by Carolina Mac
“Ivan,” he said, concentrating on the details of the flower. “I don’t believe I’ve done this one before, but it looks simple enough. Love those little bells. Where do you want it? I see that your left leg is bandaged.”
“I had some surgery, but it’s coming along. For my tat, I’m thinking on my thigh.” I pulled the side of my denim skirt up and pointed to a spot on my right thigh. I glanced at George and saw him glaring as Ivan touched my leg while moving my skirt out of his way.
Ivan caught George’s expression and smiled. “Oh, yeah, I’m getting the picture here. Loud and clear.”
“George rubbed cream on my leg before we came,” I said.
“I don’t doubt that for a second,” Ivan said with a chuckle. “Emla cream?” he asked.
George nodded.
Ivan slipped on latex gloves and opened a packaged towelette to wipe my skin. After he’d made a transfer, he set it in place, and I gave him the nod. When he started the design, it stung my skin like little electric shocks. George paced and smoked during the whole procedure, while Ivan worked and chatted to me.
“That’s some rock you’re wearing, Annie.”
I nodded towards George.
“Never would have believed that could happen. Not in this lifetime,” he shook his head.
“Took me by surprise,” I said. “Unexpected.”
“That’s an understatement,” he snorted as he finished up and taped a clean bandage over the tattoo. “Leave this on for a couple days. Don’t soak in the bathtub for two weeks, and don’t touch the scab. Any problems, come right back to me.”
“Thanks, Ivan. I love it.”
“Oh, I forgot. Don’t let that bandit near you for a week.” He slapped his knee and chuckled.
“How much do I owe you?” I asked.
Ivan waved my words away, “Consider it an engagement present.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” I replied. I knew better than to argue with these guys. They were all the same.
“I could think of something, if that brute wasn’t here,” he whispered. Ivan stood up and shook George’s hand. “She’s a winner, you old bastard. Tread softly.” Before releasing George’s hand, Ivan said. “Hold on here a minute. What the fuck happened to your arm? Looks like this eagle was gutted. That was one beautiful piece of work, and now look at it.” Ivan glared.
“Stitches,” George said.
“I can see they’re stitches, you dumb son of a bitch. Come see me when the arm is completely healed.”
“Later, Ivan.” At the door, George gave him a slap on the back and nearly knocked him over. George navigated the Hummer alongside the curb in front of the gun shop while I tried to peek under my bandage to see the tattoo. “Annie, get out of there,” he said. “I touched one of mine too soon and fucked the color, baby.”
“You’re right,” I said, pulling my skirt down. “Ivan told me not to touch it.”
At the gun shop, George got out and I slid over into the driver’s seat and kissed him through the open window.
“This is my last day with Porky, so I want to make sure he’s down with every fuckin’ thing in the store.”
“That’s wise. Make sure he has your cell number written down.”
“Good one. See you later.”
I waved and eased the Hummer out into traffic for the drive home. My leg was smarting a little as I walked up the porch steps, and into the house. I started a pot of coffee, made a corned beef sandwich and sat down at the kitchen table to list what I needed for a week at the cabin.
My short skirt showed the bandage on my thigh as well as the bandage over the surgery, so I changed into sweats and a t-shirt for a trip to the market. When I returned home, I left all of the bags in the Hummer that didn’t need refrigeration and went upstairs to pack my clothes.
All I needed for the cabin was sweats, jeans, a jacket, clean underwear and toiletries. George hadn’t mentioned his clothes. Maybe he needed me to do laundry or something before we left but offering to help him was not an option. Waiting for him to get to it was the better plan.
At six-thirty the phone rang. “Porky is locking up now and I’ll be there in a half. How’s the leg? You haven’t fucked with it, have you?”
“Never touched it, I swear.”
“Figure we’ll ride up to the range about ten or so. That good for you, little girl?”
“Yep, I’ll make steaks for eight, and I have beer on ice. We might have time for one other thing before we go.”
