Goodbye, Orchid

by Carol Van Den Hende

  “I haven’t talked to her since then. She’s probably running around with last minute stuff for her wedding.” Her wedding.

  Orchid nodded and took a step to the left, trying to skirt Liv. The persistent assistant parried well, mirroring her movements so she could get no closer to Phoenix.

  “Are you okay? What happened?” she asked. Suddenly, she wanted to touch him, comfort him, because she could feel his pain. Perhaps her overreaction to trauma wasn’t just her own demon. She was experiencing empathy. She stepped closer, drawn to smooth away the hurt she could see in his eyes. She wanted to do so for him, and for herself.

  He glanced down at himself, as if he’d forgotten what might cause her to ask.

  Liv looked from Phoenix’s ducked head and tight lines around his eyes to Orchid slipping closer. A flush of pink rose from her neck over her cheeks until it reached her hairline. She stretched her petite stature taller, growing rigid, hands balled, and then exploded.

  “You have some nerve!” she shouted, stomping the two steps to reach Orchid, fists jabbing with every word.

  Instinctively, Orchid stumbled back, avoiding the child-sized knuckles. “Hey, I didn’t do—”

  She’d forgotten her computer lay in the bulky bag on the ground. The heel of her shoe caught on the metal grommets and her ankle twisted on the Fort Knox of purses, toppling. She slammed to the right, one shoulder crashing against the delicate case along the transparent wall. With a sharp sound like crystal chandeliers in a windstorm, she broke through the fragile surface.

  Shards exploded and stabbed her hair and skin.

  Phoenix and Liv stared at her, frozen with surprise, then horror.

  She swayed, fighting to right herself against the frame of the case.

  “Oh, my God.” Phoenix sprinted to Orchid’s side, glass crunching below his feet. He yelled at Liv. “Call an ambulance!”

  Liv fled.

  “No, no hospitals,” Orchid said, clawing against a strange heaviness to stagger to her feet. “I’m okay,” she reassured him. She didn’t understand why her vision blurred and her legs buckled.

  Muscular arms supported her torso and slowed her slump to the ground. She held him too. She inhaled his scent that had only echoed in her imagination these past six months.

  “What happened to you? Are you okay?”

  Phoenix looked her all over, then whipped the shirt out from under his waistband and pressed it against her forehead.

  “Don’t worry about me,” he said, “let’s focus on you right now.”

  Cradled against his crouched stance, she followed the path his eyes took to see her white outfit spattered with red streaks, new rivulets crossing old ones to form a kaleidoscope of ever-changing streams. Feeling faint, her eyes closed.

  “Orchid,” he said, voice tight, “you stick with me, you hear me?”

  She looked up at him. “No doctors.”

  He pressed harder at the source of the red river. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. His tone was compassionate in contrast to his prior aloofness.

  “Hey, hey,” he said, comforting her physical pain when it was the emotional pain crushing her. He cradled her with half an arm as he tried to stanch the flow of blood.

  Dex and a few guys with a white stretcher crowded into the conference room. One of the EMTs ripped open a packet of sterile gauze and took over applying pressure. Phoenix moved back as they hoisted her onto the stretcher.

  “No,” she insisted, twisting wildly away from the man holding the bandage.

  Phoenix stepped by her side, taking her hand. “Shh,” he said, “You need me to come with you?”

  She nodded weakly and lay back onto the firm white surface. She held onto his hand. “Don’t leave me,” she said, and the meaning of the words struck her. Don’t leave me—now, ever.

  “I’m right here,” he said.

  They wheeled through the corridor, then crowd, rendered mute, to the elevator bank. Joan stood with another woman, mouth agape.

  The motion of the swinging stretcher made her dizzy, and she shut out the world. In the dark behind her eyelids, Orchid could feel the swaying to the elevator, the rush of movement downwards, and through it all, the warmth of Phoenix’s hand. The medics hoisted her into the back of the emergency vehicle, breaking her connection to Phoenix.

