Southern Heat

by Natasha Madison

  “Oh my God.” I look down at them, trying not to let him see that I’m crying. How would I explain that I’m crying because this is the nicest thing someone has ever done for me?

  "I also got grapefruit juice.” He picks up the last one. “But I don’t know if you can drink it. I have to ask Doris." He looks down at the bottle in his hand, and then he looks up at me. “Which one did you want?”

  “You bought me all the juices, didn’t you?” I ask him, surprised but somehow not. How do I tell him that every single time I turn around, he is blowing my mind with his kindness? How do I tell him that if it wasn’t for him, I would still have some fear in me? How do I tell him that when I close my eyes, he is the one who helps fight off the demons?

  "I didn’t know which one was your favorite, and I was assuming you wouldn’t tell me, so this"—he smirks—“was my last resort."

  "Apple," I tell him, looking down at the bottle. For the first time in my whole life, I admit, “Apple is my favorite." He opens the apple juice, and he pours a bit in a cup and then holds the cup up for me. I take a sip as the sweetness hits my tongue right away.

  "Little sips,” he says when we hear a knock on the door.

  I look up to see the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Her blond hair is hanging down, and she smiles at Quinn. "I’m sorry. I should have called before just stopping by." She comes in, and I see how well put together she is. My head spins as I wonder who this person is.

  "Mom," Quinn says, walking to her and hugging her. I just look at her looking up at him with such love, and my heart speeds up as I watch him smile at her. Then she looks back at me, her whole face filling with a smile. “Willow,” he says my name. "I’d like for you to meet my mom, Olivia."

  She comes to me, stopping by the bed, and her eyes fill with tears. “It’s so good to finally see you up,” she says, and I look at her, confused. “I would come by when you were sleeping." She looks at Quinn. “We were all so worried about you,” she says. She reaches out to grab my hand, and it’s warm just like her son’s.

  “Um,” I say, not sure what to say. “Thank you.” I’m shocked that someone other than Quinn would be worried about me or my well-being. This is uncharted territory, and I have no idea what to do about it.

  "I would have brought you something if I knew you would be awake,” she says and looks back at Quinn. “I feel silly showing up empty-handed."

  “You don’t have to bring me anything,” I tell her, hoping she doesn’t feel bad. My hands shake but not from fear this time, it’s from being nervous about making a good first impression. I don’t know why I care. Everyone usually just looks at me like I’m dirt. But for reasons that I won’t admit, I want her to look at me without disgust.

  "I promise I’ll bring stuff next time,” she says. “How are you feeling?"

  "Okay,” I say and then look at Quinn. “He hounds me a lot." I hope that maybe if I tell his mother, she will make him leave. “I told him to leave."

  "Oh, honey." She shakes her head. “Wild hogs couldn’t keep this one away."

  Quinn laughs and shakes his head. “Wild dogs, Mom,” he says. “My mother is a city girl trying to pretend she’s a country girl."

  "You can take the girl out of Louboutins, but you can’t take the Louboutins out of the girl." She shrugs. “I’ve been a country girl for a long time." She looks at me. “I miss the city sometimes." She looks at Quinn. “Okay, never. I never miss it." I just look at her. “I am so happy you are going to be okay,” she says softly, squeezing my hand. “And when you get out of here, we’ll take a drive to the city." I don’t tell her anything else because there is nothing to say to that except I’m not going to be here for any of that. The minute I’m free to go, I’ll be just a memory.

  Chapter 15

  Quinn

  I turn off the truck, grabbing the brown bag from the passenger seat, along with the bouquet of fresh flowers I picked up. The hot sun hits me as soon as I step out of my truck.

  I walk down the concrete sidewalk to the front of the hospital. The flower pots on either side of the entrance are bright pink. Pushing the revolving door, I walk into the hospital. The cold air hits me right away. The smell of cleaning supplies will forever remind me of my time here.

