Blank Canvas

by Coopmans, Kathy

  I can’t talk. My mind is blank. My eyes start burning with tears. “Oh, my God. Help me,” I choke out through my sobs.

  “Where are you?” The sound of his fist going through something shatters on my end. “Talk to me, Amelia. You need to talk.”

  “B-b-b-bathroom,” I barely get out before the door slams open, and Zeke is there with wild eyes.

  “Amelia.” He’s on the floor next to me, wrapping me up in his arms.

  “Did he touch you?” He grips my face in his hands. “Did that motherfucker touch you?”

  “No,” I stumble out. “No, I saw him. Tried not to panic but then came here. Wait, how do you know he is here?”

  A flash of pain flitters across his eyes, but it doesn’t last long. “Do you really want to know?”

  “I didn’t think I did, but after hearing and seeing him, that did something to me, Zeke. It threatened to shatter the barriers I’ve built up. I won’t allow that to happen.”

  “The club is going to take care of it all. Curtis and Saxon are down in Florida, going to pay your mom and stepdad a little visit tonight. The last sound they’ll hear is Dexter begging for his life.” Everything is orchestrated and ready to go down. When you wake up tomorrow, nobody will ever be a threat to you, Amelia.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to see him again, Zeke. I can’t quit shaking,” I finally admit to him.

  “I’m positive. Let’s go home.” He tilts my chin up to look down at me. “I need to say good-bye to some people, Amelia. I need you to keep it together. Can you do that?”

  “Yes,” I say. Knowing I’ll do anything for him as long as the end result means he’ll get me out of here.

  He pulls me up to a standing position then backs me into the counter. “Let me clean you up.” He’s being incredibly calm when I know he’s anything but. He dries my eyes, wipes away the streaks of makeup, and even reaches into my clutch putting my gloss on my lips. With his hand in mine, I’ll be okay. We stride through the crowds of people with his hand resting on the middle of my back. I’m trembling. Every part of me wants to scan the room in search of Dexter. I don’t. I’m afraid if I see him again, I will fall to the floor. Zeke tells everyone important he’s been called into the hospital, and before I can speak again, he’s whisking me out the door, where Zeke’s car is right out front where we parked it.

  “Get it, baby.” I swirl around and catch something out of the corner of my eyes. It happens fast within one tiny blink. It’s as if the universe wanted me to see it. A man I recognize and don’t know why has Dexter by the throat, throwing him into a truck. It all happens so fast, I’m not sure if it was real or a figment of my imagination.

  Once seated in Zeke’s car with my fingers stroking his watch, the evening catches up to me. It begins with dull trembles until my entire body convulses.

  “Baby, you need to breathe. You’re in shock. It’s okay.”

  “What?” I cry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but this isn’t shock. It isn’t fear. I've never felt anything like it.

  “I’m so sorry. Had no clue he’d be there. Knew he was in the area, but the club had eyes on him. Got the call tonight letting me know he was there. Fuck, I’m so sorry. It’s over, baby, it’s all over. I’m taking you home.” He’s mumbling. His hand is resting on my thigh. I hear him, but I don’t register what he’s saying.

  “Zeke, I’m going to be sick.”

  “Fuck, your lips are blue, Amelia.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but instead, I feel a sharp, tearing pain in my stomach. It whirls once then twice before acidic vomit crawls up the back of my throat. The warm liquid covering the dashboard and my dress.

  “Jesus fucking Christ.” Zeke squeezes my hand. “Breathe, baby. Breathe.”

  He brings his phone to his ear, shouting orders to have an ER room prepped and ready.

  “Zeke,” I rasp out. “No hospital.”

  The words barely leave my mouth before more vomit flies out. A pain low in my right side aches to life.

  Zeke studies the road, darting his vision back and forth between it and me. His gaze locks on my hands clutched on the right side of my stomach.

  “Amelia.”

  “It hurts.”

  “For how long?” he asks, tears filling his eyes.

  I want to reach over and tell him everything will be okay, but I’m covered head to toe in my own wretched puke.

