A part of me felt protective. I stood and followed her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Helping?”
“I’m fine. I need to tinkle. You’ll be mad at me if I do it in the water. Give me a push up the stairs please. The steps seem to be getting taller every year.”
I took hold of her arm and helped her as she latched onto the guardrail and pulled herself up the steps, one creaky arthritic knee at a time.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Beverly asked.
“No. I’m not an invalid yet.” She shuffled away, butt naked, red shower cap firmly in place.
“She’s slowing down,” Beverly said once she was out of earshot.
“It’s the booze,” Luisa said.
“I made her drink a virgin,” Beverly said. “Poured it from the mini thermos, not the big one. Isn’t that what you do?”
“How did you know?” Luisa asked.
“You might be The Miracle Worker to someone whose eyesight is going. But Ms. Beverly is only in her sixties, sister, and nothing gets past her.”
“Salute.” Luisa lifted her glass and they toasted.
That’s when we heard the crash.
*
The hotel was nearly empty at 11:30 p.m. on a Friday, but the slip, fall, and crash of Mrs. R.—who I finally discovered was actually the Marte Rosseaux—stirred things up a bit.
I was out of the water in a splash and reached her first, collapsing to my knees at her side. “Mrs. R. are you all right?”
“No.”
Beverly skidded up to us. “I’m calling 911.”
“Are you okay,” Luisa asked.
“No,” she said.
“Wiggle your toes,” Luisa said.
“No.”
“No, you can’t?” I asked. Worry crawled up my spine and banged like a sledgehammer on my brain. “Or no, you won’t?”
“No!” Mrs. R.’s voice cracked and she started to cry.
“It’s okay, honey, it’s okay.” I squeezed her hand. “It’s going to be all right.”
Beverly called 911. I sat next to Mrs. R. as she lay on the floor, her eyes open and blinking. I stroked her arm. “Shh. Shh. All will be okay,” I reassured her.
Luisa covered her in towels and then pitched a few to me.
“Grab my clothes from the locker?” I asked. “I don’t want to be naked when the paramedics get here.”
“You need to put that on your bucket list,” she said. “They’re usually hot.”
“Not tonight. The combination is Zero Six. Zero Six. Zero Six.”
“No wonder you’re unlucky in love,” Luisa said, spun the dial with one hand and crossed herself with the other. She clicked it open. “666. The sign of the Anti-Christ.”
“The combination came with that lock. It’s not like I picked it.”
“I’d buy a different one,” she said and tossed me my clothes. “Just saying.”
I had my top halfway over my chest when the emergency crew burst into the spa. The paramedics checked Mrs. Rosseaux’s vitals and whipped her down the hallway on a gurney.
“It’s going to be fine, Mrs. R.,” Luisa said.
“We’re coming with you, honey,” Beverly said.
“You don’t worry about a thing,” I said, hustling behind them. I had my coat draped over my arm, and carried my shoes in my hand.
“I’m not worried. I’m fine. Except for my ankle,” Mrs. R. said. “It hurts.”
“Did you hear that?” I shouted. “Her ankle hurts!”
The paramedic winced. “No need to scream.”
*
An hour later, Beverly, Luisa and I gathered in a tight circle in the emergency room at Northeastern Hospital Emergency. “I think it’s postural hypotension,” the doctor told us. “She probably stood up too fast and her blood pressure plummeted. The ankle injury is most likely a sprain. The radiologist will look at the films when she arrives in the morning. I’m admitting Marte and keeping her overnight for observation. I’m assuming someone contacted her family?”
Did someone contact her family?
“Yes,” Beverly said.
“Good,” the doctor said. “We’re transferring her to a room but it might take an hour or so. I’m here all night. Let me know when a relative arrives.”
“Can we hang out with her?” Luisa asked. “We’re practically family.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, no. Hospital rules.”
