by JC Szot
“God.” Meg rested a hand on her chest, her pulse pounding in her throat. “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes dropped down to a name tag—Rita.
“It’s fine, really. Are you all right?” Her cedar-brown eyes were warm and soothing.
“It’s Zane…Mr. Miller,” Meg stammered.
“I was just heading in there. Why don’t you take a seat out here, and I’ll be right with you.” Rita escorted Meg to a chair around the corner in a small waiting room. She collapsed onto the cushion, her head resting against the mustard-colored wall. It was 2 a.m. She was exhausted but strung out at the same time. Her body didn’t know what to do, whether to drop dead, scream, or bawl. She shut her eyes. The smell of disinfectant washed through her nose. The faint ringing of call bells chimed in her ears, the sounds of another institution, a well-oiled machine caring for other lives at stake.
“Are you Meg?” A light hand touched her shoulder. Her eyes popped open. Her body jolted to attention at Nurse Rita’s return.
“Yes.” Meg stood. “I’m a friend of Zane’s.”
Rita smiled. “Mr. Miller is on a lot of medication. We had to give him something to settle him down. He was very anxious when he arrived. That happens a lot with cancer patients when they have to be admitted, but he’s doing well. His blood work looks fairly good. Once we get his fever down, and I’m confident that we will, he’ll be fine.”
Meg sat back down, her eyes still on Rita’s. Her bones crumbled. Her fatigue had won.
“Oh God.” Meg’s face tightened. She let the tears spill. She was tapped out. Crying in front of Rita was safe. Rita sat down next to her.
“Cancer’s so hard, but Zane’s got a great prognosis ahead of him. This is just a rough patch, that’s all. Hodgkin’s is the easiest of them all.”
Meg nodded, having learned that on her own.
“He’s lucky you’re here, watching over him, and being so attentive.” She nodded knowingly. “You should go home and get some rest. I’ll be here till seven tomorrow morning. Why don’t you come out to the desk and give me your contact information. I know you gave it to Dr. Reed, but I’d like to have it as well.” Rita helped her stand.
Chapter Twelve
“You got to stop shooting all that smack, boy.” A deep voice boomed through the room, rattling the walls. Zane gripped the handrails of the bed. Flames of pain singed up his spine. He struggled to sit up. His mouth was as dry as a sandy beach. He blinked. An inked outline of a man sat in the chair next to his bed. The steady buzzing of the tat needle hummed in his head. Is this one of my sleeve drawings coming back to haunt me?
“You’re coming through it, boy. This is the muck. Don’t turn away from the obvious. It’s right in front of you.” The voice rang with familiarity.
“Joe,” Zane called out to him. His words scratched their way out. He was so thirsty.
“Get the hell going, boy. You’ve got lots to do.” Zane squinted through the murky darkness, his fingers gripping onto the rails, hanging on. Joe was grinning, wearing a denim work shirt. His gray hair was slicked back, shiny with grease, the stuff guys used to put on their hair back in his day. The tingling scent of menthol tickled his nose. A glistening dust of white glitter settled around him. Zane’s stomach flipped in queasiness. What the fuck? Zane shook his head, his voice a strained whisper.
“Joe.”
“Get going, boy!”
Zane blinked, his vision now leveled, the chair vacant.
* * * *
“How is he?” Nora asked cautiously, her face still.
“He’s going to be okay.” Meg sighed, leaning against the counter. She was beat. Every joint ached.
“Why are you even here? You should’ve called me.” Nora’s tone was parental. “You’re dismissed. You need sleep, for God’s sake!” They worked in silence, blocking the shelves of the store and opening the till. Nora came up behind her with a steaming mug of herbal tea. She sat down on the stool behind the counter. Her hair was loose today. Glossy brown strands fell over her shoulders. Meg felt the vibe. An inquiry was coming. She wanted to fill the dead air but was too tired to figure out what to say. Once Zane got well he’d move on with his life, giving her an occasional mumbled “hello” in the hall.
“You were there for him.” Nora’s eyes fixated on hers over the rim of her goofy gnome mug. “That carries a lot of weight, you know?”
