Thicker Than Water

by Dylan Allen

  She doesn’t open her eyes, but shakes her head in the negative. He looks back at me.

  “Are you going to be financially responsible for her? If so, we’ll take her back right now,” he says as he starts to wheel her back to the desk.

  “Of course I’ll be,” I say in exasperation. “Just get her a doctor.” I can’t believe any of this.

  “Fine, we just need you to sign the form that assigns you financial responsibility.”

  He walks behind the desk, pulls out some papers attached to a clipboard and shoves them at me. I fill them and he clacks away on his computer while he talks on the phone. He asks someone to come and get Lucía and put her in a room. I look over to her, she’s slumped in her chair. I write faster.

  “Is the doctor free to see her now?” I ask him as I push the papers, along with my driver’s license, back in his direction. I look down at Lucía again. Her eyes are still closed, but she has sagged a little in her chair.

  I turn to find the attendant looking at me. Recognition lights his eyes. He picks up his phone and dials a number, while smiling at me like I’m the fucking Queen of England. He mumbles some code into the phone and then hangs up. “The doctor’s actually coming for her himself. She’ll be seen to right away. You should have told me who you were.”

  He bats his eyelashes at me.

  I stare at him in disbelief. I want to knock his ass out. Being recognizable is a double-edged sword. Every time something like this happens, it feels like an invasion of privacy. The last thing I need is for him to call TMZ. So, I force a smile and say, “If I’d known it would have made a difference, I would have.” He grins and starts to respond when the double doors swing open and out comes a man who looks more like he plays a doctor on television than he does like a real one.

  “I’m Dr. Maxit, I’ll take,” he looks at the file in his hand and then looks up, “Lucía, back with me.”

  He pronounces her name correctly the first time. I don’t like the way he’s looking at her. Like she’s a snack instead of a patient.

  “Sure, let’s go,” I say, and grab the handles of her wheel chair.

  “Sorry, sir. But I’ll need to take her back with me alone. You’re not family, we can’t allow it. I’ll make sure to send someone out to give you updates if the patient asks us to.”

  Then he grabs the handles of her wheelchair and rolls off. I don’t have a chance to say more than “I’ll be here,” to her as he walks off with her.

  I sit there for an hour feeling like I’m losing my mind. I’ve watched a stream of patients come in. Almost all of them sit and wait before anyone sees to them. None of them insist on being seen right away. Even the woman holding a screaming child with blood all over her clothes doesn’t protest when the man at the desk tells her to wait. I don’t understand why people aren’t more forceful. I’ve had enough of waiting. Not knowing what’s happening to her is torturous.

  The reception desk attendant eyes me warily as I approach.

  “Can you get me an update on Ms. Vega, please?”

  “Of course, Mr. Carras.” His response is coy and it grates on my already-frayed nerves. But I manage to smile stiffly. He speaks quietly into his phone and then hangs up. He smiles brightly up at me.

  “Good news. She’s ready to be discharged. They are getting ready to send her out.”

  I feel relief wash over me. She’s fine. She can go home.

  I thank him, my gratitude sincere this time. Ten minutes later, Lucía and Dr. Fuckface walk out. He’s laughing. She’s smiling up at him, too. As soon she feels my gaze, she looks at me and our eyes meet. Relief and joy war for prominence in her expression. When we reach each other she mumbles, a shy, “Hi.” I take her in. Her left arm is in a sling and her hand has a huge dressing on it. I drop to a crouch so we’re face-to-face.

  “You okay?” I ask her. She nods, but her eyes tell me everything I need to know. I’ve missed you. I need you.

  I reach up and brush her hair back from her face. Her head sways so that her cheek rests in my palm.

  “You scared me,” I whisper. I feel a slight shudder wrack her body

  “I know, I’m sorry. I was scared, too.” Her smile is wistful, but her eyes shine as she whispers, “Come closer.”

  I lean in so we are an inch shy of being nose to nose.

