“Said the one who dropped her tablet on her trach tube,” Carter pointed out, hiding a frown behind his hand. I don’t remember the incident, but I had no reason to doubt Tate’s story. Every time I closed my eyes, yawned or stretched my arms, he took the device away from me.
‘Tate gave me opioids.’
“Just saying with your track record,” Carter pressed, “maybe you should take the wheelchair.”
I huffed and looked away.
I knew I should’ve been thankful. I was lucky. Extremely lucky. I lost only partial use of my left vocal cord, sort of. Dr. Watkins surmised, though couldn’t say for certain that it had always been weak due to a childhood illness, but it would explain the cause of my throatiness. This didn’t bother me a bit. It was my natural voice. Honestly, I was happy to know I would talk again. However, as my doctor, she urged me to consider corrective surgery, if not to improve my pitch and volume, then to prevent strain from compensating. I would have to return occasionally for a checkup. It was possible that the damaged nerve could regenerate, so I needed to give my body some time to heal, before we could decide whether surgery was necessary.
Despite my promising recovery, I was crawling out of my own skin. I’d been cooped up in the hospital for just under three weeks. I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed fresh air. I needed socialization. I was bored and frustrated. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry.
“Carter, can you manage getting these downstairs on your own?” Tate gestured to our bags. Carter’s gaze flicked back and forth from Tate to me and back again. He shook his head disapprovingly and began to load the bags onto his arms and shoulders.
“You’re going to get caught. The nurses station is right outside.”
“Technically, we won’t be breaking any rules. She’s not walking.”
“See you outside then.” Loaded like a pack mule, Carter went out the door.
Tate turned to me and held his arms out. “Let’s blow this joint.”
I smiled triumphantly and stepped toward him, letting him lift me into his arms. ‘Just watch my head this time.’
“Babe, that door was two feet wide. It was an accident.” Nevertheless, he took extra care maneuvering me through the open door. Upon our emergence, the nurses all looked up, smiled and giggled behind their hands, but made no move to hinder our rash departure. Tate leaned closer to my ear. “The perks of being famous.”
“Tate!” said Dr. Watkins from behind us.
“Uh oh.”
‘Nabbed.’
“We could make a run for it.”
“Tate, she’s pregnant and recovering,” Dr. Watkins warned. “There’s snow on the ground. The floors will be wet. You could slip.”
Tate sighed in defeat. Hesitantly, we turned around. God bless Dr. Watkins, she had a wheelchair. “It’s a dumb rule,” she admitted, “but it’s enforced for a reason.”
“She made me do it,” Tate lied. “She gave me the eyes.”
“I’m sure,” Dr. Watkins replied.
“It’s true. The last time she used those lashes on me, we ended up in Vegas.”
‘I’m scoffing, just so you know.’
Steering the wheelchair to a stop, Dr. Watkins locked the wheels so I could climb in. “Let’s hurry,” she urged, “I just snatched this from an orderly down the hall.”
‘I’ll take it!’ I yielded. ‘I don’t care if I have to ride in the janitor’s bucket, just get me out of here. No offense, Dr. Watkins, but I’ve had enough poking and prodding to last a lifetime.’
Ceding, Tate placed me back on my feet. I hurried and climbed into the chair. I was willing to do whatever was necessary to make it out the front door in the next ten minutes, even if I was something as desperate as stealing a wheelchair from the sick and elderly.
I really shouldn’t have complained. I had it good. Tate brought me anything I needed, and much that I didn’t. Food, clothes, entertainment, he had covered all the bases. But I missed my son. I hadn’t seen him in weeks. If I wasn’t drugged and sleeping, I was having tests and examinations done for either my throat or my pregnancy. Plus, Dr. Watkins was worried about Levy spreading germs and climbing on me. I wasn’t allowed to lift any weight, and it was kinda hard to tell him no. He was too darn cute for his own good. Likewise, it would be bad for the healing process if I were to come down with a cold. None of the associated symptoms was beneficial to the type of injuries I sustained. I couldn’t disagree.
“Don’t worry about that,” Tate told his mother. “She does that all the time.”
