Life Support

by Candace Calvert

  “I remember going under, swallowing water, tasting the salt. My eyes were burning, then my lungs. I was choking, screaming. I heard my father shouting to me. Then Drew called my name. More of a gargle because he was in the water then, swimming toward me. The swells were so big. The motor passed by us, my father whipping the boat around. I smelled gasoline, tasted it in the water. Then I went under. Almost blacked out. I think Drew dove down. I felt him pull at my clothes and push me up until I saw the sky. I was choking, trying to get my breath. Then I heard the boat—I saw the hull coming toward us. It all happened so fast.” A groan escaped Eli’s lips. “My father grabbed me, pulled me in. He called my brother’s name over and over. And then he started to scream; I’d never heard him make a sound like that. That’s when I saw Drew floating beside the boat. His head . . . There was so much blood.”

  “Eli . . .” Lauren wrapped her arms around his neck. Her voice was choked with tears. “I’m sorry. . . . It’s so horrible.”

  “Shh,” he managed finally, slipping his arms around her. “Don’t cry. I’m okay. Don’t cry, Lauren.” He hugged her tightly for a moment, then moved away so he could connect with her gaze. The caring in her eyes made his heart ache. “It was a long time ago.”

  “It was like . . . losing your brother.”

  “Yes. But I have Emma now. And I have—”

  “Me,” Lauren whispered, reaching up to rest her palm along his jaw. “I’m here too, Eli. Please believe that. I’m here for you. Even before you told me all of this, I saw how much you care for Drew. I see how painful it is dealing with your family issues. I understand how hard it must be to talk about it.”

  “I don’t. Talk about it. I haven’t . . . until now.” Eli was very aware of her touch, that she’d closed the space between them again. Close enough to smell that elusive warm-berry scent.

  “I’m glad you trust me enough.” Her lips curved upward, eyes beginning to tease a little. “After all, one of us should be trustworthy . . . keep solemn promises.”

  “Promises?” He had no clue what she meant. Only that having her this close was making him crazy.

  “At the bayou. You said you weren’t going to kiss me.” Her thumb traced his chin, sending his pulse to jogging speed again. “And then you left a mustache print on my hand. Blamed it on being a pirate.”

  It was pointless to deny it; besides, Eli wasn’t sure he could speak.

  “So,” Lauren whispered, “I’m not going to promise that I won’t—” she leaned forward and touched her soft lips to his cheek—“do . . . this.”

  She leaned away again, smiled at him. Like she knew she’d sent his heart running laps on that school track. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “Seriously?”

  “Of course.” She tipped her head, the untamed waves framing her face. One tendril clung to her glossy lips. “We’re telling the truth here.”

  “Okay, then.” Eli reached out, brushed the wayward strand gently back. “I’m thinking that the flying pig must have been a sign. Or that I’m dreaming.” He hooked a finger under her chin. “But mostly I’m thinking that there’s room enough for two pirates on this bench.” He leaned close, stopping when their lips were scant millimeters apart. “Are you on board with that?”

  She smiled. “Aye, captain.”

  Eli chuckled low in his throat, then tipped his head to touch his lips to the corner of her mouth. Her arms moved around his back. He slid his hands toward the nape of her neck, burying his fingers in that silky mass of waves, holding her face gently between his palms. He brushed her warm skin with his thumbs. “You’re so sweet, Lauren,” he whispered, lips brushing hers very lightly. He moved away just enough to look into her eyes. “And this, right now, is more than worth a year of waiting.”

  “Yes.” Lauren nodded, her beautiful lips parting.

  Eli kissed her again, more thoroughly this time. Discovering, then confirming, that her lips were the source of those delicious berries after all.

  - + -

  “She mentioned my name?” Jessica stopped sifting sand through her fingers and stared at Fletcher in the salt-scented darkness. A slash of light from the Pleasure Pier midway above lit her hair like a tilted halo. “You’re sure?”

  “Darcee’s mother told me.” Fletcher watched Jessica hug her arms around herself. Finally feeling the chilly effects of playing cat and mouse with the rising tide, probably. She’d made good on her promise and thrown off her shoes, run barefoot through the foam. Loving every moment and taking Fletcher’s breath away. “The medical staff was testing her pre-incident memory and she recalled your name.”

