Waking Amy (Amy #1)

by Julieann Dove

  I walked down the hallway in search of Mark's office. It came up on me faster than I figured. There was no time to rehearse what I'd say. The last time I'd seen him I was throwing myself at him. How does one segue from that?

  “Knock, knock.” That's always a safe intro.

  He looked up from his paperwork. “Hi, Amy.” He did one of those half-smile, half-serious looks.

  “Hey. I wasn't sure whether or not to come and see you.” I stood in the doorway. My arms were crossed and my eyebrows pushed folds into my forehead.

  “Why wouldn't you?”

  “Oh, I don't know? Maybe because the last time I did, I almost jumped you and then proceeded to say very mean things before stomping off like a kindergartner who didn't get recess.” I stepped inside, not wanting a passerby to hear what I was saying.

  “Oh yeah, I remember now.” His full kind smile put me at ease. Perhaps he had managed to sweep that ugly day underneath the rug. I hoped he wasn't the type to keep it and use it against me later.

  “Well, I wanted to stop in and say how sorry I was. I had a rough day—my sister left then. But only after telling me how my marriage was a complete lie. I guess I was trying to turn myself into someone you would want, to ease the anger I felt for Wesley.”

  He got up and walked to where I stood. “Amy, don't try to turn yourself into what you think people want you to be. You'll only lose who you truly are. You need to be yourself, and someone will naturally find you.” He slowed down his speech. I could swear he was staring more at my lips than my eyes. “And when they see the beautiful woman you are, you'll never have to change. You'll already be yourself. And I…he will love you for that.”

  His face turned plum in color. Did he just almost admit to loving me? He went back to his side of the desk. I wasn't given the chance to stutter and blush. Mrs. Willis walked into the office.

  “You must come here a lot. You two are so cute. Still in your honeymoon phase, aren't you?” She smiled, probably thinking back to the ages when she felt the same about Mr. Willis.

  “I have arranged it for you both to be at mine and Mr. Willis's table tomorrow night. Come on time, Mark. You won't want to miss a single minute of it.”

  I shot Mark a fill-me-in look. “About tomorrow night, Mrs. Willis. It's my turn to work in the ER, and Amy has plans.”

  “Tell me you're kidding, Mark.” She looked at me. “Amy, tell me he's kidding. You all have to come to tomorrow night’s ceremony. There are special announcements. Like the one for Chief Resident of Neurology.” Her hint couldn't have been more obvious had she just handed him the envelope then.

  “Mark, I can rearrange my evening at the citizen's home. Sonja can fill in for me. We really should go.” I wasn't that rusty at telling lies.

  “I can't, honey.” It felt good to hear his endearment, but I didn't understand the brush off. I had given the green light about attending.

  “Nonsense, I'll go down there now and take you off the rotation myself. Amy, you see that he gets there at six o'clock sharp.”

  “I will, Mrs. Willis.”

  The bold lady left a gust of wind in her wake. Mark shot me a look. “What did you just do?”

  “Are we going to go through this every time Mrs. Willis leaves a room?”

  “Yes, because when she leaves, she leaves with the assumption that we are together and then we have to parade around her playing the part.”

  “Does it bother you to play the part of my husband?”

  “That's not what I'm referring to, Amy. You can't keep attending my functions as my wife. Sooner or later, you will have a scheduling conflict. Like Wesley.”

  The name felt like a dirty word. Like a weather advisory with the very real possibility of showing up…or not. “I'm free to go tomorrow. It's not like I've got plans.”

  “Oh, is Old Man River scheduled for mall walking with his buddies and can't take you out?”

  “Enough of the old jokes. Tom is a great guy. We have a lot in common, but we're only friends.”

  “A lot in common.” He rolled his eyes. “Like the fact that both of you are located on planet Earth? Or that both of you are of the same species? Other than that Amy, I don't get it.”

  “It's just that his wife didn't understand him either. We're both a couple of stay-at-home couch potatoes.”