Meg shrugged, her laughter laced with sarcasm. “You’re about the third person who’s told me that.”
“Well…” Nora’s voice rose.
“I know, I know.” Meg shook her head. “But I don’t think it matters.”
“That’s bullshit,” Nora huffed. “What do you think will happen once he gets well?”
Meg was so tired. Tears lined her eyes again. She wanted Zane to get well but was afraid of his remission, afraid of the reality it would bring. He didn’t care—or did he? Once he was strong and healthy, would he want to be with her? Would she ever have the pleasure of sharing a meal with him? Were there other women he’d reconnect with? It was easier and safer to live with the question than the hurtful answer.
“I want him to be well.” She choked, her voice wavering.
Nora’s arm rested on her back. “I know you do, honey. It hurts to care, doesn’t it?”
Meg nodded.
“If it’s meant to be, then it will be.” Meg took a breath, trying to shake off all the pending uncertainty.
“You might need to step out a bit more, take a risk.” Nora leaned into her, wanting to check her reaction. “Are you willing to do that?”
Meg nodded again, wiping her face. “Yes, I’ll do it. I’ll suffer more I’m sure, but if I don’t…”
Nora finished the words that wouldn’t come. “You’ll never know, Meg.”
“I know,” Meg whispered.
Nora patted her shoulder. “Go home, Meg. You need the rest. I’ve got things here. While you’re regrouping, think about the street festival. I’m undecided if we should have a booth. I didn’t do it last year because I didn’t have any help.”
“I think we should do it.” Meg’s spirits lifted. She needed a project, something else besides Zane. Nora noted her enthusiasm.
“Well, okay, girl.” She grinned. “Start brainstorming.”
* * * *
Meg dropped her purse in the hallway. She glanced down at Zane’s door. She’d called the hospital this morning. Rita had told her that Zane’s fever had broken, and he was sitting up in a chair. He was antsy to go home, but Rita told Meg that the doctor wanted him to stay another twenty-four hours for observation. She let herself into her apartment and grabbed Zane’s keys off the end table.
His apartment was hot and stuffy. She walked into the living room and opened the windows, then moved on to the kitchen and did the same thing. A light, fresh breeze jangled through the tan blinds. She sat down on the blue loveseat. A stack of CDs sat on the coffee table.
One of her previous newsletters was shoved inside an Ink for Life magazine. Meg picked up the Alice in Chains CD, turning the cover over, scanning the list of songs. She placed it back on top of the pile and stood. An old tan recliner sat over in the other corner. On the end table a spider plant looked near death. She walked into the kitchen, filling a glass of water at the sink. The plant drank in the water, the dirt dry and cracking. On her way back from leaving the glass in the kitchen sink, she noticed the clock up on the wall. She stepped closer to it. Curiosity gnawed at her. She reached up and removed it. Now that Zane was on his way to recovery, the clock had to be fixed. Meg recalled the meaning Zane had behind it not working.
She set the clock down on the counter facedown. Meg opened the back, looking at all the small mechanisms of the clock’s insides. She tried to wind it. The gears were filthy, covered with dust and some sort of gummy grime. If those tiny gears were cleaned, the clock just might keep time. She picked it up, anchoring it on her hip, and left, locking the door behind her. She had time to investigate—at least twenty-four hou
rs.
Chapter Thirteen
“When are they cutting you loose?” Sean sat down on the radiator that lined the window.
“I’m hoping by tomorrow.” Zane rubbed his head. He’d forgotten that he’d shaved off his hair. He’d forgotten a lot about that day, with the exception of Joe. That whole incident had him freaked out. He was even afraid to tell Sean about it. The guy would think he was a mental case. “What’s up with the festival?” Zane coughed, spitting out the heinous crap that was coming out of his lungs into a Kleenex.
“We’re there, man.” Sean leaned on his knees. “You in?”
“Hell yeah. I wanna come back to work.”
“You got to ease back in, Zane. We’ve got plenty of time. Can you ink?” Sean’s eyes lifted.