I huddled with the ladies on tired blue vinyl chairs that had seen more than their share of worry. The clock over the admitting desk read 2 a.m. On occasion the doors opened, and chilly night air blasted into the room along with patients and their concerned friends and family. A young woman waddled in, holding her stomach and grimacing because she’d gone into early labor. A middle-aged man with a red drippy nose rasped for breath. A teenage girl wearing a look of shock held what looked like a broken arm awkwardly in front of her. It resembled an upside-down fork.
“I should have gone with her to the bathroom,” Beverly said. “I am a horrible friend.”
“No, you’re not. You offered,” Luisa said. “She turned you down. She’s fiercely independent and has her pride, you know.”
I peered morosely at my shoes and tapped my heels. “I was already helping her up the stairs. I’m the asshat not you. Why didn’t I just walk her down the hall?”
The doors to the ER opened again. The winds gusted more ferociously this time. A guy in a black woolen pea coat with a thick head of dark brown hair and high cheekbones flushed red with the cold night air walked in. Worry marked his eyes.
Ethan!
He strode to the front counter and hit the bell. When no one immediately appeared behind the protective glass he hit it again. “Hello! Here to ask about a patient.”
The night attendant walked up. “Name?”
“Marte Rosseaux.”
“Oh, holy crap,” I muttered under my breath. I dragged my fingers through my hair.
“What?” Beverly asked, looking up from her phone.
“That guy at the front desk. He works at the hotel. He’s asking about Mrs. R. He’s my unlucky-in-love.”
“He’s your unlucky in love?” Luisa stared at him, her eyes narrowing, then widening.
“Yes. The tall guy.”
“That’s a twist.” Beverly stood up and walked toward him.
“Are you related to the patient?” the front desk clerk asked.
“Yes. I’m her grandson.”
Oh, double crap.
“Ethan.” Beverly put her hand on his arm.
He swiveled and stared at her. “Beverly. Is she okay?”
“I think so,” she said. “She fell. Doctor thinks she just got up too quickly. Hypotension. She sprained her ankle—maybe worse. They’re going to keep her overnight. Probably transferring her right now.”
“Thank you for calling,” he said.
“Of course.”
I turned away from him and faced the wall. The blood abandoned my brain for parts unknown. How the hell I could get out of here without Ethan seeing me? Mrs. R. was stable and in good hands. I could always come back and visit her the next day at the hospital, or track down an address to send flowers and a card. “Must run,” I told Luisa. “I don’t think my cat ate tonight. He’s probably panicking. You know how co-dependent they are.”
“Yes,” she said. “Hold on just a quick minute. I’ll say hi to Ethan and go with you. We can share a ride. Don’t you want to say ‘Hi’ to—”
“No. Clearly he’s busy.” I moved toward the exit and pulled my coat up high, nearly over my head in the hopes he wouldn’t see me. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
“Stay, Harper. It’s so much warmer inside.” Ethan grabbed my arm and spun me around. “Besides, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Chapter 16
Ethan
*
After I got home from the bar I watched a little TV then fell into a restless sleep ov
er-thinking things, tossing and turning. I finally nodded off and dreamt of a cloudy fall day, orange, red, and yellow leaves swirling around me. Then I heard the crack of a gunshot and startled awake. Sweat beaded on my neck and trickled onto my chest.
Great.
I’d been making progress, having therapy a few times a week for six months after the accident. Over the course of the next 12 months, my sessions had narrowed to once a week. The nightmares had decreased over time to the point where I went almost a month without the night sweats and terrors. But just when I thought it was over, bam, the nightmares came back and smacked my brain.
I got up, hit the bathroom, and splashed cool water on my face. I walked to the kitchen, turned my phone back on, and spotted Beverly’s text.
Time slowed down and for a second I couldn’t breathe.
Get a grip, Rosseaux.
I yanked on clothes and caught a cab to the hospital even though I probably could have run there just as quickly.