  “I think you're mistaking what you are for what you could be. I believe that different people bring out different personalities in people. Did you enjoy wedding crashing, or were you secretly wishing you were home, holding a remote and watching reruns of Bones?”

  “I had fun.” I hated giving him leverage in his argument.

  “Wesley never pushed you outside of your comfort zone. But then again, I don't think you pushed him either. After getting to know you a little better, I think you both are just biding time with one another.”

  “He slept with my sister the weekend before we got married, Mark. For years my marriage has been a lie. He only stayed with me because there was nothing else better.” Who needed Jerry Springer when all they had to do was engage me in conversation? Was there anyone left I wouldn't spell out my life troubles to?

  “What?”

  “Yes, that’s what Ashley confessed before going back to California. He wanted to make sure there was no chance for them to get back together, before he went through with marrying me.” I felt bile stirring in my stomach, just saying the words. “Which brings me to my question for you. Why didn't you sleep with my sister?”

  One eyebrow rose. It seemed too genuine to think he was stalling. “She's not my type.”

  “Oh, you have a type? I was for certain it was any female with a pulse.”

  “It used to be.” He drove his eyes right to the surface of my heart and shattered the encasing.

  “Okay, well, I'll call you tomorrow about plans for picking me up. You are going to pick me up, aren't you? You can't have your pregnant wife drive herself. What would the administration think?”

  “Okay, I'll look forward to your call.” He gave me that taunting grin, and I barely escaped without performing an emergency tonsillectomy on him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I woke up Saturday feeling as though the night had gained an extra four hours. Watching the neon long-hand on my clock drag across the surface drove me to turn on the television and watch Friends With Benefits. Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis pretending to be friends, all the while falling in love with each other. I never could before identify with characters in films like this because I never had someone to ignite a flame inside me. My insides shook just thinking of the possibility to be in love. The world had become a whole new place.

  The feeling of anticipation was new to me. I longed to play dress-up again and pretend to be Mark's wife. To see him achieve the promotion I knew he was worthy of. He had changed so much in these past two weeks. We both had. Maybe it was true: different people did bring out different things in you. He had certainly tapped into my desire and happiness buttons. I'd like to think I'd brought him around to expecting more for himself than a weekly romp with an unidentified woman. Hopefully, he could begin to feel a connection with the world.

  I paced around the house until noon in my pajamas, butterfly colonies swirling inside my stomach. Twelve o'clock didn't seem over-anxious to call and ask what time he would be picking me up. Six hours seemed reasonable. I dialed his number and sat on my bed, twirling my hair like a teenager. I paid no mind to Wesley's folded pants on the chair by the window. I was happy in my little world.

  “Hello.” His voice sounded so calm. My palm was making a damp impression on the receiver.

  “Hey, it's me. I was just calling to see what time you wanted to come by and get me. You can always come earlier and we could go over some facts, just in case Mrs. Willis asks us more questions.”

  “I'm tied up a little right now. I'm not sure how long I'll be. Can I get you at five?” He sounded a bit distracted. Could it be that he wasn't pacing, watching the clock, just like me?


  “Sure, that's fine. I thought you were off. Did I call you at work?” I heard the familiar sounds of the hospital in the background.

  “No, I'm home. Five o'clock works better because I have to run by the store and pick up a new shirt and tie.”

  Hmm ... that's all? “If you want, I can go with you. I did all of Wesley's shopping.” That didn't sound good. Why do you always have to identify yourself and things you did with Wesley? “Let me rephrase that. I would like to go, if you don't mind. I enjoy picking out shirt-and-tie combinations.”

  He seemed to be stammering. “I was thinking about dropping by Dad's first. And I'm not sure if I want the Spanish Inquisition about who you are and what we're doing together.”

  Hint taken. You don't want me to go. Fine. “Sure, I know that would be uncomfortable. I'll be ready at five then. Drive carefully.”

  “Okay. Amy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I'm really looking forward to tonight. Thanks for agreeing to go with me. I know it goes beyond the deal we had with each other.”