“Nope.” Zane shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ve got people asking for your work. There’s plenty of sketches that need to be done, no worries there.” Sean looked out the window, his eyes narrowed. “How’s the redhead?” He glanced over his shoulder at Zane.
Sean never forgot to ask about Meg. Zane wondered if he was interested in her. Should he waive his rights? Not that he’d staked his claim.
“She’s the one who brought me in.”
“Well, aren’t you the fortunate bastard.” He laughed.
Those waived words were right there, on his tongue, slipping off the tip, but Zane couldn’t part with them. What does that mean? Sean didn’t have a steady girl. They both seemed to drift from woman to woman, occasionally screwing their patrons. Was it getting old?
Maybe when he got home, he’d invite her over for some take-out or something. She had done a lot for him. What the hell would he get for her to eat? Did she do pizza? It seemed like the safest. His memory spun, taking him back to their yoga session. He was right there, on her living room rug. Her body was like a willow tree, her legs flexing like thin branches bending in a summer breeze.
“You should do something nice for her. She’s been good to you.” Sean rubbed his chin, looking down at him. Something passed in his eyes. Zane couldn’t clearly see it.
“What?” Zane felt his face pull tight. Sean shrugged.
“Nothing.” Sean patted his back. “Hurry home, bub, we’ve got lots to do. Do what they tell you so you can get the hell outta here and get on with things.”
* * * *
The clock was working! All Meg had done was oil the gears. When she wound it tightly, it began to run. Meg dusted the fine finished wood of its casing and cleaned the glass window, illuminating the face. It was fairly quiet for the type of clock it was. Her mother had had a chiming clock when she was a young girl. They’d had to disconnect it because it kept them up at night with its hourly reminders.
She let herself back into Zane’s apartment and hung it on the wall. She stood back, surveying her work. The afternoon sun hit the glass. Tiny beams of buttery light reflected off its face. It looked beautiful. Pleased with herself, she returned to her apartment and began planning for the street festival. They had a week. She’d already called the town hall and registered for their booth space. This was a huge annual event in Manderville.
* * * *
The next day, Zane came home. She’d been waiting for a call, but it hadn’t come. She figured that Sean had been the one to spring him free. Meg was in the back of the store unpacking inventory when Nora called her to come out front. Meg almost fell over at the sight of him standing at the counter. He looked good. A dark shadow of hair coated his scalp. His eyes were a bit brighter, though Meg could still see the faint charcoal circles below them. His skin had lost that pasty look of sickness. His cheeks were slightly flushed with color. Patches of fair skin leapt out at her from several frayed holes in his jeans. A black Pearl Jam T-shirt was tucked in at his waist, the belt a bit more cinched than usual.
“Hey, Meg.” Zane saluted her.
“Hi.” She tried not to smile too much. She could see Nora’s grinning face pressing through her periphery. “How’re you feeling?”
“Pretty damn good.” Zane laughed. He rubbed his head.
“You look—” Meg selected her words carefully. She didn’t want to seem too passionate with her observation. “You look so rested—good, I mean.” She stumbled, feeling the heat rush to her face.
“Yeah.” Zane nodded. “I think I’m outta the woods. I just wanted to come down and thank you guys, you know.” Zane’s hand rotated through the air. “All the stuff, vitamins, shakes, and info.” His words slowed. “I need to stay on track, though. I was hoping that you two could get me restocked on what you both think I’ll need.”
“No liquor.” Nora’s lips twisted with disapproval.
“No. That’s why I’m here.” He smiled. “I need help. You two gotta keep me in line.”
His smile melted her like a match to wax. Meg was a pool at his feet, a helpless puddle that ran recklessly.
Nora looked to Meg. “May I?”
“Sure, sure.” Meg forgot to breathe, her head feeling thick at the sight of him. She grabbed a basket from near the front door and followed Zane and Nora down one of the aisles. His leather jacket creaked as his black, buckled boots trailed after Nora. Thank You, God. He looks gorgeous. Meg raised her fists into the air behind his back. Her elation was hard to hide. Her heart pressed into her ribs, wanting to burst forth and pulsate right on the shelf, showing him how much she…Do I love him? Her palms grew clammy, her mouth drying at her thoughts.
