“What’s wrong with you?” Tara asked. “You sick or something?”
“Sick of being here,” Catherine said tightly, scanning the crowd.
“You’re looking for him, aren’t you? You were hoping to see your boyfriend,” Tara taunted. “Hoping he might think you were here and come even though he hates these things. That it would prove he likes you—”
“Oh… yes,” Catherine moaned, mocking porn exuberance that was on the brain from the constant soundtrack through her waking and sleeping hours the night before. “Ooh, baby. Please, let me see Fynn. Ooh… he’s sooo hot. He makes me hot… and sooo wet. I want him right—” She busted out in cackling guffaws, unable to continue.
It took her a moment to realize that her friends had stopped moving, staring past her to something more interesting beyond.
“Where do you want me?”
Her ears perked to the buttery voice and her legs suddenly threatened to give up on carrying her embarrassing self around anymore. Catherine looked at Georgia helplessly, but her friend remained stunned, eyes glued on Fynn; so she looked to Tara, pleading for normalcy.
“So, Fynn, you watch much porn?” Tara blurted. “Catherine’s thinking about a career change.”
Georgia came out of her coma and smacked Tara on the arm.
“Ouch! What the hell was that for?” she sulked.
“You’re still not helping,” Georgia said under her breath.
Catherine just stood, cringing from her hair to the lint between her toes. She couldn’t turn around. She didn’t trust herself to look him in the eye. She watched her friends begin shifting sideways, moving out from under his gaze. She knew what it was like. His eyes penetrated to the core of your being, and just like x-ray vision, he could see right through clothes too—not that I made that very difficult.
She begged with her eyes for them to stay with her, but they were edging away, leaving her alone with him.
“So from what your lawyer says, I guess that was research for your new field that you were doing the other night… with the TV?” he prodded, coming around to her since she refused to turn to him.
“That Tara, she’s a kidder all right.”
“She is quite the council. You have her on permanent retainer? I guess you probably have to since you seem to cause trouble wherever you go.”
“Hey, I resemble that remark,” she said with a giggle, unable not to see the ridiculousness of her last few days.
Surprisingly, he smiled back. Not at her or in spite of her, but with her. That was new.
“So I thought you didn’t come to these things,” she said.
“And why would you think that?”
“Drew said they weren’t your thing.”
“Drew was shoveling a bunch of crap.”
“What?”
“I always come to these things. I’m the cool uncle who wins prizes for the nephews…. Besides, I have a date tonight,” he added.
“Oh,” Catherine choked on even that tiny word—more of a sound really. The smile drained quickly from her face.
“She’s around here somewhere; she went off with Drew for cotton candy.”
A little childish, don’t ya think?
“I just won her this dog.” He pulled a bulldog from behind his back. “I guess I better find her.” He kind of shuffled his feet in place, seeming awkward.
“Yeah, I guess you better,” she said, her tone heavy and unnatural.
He walked off hesitantly, like he had more to say but didn’t know how to say it. She watched him disappear in the crowd.
“Hey, what happened?” Tara came running; plowing into her like she’d been released from a cannon.
“Nothing. Nothing at all thank you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You guys left me there like a freak.”
“We were giving you two time to be alone,” Georgia said.
“Well it was a threesome.”
“Huh?” Tara perked up.
“He has a date here somewhere. Not like I really care,” she grumbled.
“Where? Where is she?” Tara asked. “I’ve got to see what kind of woman is capable of grabbing that fine man.”
Catherine looked back at her woefully, exposing something she’d intended to keep buried under several feet of Nekoyan dirt. She didn’t like the thought of him with a woman—any woman.
“She’s with Drew somewhere, getting cotton candy,” Catherine said with a mock baby voice.
“Ooh, aren’t you catty!” Georgia said.
“I see Drew over there with a big cone of pink cotton candy, but she’s surrounded by little kids,” Tara called from her vantage point.
“I don’t care who his date is. I’ve had enough Fynn for tonight—for the rest of my life.”
“Does that mean we’re going to go and break in and steal the dollhouse and drive as far as we can get tonight to avoid the police?” Tara asked excitedly. “Looks like the coast is clear.”
“That means I’m going to go back to the cabin and sleep until we fly out tomorrow,” Catherine grumbled.
“Heads up!” a voice screamed out from somewhere within the carnival games.
-36-
9:00 PM—Catherine sat up, feeling an awesome splitting pain on the left side of her head.
“Oh no you don’t.” The buttery voice came at her like it was through a nightmare.
“What the—where am I?” she demanded, fighting his hands that were gently pressing against her shoulders and forcing her to lie down.
“You’re in your cabin in the woods.”
“What are you doing here? What time is it? Why does my head feel like someone hammered nails into it?”
“Well it sounds like your speech hasn’t been affected,” Fynn said, a smile in his voice.
“Where are Tara and Georgia?”
“They’re still at the festival. I took you to the hospital.”
“Hospital?” she asked, alarmed.