  She tried to sit up to protest. He clambered in beside her and she relaxed into the pressure of his palm against hers.

  In the ambulance, despite the stinging pain, Orchid couldn’t stop looking at Phoenix. Even if she died, seeing him study her bandaged forehead with care was worth it.

  “I want to be cremated,” she said from the back of the ambulance. “I don’t want to waste space in the ground.”

  “You’re not dying,” he said, squeezing her hand.

  “Then I don’t want to go to the hospital,” she said, feeling an impish humor cross over her face.

  “Too late,” he said.

  “I’m sorry if I ruined your party.”

  “You kidding? With that crowd, I promise you they’re still boozing it up without us.”

  Her chest squeezing a little less hard, she was able to study him closer. Fine lines had deepened between his brows. A flash of gray shone in his dark mane. Smooth flesh stretched taut over bone where his hand had been. He glared, catching her staring at the asymmetry of his left arm.

  “Are you okay? Does that hurt?” Her reach wavered, then stretched for the arm on his far side.

  He edged back, keeping out of her radius. “That’s not really your thing, remember?”

  She processed the tight set of his lips, trying to make her fuzzy brain fathom something nearly within grasp of her consciousness. Not really my thing? What does he mean?

  They arrived at Roosevelt’s ER where Orchid was whisked inside for registration and care. The scent of antiseptic, flickering of cold overhead bulbs, and sound of tinny voices paging doctors yanked Orchid back to a place sixteen years ago. Even though she wanted to shut out the place, her eyes widened.

  Phoenix read her face and leaned down as they wheeled her to a room. “You are a strong woman. You run multi-million-dollar brands, travel the world, sway unit presidents to invest in your business and cook like a champ. You are going to be fine.”

  “Thanks, but maybe this isn’t such an easy place for you to be, either,” she said. “When did that happen?” She indicated his arm peeking out from under the rolled white shirt cuff.

  “Would you believe, the day you left for China.”

  Her inhale hitched. Gray day. Plane in the sky. Phoenix on the ground. Unimaginable. His wry tone hinted at pain.

  “While I was away? What happened? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why are you surprised? I figured I didn’t need to tell you after we saw each other in December,” he said, confusing her more.

  “December?”

  “At the holiday party.”

  The nurse interrupted to settle her into a bed, clean her wounds, and measure her temperature, blood pressure, and pulse.

  “Need me to call anyone for you, honey?” the nurse asked.

  “Oh, my boss!” She sat up, remembering. The movement started the gash bleeding, drops hitting the white sheet. “Ouch.” She closed her eyes, unable to look at the red stain.

  The nurse eased her back against pillows.

  “I’ll text Joan not to worry, that you’re in good hands,” Phoenix said, pulling out his cell phone and typing a message with his right thumb. His left arm hung limply like a forgotten appendage.

  Orchid swallowed, her fogged brain unable to process Phoenix’s altered state. His eyes met hers. “You look like a horror movie extra,” Orchid said, hoping he would think she’d been staring at his bloodstained outfit.

  “We must’ve been cast in the same film,” he said lightly, coming ov
er to take her hand. “Too bad about that dress. I have fond memories of that outfit.”

  His closeness made her already addled brain float higher. “You remember! I didn’t even know I was seeing you today. Joan sprung it on me at work.”

  “Serendipity again.”

  Before she could respond, a pretty blond woman knocked and marched in. Phoenix stepped back from the bed to make space for her white-smocked, efficient presence. Orchid missed Phoenix’s proximity.

  “Hello, Ms. Paige? I’m a plastic surgery resident here,” she said, shaking Orchid’s hand.

  “Plastic surgery?” Orchid asked, alarmed. “Will I need surgery?”

  “Probably not, but let me take a look.” She removed the bandage and examined the wound site. “It’s a deep laceration. Looks like seven to nine stitches should do the trick,” she declared.

  “Stitches?” Orchid asked, her voice careening.

  The doctor eyed her. “Probably three internal, six external. We’ll give you a local anesthetic.”

  “Can I see a mirror?” Orchid asked, feeling faint.

