by Carly Fall
consumed three pills, so she wasn’t terribly high. The next morning the detox began as her body purged the drugs from her system. As she draped herself over the toilet for the third time with the dry heaves, she prayed and made a promise to herself and to God that this would be the first and the last time she would have that experience. When the shaking began, she begged for a pill, the agony within her almost too much to handle.
She yelled, she cried, she cursed, and just when she thought she couldn’t take it any longer, it all stopped. All that was left was a terrible emptiness and an overwhelming sadness for what she had allowed her life to become.
That was where Suzanna had come in. Beverly clocked in hours and hours of
therapy, trying to get her head on straight, to make sense of the sequence of events that brought her to this place—her mother’s suicide just a little under a year ago, and the car accident three weeks after her mother’s death that had left Beverly in the hospital for two weeks with a broken pelvis.
But sixty days after her rock-bottom moment, she was feeling stronger, and she
felt ready to leave this sanctuary.
“Thanks, Suzanna, but I think I’m ready. I remember square one very well, and I
don’t want to go back there.”
Beverly stood and the two women headed back toward Beverly’s room.
“I know last time we talked you had a short-term plan, but not a long-term one.”
Beverly nodded, smiling to herself that Suzanna rarely really asked a question, but left her statements open-ended.
“Yes. I still don’t have a firm long-term plan. Thankfully, I have money in my
savings account, so I’d like to get in a car and see some of the west coast and figure out where I want to live, as well as what I would like to do. I have enough money to last about two years comfortably, but obviously I’d like to be working before I run out.”
Suzanna nodded. They had reached Beverly’s room, and they turned to face each
other. “So the short-term plan is still the same.”
Beverly nodded and looked into the eyes of her therapist. “Yes, I’m heading to
Phoenix today and checking in to the Four Season for a little pampering. I’ll stay a couple of days, and then head to California and up the coast to do a little exploring.”
Suzanna nodded. “I’ll miss you, Beverly, but I’m happy to see you go. If you feel you need to come back, do it.”
Beverly nodded, and the two women hugged.
“Take care, Beverly.”
Beverly went into her room, flipping her sunglasses to the top of her head. Her
bag was packed, and she was ready to go. She went to the bathroom and splashed cool water on her face, meeting her light green eyes in the mirror. Her skin was clear and porcelain white, her cheekbones high. Her gaze wandered down over her slim shoulders and small breasts that were covered by her purple t-shirt. She had lost weight after the car accident and during her addiction and her stay here, but she was also much stronger thanks to all the exercise she had been doing. When she had been a doctor at Tucson General Hospital, she hadn’t had time to exercise because of her heavy workload and long hours. But here at rehab, she had nothing to do but concentrate on herself.
Unfortunately, she didn’t quite have everything figured out. She used to have a
purpose as a doctor, and now she had none. The label of doctor held prestige, the label of ex-doctor and junkie, not so much. She would have to figure out what her next step would be, what she would do. The American Medical Association had made it crystal clear she wouldn’t be practicing medicine again.
She also worried what others would think if they ever found out about her long
fall from grace. With the technology today, it was impossible to keep secrets, so she knew that if someone wanted to find out about her past, it would only take a couple taps of a keyboard.
Her gut told her that going back to practicing medicine wasn’t going to happen,
and not only because she didn’t have a medical license any longer. An addict needed to steer clear of any temptation, and being in a hospital setting surrounded by drugs was like putting an out-of-control diabetic in a candy store.
It just wasn’t smart.
When she thought about all the time and money that she and her mother had put
into her getting her medical degree, she cringed, not being able to think of the
disappointment her mother would have felt if she were alive.
But then again, if her mother were alive, Beverly probably wouldn’t be in the
position she was in, and her thoughts returned to that fateful day.
It had been a Wednesday morning when she stopped by her mom’s house in the
middle class Tucson, Arizona neighborhood. Beverly had been an only child, her father had died of cancer when she was only two, and her mother had never remarried. She had no memories of her father, only the imagined ones she stored from her mother telling her about him. Her childhood had been a good one filled with love and guidance from her mom, and they had been especially close. Her mom was more a friend than an actual parent.
Her mother had answered the door, still in her bathrobe, but happy to see Beverly.
“What a wonderful surprise!” her mom had exclaimed, but Beverly could tell by
the dark shadows under her mom’s eyes that the depression she fought had returned.
Beverly hugged her mom, feeling guilty for not stopping by for the past few
weeks. Her hours at the hospital had been long, and at the end of the day, she didn’t have much time for herself, let alone anyone else. Hell, she’d had two dates in six months. At thirty-two years old, her life was her job.
They chatted as her mom insisted on cooking some eggs and bacon.
“How’s work going, Mom?”
“Oh, fine. If one more girl comes in asking for a copy of Twilight, I may have to hit my head against the desk, though. I do love the library. How are things going at the hospital, honey?”
Beverly told her mom about a few specific patients that stuck out in her mind.