“You don’t remember?”
“No.”
“They pulled most of the nails out, but the rest—”
“Oh my God, what did you do to me?” she demanded, feeling the swollen lump for nail heads.
“I’m just kidding,” he snickered, enjoying her consternation.
She gave him a look that warned that the truth was the only acceptable next statement.
“You got hit by a baseball—a wild pitch from the baseball throw. You know, the one with the milk bottles.”
“Who the hell was throwing it?”
“Our D-1 college-bound pitcher—eighty-five-plus miles an hour.”
She winced at the thought of what it must have felt like upon impact. Maybe it was a blessing that she had no memory of it.
“Thank God for your helmet or there would be nothing left of your head,” he said.
“I was wearing a helmet?” she asked, bewildered.
He laughed. “No, but the ball clipped a few stuffed animals and branches before hitting you in the noggin, so you escaped with just that egg there. It could have been much worse.”
Considering how much it hurt right now, it was hard at the moment for her to think about anything short of missing her completely that would have hurt less.
“Anyone ever tell you that the proper response to heads up would be to duck and cover?” he asked.
“Then why do they say heads up?” she challenged.
“Beats the hell out of me, but I would commit this little lesson to memory.”
“If I can still retain short-term memories.”
“I guess time will tell.” He failed to ease her concerns. “The doctor at the emergency room said to wake you up every hour through the night and talk to you to make sure you don’t start speaking Chinese—unless of course you happen to know Chinese.”
“So why aren’t my friends keeping watch? They wouldn’t send me off with you….” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Because I happen to have medical training and
they thought it was better for me to do it,” he shrugged. “It was actually Drew’s idea.”
“What about your date?”
“Drew’s going to take her home and make sure she’s okay.”
“She doesn’t mind you sleeping ov….” But she drifted off without finishing.
*****
11:00 PM—“Wake up sleepyhead!”
“What the hell time is it?” Catherine groaned, the voice too chipper—too loud.
“An hour after the last time you asked,” Fynn answered.
“Can’t I just set my alarm to do the same job you’re doing?”
“First of all, no. And second of all, is it that bad to have me here?”
“Yes,” she groused.
“Oh get over yourself. I’m the one giving my night up out of the goodness of my heart.”
“Probably hoping to have to give me a sponge bath or something,” she grumbled, pulling the covers closer around herself.
“Already did that my fair patient,” he said plainly.
Her eyes widened in shock and fear, and a little excitement.
“What do you take me for? A pervert?” he asked. “I thought you New Yorkers were the ones with the quick wit and sarcastic humor.”
“I have a head injury. My sense of humor is remedial now…. And how should I know that you’re kidding? You certainly haven’t tried to avoid checking me out before.”
“What self-respecting man is going to turn away when a woman is going to show him the goods without even paying for them?”
“You’re a pig.”
“And proud of it.”
“Where are Tara and Georgia? Shouldn’t they be back by now?”
“Drew drove them back to her place.”
“Why?” she asked suspiciously.
“Because I took their car.”
“Why?”
“Because I went to the festival with Drew.”
“I thought you went with a date.”
“We went with Drew.”
“So is she bringing them back here?” Catherine asked.
“No. She has to bring the kids home and her husband is out of town. She can’t leave them alone to come here.”
“Sounds awfully convenient.”
“You’re telling me,” he said with chagrin.
*****
1:00 AM—“Up and at ‘em!” he called, jostling the bed lightly.
“Is it morning finally? You’re killing me,” she whined.
“In a manner of speaking it’s morning. One o’clock.”
“There are that many more hours left to go?”
“I can think of other things to keep you up,” he said suggestively.
“I might be hard up, but I’m not that hard up,” Catherine said.
“Ooh, that hurt.”
“I’m sure you’ll get over it.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he admitted, heaving a sigh.
“Listen, if I don’t make it through the night, ship me to New York,” she said lazily, punchy from lack of solid sleep.
“Okay, sunshine.”
“And pretend that we were dating so my mother doesn’t think that I died alone with no prospects. That would kill her.”
“Are you mainlining alcohol under those covers?” he asked, peeking under the blanket.
“Put a fake diamond on my finger and tell her we were getting married. That’ll make her happy.”
“Even though you’re dead?”
“Life is real, not ideal,” she pointed out. Fighting the urge to drift off again, she added, “Shit happens. She’ll prob’ly even forgive me the grandkids since I’ll be six feet under.” The words were hard to form and she felt adrift in her own body. “And my dad—don’t ever let on about the car. He’ll never understand. He’ll have a heart attack on the spot. No self-respecting Hemmings….”
“Whatever you want,” he said, brushing her hair away from her forehead gently.
*****
2:00 AM—“Stop poking me.” Catherine rolled toward her belly, moaning into the pillow that was cold and damp from her sleep stupor.
“I need you to talk to me before you can go back to sleep.”
“I am talking,” she mumbled around a mouthful of cotton.