  The nurse looked around, then pulled a round mirror out of the supplies cabinet and handed it to her, handle first.

  Orchid’s breath caught in her throat at her reflection. Cuts gashed along her left cheek, speckling her skin dark red with drying blood. Those were minor compared to an inch-long raw slice, diagonal above her left brow. The flesh lay split open like the first cut into a hunk of raw meat, red drops pooling into the cavity. Phoenix stood at her side, observing her observe herself. She dropped the mirror face down onto the bed, ashamed for Phoenix to see her like this.

  “There is nothing wrong with the way you look,” he said, his words frozen over.

  She couldn’t examine why he was acting cold right now. The pressing questions shot out, directed at the doctor. “Oh my God, I’m hideous. My face is disfigured. Will I have a scar? Please tell me there won’t be a scar.”

  The doctor explained. “You have a pretty clean cut. The scarring will be minimal. You’ll have to adhere to wound care basics. Staying out of the sun will help. We’ll go over all the details with you.”

  Orchid didn’t hear what the doctor had to say. Her mouth hung open watching the door swing shut behind Phoenix. Her lagging brain finally surfaced what her subconscious had pieced together. He’d been injured when she left for China, after which, he’d refused to see the woman who couldn’t look at a cut on her foot or pictures of physically imperfect soldiers.

  There should be hope. If only she could tell him whatever feelings over his injury he projected onto her weren’t true. Then, fear of losing that chance bathed her in cold sweat, as she realized she’d just called her inch-long gash “a hideous disfigurement.”

  CHAPTER 42

  HYPOCRITICAL KISS

  Phoenix

  FRIDAY MARCH 15

  “Why?” Rina asked again, as if studying for a test. She crossed one leg over the other, her movement giving away her emotion as much as the rising tone of her voice.

  “Because we’re not right together. Because you can do better.” Phoenix placed the glass she’d given him onto her coffee table. He probably didn’t deserve the drink, seeing that he was breaking her heart.

  “We get along great. Why do you think I can do better?”

  Phoenix studied her ramrod posture and silky brown-blond hair. Rina really was very pretty. And smart. They’d enjoyed many pleasurable evenings in this compact one-bedroom apartment. He could see how they could be a good match. He tried to explain to the stoic woman before him.

  “Because, Rina, I don’t love you as much as I could. You should have someone who is wild about you.”

  Tears escaped the corner of her eyes, plopping onto her pressed gray suit.

  “Don’t cry.” He reached out to her. She yanked her arm away, looking more furious than he’d ever seen her.

  “You’re heading back to Canada soon, anyway,” he continued, thinking of the April end to her six-month assignment.

  She straightened further. As he figured, latching onto logic ameliorated this actuary’s dejection. “I was going to ask you about that. I’d extend my stay if you wanted. If that’s the reason for this . . .”

  She’d reached the bargaining stage of acceptance.

  Seeing her pain, he wondered if he was wrong to start something that pleased but never sparked passion in him.

  “When we made love, did you love me?”

  He recalled that first night. He’d been so worried she’d reject him. Instead, she’d patiently allowed him to find his way. Love, though? No. He aimed for diplomatic truth.

  “You made a huge difference during the hardest time in my life. You saw me as a man no matter what I had or was missing. You encouraged me to work harder, to give up my cane. You didn’t care about my injuries. I love you for all those things and more. But you deserve fireworks and dreams of the future, and we don’t have that.”

  As Phoenix spoke, Rina’s tears dried in salty lanes along her cheeks and clothes. She looked him in the eye. “Fireworks and dreams of the future? Maybe you didn’t have that. But I did.”

  He gazed at her pretty features, puckered and drooping in a mixture of sad and angry. “Sorry.”

  They sat in silence. Rina stared out the window and absently blotted a tissue under her eyes.

  The memory of Orchid popped up, unbidden. Seeing her yesterday put his relationship with Rina into stark contrast. What he had with Rina wasn’t enough. What he could’ve had with Orchid couldn’t be resurrected.