  “From the ER, probably.” Jessica shifted on the sand beside him, her shoulder brushing his. “When I registered her.”

  “Could be.”

  The salty breeze carried a far-off hint of something grilled, spicy. Shrimp, maybe. Bubba Gump was up there—though it had closed two hours ago. As had the roller coaster, Ferris wheel, carousel, arcades, and every establishment that offered more than beer and pretzels. Fletcher’s stomach rumbled. His luck to be a fool for a woman who made food a low priority. “But Darcee could be thinking of later that night,” he added, “when you saw her upstairs in her room. That might be more likely, since you and she talked about her baby. Right?”

  “Mmm . . . hmm.” Her chin quivered.

  “You’re shivering, Jessica. Here. Take this.” Fletcher pulled off his Sam Houston State jacket.

  “No, I’m—”

  “Don’t argue. Or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and haul you back to the car. Your jeans are soaked to the knees.” He rested the jacket around her shoulders. She didn’t look any older than the time she’d swiped his Little League jacket from the dugout.

  “You’re pushy,” she grumbled.

  “Comes with the badge.” Fletcher checked the off-duty holster clipped to the waist of his pants before settling onto the sand beside her again. He glanced sideways, saw Jessica’s chin snuggle below the collar of his jacket. “Better now?”

  “I guess.”

  “Good.”

  Jessica was quiet for a while, her silence filled by the sounds of waves, gulls, and the occasional distant traffic on Galveston’s Seawall Boulevard. A lonely mix.

  “She was afraid they’d take her baby away,” she said finally. The fabric of his jacket muffled her voice. “Because of her problem. That bipolar issue.”

  Bipolar disorder. The topic of his recent research. Fletcher said a silent prayer. “That had to be rugged. Not knowing what might happen with her daughter.”

  “Darcee said the worst thing about being crazy is being ‘crazy.’” Jessica’s hands rose from the baggy sleeves, fingers making air quotes. “Meaning that when you have a mental health issue, that’s what you become to people. Crazy is the sort of judgmental filter they see you through. Always. Before anything else. It’s unfair.” She sighed. “Darcee’s an artist. A dancer, a painter. And a mother. She’s a mother first, Fletcher. She hates that ‘crazy’ gets in the way of that.”

  There was no mistaking the emotion in Jessica’s voice. Anger, empathy . . . fear?

  “She had a medication bottle with her,” Fletcher offered. “When I found her in the park. Medicine for bipolar disorder. She said she was on her way to get it refilled.”

  “The drugs make her feel sedated. Like she’s looking at things through a fog. Almost like it feels when you’re . . . really down, emotionally.” Jessica hugged her knees. “It’s like driving at night, and you can’t see because there’s this cloud pressing in. Dense and suffocating. Even when you turn on the defroster, open the windows, have your wipers on high speed. Even when you ram your nose toward the windshield and stare . . . you still can’t see. Can’t think. And then, finally, you don’t really care anymore. I told Darcee I know how that feels.”

  Even in the dark, Fletcher saw tears glistening in her eyes. “I think,” he ventured, “it was a blessing that Darcee had you there to listen.”

 
“I don’t know . . .” Jessica shook her head, blonde hair sifting like beach sand over the too-big shoulders of his college jacket. She swiped at her eyes. “I’m not sure I believe in blessings anymore, Fletcher. Lately, I’m not sure about much of anything.”

  He reached toward her without thinking, slipped an arm around her, and drew her closer to his side. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I believe enough for both of us.”

  “I know that about you.” Jessica sighed, resting her head on his shoulder.

  Fletcher reminded himself to breathe.

  “You know what else I don’t get?” she asked, sounding exactly the way she had in grade school, when they’d lie on their backs on the Holts’ fresh-mowed lawn and stare at the star-strewn summer sky.

  “What don’t you get?”

  “That you don’t give up on me. You’ve known me nearly forever—longer than almost everyone. I can be a royal pain. Even I see that. Maybe I do push people away. For whatever reason, eventually everyone gives up on me, Fletcher. Or wants to. Even my family, probably; I’m not kidding myself there. The fact is that I’m not even close to being a good person. But after all this time, you’re still here. Why?”