  “Closer,” she says again. I bring my nose to brush the side of hers. We’re so close that our lips are almost touching. My hand combs through her silky hair. I know what’s coming; my need and anticipation reach a fever pitch.

  She tilts her head and presses her lips to mine. I sigh in relief at the feel of her mouth, soft and pliant as she kisses me . . . quickly, softly. As soon as my lips start to search for more, she pulls back. Like warmth of the sun covered by an errant cloud, the loss of her lips leaves me cold.

  “Thank you for taking care of me, Reece,” she whispers, still close enough for me to feel her breath on my lips.

  “That’s not enough,” I say gruffly. Almost reflexively, I start to reach out to bring her closer to me. Then, I hear a cough. I’d forgotten Dr. Fuckface was standing there. I stand up slowly to meet his eyes.

  He looks amused and returns my gaze easily. “She has a sprain in her right arm, and a deep cut in her palm on the same side. Luckily, no major muscles or arteries were severed. But she needed several layers of stitches. I used dissolvable stitches, so she won’t need to come back to have them removed. I’ve given her a pain reliever, a very strong one, so she might be a little ‘high’ for a few hours. I’ve written her a prescription for more, you should stop and get it filled on your way home. Otherwise, she’s fine. And she can return to work tomorrow if she feels up to it. She’ll have to rest her hand and arm. So, typing is probably out of the question.” He glances down at Lucía fondly. “She’ll be pretty sore, so try to make her take it easy. I have a feeling that might be difficult.”

  Why is he acting like he and Lucía are friends? I start to step around her wheelchair. I’m ready to get the hell out of here. “Thanks, I’ll take it from here.”

  He steps aside and moves to stand in front of us.

  “I’m sending a nurse to wheel her out and wait while you go and get your car. It’s hospital policy.”

  His smile has a little bit of a challenge, but I’m not sure my mind isn’t playing tricks on me. He puts a hand on her shoulder and smiles at her.

  “Take care of yourself, Lucía.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Maxit,” she returns

  “It’s Gael. It was a pleasure to meet you,” he says and with a curt nod at me, he walks away as the nurse approaches.

  “I’m Sue, Ms. Vega, I’m going to wheel you out.” the tall, redheaded woman wearing nurse’s scrubs says to Lucía. She grabs the handles of the wheelchair before she addresses me. “Can you go bring your car around, Mr. Carras? I’ll wait with the patient in the pick-up lane outside.”

  I stoop to look at Lucía and give her a reassuring smile before looking at the nurse. “Yeah, sure.” I push Lucía’s hair out of her face and tell her, “I’ll be right back.”

  When I pull up, I can see the nurse laughing at something Lucía’s saying and I’m relieved she feels well enough to speak.

  As soon as I stop the car, the nurse opens the door and then helps Lucía out of the chair. By the time I’m around to their side of the car, Lucía’s already in the passenger’s seat. “Drive safely. She has her discharge instructions.” And she starts to turn away.

  She stops and then looks back at me, an expression on her face that I recognize. She wants to ask for a picture or an autograph. I don’t say anything, but hope her better judgment will win out. It does and she keeps walking.

  I lean over her to buckle Lucía in and I want to press a kiss to her mouth as I stand back up, but I don’t dare. Not with the way I’m feeling. If I start to kiss her, I might never stop.

  We’re on the road, heading to her house before I speak.

  “So, you and that doctor were fri
endly,” I say to her. Trying to keep my tone light, but I can hear the accusation in it.

  “Excuse me?” she says, her affront clear. She jerks her head to the side to look at me.

  “I’m just making an observation.” But I already feel like fool. How could that be the first thing I say to her after this ordeal.

  She sighs but her voice is tender when she speaks. “Reece, what’s wrong? Why would you ask a question like that?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m tired. A lot has happened in the last few days. It was a stupid thing to say,” I grind out. I feel uncomfortable with the feeling of shame that’s starting to creep into my conscience. She doesn’t say anything and I can feel her watching me.