  “Never this bad. It’s been coming and going the past few weeks. I thought maybe it was nerves and stress over the ball. Now, I’m not so sure; it’s like my panic attack triggered something.”

  “I can’t fucking handle this, baby. God, we need to be at the hospital.”

  “Why am I puking like this?” I ask, wiping the back of my mouth with my hand.

  “Your right side?” He asks again then looks at the vomit coating me and his car.

  It’s neon green like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

  “Gallbladder. I don’t really know until I check you out.” There is no playfulness in his tone like the day in his office. He’s frightened.

  He slides the car in front of the hospital entrance and is out and at my door before I can blink. My door flies open, and Zeke dives in unbuckling my seatbelt and lifting me in his arms.

  “No!” I scream with another bout of pain hitting me hard. “I’m covered…”

  Zeke ignores me, scooping me up in his arms and racing inside. He’s barking out orders while my stomach churns.

  “I need an ultrasound done in here stat, think it’s her gallbladder,” he yells.

  There’s scrambling and racing in every direction. Panic along with pain hits me like a ton of bricks. I reach my hand out for him, but Zeke is in full doctor mode.

  “Zeke.” He doesn’t hear me, so I say his name louder and he finally looks at me.

  “We’ll get you fixed up, Amelia, just hang on.”

  “I need you right now!” I scream.

  “I’m here,” he reassures me.

  I squeeze his arm, and before I can tell him again that I need him, I witness Zeke lose his complete shit.

  “This is my Goddamn ER, and when I say I need an ultrasound in here stat, I fucking mean it.”

  Another doctor holds his hands up and steps closer. “All due respect, Doctor Hartley, you’re not on call and clearly too close to this patient to assist. You have a well-run ship here, and she’s in good hands.”

  Zeke’s free hand scrubs over his head. “Don’t like repeating my fucking self. Especially when it involves the woman I love. Please, get what we need in here.”

  He’s seething between gritted teeth in full protective mode. “This is my ER and my woman.”

  I tug on his hand hard this time and yell his name. When I finally have his attention, I talk to him.

  “I need you right now, baby.”

  “I’m here.”

  “No, Zeke, I need you with me right now. The man who loves me is who I need. Not to be my doctor.”

  “Fuck,” he whispers.

  “I’m fine. I tried to fight the panic attack and didn’t win. I tried to battle it away, but it was too powerful. It was all too much.” I’m trying to calm him down, but he’s not listening.

  “I’m a doctor, Amelia. I’m not simply going by your word. Not this time. I need to make sure you're all right. Give me this?”

  “Zeke,” I gently remind him. “I’ll give you your peace of mind. I’m asking for you to be here by my side. Let them take care of me.”

  “What blood work was ordered?” Zeke demands when a nurse walks in with a couple of vials in her hand, a needle, and swabs to wipe my arm. Well, one thing’s for sure, my emotions are turning from fear to anger.

  I stare at the needle. Waiting for the horrible memories to surface. When my body tries to shut down, I close my eyes. Think of the worried man and my life with him beside me. I’m not going back there. I refuse to do it.

  “I’m not sure, doctor. I was asked to draw her blood,” sh
e says, her voice shaky. My God, he has them all nervous in here.

  I bite down on my lip knowing I’m losing the battle here. However, his bossiness and demands are taking my mind away from my tortured thoughts. It hits me that I survived tonight in one piece. I could’ve run fast and far with enough money in my bank account. Hopped on a bus and left, but the thought never crossed my mind.

  Knowing my mother and stepfather are dead and seeing Dexter being hauled off to hopefully meet his maker will forever replace every single nightmare of mine.

  “Someone will be right back with the results as soon as possible.”

  “Ma’am.” I sit up in the bed with another sharp, stabbing sensation low on my right side. “Can you please shut the door?"

  “No,” Zeke roars.

  “Shut the door,” I grit out.

  She doesn’t listen, not with Zeke beginning to freak out beside me.

  “Please,” I beg her. She looks from me to Zeke, and when he nods, she graciously closes the door.