I raced into the ER and spotted grandma’s crew—along with a plus one— Harper. I should have been more surprised, but I wasn’t. I discussed Marte’s medical conditions with the doctor. He suspected she’d be bruised and sore from her tumble. He mentioned there were a few suspicious spots on her X-rays that the radiologist could take a look at tomorrow.
“Why not tonight?” I asked.
“She’s not on the premises.”
“She’s on call, that’s easily fixed, right?”
“Don’t want to interrupt her unnecessarily.”
I called my lawyer, who woke up the hospital chief of staff with a phone call. The chief of staff summoned the radiologist to check Grandma’s films. That took about five minutes. The radiologist ordered an MRI, which is where Marte was now. Now I sat on a bench across from Harper in the waiting room and stared at her, but she would not meet my eyes.
She fit in perfectly with Grandma’s ladies: all opinionated, feisty, and funny in their own way. Harper had been hanging with Marte’s crew in the spa a week after I’d met her at the wedding. She’d had green slime oozing down her face in the elevator because Luisa Bananas had talked her into trying a herbal eye mask. So now that I’d found Harper—what would I do with her?
Wicked thoughts popped into my brain, a welcome distraction to my fears about Marte’s health. “Go home,” I said to Beverly and Luisa at 3 a.m. “No use all of us staying up tonight. I ordered you cabs.”
They stood up, stretched, and shrugged on their coats.
“Text me if you need anything,” Beverly said.
“Will do.”
“Tell Mrs. R. I’m sending healing thoughts,” Luisa said. “I’ll give her a massage as soon as she gets out of the hospital.”
“She’d love that.”
“Great running into you again.” Harper pulled on her coat and glanced at the door furtively, like it was an escape route out of Alcatraz.
“Yes,” I said. “Do me a favor?”
“Sure thing.”
“Stay and keep me company.”
“Uh…okay.”
“Oh, lordy,” Beverly muttered under her breath and rolled her eyes. She grabbed Luisa’s arm and hustled her toward the door.
“But he’s her unlucky—” Luisa said, pointing at me, confusion plastered on her face.
“Let it go, baby.” Beverly dragged her outside as a stiff cold wind blew into the waiting room.
Looking at Harper, stupid, unwanted feelings churned in my gut. Mixed with my abject fear about Marte was something else that felt familiar and different—all at the same time.
“I’m sorry about your grandmother,” Harper said. “She’s the grandmother I wish I’d had. But this isn’t about me. How are you doing?”
“I think we dodged a bullet. And I’m tired.”
“Me too,” she said.
I held out my hand. She ignored it. “I need coffee,” I said. “Come with me. I’m buying.”
*
Two cups of cafeteria coffee and a “healthy” but tasteless pre-made sandwich later, Harper accompanied me to Marte’s private room on the fifth floor. I poked my head inside. “She’s not here yet.”
“Probably still getting her MRI,” Harper said. “Hey, if you don’t need company anymore I should get going.”
Something was off with Harper. It was like she’d pulled so far back into herself that she was armored; hidden behind a wall that had been erected since the last time I’d hung out with her in the Rosseaux kitchen. “Right. It’s late. I’ll call a cab. But first I need your digits, lady.” I pulled out my phone. “How I let you get away without giving me your last name is a crime.”
“Schubert,” she said and recited her phone number.
I entered her details. “How long have you known my grandmother?”
“A week.”
“How many times have you hung out with her motley crew of trouble makers at the spa?”
“Twice. Got a problem with that?”
“Nope.”
“Is this an interview?” she asked, meeting my eyes for the first time tonight.
“Maybe.”
“Well, then, fair is fair. I get to interview you too.”
“Later. I should probably make some phone calls. Alert family—”
“Did you alert your go-to person about Marte?” she asked.
“Yes.” I’d sent Daniel a text updating him on Marte’s condition.
“Then you need to stay. Keep me company.” She turned and walked into the hospital room.
My eyebrows slammed toward my forehead. “All right boss.” I followed behind her, curious.
*
She paced back and forth across the tiny room, her coat folded over her arm. “Is your last name Rosseaux?”