  “You’ve got me wide open, Lucía. I feel . . . exposed.” I almost choke on the word. I hate feeling that way. I hate admitting it even more. “So yeah. I’m jealous of anyone who looks at you. I want to be able to tell him to fuck off because you’re my girl.” Her eyes widen at that, and I amend my last sentence. “You feel like my girl.”

  Her eyes grow even wider, and just as she starts to speak, a yawn escapes her mouth and she winces slightly.

  I’m such an asshole. She’s tired and in a lot of pain. Lack of sleep and stress have made me crazy.

  “Shit, Luc. I’m sorry. Let’s get you home.”

  She only nods, but doesn’t respond. The car is quiet except for “Hallelujah” by Pentatonix playing on the radio. She starts to sing at the lines

  “Maybe there’s a God above

  All I’ve ever learned from love

  Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you…”

  Her voice is soft and haunting. She hums the chorus and then trails off as the song ends. The next song starts and she reaches for the volume knob on the console and turns the volume down. My hand is on the gear shift and she covers it with her own.

  “You shouldn’t feel jealous, Reece. I know we’ve got things to sort out, but what I feel for you isn’t something that could be threatened by a good looking ER doctor. I feel like your girl, too.”

  My heart lightens at her admission. That’s a step in the right direction. It’s so tempting to keep pushing. To get her to say what I need to hear; to try to just move past this. To pick up where that kiss left off.

  I know we can’t. I know we have some hurdles to surmount, but this is definitely progress.

  Her rich, husky voice breaks the silence that fills the car. “You were great tonight, baby.” She’s sleepy and her words are a little slurred. She’s never called me anything but Reece before and despite what a shitty night it’s been, I smile. I join our hands, link our fingers. The thread of the pulse that beats at the base of her palm is in sync with my own. Our connection feels like a live wire; volatile, but strong.

  After a few minutes, her voice cuts through the silence in the car. “Thank you for getting them to take me back so fast. I’ve never been seen to so quickly before. I’ve gone in with more severe injuries than what I had going on tonight. You know that scar on my side?”

  I nod.

  “It started as a small scratch from a fence I was climbing. My parents didn’t take me to the ER until it got infected. And even then they made as little fuss as possible. By that point, the infection was so bad they had to cut away pieces of skin.” She lets go of my hand and rubs the scar through her shirt.

  I feel a surge of anger at this. I can’t believe anyone is treated like that.

  “So, you don’t have insurance?” I ask

  “Nope. Undocumented immigrants are prevented from participating in the health care exchanges. If I had an employer, I could get it through them, but I’m self-employed,” she says tiredly. “Thanks to the book and now the screenplay, I have money to pay for things like this.”

  We ride in silence for about five minutes before she says, “And tomorrow, when I’m less groggy and hopefully not in so much pain, we’re going to finish talking. I want this shit out of the way so I can start kissing you whenever I want to.”

  I see a smile tugging at the side of her face.

  I’m not a praying man, but I say a silent “thank you” as I speed down Melrose Avenue toward Los Feliz.

  23

  Lucía

  I feel like I’ve been hit by a golf cart repeatedly. I roll over in my bed as yesterday’s dramatic ending speeds through my mind like a movie trailer. Scene after scene—me storming over to Reece’s house; having it out with him; falling; the hospital; kissing him and coming home—replays through my awakening mind.

  The sun is shining in through my window and I know I’ve overslept. I start to think about all the things I need to get done today. Jess should be gone to the shop already. I’ll be saved having to explain my bandaged arm at least until tonight.

  I groan as habit has me using both hands to brace myself as I start to stand up. I can’t believe I fell. The hospital bill is going to be expensive. A year ago, that would have felt like a mountain I’d never be able to climb. Today, I know I have enough money in my checking account to pay for what happened yesterday.

  It’s amazing how having that layer of stress removed makes everything feel a lot easier to handle.

  I gingerly feel the ground with my toes, grateful for the luxury of heated floors throughout the house when my feet meet a comfortable, lukewarm floor. I walk over to open the blinds and gaze out at our beautiful backyard. Two squirrels race through the branches of a tree that’s in one corner of our yard.