‘What?’
“Zoning, Coop, you were zoning again.”
I smiled guiltily.
“Maybe she’s divining our futures again,” Carter said from behind us. We stopped and turned. He was still loaded up with our bags. “I took a wrong turn, got lost.”
“How could you have gotten lost?” Tate scoffed. “We practically grew up in this place.”
“It’s been a long fuckin’ time, man!” Dropping two of our bags at Tate’s feet, he readjusted the third and smallest on his shoulder. “Take your bags, Twat. They’re damn heavy.”
Dr. Watkins shook her head, silently scorning Carter for his language.
“Hey Mrs. Watkins.” Opening his arms wide, he hugged her, dwarfing her small frame. “How’re you doing?”
“Good, Good. I see they haven’t broken you of swearing.”
“They’ve tried, ma’am, but nobody came as close as you have. You flat out put the fear of God into me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Carter, I’ve never raised a hand to you.”
“Your threats were enough!” he objected. “One time, you told me you would sew my mouth shut if you heard me swear again!”
Dr. Watkins flushed. She put her shoulder into the wheelchair and began to push. “I never thought you took me seriously.”
“You used to wear the biggest trussing needle in your sunhat. I always thought it was for people. Thing scared the bejesus out of me. I used to have nightmares about it.”
“If I would’ve known,” she threw over her shoulder, “I would’ve strung it with twine and really frightened you.”
“You’re an evil, evil woman.”
“And you were a wicked child.”
Pausing at the elevators, Tate strode around us and pressed the button to go down. The doors slid open. He stuck his foot over the track while Dr. Watkins pushed my wheelchair into the car. We did a one-eighty and inched back so that Carter and Tate could fit in with our bags.
“So what’s this I hear about divining?” Dr. Watkins asked.
Tate exhaled heavily and looked away.
“Cooper’s ‘consciousness expanded exponentially’ and she was making some crazy predictions about our futures,” Carter explained. “Only, she says she doesn’t remember anything and Tate won’t tell us what she said.”
‘I was on morphine—I don’t remember.’
“I told you everything I knew,” Tate argued. He readjusted one of the bags as it slipped down his shoulder. “She didn’t say anything specific.”
‘Seriously, Carter, when would I ever use the word exponentially? I can barely spell it.’
Carter scowled and shook his head. “You’re both lame, guys, totally lame. I can’t believe you won’t tell me what you saw.”
Behind me, Dr. Watkins laughed softly, dividing her attention between the three of us. “You don’t really believe that nonsense, do you?”
“Don’t question it,” Tate warned, in all seriousness. “You won’t like what happens.”
‘Fate doesn’t like to be ignored.’ I rubbed absently around the dimple where my trach scar was healing over. Tate noticed and grasped my hand with a remorseful squeeze.
I didn’t remember a thing about what I might’ve seen or said, except for the little bit Tate told me. Apparently, I was adamant that he reconcile with his mother, and when he scoffed at the notion, I gave him cause to reconsider by dropping my tablet on my trach tube, which forced a reluct
ant Tate into the room with his mother when she responded to the nurse’s page.
“You sound like your father,” Dr. Watkins demurred with a slight roll of her eyes. “Superstitious old fool.”
Tate winced and scrubbed a hand down his jaw. “Mom, please. You know what—I’ll take that.” Brushing his mother aside, he assumed control of the wheelchair. “I don’t need the universe using my wife as a tool when it decides to teach you a lesson for doubting its mastery.”
Dr. Watkins laughed quietly as the elevator pinged and the doors slid open. Tate pushed the wheelchair into the corridor. The air drafted through the entrance of the hospital, carrying the bite of winter’s chill. For a moment, I thought I could smell the fresh scent of snow. Sure enough, as we made our way to the main entrance, I found the sky swirling with tiny white flakes.
“Yuck,” Carter groaned.
“Shit,” Tate added.
“I hate snow,” Dr. Watkins chimed in.
‘I love snow,’ my monotone British voice droned. ‘It’s so pretty.’ The three of them turned to look at me, as if I were off my rocker. ‘What?’