  Stepping inside, I press the button for the sixth floor. My foot taps with anticipation of seeing her. It’s been ten days since she told us her side of the story. Ten days since she started to heal, both inside and outside. Ten days since I’ve seen her in a whole different way.

  Three days ago, they convinced me to leave every single day for an hour while she does her testing or works on things with Shirley. So every day at three o’clock, I leave to go home where I take a quick shower and then head to my grandmother’s house where she has food waiting for us. Everyone is itching to go meet her, but Chelsea told them it has to be done slowly.

  The elevator dings, and I walk out, turning right. I see her right away as she walks down the hallway with Shirley by her side. Every day, she takes more and more steps. I watch her without her knowing and see that the bandage is off and her hair is tied on the top of her head. The circles around her eyes are slowly fading, and the bruises have all but healed.

  "Hey there,” I say when I get close enough, and I can see that her hair is a touch wet.

  “Hi,” she says, looking up at me and then back down. “We were seeing how many steps I can take without being tired.”

  "Did you shower?" I ask, knowing she did but then seeing that she is still wearing a hospital gown.

  "I did." She smiles shyly.

  "Okay, if you take five more steps," Shirley says, “you will pass yesterday by ten percent." I turn and walk with them back to her room. We walk at her pace, which is slow, but every day, she tries to outdo the day before. “And you did it," Shirley says when we get to her room. "I’ll come back and check on you before I leave."

  I wait for Willow to walk into her room, and she goes straight to her bed, slipping inside it. She puts her head back and closes her eyes. “Tired?"

  "Just a bit,” she says to me. For the past ten days, I’ve been trying to bring her out of her shell. I know it’s not going to be easy, but one day, she won’t be so guarded.

  “I brought you flowers,” I say, holding up the flowers to show her. “I thought it would brighten your day.” I smile at her, and she stares at me, her mouth hanging open.

  “What?” She leans in and closes her eyes as she smells the daisies.

  “Why?” I bring the vase to her, and her eyes light up. “Those are beautiful.”

  I sit on the side of the bed, holding the vase in my hand and watching her smell the flowers. Her face looks angelic with the sun streaming in the windows. “Not as beautiful as you,” I whisper, and I hold my breath with the flowers in the middle of us. I want to lean in and kiss her lips softly like I’ve been doing in my dreams. I fall asleep watching her and wanting to lie down beside her and take her into my arms.

  “You didn’t have to do this.” She smells the flowers.

  I get up, walking over to the brown bag. “I got dinner.”

  "You could have eaten at home," she says, “with your family."

  I ignore the whole thing, knowing she asks me this every day. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I have today?"

  "Fine,” she says, slipping her legs under the covers and closing her eyes.

  “Do you want to nap?” I ask her, and she opens her eyes sleepily.

  "No, no,” she says, opening her eyes again. “I’m fine." She closes her eyes again, and this time, I don’t say anything. I just watch her for a couple of minutes and then sit in the chair, taking in her smooth face.

  Her eyes don’t open again for an hour, and when she does, she moves her head side to side. “How long was I sleeping for?" she asks, trying to wake herself up.

  "An hour,” I say, smiling, and she nods at me. “What did you bring in the bag?”

  I laugh at her and get up. “Well, Grams decided th
at you needed some more meat."

  "She doesn’t even know me,” she says the same thing she told me yesterday, and I laugh at her.

  "We have chicken fried steak with some roasted veggies." I take the container out and open it. "It’s still warm,” I say, putting it on the tray and bringing it to her. Her arm is still in a sling, so she has only one hand available.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever had chicken fried steak,” she says, looking down at the food and then up again.

  "Well, before you eat it, I’m going to tell you it’s not chicken." I take the second container out and open it.

  "What do you mean it’s not chicken?" she asks, looking down into the container.

  "I mean that it’s steak,” I say, sitting back in the chair beside her.

  “So why don’t they call it fried steak?” I look at her and laugh.

  "It’s because it’s breaded and fried like a chicken cutlet," I answer her. “that is what my grandmother told me when I asked her."