“That’s all I thought about all day. Could hardly concentrate on what that dumb bastard, Porky was sayin’ half the fuckin’ time.”
“Can’t wait to see you.”
I hung up and started the prep work on dinner.
At seven-ten the Harley roared into the driveway, sending Angel into a frenzy. She could hear the bike coming a couple miles away and took up her position in the front hall. When George blasted through the door, she jumped all over him.
“Down girl, you’re almost as fuckin’ wild as Annie.”
“I heard that.” I giggled.
George picked me up and whisked me upstairs without answering.
“In a hurry?” I asked watching him pull off his motorcycle boots and strip down.
“You’re all I think about, Annie,” he said, lying down beside me. “I’m fucked.”
“You will be soon,” I said and laughed, throwing off my sweats and rolling on top of him.
When we were spent, George sat on the side of the bed trying to catch his breath, while I grabbed a quick shower.
I came out the bathroom door toweling off my hair and saw him sitting in exactly the same spot. “You okay? You look so pale.” He didn’t answer me, staring straight ahead like he was in a trance. I stifled a cry, sucked in a breath and punched 911 into my cell phone. I threw on jeans and a t-shirt, not taking time for underwear and tore downstairs as fast as my leg would allow. I shoved Angel into the back yard, reached the front door and swung it open wide, just as the sirens rounded the corner. The paramedics thundered across the porch with the gurney.
“Upstairs, first door on the left,” I gasped, forcing the nausea down, and holding back tears. I limped up the stairs, panting for breath and gritting my teeth to bear up under the pain in my leg. By the time I reached the bedroom, George was lying on the gurney, staring at the ceiling. Paramedics shot an IV into his arm.
“Please,” I gasped, “Don’t let him die.” My ears buzzed and darkness filled my head.
Someone helped me up from the floor, and gave me water, then sat me in a chair by the window.
“Are you okay now?” one of the paramedics asked.
“I’m fine,” I said gasping. “Take care of George.”
“His vitals are stable. The hospital will check him out. Do you feel up to riding along?”
“Oh, yes. I want to.” My legs were shaky when I stood up, but I grabbed my purse and followed the stretcher out to the ambulance. One of the attendants helped me into the back, and I sat next to George and held his hand. He was staring at the roof of the ambulance, not speaking.
I cast an inquiring glance at the attendant through my tears. She was monitoring George. Her shirt read ‘Gail’ in dark blue letters.
“Don’t worry. He’s in shock. He’ll come out of it. By the time we get to the hospital, he might be talking to you,” she said, layering on another blanket.
The minutes ticked by one by one, as I sat in the waiting room, while a heart specialist examined George.
A nurse came to fetch me. “Mrs. Ross. The doctor would like to speak with you.”
Without bothering to correct her, I followed her into examination room four and she introduced me to Dr. Lee. I shook his hand and took a deep breath, dreading the words that were about to tumble out of his mouth and ruin my life.
“Mr. Ross is going to be fine,” he said.
“Oh, thank God. I thought you were going to say . . .” Tears rolled down my face.
�
��Your husband suffered a mild coronary and changes to his lifestyle are obviously the order of the day,” he said. “He must quit smoking immediately, and it would benefit him greatly if he could lose at least forty pounds. Has he been under a lot of extra stress lately?”
“Um, yeah, a little,” I mumbled with a frown. I glanced at George’s face to see if he was listening to the doctor’s words or if he was still out of it. He rolled his eyes and I knew he was hearing, but not buying it. “Can I take him home?”
“I would prefer it if he remained overnight, but yes. He can go home, but I want him to rest for the next forty-eight hours, and no sex for at least a week. Have this prescription filled and follow the directions exactly.”
George struggled to sit upright on the stretcher in his blue gown and by the grimace on his face, I was sure his second infarction was imminent. “Shit, doc. You’re laying some heavy shit on me here. I might have trouble following all these fuckin’ rules.”