  What a luxury it must be to know exactly where you belong. To be doing exactly what you’re meant to without anyone trying to stop you.

  It’s been a few weeks coming, but I feel like it happened overnight. Reece and I are . . . an “us.” I’m part of a “we.”

  All the lights were off when we got here last night. Reece asked to stay, but I said no. I told him I’d talk to Jessica in the morning and let her take care of me. I was exhausted, bruised and just wanted to go to bed. And, I was afraid of what would happen if we’re alone together in my bedroom. That kiss, God, it was so good . . . and quick. It had to be, I could feel his lips start to demand more from me. I could feel his hunger. I could feel the potential of what’s to come with us.

  I am brushing my teeth as I remember what he said to me in the car. Wide open? I feel like his girl? Butterflies erupt in my stomach. How is it possible that Reece Carras feels like that about me?

  I meant what I said yesterday, I want to get everything out into the open and I want to talk about Fabienne.

  I hope we can do this part quickly because I want him so badly. I didn’t even know it was possible to need someone’s physical presence. Yesterday when they took me back into the exam room and didn’t let him come with, I thought I was going to die from missing having him there. By the time they were ready to discharge me, my need to see him was acute.

  Relief and happiness overwhelmed me when I saw him as we came out into the ER’s lobby. The look on his face said he felt the same way. When he looked at me and asked me if I was okay, I had to kiss him.

  I can still feel his lips on my mouth. So wanting, grasping, accepting.

  I’m falling for him, fast and hard. There are so many practical things that will make this difficult to figure out. I’d planned on leaving the country as soon as the screenplay was done. My plan was to come back, but it wouldn’t be an option for three years from the time I left.

  My ability to stay in this country is currently dependent on tenuous and contentious Executive Order. I can’t travel beyond its borders—I wouldn’t be allowed re-entry. Reece can’t whisk me off for a weekend to Cabo or Paris or wherever he’s used to vacationing. I can’t accept that I’ll never have the right to vote in elections that have real consequences for my life. I’ve never felt more resentful of my status as I do now.

  “Enough of this pity party,” I say to my reflection before I turn to leave the bathroom.

  Gingerly, I make my way to the bed, trying not to jostle my arm. I’m about to pull the comforte
r back and climb back in when there’s a knock on my bedroom door. I figure it’s Jess, though she rarely knocks. When I open it, confusion and excitement make me gasp. Reece and Jessica stand there, together and smiling.

  “Oh, my little macaron,” Jessica says as she pulls me into her arms. She hugs me and strokes my hair and calls me her little beignet over and over while assuring me that she is going to take care of me. I look over her shoulder at Reece, silently asking for an explanation.

  He holds my phone up, waving it before he puts it down on the desk in my room, “You left this at my house last night.”

  Jessica doesn’t loosen her hold on me as Reece enters the room. He’s never been in here before and I can see him surveying it as he does a broad sweep of the place.

  “Jess, I’m okay,” I say trying to reassure her. I wrap my arm around her and hug her back. She relaxes her hold and scans me from head to toe. Her face is as expressive as her Botox will allow.

  “I’m so glad you have me listed as your In Case of Emergency, my little bonbon. When Reece called this morning, I came up and peeked in on you and saw you were sleeping. And then I went off to the store.”

  “Thank you, Reece, for caring enough to call me. I can see you already know her well enough to know that she wouldn’t ask for help on her own, even if she needed it.” She beams at him and squeezes me.

  I feel a ball of emotion forming in my throat. This woman is my family. My own may have fallen apart, but I’ve started to build a new one. One that’s based on choice and love. It holds us together with a bond that’s thicker than one formed merely by blood could ever be.

  I squeeze her back and say a “thank you” that comes out strangled as it works around that ball in my throat.

  “Come on, I know you’re basically okay, but I’m going to cook some food, do your laundry and make sure you have everything you need while you’re here. And you can take some back to Malibu with you.” I watch as she grabs my overflowing clothes hamper from my closet.