  She doesn’t say anything else. She looks at me and then down at her container and then up again. “Do you need me to cut it?"

  "I can probably do it myself. Or,” she says, stabbing her fork in the meat and then picking it up, “I can eat it like this." She bites off a piece and chews it.

  "Where there is a will, there is a way,” I say, and she just shakes her head.

  "Or when you’re starving, you will eat it any way you can get it,” she says, taking another bite of the steak. The burning in my stomach starts again when I think of her story. "Quinn," she says, and I look back at her. “Don’t you have somewhere else you need to be?"

  I look at her and almost snort. “Are you getting sick of me?”

  “Yes,” she answers. “But seriously.” She puts down her fork. “Why are you still here?” She shakes her head when I’m about to say something. “I got it before when you were here to make sure I was safe. But I’m safe. I’m healing. I’m fine.” She grabs the cup from beside her container. Apple juice that I poured her before I left because I knew she wouldn’t ask Shirley to get it for her. Apple juice, I know is her favorite even when she doesn’t want to admit it. Apple juice that makes her smile just a fucking touch when she takes that first sip. “You don’t have to stay here anymore.”

  “Are you done?” I ask, and she just stares at me. “Good, so maybe you should listen and listen good.” I put my container down beside hers on the tray. “I’m here because I want to be here.” My voice stays soft instead of rising like I want to. “I’m here because you are here, and I’m going to be here until you aren’t here.” I lean forward. “So you can stop asking me where I need to be or if there isn’t someplace else I need to be, Willow. Because it’s going to be the same answer every single time.”

  “But,” she says softly, “I don’t.”

  “You don’t what, Willow?” I put my hands on the bed beside her leg, my hands in fists. “You don’t want me here. You don’t need me here.” I look into her green eyes, and I’m sucked in, just like a whirlpool in the middle of the ocean. “It’s about time you had someone here to make sure you’re okay. Someone in your corner. Someone by your side.”

  “And you think that should be you?” She taps her finger on the bed, and I know she’s nervous.

  “I don’t think it should be me,” I say and then inch very close to her. “I know it should be. Eat your steak so you can have some blueberry crumble pie,” I say. I see her eyes light up for just a second, and then she guards them again. “One of these days, Willow, that wall is going to come crashing down."

  She swallows. “Or one of these days, you’ll just not show up." She looks down at her food and picks up the fork again.

  "Don’t bet on it, Willow,” I say and sit back down in my chair. My hands want to reach out and pull the elastic from her hair. Pushing it behind her ear and leaning down and kissing her lips that I’ve spent the past couple of days dreaming about.

  She ends up eating four more bites of steak and a couple of potatoes. Her appetite is still small but it’s growing every day. She never asks when the meal will be coming or tells me if she’s hungry or not.

  "You can go home and sleep,” she says when the lights go dark in the room, and I look over at her. “And come back in the morning if you want."

  "And miss getting a stiff neck in this cardboard chair?" I joke with her, and she shakes her head. "Good night, Willow."

  She stares at me for as long as her eyes will let her. “Good night, Quinn,” she says softly. She closes her eyes for a couple of minutes and then opens them again. “Thank you.” I can see she is struggling with this, so all I can do is smile at her. She shuts her eyes as I watch her chest rise and fall as she succumbs to her slumber.

  It’s only when I know she is deep asleep do I pick up her hand and place it in mine. “You’re welcome, Willow,” I say and bend to kiss the top of it softly.

  Putting my head back on the chair, I fall asleep. I wake when I hear her moan out, but when I open my eyes, I see she’s still asleep. When her head goes side to side, I grab her hand in mine, and I talk softly to her. “I’m right here, Willow,” I say, and she softly stops, falling back asleep.

  When I open my eyes next, I look into the bed and see it empty. I jump out of the chair as I panic, looking around. I find her looking out the window. “I didn’t want to wake you,” she says, looking at me as my heart slows to beat normal seeing her there. “Where did you think I would go?"