Doctor Lee didn't seem fazed in the least by George’s intimidating demeanor and carried on without missing a beat. “Granted, it will be tough at first, but once you start getting into better shape and feeling healthier, you will find it much easier.”
“I hear ya’. I’ll give it my best shot,” George said. He stepped down from the stretcher and shook Doctor Lee’s hand.
What the hell was happening here?
After the doctor left the room, George asked. “Did you bring me any clothes, baby girl?”
“I wasn’t that bright, but the paramedics rolled up your clothes from beside the bed and tossed them under the gurney.”
“Yeah, here they are.” George was quiet while he dressed, then we walked slowly out the emergency exit towards the street.
“We need to call a cab,” I said. “I should have driven the Hummer and followed the ambulance. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“Don’t sweat it, little girl. You did fine. Probably saved my life for the second time in two weeks,” he leaned down and kissed me. “Do you have your cell with you?”
“In my purse,” I said, plopping down on a bench at the end of the hospital property and letting go a big breath. I handed it to George and watched him punch in a number.
“Jackson. Need you to pick me up in front of Scarborough General. I’m sittin’ on a bench with Annie. No. We’re both right as rain. Okay good.”
“He’s on his way," George said as he wrapped his arm around my shivering shoulders. “It’s hotter than the fuckin’ hubs out here. Why are you cold?”
“I’m not cold. Still frazzled from your heart attack. We both know it’s my fault.”
“Don’t let me hear you say that again, Annie. I always want the sex as much as you or even more. It’s my fault for being overweight and smokin’ like a fuckin’ chimney. Not yours.” A few minutes passed before George stood up and pointed. “There’s our ride.”
The black and orange truck from the Harley dealership pulled up to the curb and George helped me into the back of the cab. He climbed in beside Jackson and reached into his vest pocket for a smoke. “Fuck. I do that without even thinkin’,” he hollered.
“Do what, boss?” asked Jackson.
“Reach for a smoke,” George said. “Doc said I had to quit smokin’.”
“When?” asked Jackson, unsure of what was going on.
“Now—I’m thinkin’ about it.”
“Portia, why are you guys at the hospital?” Jackson asked over his shoulder.
“George had a heart attack. He has to rest for the next forty-eight hours.”
“Fuck. No way. What caused it?”
“Guess,” said George.
Jackson searched George's face and busted out laughing, slapping the steering wheel.
“It’s not that fuckin’ funny,” grumbled George.
“Damn right it is. Sorry, Portia. Wait’ll the boys hear about this.”
“They’re not gonna’ hear about it. Are they Jackson?” George punched him in the arm.
“Not from me, boss. Not from me.” He chuckled.
Jackson turned the corner onto Hawthorne Lane and pulled into the driveway. “Come in for a drink, Jackson,” I said. “I’m definitely having a couple.” I unlocked the front door and led the way to the kitchen with Angel bouncing behind me. I fed the dog and turned on the barbeque. Jackson got the beers out of the fridge and poured mine into a glass.
“You better only have one, George. You have to start the medication.”
“Yeah, okay,” he said.
I put the potatoes and veggies on the grill and closed the lid. “Stay for dinner, Jackson. I have a lot of steak.” I sat down and took a long drink.
“Okay, I could eat. And I like your cookin’. No fuckin’ around.”
“Thanks. What about the bonfire? George is supposed to rest for the next two days. I’m thinking I’ll drive him up north tomorrow.”
“Is that what you’re thinking, little girl?” George asked me.
“Yes. Quiet place to rest and we’re going the next day anyway.”
“Sounds good,” George agreed, to my surprise.
Jackson said, “I’ll give Rusty a call and tell him we’re not comin’. The rest of ‘em can party on without us.”
George nodded. “Those bandits won’t even care we’re not there.”
“The grill smells hot. I’m going to put the steaks on,” I said, retrieving the meat from the fridge. “Dinner in eight minutes. George, you have to take your pills and you can’t mix them with alcohol.”