  Lord, help me now. . . . The breeze swept strands of Jessica’s hair across Fletcher’s lips, fine as that spun glass on his grandmother’s Christmas tree. He cleared his throat. Found the words.

  “One of those things I believe is that in the truest sense . . . caring is unconditional.” He’d almost said love. It was the right word, but Fletcher didn’t trust himself with it. Not yet. “Meaning we can’t earn that kind of caring, Jessica. Or be enough of a ‘pain’ to drive it away, either. It doesn’t depend on us being good. It’s bigger than that. A sort of undeserved gift, like—”

  “A chocolate bar?”

  He scrunched his brows. “Sure. But—”

  “Sorry.” Jessica’s laugh warmed his cheek. “I only said that because I sensed one of your Jesus-loves-you moments brewing. C’mon, admit it, Fletcher.”

  He shook his head, smiled in the darkness. She’d nailed it. He’d been describing God’s grace without realizing it. “Maybe.”

  “It’s okay,” Jessica assured, sliding her arm through his. She nestled, kitten-soft, against his shoulder again. “I love you anyway, neighbor.”

  “And I . . . will always be here.”

  “THE HOSPITAL ENGINEERS ARE SWARMING.” Lauren watched as the man exited the exam room, electronic notebook in hand. She double-checked the digital display on the medication pump and then glanced to where Vee knelt to take a urine sample from their patient’s Foley bag. “That’s the second time I’ve seen them in the department today.”

  “Getting things ready for that additional testing of the emergency generators tonight.” Vee stood, tightened the cap on the specimen bottle with gloved hands. She set it on the metal table next to the woman dozing on the gurney, a middle-aged pancreatitis patient who’d found relief at last after several titrated doses of pain medication. “Cyril’s doing the same thing at Mimaw’s today.” She stripped off her gloves. “We’re on a much smaller scale, but no less determined to keep our folks safe. Those latest predictions say that storm could be on our doorsteps as early as tomorrow. Florine and I were glued to the TV until way late last night.” She raised her brows. “I’ll bet your mother’s weather doodads were putting on quite the show.”

  “Absolutely . . . unbelievable.”

  In truth, Lauren hadn’t even known there were changes in the storm status until she heard it at the hospital this morning. All four of the remaining weather vanes could have slid from the roof and landed on the front doorstep and she wouldn’t have noticed. Not with Eli standing there kissing her one long, last time. He’d politely turned down her invitation to come in for coffee, saying he needed to go check on Drew. She had no doubt it was true. But Lauren got the feeling that Eli didn’t want her to worry he might pressure her in any way . . . physically or otherwise. Maybe because of what he’d said about his relationship with Emma’s mother. That it had moved too fast. She was glad Eli felt that way. His protective tenderness touched her far beyond what she’d felt in his arms.

  Still, it was going to be a challenge to be physically near him and play it casual, cool. He’d be arriving at Houston Grace in less than half an hour. Thank goodness she’d be kept busy. For the first time ever, short staffing might be a blessing.

  “I’m surprised,” Lauren said, adjusting the pulse oximeter probe on her patient’s finger, “that Gayle didn’t show up for work today. Even if she promised to take a sick day, I half expected her to be here.”

  “Me too. It would be more like Gayle to get one of the docs to write her a script for an antinausea med. Keep on working.” Vee sighed, an expression of discomfort on her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Only that . . .” Vee glanced toward the patient and stepped out of earshot regardless of the fact that the woman was snoring. Lauren followed her.

  “Some of the staff are saying that Gayle went home yesterday because of that drug screening. So she wouldn’t have to give a urine sample.”

  “Oh, please. She almost vomited on my shoes. Pretty hard to fake.” Lauren thought of Jess’s words yesterday: “Someone ought to make sure Gayle gets a specimen cup.” “Who was saying that about the drug screening?”

  “Some of the registration clerks.”

  “Yesterday?”

  “I don’t know.” Vee frowned. “I heard it this morning. When she didn’t show up for work. I did my best to set them straight. Hospital staff should behave better. And Gayle certainly doesn’t need that kind of talk. My heart breaks for that woman. She’s had so much to bear. And yesterday was a double dose of ugly.”