There was a six-year-old girl who had cancer, but the doctors felt confident that she’d recover after surgery, chemo, and radiation. Beverly had been the one to deliver the blow to the family about the cancer, as well as the hope of recovery.
Her mother nodded. “I’m glad they had a doctor with such a wonderful heart
dispensing the news.”
They talked a little bit more, and then Beverly asked, “Mom, have you seen your
therapist lately?”
For as long as Beverly could remember, her mom had suffered from depression on
and off. It was usually a cycle of symptoms such as sleeping or sleeping too much.
Unusually quiet or disconnected from everything. Eating too much or not enough.
Her mother gave her a forced smile. “I’m fine, baby. Just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
Beverly remembered looking at her mother and seeing herself twenty-five years
in the future. Her blonde hair was threaded with a bit of gray that you really had to search for, the lines in her face were subtle, but also added character and acted as a guide to what her mother had experienced. Beverly was saddened that her frown lines overrode her laugh lines.
The conversation turned to Beverly’s dating life, and she told her mom about the
dinner with the pharmaceutical representative a week ago. He was nice, but she didn’t see it going anywhere.
“Don’t worry, baby,” her mom said. “One day, you’ll find someone that curls your
toes.”
Later, she gently held her mother’s hand. “Mom, you need to go talk to the
therapist again, okay? I think the depression is back.”
Beverly had realized a few years ago that her mother was never fully aware of
when the depression hit. She always needed someone to point it out
to her. Beverly had never understood this, but it was what it was, so when she saw the signs, she let her mom know.
Her mother stared at her, studying her face. “I know, honey. And I promise you
I’ll make an appointment right after you leave.”
A few minutes later, Beverly took her leave, but not after a long embrace with her mom. “I love you, Bev,” her mom whispered in her ear, then finally let her go. “But you need to button one more button on your blouse. You’re a doctor, not a stripper.”
Beverly laughed. “Mom, my blouse is fine!”
Her mom had smiled, a real smile. “If someone gets the right angle, they’re going to get an eyeful.”
Beverly smiled, arching her eyebrows. “Well, maybe that way I’ll meet someone
who curls my toes.”
Returning to the present, she looked around the room. Giving it one final
goodbye, she picked up her bag and walked out the door. Making her way to the parking lot, she stopped every now and then saying goodbye to people, exchanging hugs with others. Last night they had thrown her a going away party complete with a cake and non-alcoholic champagne.
She found her white Audi in the parking lot and climbed in. It started right up,
even though it had been sitting idle for two months. Pulling out of the parking lot and gunned the car, she headed out to the road that would lead her to her new life.
Chapter 3
Hudson carved the roasted chicken he had cooked, the smells of rosemary, garlic,
and thyme wafting throughout the kitchen. Opening the oven, he checked to make sure the mashed potatoes and green beans were still warming. He checked the refrigerator and saw that his Black Bottom Banana Cream Pie was coming along nicely.
“Hi, Hudson,” Abby said as she walked into the kitchen carrying Neptune, her
very fat black-as-night cat. She stood on her tippy toes and gave Hudson a soft peck on the cheek. Hudson noticed that Neptune seemed to be getting larger. That damn feline ate like a horse.
“It smells wonderful, as usual,” Abby said. “Faith and I set the table in the dining room, and I’m here to help carry food out to the starving.”
Hudson smiled at his daughter. Her big, brown eyes sparkled with happiness. The
freckles over the bridge of her nose gave her an air of “cute,” but she was anything but.
She was terribly pretty. Her thick, brown, wavy hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her short denim shorts and white t-shirt that covered her slim figure, along with her bare feet and pink toenails reminded him that it was summer in Phoenix, Arizona, and it was a mind-numbing 110 degrees outside. Inside, it was a balmy seventy-three.
“Wonderful,” he said, looking at his daughter as she set Neptune down. For the
millionth time he thought of where she came from.
His time with Iris had been short lived, but special. He tried to hate Iris, but he couldn’t. The love he felt for her was too great. She had, however, taken his heart, eaten it for breakfast, and spitted it out to become foot goo on the shoes of those walking over it.
Almost twenty-seven years ago, he had met Iris in a grocery store in Sacramento
while working with Jovan and Cohen on a string of murders that they thought could be attributed to a Colonist. He distinctly remembered he was making spaghetti that night and was in a hurry to get out of the store. As he raced around trying to find the spice aisle—he needed basil and cumin—he crashed his cart into hers.
He remembered the look of irritation she had given him, but that wasn’t what
registered in his mind. No, what had grabbed his attention and practically knocked him stupid was her beauty.
Her long, auburn hair swirled around her shoulders, her big, brown eyes glared at him, and the dash of freckles across her nose made him smile.
After a moment, he had said, “I’m really sorry about that.”
“You should be more careful,” she chastised him.
She may very well be the prettiest female he had ever laid eyes on, and he felt his heart skip a beat.
“You’re right. I most definitely should. Maybe I’ll enroll in grocery cart driving.