“You love snow when you’re ten or twelve,” Carter explained. “Not when you’re grown up and have to drive in it.”
“Or walk in it,” Dr. Watkins added. “Or rather slip and fall in it.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Tate agreed. “Maybe we can stay one more night.”
‘Not a chance.’ I put my foot down. ‘I don’t care if you have to call in the Army Reserves. I’m going to see my son today.’
“Speaking of reserves,” Carter observed, “there they are now.”
Outside, our Prevost coasted slowly to a stop. Oh, dear God, he brought the reserves to take me home. A wide smile spread across my face. I barely made it two inches out of the chair before Tate’s hand landed on my shoulder. “Don’t even think about it.”
‘What? What?’
“The kid’s going to want to be picked up.”
‘I know that.’
“Then sit down so you can hold him.”
The door opened on the bus. Nolan stepped carefully down the stairs, carrying a kicking and wriggling Levy in his arms. The older of the two said something to the younger one, and he promptly fell still. His fingers went into his mouth, his neck shrinking into his shoulders.
“I never understood how he did that,” Dr. Watkins voiced. “You boys acted like monsters whenever I took you anywhere, but when your father was around…”
“He had this old leather belt,” Tate explained. “When you would fold it in half and pull it taut, the two straps would smack together and make one helluva scary noise.”
I must’ve made a face because Tate was quick to reassure me.
“He never actually hit me with it. The noise alone was enough threat to get the point across.”
“He hit me with it,” Carter objected. “It wasn’t all noise.” He rubbed at his backside, still sore over the punishment he’d received.
Em stepped off the bus next, then Shane and Jake, diverting my attention. Surprising me, Marshall appeared, followed by Evan, Taylor and Derek. Behind them, my parents stood on the stairs of the bus, waving from a safe distance where they wouldn’t slip on the ice.
My eyes brimming with tears, I waved at my parents, and turned my attention back to Levy. He sat silently in Nolan’s arms until he spotted me as they came through the lobby doors. His face split into a wide smile, his eyes disappearing behind his plump cheeks.
Boisterously, he returned to bouncing and wriggling, pointing his finger in my direction. “Momma! Das Momma! Momma’s getted a boo boo.”
“That’s right, so you’re going to sit still, right?” Nolan said, coaching his behavior. “You’re going to be careful so you don’t hurt her?”
“I down!” was all Levy managed to get out in his excitement. “I down! I down!” He trailed off in a stream of unintelligible babbling, his mouth moving a mile a minute. Three weeks of separation burst forth, his excitement turning to frustration and tears.
Tate’s hand tightened on my shoulder. “He’s fine. Just let him calm down.”
Everyone paused to watch the scene. Those who didn’t know us stared in contempt, but I couldn’t spare them the time or attention. My son’s distress had me otherwise occupied. Those who did know us were lamenting with me. I caught tears nestled in Em’s deep, blue eyes.
‘Let him down.’
“Coop—”
I cut Tate with a scathing glare that told him to shut it. I wanted my son. Nothing I could type would make my point as thoroughly or concisely. Sometimes pictures were better than words.
“Ok,” Tate caved. “Give him over.” Dropping the two bags to the floor, he took Levy from his dad and sat him on my lap, warding off every advance Levy made on my neck.
When Levy finally grew exhausted and settled on my lap, latched onto me like a baby sloth, Tate finally backed off and relaxed. “I think I know why you used to chew on those antacids like you did,” Tate said to his dad. He pressed the heel of his palm against his chest and rubbed. “Man, you used to eat those things like tic tacs.”
Nolan grinned and pulled a roll of Tums from his pocket. He tossed them to Tate. “Haven’t had to carry these in years.”
“I’m going to buy stock in the company,” Tate said, unrolling two free and popping them in his mouth. “I have a feeling I’m going to need a lot of them.”
The rest of the gang converged around my wheelchair, ruffling my hair while peppering me with well-wishes and questions I could barely answer. My thumbs didn’t move that quickly, even if I wasn’t holding Levy. Mostly I shook my head, nodded or smiled in response.