  “It's no problem, really.” I was still feeling the sting of the classic brush-off for tie shopping. What was the big deal anyway?

  I tossed the phone on my bedspread and fell backward, looking around my room. Two weeks had gone by without Wesley. Surprisingly to me, I felt no different. Was there a coin to mark the event? A token of two weeks’ survival without your mate? “Hi, my name is Amy and I've been Wesley-free for two weeks.”

  Had I cried into my pillow every night? Reached for him and awoken from not feeling the warmth of a body lying next to me? Missed hearing him whine about too many organic items in the house and not enough Doritos and Nutty Bars? The answer was a sobering and crystal-clear no. Amy Whitfield could survive without Wesley Whitfield. The revelation made me sad.

  No sadder than when we actually left the house and abandoned our nightly itinerary of sitcoms and snacks, only to be the odd couple out. Where Tessa and Jack, associates at Wesley's firm, would talk with their eyes to one another and play footsy under the table, Wesley and I would fight over the last appetizer on the dish. When that was over, we had nothing more to talk about. I couldn’t wait to get home so I could fall asleep faster than him.

  Going out with my friends was no different. It should have signaled to me then that Wesley and I were doing nothing more than sharing air space. We'd even stopped trying to be polite to one another. If I had a brother, it would've been Wesley. Tiffany, the receptionist for the General District Court, even went to find the waiter to refill her husband's glass. I remembered when my steak was delivered raw, practically still walking around on the plate, Wesley told me to enjoy the juices from the blood. He didn't feel like making a stink about a piece of undercooked meat. If I didn't want it, he'd surely enjoy it. I played off his insensitivity with my usual laugh, promising myself that would be the last time I'd let him humiliate me in front of people who knew me.

  I either never permitted myself to see our relationship in the daylight hours, or I saw it and applied the mute button over all of it. Living instead in a condition that was acceptable. Was acceptable as good as it got? Did Wesley stand at the same crossroads, right before he drove into the guardrail, distracted by the same life-altering question of the future?

  Having seen the x-ray version of our relationship, my afternoon had morphed into a huge aha moment. Did this mean that I could finally say that it was over? Was I really ready to put a fork in this marriage that was built on a one-night-stand between my sister and my fiancé? I was tired of being second best and always trying to be first choice. Complacency no longer. The forces of independence and vitality picked me up from my bed and sent me to do a victory dance in front of the mirror. If he wants a divorce, draw up the paperwork. I was ready.

  With that epiphany singing hallelujah in the choir stands of my brain, the question of Mark Reilly hummed quietly in the silence of my room. Taunting me like a shark circling, accompanied by musical score from Jaws. Was he more of a rebound guy, or was he the real thing in my new season? Or was he a wolf dressed in a doctor's uniform, waiting only to score what he couldn't have? I thought long and hard about it. Finally, I came to the conclusion that Mark might come with a few hundred miles packed on for wear, but it was only in response to the loss he had endured. Unlike me, he had probably found perfect, only to have it tragically snatched away. In those circumstances, I could overlook his gigolo past and move forward, to help him to heal. I promised myself it was more than codependency that attracted me to him.

  That doctor with those enchanting blue eyes and dark wavy hair had won me over. My body tingled with the slightest suggestion it was going to be touched by those hands. The look he had when he watched me talk. It was as if he was hanging on my every word. Wanting to hear what I had to say. My fingers had to find something else to do, something to distract them from the fact they wanted to play in his hair while my lips fondled his. The warm taste of his mouth, and the heat from his body as it moved closer into mine. Meeting him was finding my missing piece of the puzzle. To be completed by someone. Mark was my perfect fit.

  I spent the next few hours dealing with the agony of waiting to see him and wanting desperately to tell him I was ready to take a chance with him. I used up my time painting my nails, curling my hair, and watching sappy movies. High school days relived. This time the quarterback was picking me up, not my sister. I could barely eat; my nerves were so tight. I didn't know whether to treat this date differently or not. Was it in poor taste to really date someone while your husband was hospitalized? Dilemma, dilemma, dilemma. What would the Kardashians do?