Zane sauntered through the store. Worn jeans clung to his hips. She had ink-and-muscle withdrawal. She wanted to see him, all of him. Where was this urge coming from? Had she been carrying this around with her? Was her appetite for him masked or curbed because of his illness and avoidance? Nora tossed things in his basket as they walked, her instructions becoming a slur of words that Meg could no longer comprehend.
Her belly filled with heat. Her breasts were tingling, pushing into the fibers of her shirt. She had on a thin, cotton shirt. She crossed her arms over her chest. She would die if Zane saw the reaction that she had to him. She’d crawl under a rock, and Zane would probably laugh. It was only ever a bet, but a girl could fantasize, couldn’t she?
By the time Zane’s shopping spree was complete and Nora had printed out his regimen, it was time for Meg to leave. She’d ridden her bike in today. When Zane said he’d wait for her outside and walk back with her, Meg was having an internal breakdown, and Nora was beaming.
“Be ready to talk festival details tomorrow. Bring all your ideas,” Nora called, waving, her grin glued in place.
* * * *
“I wasn’t sure if you did pizza.” Zane chuckled. “I’m never sure. I guess I could’ve gotten some nuts and raisins and tossed them on a crust, covered it with sauce, and then called it pizza, Meg’s pizza.” He laughed. “I just want to thank you for everything, you know.” The corner of Zane’s mouth tipped into a grin.
They were in her living room. Zane was sprawled across her sofa, looking like a woman’s sex kitten. She couldn’t eat. He was so relaxed, his eyes alert. Meg slugged him.
“Very funny.” She smirked. “Yeah,” her tone was now serious. “You were out of it.”
“I don’t ever want to feel that way again.” Zane’s face fell.
“You won’t,” Meg assured him, patting his leg. “You’re out of the darkness now. Um,” Meg hesitated. “Who’s Joe?” She noticed Zane stiffen.
“Why?” he asked, his eyes darting down into his empty glass.
“You asked for him when you were in the hospital.” Meg noticed his face change. A sorrowful curtain fell over his features.
“He was a guy I used to see at the treatment center.”
“Oh.” Meg could feel the wall being built. She didn’t want one between them, so she let the topic dissolve into the quiet air.
She took their plates and went into the kitchen. The touch of his hands on her waist had her spinning around at the sink. Her breath stilled. Her eyes tipped to his.
Zane set the glass down on the counter.
“How’ve you been, Meg?” His fingers tugged on a curl. The internal moment she’d had at the store was expanding inside of her, flooding her responsive parts. Zane had a way of pushing her body into sexual overdrive. Before their card game, no guy had ever had that kind of power. Now it seemed as if he owned it, and it was his power to use as he pleased. Should she let him?
“I’ve been okay.” The muscles in her body jumped, burning with curiosity. What did he have planned? Was he well enough to sow his wild oats tonight?
“Can I kiss you?” His finger stroked down the skin of her neck. She shivered at his touch, licking her lips. “Still disappointed these days, Meg?”
She swallowed hard. Did he think this was his duty, keeping her well fucked? “Well…” Sweat pushed through her skin. He was so hot. Was his fever coming back, or had he given it to her? She was burning for him.
“I’ll tell you what.” His thumb traced over her lower lip, gently pulling it away from her teeth. “While you think on that, we’ll just move forward.” His face lowered to hers. His lips were thin, but moist and hot, resting nicely on hers. His tongue pressed through her lips. He soaked her mouth with his flavor. Meg drank him in like a thirsty weed. His hands slid down her back. He cradled her hips with his. Her clit hummed back to life. Her body was raining for him. His kiss was overwhelming, lifting her off her feet. She had to pull away, her lungs screaming for air.
“Don’t feel sorry for me.” Her words were clipped, dousing the heat between them like water on a fire.
“No one’s feeling sorry for anyone.” His palm gripped her breast, pinching her nipple, igniting the fire again. She could feel her body answering to him. “Let’s just have a good time, some nice, healthy fucking. Sex is good for one’s well being, is it not?” His face pulled back, his eyes narrowed.