“I need you to open your eyes and look at me too.”
“That’s cruel…. I’m just so tired,” she said, her voice weepy.
“Oh come on. Don’t be a baby. Just look at me.”
She fought against the pressure of exhaustion, rolling herself over. It felt like she was moving three-hundred pounds and she wondered when she got so fat.
“Open wide,” he said, as if he were about to dump some nasty medicine down her throat rather than check her pupils for dilation.
“I can’t. Just five more minutes.”
“That’s it,” he said, leaning in close. “I am going to have to do it manually then.”
She could feel his gaze and smell spearmint and aloe soap and a little sandalwood coming off of him, making her insides flip-flop.
“On the count of three: one—two—two-and-three-quarters—”
Suddenly her eyelids thwacked open like only cartoon characters’ eyes could. He was just inches from her face—his lips, those eyes, the shadow of bristle across his chin, his tousled hair almost touching her forehead.
So she kissed him, pulling him in toward her, aided by gravity.
*****
2:40 AM—She startled awake from the acute pain on the left side of her head. Sleeping on her side had definitely been a bad idea, and if she’d been awake she would have told herself so.
“Holy fuck, that hurts,” she groaned, turning over and slowly and gingerly feeling the lump that was about the size of Delaware now. The room was only dimly lit by the TV. She stretched her arms and hit the body in bed next to her. Startled, she sat up a little too fast and her head let out a blinding shriek of white-hot pain. When her vision cleared, she was looking right into the glassy, wide-open eyes of her companion. The blue was hidden by the night, but she could see his bare chest with the finest sprinkling of hair and suddenly knew what it felt like—she just knew, like maybe she had been petting it in her sleep.
“You’re up. Did I miss my alarm? Are you okay?” he asked, his concern obvious. “You aren’t going to puke are you? That can happen with head injuries.”
“I just woke up on my side,” she said, cradling her second head lightly with her hand.
“Ooh, bad.” He sucked air through his gritted teeth. “I guess I should have strapped you down.”
“Because that would be less disturbing than waking up to the pain in my head,” she snickered.
“Just trying to help.”
“Well, I appreciate it, but introducing kink into this relationship isn’t really what I was going for.”
“So I see that you do still have your sense of humor.”
“Can’t beat that out of me with a baseball I guess,” she snorted.
“Nice one.”
“I feel a little woozy. I think I need to lie back down.” She moved as far on her side of the bed as possible, afraid to be closer because she wanted to touch him.
He watched her intently, reading her cues. “I’ll move to the loveseat. I should probably just watch some TV anyway. See you soon.”
“In an hour?” she asked sleepily.
“Yes, in an hour.”
*****
4:40 AM—“What’s the story of this here little gem?” he asked, lifting the ring on the chain around her neck.
“Why do you think there’s a story?”
“Because it’s a little girl’s ring. There’s got to be a reason you would wear such a thing. I don’t think it’s a fashion statement because you don’t wear it out on top of your clothes. The only reason I keep seeing it is because you’ve been playing with it in your sleep… and because you can’t seem to keep your clothes on around me,” he said with a wry smile.
“Don’t think that mak
es you special,” she warned.
“Oh, you do that for all the boys?”
“Yes. Every boy I meet gets a free peek. Then I start charging.” She gave him a lazy smile, clasping her hand around his hand and the ring. “As for this…. Maybe I just like butterflies….”
“Me too,” he said softly.
“Do I get to ask you a question now?”
“I guess.” He sounded uncertain.
“Why does Drew call you Fynn, but it bothers you so much when I do?”
He was quiet for a moment. “It’s an inside nickname. I didn’t know who you were or where you heard it…. Only people I’m close to even know it. It was what my dad called me when I was growing up because I was Joel Junior.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, Fynn, thank you for taking care of me….”
*****
5:40 AM—“Have you ever been married?” Catherine asked, her words slow and lazy.
“No,” he said, drawing the two letters out to the length of a three-syllable word.
“Never? Not once? Not even for a night?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Perfectly valid if you’ve been to Vegas, actually.”
“Well, no…. Why, have you?”
“In my mind.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, humored.
“It means that I have married tons of guys in my mind. The relationships just never take.”
“You probably scare them away with talk like this.”
“No,” she pouted. “I just imagine what it would be like to be married to them and—poof—it’s all over. Take you for example….”
“What about me?” he challenged.
She looked at him lazily, chewing her lip, but then his face wavered before her and—poof—he was gone.
Friday
-37-
She opened her eyes, prodded awake this time by the sun and the utter lack of noise in the room. Gone were the droning TV and Fynn, too. Even though the night had left little room for true rest, what with him waking her all the time, she still felt her heart dip in her chest now that he was nowhere to be seen. Unless maybe he was taking a bathroom break after being her night nurse. She listened for the sound of the toilet flushing or the faucet running, or anything for that matter, but she was definitely alone.
2 Days 'Til Sundae (2 'Til Series Book 1) Page 24