  Finally, Rina turned to him with renewed self-control. “Should we stay friends?”

  “Sure. We could still have your birthday dinner with your co-workers.”

  “Okay, see you then,” she said.

  Her checklist complete, she stood and grabbed his glass. She headed to the kitchen, where he could hear her clattering ceramic and glassware in the sink. He cringed as a particularly loud crash sounded like something had broken.

  Then he stood, taking one last look around. He left, feeling oddly unburdened.

  CHAPTER 43

  SEVEN NATION ARMY

  Caleb

  SATURDAY MARCH 16

  Even with the snow melting, the afternoon traffic was slow enough to catch Caleb’s attention with each jingle of the doorway bell.

  Well, hell’s bells. He did a double take at a dark-haired woman shaking snow off her boots as she entered the shop. Not that her pleather leggings, biker boots and army surplus jacket seemed out of place here. More surprising was that the last time he’d seen Orchid’s familiar face was while screaming into it.

  She looked around, swiped her smooth locks out of her eyes, and spotted him. He pushed himself out of the consultation chair at the back of the shop and made his way to her. No sense pretending he hadn’t seen her.

  “Orchid,” he acknowledged.

  “Caleb, how are you?”

  “Fucked up, as usual,” he answered calmly.

  “Me, too,” she answered. He eyed the bandage on her forehead, wondering if it was the reason for her self-deprecating sigh. She looked different, her expression serious, as if she only recently had matured from a girl into a woman. He didn’t think it was only a matter of the wound. There was some determined emphasis in her stride. He sensed she was on a mission.

  “If Mom were here, she’d say I owed you an apology.”

  “Because you yelled at me for wronging your brother, even though it was the other way around? Because you thought I’d be shallow enough to avoid him after his accident, when I didn’t know anything about it?”

  “Somethin’ like that,” he replied.

  “Okay, I’ll take that acknowledgment as an apology. Thanks.”

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, changing tacks, loyalty sitting squarely with family.

 
“I need to apologize to Phoenix.”

  “You’re fishing for an apology from me when you owe one to him?” He shook his head. “Tell him yourself.”

  “I would, except he doesn’t return my texts.”

  “So you came to ask me? Maybe there’s a reason he’s ghosted you, darlin’.” He wandered back towards his table of paperwork.

  Orchid ignored his last remark and stayed planted like she owned the place, from the black-and-white checkered floor, crisp linens on tables, and walls covered with photos of body art.

  “Wow, so . . . pretty,” she said turning towards the pictures. “No, more than that. Evocative, powerful.”

  He glared at her with suspicion as she studied the wall of tattoos of people’s faces. “Jack Nicholson, Marilyn Monroe, Johnny Depp . . . ”

  Walking slowly toward him, gazing at the myriad pictures, she appeared to be a young gallery visitor. A laugh of pleasure burst out of her, pure and innocent. “Children and animals!” She turned from the pictures of pugs, cats, and chubby-cheeked toddlers executed in the blue-green of tattoo ink and faced him.

  “Children and animals are a surefire way to pull at heartstrings in advertising.”

  “Phoenix teaching you tricks of the trade, huh?”

  “Yeah,” she said with earnestness. “He taught me a lot.” She flopped onto one of the hulking black vinyl tattoo chairs.

  “He taught me about kindness, what it means to be a gentleman, how to use humor no matter how bad the situation looks.”

  She grew quiet. He continued sorting papers, one pile for unpaid bills, another for invoices to be mailed, junk tossed right into the recycling bin.

  “Is your shrink away?” he asked, using sarcasm to try to harden the vulnerability on her face. He didn’t want to get sucked in. It was hard to avoid because whatever she was thinking, she was being real.

  She laughed, a pretty sound, unlike the raucous ribaldry that often ran through his place.

  “You’re the shrink I need, because you know him better than anyone else.” Brown eyes looked at him full of hope. His hands paused over the piles of paper, stilled by feeling like he was the hero in an un-filmed action adventure.