  I wore the same red dress as when I went out with Tom. It wasn't dirty. I only sat at a table and talked, the whole time it sat on my body. But a new wardrobe might be in order if I planned to be invited to many more doctor galas. The thought made me dizzy with preteen giddiness. Doctor? Galas? Too bad I didn’t have a close BFF to call and squeal with on the phone.

  Thankfully, Mark was right on time. A dark suit, white shirt, and red tie. How matchy- matchy. And it wasn't even planned. I watched him get out of the car, from my bedroom window. My heart skipped to a Barry White song as I checked myself, one last time, in the mirror. A happy aura whirled around me.

  “You look amazing, Amy,” Mark said, when I opened the door.

  “Thank you, Mr. Reilly. Or, should I call you Chief Reilly?” I made the gigantic leap and pulled him close to me. Touching him sent off fireworks in my undercarriage. My hormones began snapping off their internal ties of restraints with the power of the Incredible Hulk. I let him go before we didn't make it to the ceremony. His cologne was beginning to fog my better judgment.

  He seemed surprised by my advance and waited to reply. “Wow, that felt nice. To think you wasted a good embrace, and Mrs. Willis wasn't here to see it.”

  “I'm glad you enjoyed it. I wanted to warm up before the big moment. You know, when you're recognized as Chief.”

  “Don't go that far. I won't get the promotion, Amy. I gave up on that a long time ago.”

  I grabbed my clutch purse from the end table. “Ever the optimist, I see. I think tonight will prove you wrong. In more than just one area.”

  He escorted me to his car. My second time out in one week. If this was living, I'd been dead for some time. “I don't want you to be disappointed. I'm happy just to be spending the evening with you. That's my win.”

  “Thank you.” I got in as he held the door open.

  The sun was setting as we drove to the banquet hall. A million thoughts rested in several different parts of my mind. Should I tell him how my feelings have changed? Should I show him my coin of two weeks’ survival without Wesley? Will he feel the same way, if I do? Pride, go away. There is no room in this car for you.

  “Penny for your thoughts.” Crap, he saw I had thoughts. Now what?

  After my chest heaved and slowed back to normal, I answered. “Oh, a little of this. A little of that. How was your dad?�
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  “Dad?” His face wrinkled with question marks.

  “Yes, you did make it to see him, didn't you?”

  “Oh, I actually got out of the house later than I wanted. So, I'll go next week sometime.”

  “Next week.” The thought of more days coming scared me. The future scared me. What would more days mean? Would they come and appear with chains to gang up on me, changing my new set of expectations? Would they come and rip apart the ground I thought was solid? How would next week come and be quiet, leaving me to my made up mind?

  “Yeah, next week. I have a light schedule at work. Will you be coming in after you get off from work?” He turned his head to look at me every other second.

  “I'm not sure. I'll be there if anything happens, for sure. But I might try to settle for normal for a change.” WTH? I hope he doesn't ask what that mess meant.

  “What is normal? Going home and hanging out, eating from a drive-thru, and then going to bed?”

  “You make it sound so glamorous. I'm not sure if you're trying to make it sound pathetic or it just happened to sound that horrible and predictable.” I smoothed out my dress, trying not to jump on the side of defensiveness. This was supposed to be my first night, trying out my new set of wings. I didn't want a pitchfork to come creeping out from under this red shoulder pad.

  “No, I'm ... I don't know what I meant. It seems like such a waste to a beautiful life. To go to a dark house and stay hidden, with no one spending the hours with you, no one enjoying all of your funny stories. No one to watch that gorgeous mouth and wonder how long before he can’t fight off the desire anymore and just kisses you.”

  I didn't know what turn we were taking. Could you rewind and say all that again? Afterwards, pull off the side of the road and watch what my mouth really has to say!

  “Is this function going to take a long time?” My heart rate began accelerating.

  “Excuse me?”

  I began to fan my face. It had taken on a few shades of “take me and take me now” red.