In short, Derek didn’t want to cut my throat ever again, even if it was to save my life. He had been the one to take lifesaving measures when I lost consciousness. He had to get me breathing again until the paramedics arrived. Everyone else agreed wholeheartedly. More than a few of them shielded their throats with unease as they nodded along, recalling the event.
I assured him that it didn’t hurt. I hadn’t felt a thing. And pointed out with appreciation that he saved three lives that day. I wasn’t sure how long I could’ve gone without oxygen before brain damage or threat to the pregnancy were to occur, but I was glad I hadn’t found out.
“Three lives?” Em inquired, perceptive as ever. “Why three?”
My mouth flapped, searching for an answer. We hadn’t told anyone about the twins yet. Tate wanted to tell everyone together, hence the bus and our close-knit group of friends.
“Coop, the baby and Amanda Keller,” Tate answered. “Because I would’ve committed a homicide if things ended differently.” Taking Levy from my arms, he helped me from the wheelchair. “Let’s get this show on the road before we don’t have a choice but to stay. Weather’s getting bad.”
Em stared suspiciously and headed for the exit. Shane and Jake followed. Marshall and Taylor grabbed our bags.
“Mom, you coming?” Tate asked. She already knew, of course. Being my doctor, she had access to all my charts and records. But he was making an effort to include her.
Dr. Watkins glanced at her pager and dropped it into the pocket of her lab coat. “Can you give me five minutes? I need to make a quick call.”
“I’ll wait for her,” Nolan offered. “It’s getting slippery out there.”
With that settled, we headed out the door. Ok, so the snow wasn’t ‘pretty’ at all. It wasn’t the light fluffy type that piled up like goose feathers. It was coming down in icy little pellets that rolled and slid under your feet like the punch line of a practical joke.
We only had to walk a few feet from beneath the awning to the door of the bus. It was slippery going, but we made it without incident. A moment later, I was in my parents’ embrace.
“We came as soon as we could,” Dad apologized, his voice gruff. Like the altruistic parent he was, he felt guilty for not being there to hold my hand. It didn’t matter that he was still on the road to
recovery himself.
“Had to get the doctor’s approval before he could fly,” Mom explained.
“I had to get your mother’s approval,” Dad amended. “I don’t give a damn what the doctors say.”
Mom cut him a glare. “You’re too stubborn for your own good.”
“That’s where Cooper gets it from,” Tate voiced, gesturing to me. “She’s a terrible patient. She kicked me out of her room and had the nurse take out the IV for her pain meds, then refused to stay in bed. I came back the next morning and she was gone, doing laps around the fifth floor.” Levy was fussing at Tate’s side, kicking him in the kidney as he, leaned forward, reaching for me.
“Mmooommmmmommmmooommommmmooomm.”
My mother eyed Tate thoughtfully.
“No, Momma can’t hold you. She’s not allowed,” Tate reminded Levy. “Remember, she has a booboo. Do you want Grandma, Grandpa or Em to hold you?”
Levy fell silent, rested his head on Tate’s shoulder. “No, you hold.” His tiny fingers drummed Tate’s chest in a simple patting gesture, as if the child were pacifying the man and not the other way around.
My mother’s causal study of my husband—yes, my stomach still swam with butterflies when I thought of Tate Watkins as my husband—concluded, and she smiled warmly.
I wondered if I just lost my son to the next best thing in line. He and Tate had obviously done some bonding while I was laid up. It was all due to my encouragement, of course. I was inconsolable at the thought of abandoning Levy, as if Nolan, Em, Carter, Jake and even Shane weren’t spoiling the shit out of him on the drive home. In any event, I had talked Tate into spending more time at home with Levy, where he would be of use, and less time at the hospital pumping me full of needless opioids.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Carter warned, bringing me back to the here and now. “He bought that kid’s love with chocolate ice cream.”
“Ice cream makes everything better,” Tate replied. “Coop told me so.”
You have no idea how much I wished ice cream did make everything better. Absently, I touched the patch of gauze at my throat. I couldn’t eat ice cream, or most dairy, for that matter. Anything that would irritate my throat was off limits.
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