Do they have that? Because obviously I need to sign up.” A moment later he asked,
“What can I do to make it up to you?”
She smiled, and he knew he couldn’t let her walk away and out of his life.
“You don’t have to make it up to me,” she said still grinning, “just be careful!”
She had pushed her cart down the aisle, and Hudson had turned his around and
followed.
“Do you know where the spices are?” he asked. “I’ve been looking all over, and I
can’t find them.”
She stopped and turned to him, still smiling. “I believe its aisle four. You may
want to look up at the signs that tell what’s in each aisle,” she said, pointing upward.
Hudson remembered he hadn’t looked up because he simply couldn’t take his
eyes off her. “Will you show me?”
Confusion had crossed her face. “Show you what?”
“Show me where aisle four is.”
“You can’t read?” she teased, her arms crossing over her chest.
“Not when there’s someone so pretty in front of me. The letters don’t make any
sense.”
She blushed, and he liked her even more.
“All right,” she had said, laughing. “C’mon.”
Hudson had trailed behind her, watching the slight sway of her slim hips under
her long swirling brown skirt.
“My name’s Iris, by the way,” she said, turning around.
Hudson had immediately lifted his eyes to her face. “Like the flower?”
She grinned. “Exactly.”
“Hi, Iris. I’m Hudson. And I’m hoping like hell you’ll go to dinner with me
tonight.”
She stopped pushing her cart and looked at him. “I don’t even know you!”
He stared into her brown eyes that looked as if they were sparkling under the
harsh lighting of the store. “Then ask me whatever you need to know to say yes,” he had said quietly.
She stared up at him and laughed. He noticed she came up to his chest, which put
her about five-foot-seven or so. “I have no idea what to ask you!”
The sound of her laughter was like music he couldn’t get enough of. “Fine,” he
said. “Here’s the basics. My name’s Hudson Johnson. I work in the private criminal investigation sector, which in layman’s terms means I hunt bad guys. I like to cook, I don’t care for politicians, and I drive too fast. I’m an excellent dancer, I probably swear too much, and I think that I really, really want to take you to dinner, because you seem really nice, and you are definitely the prettiest thing I’ve seen in a very long time.”
Hudson smiled as she blushed again. They had stood in the cereal aisle staring at each other for a moment.
Finally, she had said, “All right, Hudson Johnson. My name’s Iris Stone. I’ll have dinner with you, but let me tell you a little about me. I don’t eat sushi, but I like Japanese food. I’m a freelance writer, and I really like red wine, probably more than I should. I too hate most politicians, and I will meet you wherever you decide to take me, but I won’t sleep with you tonight no matter how many times you tell me how pretty you think I am.”
She might as well had told him that he won the lottery, and he couldn’t help the
smile that indicated his ridiculously happy insides jumping around. “Very well, Iris.
Thank you for accepting my invitation, and I have no doubt that you are a lady of modest means.”
Again she had thrown her head back and laughed. “I don’t know about that, but as
long as you understand where I’m coming from, we’re good to go for dinner.”
His demon clawed at his chest at the memory, and he f
ought the urge to wince in
pain. He gripped the kitchen counter for support and stared at Abby.
Abby was mated to his fellow Warrior, Noah, and judging by that sparkle in her
eyes, Noah was doing an exemplary job at keeping her happy.
“Please take the chicken out to the table, and don’t forget to use the mitts. The plate’s hot, and I don’t want you burning your pretty hands,” he said.
She went to the drawer and pulled out two red mitts that looked like lobsters, and placed them over her hands. She made the lobsters claws look like they were chomping, and made some silly sound that she thought sounded like lobster claws clashing together.
That was one thing about Abby...although beautiful, she tended to be a little dorky and had the tendency to trip over her own tongue. It was an endearing quality to those who knew her. To those who didn’t, she was a social faux pas waiting to happen.
Laughing, because he knew he was supposed to, he pulled her close and felt her
slim arms snake around his waist. He held her for a minute, kissed the top of her head, and told her again to put the chicken on the table.
She gave him a squeeze and nodded into his big chest, then took the chicken out
to the dining room with Neptune hot on her heels. Hudson grabbed a couple of mitts of his own and retrieved the mashed potatoes and green beans, following a minute behind her.
Hudson looked around the large oak table as he sat down. Noah was seated at the
far end of the large oak slab of wood with Abby to his right, running his hand through his brown, wavy hair as he listened to something Abby was saying. On Noah’s left, Rayner sat with his mate Faith just mere inches away from him. Rayner kept her close, always within arm’s reach. Hudson wondered if Rayner knew he did that. It was, of course, completely understandable. Five months ago, Faith had been kidnapped by a Colonist and almost died. Rayner had used his special ability to bring her back from the ether—that place between life and death—to the living, and had fallen head over boots in love with her. Hudson guessed keeping Faith close was more of a subconscious reaction than a conscious decision Rayner didn’t want to lose Faith again and was doing everything in his power to make that happen.