  I don’t answer her because the answer scares me also. “I was just scared you fell off the bed,” I say, walking to stand next to her looking out the window.

  The black sky slowly turns a shade of gray, the yellow starting on the horizon. “What are you doing?" I look over at her.

  "I’m watching the sunrise,” she says. “Someone once said that it’s therapeutic." She smiles slyly and turns back to look at the sky. “Almost like a restart."

  "Is that so?" I say, smiling myself, and I put my hand around her shoulders. Her whole body stiffens, and she doesn’t move. “That person must be really, really smart," I tease, and her body relaxes just a touch.

  "Or he’s a smart-ass,” she says, and for the first time, we laugh together.

  Chapter 16

  Willow

  "How is your head?" the doctor asks, and I look at him.

  "Fine,” I say, and then he just looks at me. “No, seriously," I tell him. “I haven’t had a headache in two days."

  He smiles at me. “That is excellent news." He puts his hands in his pockets. “Which means this will be more good news." I look at him and then at Shirley, wondering what they are talking about. “I can discharge you,” he says, and my happiness is there for one minute because then the fear creeps in.

  "Are you sure?" I ask him, my heart pounding a mile a minute as I think of myself out of this room.

  "We suggest you stay close to the hospital,” he says, nodding at me, and I don’t say anything to him. I can’t form words right now.

  "This is good news," Shirley says softly when he walks out of the room. "You are finally going to be free of here."

  “Yeah.” My mouth goes dry, and I ignore the stinging to my eyes. When I first woke up, all I wanted was to escape before anyone knew who I was. But the thought of being out there petrifies me, and I have no idea why.

  "It’ll be so good,” she says, squeezing my hand.

  "When?" I ask, trying to make a plan in my head. “When do you think I can go?"

  "Go?" Quinn says, coming into the room. Shit, I think to myself. Looking at him makes the tears want to come faster and harder, so I avert my eyes quickly. "Where is she going?" I was hoping that all this might be happening when he was not here. He leaves every single day for one hour exactly, sometimes even less. No matter how many times I tell him to go or ask him why he’s here, he has never left my side. No matter how many times I’ve sent him away, he’s always here. No matter how many times I pretend to hate he is here, I sleep better knowin
g he is here. I know I shouldn’t get used to it and that it isn’t smart. I know that in the end I’m going to leave, and all he will be is a memory.

  "As soon as the doctor signs off,” Shirley says, “Willow is free to leave."

  “What?” he says, taking his aviator sunglasses off his head. “Is that safe?” he asks, putting his hands on his hips. The worry is all over his face. A face I’m going to miss seeing every single day. I use the fact that he is looking at Shirley to wipe away the tear from the corner of my eye. I also take the time to get my wall back up.

  "He said she can go but must stay close to the hospital," Shirley repeats what the doctor just said.

  My finger taps beside my leg. “Is there a phone book anywhere?” I ask Shirley. “That you have around here.” I ignore Quinn’s eyes on me.

  "Yes." She nods her head and walks out of the room.

  "What else did the doctor say?" Quinn asks, and I look at him, my whole body filling with nerves.

  “Nothing. That I can leave but have to stay close to the hospital.” I still don’t make eye contact with him because I don’t trust myself not to shed any tears.

  I can feel his eyes on me and all of the things he wants to say, but I can’t pay attention right now. My mouth is dry, my finger can’t stop tapping, and I think my body is going to start to shake any moment, and I can’t show him this. I can’t let anyone know how scared and petrified I am to leave here. I can’t let him see how much I want to stay. I can’t let him see that leaving him will be one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

  Shirley comes back in with a phone book in her hand. “It’s been a couple of years, but I think it’s still good."

  I smile at her, trying to hide my nervousness. “Thank you so much."

  I sit up in bed and open the book. “What are you looking for?" Shirley says. “Maybe I can help."

  “Yes,” I say, opening the book to the letter M. My eyes roam the yellow page as I move from one name to another. “How well do you know Mirth Motel?”