declare me his one true love. Then repent for all the times he had taken me for granted, for sleeping with my sister on the eve of our nuptials, for everything. Drum roll, please.
Nothing. No stop in the earth's rotation, not even a missed heartbeat from the machine. I rose up, looking at him. It wasn't me.
Then came the worry. To hell with true love's first kiss. It was a novel idea at best. What in the hell was wrong with Wesley? Were the doctor's not telling me something I needed to know? Would I be taking him home one day with a cord wrapped to a feeding tube? Would my love be enough to change his bed linens when he messed all over himself? Frantic with all the voices shouting the worst-case-scenarios in my head, I flung the door open to my husband's room and went in search of Mark. Instead, I found the second best, Dr. Malloy. He had been on the rotation a few times and knew about Wesley's condition.
“Dr. Malloy, do you have a minute?” I stopped him coming out of another patient's room. His rather bright pink shirt was peeking from underneath his white lab jacket.
“Sure. It's Mrs. Whitfield, right?” He pushed his black horn-rimmed glasses up on the bridge of his nose.
“Yes. I have a question about Wesley.” I stood by the wall trying to maintain my level of panic. “Do you think it's a little bit disturbing that he hasn't woken yet? Should I be alarmed?”
“Not at all. We all have different needs. Perhaps his body is reacting to the trauma it sustained by sleeping. As long as his vitals remain strong and his CT scans are normal, we have to wait. He'll wake up when he's ready.” He touched my shoulder.
That sounded normal. There didn't seem to be any type of hidden meaning behind his WebMD explanation. It would just take time. Hearing it again eased my mind. “All right, thank you.”
I needed to hear he wasn't going to be entering a vegetative state any time soon. I wanted one good ass-kicking when he woke up. Instead of going back to his room, I left the hospital. I had never felt so rejected. Not only did he fail to wake up from my kiss, but he had been with me all these years because I was his consolation prize. Even my sister, with an IQ the same size as her shoe, knew he wasn't worth a lifetime. Why was I so gullible to his lure?
I sat in my car, unable to turn on the ignition. My life had been wasted. Wasted on a guy who never cared. A guy who obviously wasn’t pushing my buttons like Mark could. A guy who betrayed me with my own sister. Was it too late to take up pole dancing? I had five years’ worth of living to do. St. Mary's church would continue to have one less patron that Sunday.
Before I knew it, I found myself driving to Mark's house. My hormones had taken over the steering wheel and pointed me in the direction of Summer Duck condos. The place where Little Miss Sunshine stayed in the car and Little Miss Naughty Pants went inside for a small, yet enjoyable romp. I deserved it. Wesley wouldn't mind. He would probably agree to pay a dowry to the guy who took me off his hands.
After scanning the parking lot and side street, I realized he wasn't home from work. I used it to my advantage and drove to the mall nearby. Passing by some of the more reputable shops, I settled to browse at the Come-and-Get-It shop. It wasn't actually named that, but it should’ve been. It was actually called Lizzie’s. I figured Lizzie was one step lower on the totem pole from Victoria's Secret.
“Can I help you?” said a long-legged blonde with the hippest outfit I had seen in years. The lace peeking from the short skirt and slash to the middle of the blouse, used for catching stares, caught my attention. When I figured out the image on the girl's left breast was a pair of tattooed lips, I diverted my stare.
“I think I will take one of those.” I pointed to the girl's ensemble.
“All right then. I enjoy a good copycat. As long as we don't show up at the same party.” I was sure we wouldn't.
I tried on the outfit and instantly felt like the frosting on a moist, delicious birthday cake, along with confetti and sparkly stars. Was I serious? Did I really want to go half naked out of the mall and drive to Mark's house? Damn straight. Wesley sucked, and I needed to spread my wings and flirt with disaster. Shit on Little Miss Muppet, do-the-right-thing Amy. I needed to even the score with my husband. Have a little sin tucked under my pillow at night. Provided I would end up with him. Where else did he have to go? Who else would wipe his ass and still make him breakfast in the mornings?
Coffee with a drop of creamer, two sugars, and two egg whites with a piece of buttered toast, easy on the butter.
“I can leave it on?” I asked the salesgirl, from the fitting room.
“Sure, I'll cut the tags and ring you up at the register.”
I took a second look at it, pulling at the snug top, trying my best to stretch it looser. My breasts rested in it like a pair of melons in a sling shot. The ribbed material hugged my skin like a painted silhouette. The top edging of the skirt girded my waist like a rubber band, the kind the postal service used for securing bulky letters. Thankfully the strip of lace hung a generous inch past the bottom, securing the identity of most of the leg north of my kneecap. I looked at myself in the mirror. After forcing away the look of someone having a stick up their butt, I pasted a smile on my face and batted my eyelashes. This bait would work on Mark. I was sure of it. Luckily, I was wearing shoes that matched, but then again, who would be looking at my shoes. I had enough going on up top, no one would even suspect I had feet.
I paid and put my work clothes in the shopping bag. My heart pounded as I walked, feeling the air fall on the open places of my new outfit. I squeezed my legs together as tight as I could in order to sit down in my car, my skirt jumping an extra three inches from the new position. It took me ten minutes, and I was back at Mark's house. The sight of his car ramped up my adrenaline. I glossed my lips in the rearview mirror and scrunched my hair. Showtime.
Mark answered the door on the second set of knocks. He jumped slightly when he saw me. “Miss me?”
“Amy? What are you doing here?”
“Are you going to let me in or what?”
Mark moved and ushered me inside. I was trying hard to concentrate, past all the loud thumps that echoed inside my ears. “I didn't want there to be any hard feelings from the other night. I hope there are none.” Channeling Angelina Jolie, come in Angie. Help me land this one.
Waking Amy (Amy #1) Page 17