  “The tow truck. I heard.”

  Vee nodded. “I told you what my auntie always said about storms. ‘You’re either in one, fixin’ to go into one, comin’ out the other side a one, or you’re—’”

  “‘Causin’ one,’” Lauren finished, thinking again of her talk with Jess. Her sister’s speculation that Gayle sent her into Mrs. Humphries’s room as a setup. Where was the truth in any of this turmoil?

  She groaned. “If your auntie’s right, we’re gonna need a whole lot of backup generators.”

  - + -

  That listening thing—the scope—wasn’t as cold as usual on his chest. Florine rubbed it in both her hands first to warm it up. She was nice like that.

  “One more deep breath, Mr. Drew.”

  He did his best, and she smiled at him like he’d kicked a soccer ball way down the field.

  “I still don’t like that cough. I’m keeping an eye on it. I’m keeping my other eye on that rain.” She pointed toward the window. “We’ve got a big storm coming. Cyril moved the chickens way up here near the house. Listen real hard tonight and you might hear them. They’ll be grumbling in chicken talk.” She shook her head and that big flower in her hair wiggled. “Those chickens didn’t like having to move. I suspect you didn’t like it much when you had to move all those times either. I understand that. I didn’t like it when that big hurricane moved me out of New Orleans. But I’m glad I’m here now.” She winked at him. “Otherwise I wouldn’t know you, would I? There’s a plan in all that, Mr. Drew. It’s bigger than any kind of storm.”

  Florine reached toward his music pod on the table. “Let’s get you set up here. You want your headphones?”

  Drew shook his head no. He liked it better when she listened too.

  “Let’s see what we’re listening to, then.” The music started, and Florine’s smile stretched bigger. “‘Revelation Song.’ It’s one of my favorites.” She sang along.

  Drew sang the words in his head; he knew them all even if he couldn’t say them out loud. He felt the music too. Everywhere, even way down deep in his chest. It was warmer than that scope rubbed by Florine’s hands. Because it was music about God. And this song talked about rainbows.

  Florine pointed at Emma’s drawing on
the wall beside his bed. “Rainbows are God’s beautiful promises after the storm. There’s always going to be storms in this life. No good to grumble like a chicken. We need to hold on to that heavenly promise. All these places we move into and out of here on earth, none of them are really our home. Heaven’s our only true home. I’ve got it on high authority that it’s better than anything—even king cake.” She winked at him again. “Now, how about we get that iPad out and send another note to that special brother of yours?”

  “Yeah.”

  - + -

  “Looks like we’re having that coffee anyway. Without worries of your neighbors thinking you’re inviting dubious men home while your parents are away.” Eli smiled. “Far safer coffee.”

  “If you can even call this coffee. ‘Safe’ is a stretch.” Lauren stirred powdered creamer into the Styrofoam cup. A hint of a blush said she was remembering that last kiss on her porch. He was too; if he didn’t stop thinking about it, he’d never get any work done today.

  “I think this stuff is actually eating my plastic spoon,” Lauren added. An urgent care staffer walked by, and she took a nervous step back, widening the distance between them.

  “Hey . . .” Eli connected with Lauren’s gaze but stopped himself from reaching out. “It’s okay. There’s nothing unusual about coworkers talking over a cup of . . . toxic sludge. In fact, I’ve had several conversations with Vee, the triage nurse, and at least two engineers.”

  “I know. It’s just . . .”

  “I know.”

  As much as Eli wanted to reassure her, she was probably right. Hospital workers could sniff out a staff romance in less time than it took to jolt a fibrillating heart. “So it might be awkward if I walk over to the ER and tell the clinical coordinator I really need you in my department today.”

  “Extremely.” Lauren chuckled. “Because I’m the coordinator today. Everyone’s moved up a notch to fill in. Gayle stayed home sick.”

  “I didn’t think she’d follow my advice.”

  “I didn’t either.” Lauren sighed. “Well, I need to get back to the ER. We’re busy. And short-staffed. I hope you don’t really need to borrow a nurse today.”