George held up his empty and grinned at me. I fixed a tray in the kitchen with plates, cutlery, and condiments and carried it out to the patio. The boys made short work of their meal and I cleared away the dishes.
“Sorry, I don’t have any dessert, but I’ll make a pot of coffee,” I said. “Jackson, do you have bike trailers for sale at Harley?”
“Hell, yeah, do you want one?”
“Thinking of trailering the bikes up north in case George wants to go for a ride.”
“You are so fuckin’ smart, Annie. You’re always one step ahead of me.”
“I’ll load the Hummer in the morning, then come over to the dealership and pick one up.”
“I’m usually there to open up around eight-thirty,” Jackson said, stirring the third spoonful of sugar into his coffee.
“Okay. I’ll try for nine, then come back here, load the bikes, pick up Angel and we’re good to go. George, what about your clothes? We need to pick them up.”
“Never thought about taking more clothes. Jackson and I have a couple things to lock down tonight at my place anyway, so I’ll grab my stuff while we’re over there.”
I gave Jackson a look, and he piped up, “I’ll drive us over in the truck and bring the boss back when we’re finished.”
“I nodded. “More coffee?”
“Not for me,” said Jackson, standing up and stretching. “Thanks for dinner.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
AT four a.m. I awoke, removed the book that had slid down onto the duvet and turned off the light on the nightstand. Angel was on her blanket, but George’s side of the bed was cold. After tossing and turning for another half hour, I gave up and padded downstairs to make coffee. I took a cup into the living room, sat on the sofa and closed my eyes.
What if George had another heart attack? He’s supposed to be resting, not sorting out who- knows-what kind of club problems.
Calling was not an option. I didn’t want to interrupt for no good reason. I leaned back into the sofa, exhaled a big breath, closed my eyes and waited.
At six, Angel jumped up and ran to the front door when she heard George.
“I didn’t think you’d be up, baby girl,” he said.
“Woke up at four and couldn’t go back to sleep,” I said, wiping my forehead. “Coffee’s ready.”
“My fault. So many things I didn’t want to leave hangin’ before we left. It’s all good now. Want to go back to bed? To sleep,” he added with
a chuckle.
I smiled. “Sounds boring, but okay.” We trudged upstairs and I had two solid hours before the alarm went off. George was dead to the world, and I was careful not to wake him while I showered, dressed and loaded the Hummer with everything on my list.
I brewed a fresh pot of coffee and went back upstairs. “Hey babe, do you want to go with me to pick up the trailer, or sleep until I get back?
George stirred and sat up. “Fuck, I’m tired.”
“You had a heart attack. Your body is telling you to rest. Sleep until I get back.”
I kissed him and gently pushed him back down on the bed.
“Wish you were pushing me back to climb on top of me,” he grumbled.
“Couple of days you’ll be ripping my clothes off.” I laughed.
I hope.
I closed the bedroom door, grabbed my purse from the kitchen and backed the Hummer out onto the street. Mid-June was warm near the lake and the Toronto humidity had been merciful this month.
Ten minutes’ drive time took me into the Harley parking lot. I walked through the big glass doors just as Jackson was striding towards the front counter.
“Morning, Jackson. You must be tired.” I smiled.
“Fuck, yeah,” Jackson replied, “Pulled an all-nighter with the boss. He’s worried what could go wrong while he’s away, but it won’t. We got his back.”
“Is something going on, Jackson? The doctor wanted to know if George was under more stress than normal.”
Jackson hesitated. “We had a few extra things to sort out, but I think it’s all under control.”
“Good. Stress is not healthy for him right now. A week away at the cabin will be ideal.” My voice cracked and I choked back a sob.
Jackson ran around the desk, wrapped me in his arms and stroked my hair. “Don’t cry, Portia. The boss will be okay. He’s a tough guy. He won’t kick from a little fuckin’ heart attack.”
“Thanks, Jackson. Don’t know why I’m acting like such a girl.” I heaved a big sigh. “Let’s go pick out a trailer.”