  I grab both of his hands. “Zeke, shut up. That door will open, you’ll be by my side, and everything else will be history. It will just be us forever. You need to calm down, be here for me, and breathe.”

  He finally drops down in the seat next to the bed, never letting go of my hands. “Seeing you like this is too much for me.”

  “Then just be here with me,” I whisper.

  “I’m here. Let's get a gown on you,” he says quietly.

  “Okay.” I relax while watching him twist his body and grab a blue hospital gown from behind him. His face is wrinkled with worry, it’s etched everywhere, and I want to reach out and smooth them all away. I’m simply too exhausted and weak to lift my arms. Zeke helps me out of my dress and wipes me down with a warm rag. Once the gown’s in place, her sits on the bed, pulls me to his chest, and we wait what seems like forever until the same doctor from before enters with a chart in his hand.

  My mind is complete mush, my body exhausted with the events of tonight. It should’ve destroyed every single piece of me, and I won even though I lie here in a hospital bed in pain still trembling.

  “It’s the gallbladder like expected. We’ll need to get in there and take it out, hopefully laparoscopy if it hasn’t ruptured already.”

  I squeeze Zeke's’ fingers with all my strength to keep him from butting in.

  “We found something else,” the doctor glances down to the paperwork in his hand.

  And the panic flares right back up for me.

  “Jesus Christ.” Zeke steps forward ripping the paper from his hands.

  I don’t even protest this time. Zeke scans the paperwork then it flutters from his hands down to the ground.

  “Zeke,” I whisper. I’m so scared. Everything is running through my head at once. What if the test results from when I was here before were wrong? I have a disease. I’m really sick. The possibilities are endless.

  “Oh, my God. Am I dying?” I scramble up off the bed to get to him, not caring the IV in my arm is pulling tight.

  My world begins to go fuzzy again, but only for a few seconds. Zeke turns to me, clutching my face in his strong hands, tears streaming down his face.

  “We’re pregnant, Amelia.”

  My mouth opens to speak, and yet I don’t know what to say. Thoughts race rampant in my head. Like, How in the fuck? or What in fuck? and mainly, This is fucking impossible. It’s wrong.

  Now, it’s him coaching me. “Breathe, Bluebird.”

  “Hartley, we need to get her back to surgery now.”

  I sense the urgency in the other’s man voice, and then everything is a blur of action torpedoing around me. Zeke never once lets go of my hand, even when I’m being wheeled down the hall.

  “I’m scared,” I peer up into his pools of green. “I’m talking like never-before scared. I haven’t had to process that we’re having a baby. What if something happens?”

  “Baby, you’re in the best care possible. Nothing is going to happen to you or our baby. I promise.” This is so unfair. I’m going to be a mother, and I can’t think about that right now with the thoughts of being put under. Not having any control of my surroundings.

  “I love you,” I say, my voice unsteady.

  “I love you, Amelia Moore. Mother of my unborn child.”

  * * *

  “Baby, you in there?” The sound of his voice has me trying to sit up in bed.

  “Hi,” I croak, reaching up to run my hand down the scruff on his face.

  “It wasn’t ruptured. They ended up going in laparoscopy.”

  I smile.

  “What’s so funny?” he asks.

  “You’re speaking a foreign language to me,” I muffle out. I’m groggy.

  A knock comes at the door, and that’s when I realize I’m in my own room. A kind nurse stands there staring back at us with a portable device.

  “Going to check for a heartbeat.” She walks in closer.

  I slam my palms over my chest. “Thank God, my heart’s still working.” Zeke lets out a roll of laughter.

  “Doctor, do you want to do the honors to see how far along she is? You might be able to hear the baby's heartbeat.” My baby. Our baby.

  “I’d love nothing more, Mary, thank you.”

  Through my haze-filled mind, I watch Zeke be a doctor. One of the many things he was born to do. My own heart flutters. My eyes remain focused on him. He looks so happy and content. Joyful and excited.