“Yes. Put your coat down.”
She tossed it on a chair in the corner. “I take it you’re not a waiter?”
“No.”
“Are you an actor?”
“Nope.”
“Two for two. When I bumped into you at the wedding, you let me think you were a waiter,” she said, dragging her hand through her hair.
“No, I didn’t.”
“You held a tray filled with a crystal decanter and glasses. You wore a waiter’s penguin suit.”
“Yes, on the tray. The ‘penguin suit’ was Hugo Boss.”
“You spilled scotch on my dress. You insisted on cleaning it up. I think you copped a feel in the process.” She glowered at me. “Admit it.”
“I did not—okay, fine. I copped a feel… but only in my heart.”
“You copped a feel in your heart?” She shoved her hands on her waist making her look like Wonder Woman. “What kind of weirdo are you?”
She was killing me. I looked around the private hospital room that my grandmother would occupy when they eventually carted her in here. Which would be loudly. And I’d no doubt hear them coming from a mile away down the long hallway. “Yes,” I said. “That means I didn’t literally cop a feel but I was thinking about it.”
“I know exactly what you meant. At what point were you thinking about it?”
“At what point wasn’t I thinking about it?”
“I’m out of here.” She stood up, grabbed her coat, and strode to the door.
“I like you, Harper.” My heart dropped. I didn’t want to see her leave again. “Besides, I never told you I was a waiter.”
“Hello?” She whip-turned and jabbed her finger in my face. Her nostrils flared in anger.
She was so feisty, so pretty. Such a turn-on.
“I asked you a week ago in the kitchen when you cooked for me. You distinctly told me you were a waiter as well as an actor. Don’t mess with my head. And if you like me so much, what were you doing with the brunette in the bathroom at the burger place? Wait—don’t tell me. I can figure that out.”
“How did you know…you mean Barbara?” I finally remembered her name—only to realize this was the worst possible time to remember her name.
�
��Ugh,” she said. “Go enjoy the holidays with Barbara. Tell your grandmother I’ll call on her when she’s feeling better.” She turned to leave.
I grabbed her elbow and spun her toward me. “Nothing happened with Barbara tonight. Nothing’s happened with any Sally, or Meghan, or Jean, or any girl since I met you. Because, Harper, my cold, cold heart might finally be cracking open. But, I fear my heart cracks open only for you.”
She blinked. “That’s not true. I saw her follow you in there. I saw you—”
I pulled her toward me and crashed my lips against hers. They were as soft and full as I’d imagined. I loved kissing Harper. I swept my tongue across her lower lip, then bit it. She inhaled sharply.
Breathe me in, Harper.
Crack my frozen heart open and make me feel again.
Hold my hand when all the shattered pieces hurtle, sharp and brittle, through the air.
I placed one hand behind her head, then both, and tangled my fingers in her hair. I explored and tasted her mouth with my tongue.
Her coat and purse dropped to the floor with a soft thud.
We separated, just inches apart. Enough for me to see her eyes: wondering, hopeful, and dark with lust.
“I didn’t kiss Barbara in the bathroom at the burger place.”
“Good,” she said, her voice raspy.
“I want to kiss you again. Can I kiss you again?”
“Yes,” she said, lifting one hand to my face.
I took her hand, intertwined my fingers between hers. The warmth of her palm in mine felt intoxicating. I pulled her hand to my lips and kissed it. Turned her hand palm up, trailed kisses on the inside of her wrist, pushing her sleeve as my lips moved up her forearm.
I needed Harper. I wanted Harper.
She sighed. “We shouldn’t be doing this. What if someone comes in? A nurse. Your grandmother—”
“No one’s coming in.” I kissed her on the mouth, my lips moving to her neck. My heart swelled. It felt like a part of me was cracking open that hadn’t been exposed in a long time. Light was seeping inside me. I was still alive.
Ms. Match Meets a Millionaire Page 8