  “This is going to cold.” He pulls the sheet down, squeezes some gel on my stomach, and I feel…I feel everything. His warm hand. The cold object and the way he moves it across my still flat belly. A vision is growing with our baby.

  Rapid whooshes of sound fill the room.

  “Amelia. Can you hear that? He or she is ours. You’re going to be a mother. I’m going to be a father. We’re having a baby, Bluebird. You’re finally flying.

  “We’re going to be parents.” I still can’t believe how this happened, but I’ll take it as a sign of good fate.

  I’ve never believed in God. In fact, I held firm the belief that Satan lived up in both heaven and hell. God is what weak and hopeless people believed to make themselves feel better.

  I was completely wrong.

  It took a man who refused to give up on me to make me believe in God. He risked everything and more. And now we are having a baby, all because of the grace of God. I’m not invisibly numb. I’m visible and flying.

  Epilogue

  She’s perched naked on her stool, painting like a woman on a mission. I came home and interrupted her session, scooped her up, and took her to bed.

  She was undressed before I pounced on her. There’s just something about my Bluebird glowing with pregnancy that drives me insane.

  I drop the bags to the floor then lean on the doorjamb watching her paint away. She doesn’t flinch at the noise. When I clear my throat after several long minutes, she finally lifts her head to look at me.

  “Zeke, I’m about to cut off all your credit cards. No more,” she demands in her best pissed-off voice.

  I stroll over to her just as naked as she is with my cock my pointing the way. “The jogging stroller is in the car. Has an iPhone speaker hook-up and everything.”

  “Shit, you are officially insane.” She dips her brush into a glob of canary-red paint. “I told you to hold off on all this stuff. We probably won’t use half of it.”

  I wrap my arms around her, splaying my hands across her growing belly. I watch her hand fly across the canvas. She’s incredibly good. Naturally gifted.

  “Then is this a bad time to tell you I preordered a Keurig for baby bottles.”

  “You’re an idiot. You know I’m going to be breastfeeding.”

  I counter right back, loving to give her hell. “And you know my stance on that even knowing all of the health benefits of breastfeeding. I’m nowhere close to sharing those breasts with anyone, our child included.”

  She giggles, throwing her head back onto my
shoulder.

  “What do you think?” she asks, completely ignoring me. She knows I’m kidding. I can’t wait to see Amelia and our baby bonding.

  I hadn’t even studied her new piece, because everything she creates is brilliant, but this is on a whole new playing field. Nothing like I’ve seen before. The most radiant sunset with crashing waves in the foreground. Two silhouettes of women with their hands raised up to the sky and their hair blowing in the wind.

  “I want to hang it in the Lost Angel’s headquarters on opening day.”

  I can’t speak, unable to get out a single word.

  “Zeke,” she asks, turning her face to my cheek.

  “It’s perfect. I don’t know if I want to share it with the world, though.”

  She presses a smile into my cheek. “You have to.”

  “Is that…?”

  “Yes, she brought me to you and freed me. It’s how I’d picture Clara and I sharing a sunset at the beach.”

  “Three more months.” I run my palms over her swollen belly, choking back emotions.

  “Feels like a decade to me. I’m huge.”

  “You’re gorgeous,” I correct her.

  I spin her around on the stool. Amelia glances down to my rock-hard cock then points.

  “You need to get that thing checked out.”

  “Why?” I shrug reaching over her for a clean paintbrush. “My sperm is indestructible, no match for birth control.”

  “Condoms once the baby comes.”

  “Simmer down there. I will not be putting another condom over my cock. Ever.” I paint a line across the bottom of her belly.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Painting a picture.”

  Amelia tries to bend down to watch me. She huffs when our little one won’t allow it. My stick figures are shit, but my sun is spot-on art-gallery good. I grab her phone from her easel and snap a picture.

  “Let me see.” She reaches for the phone. I draw my arm back. I’ve learned to be quicker than her.

  “Just a second,” I murmur then spread her legs, aiming the phone between them.

  “I am NOT going to have a crotch shot of my vagina on my phone, Zeke.” This time, she does grab the phone from me.