Читать книгу Direct Strike - Lorelei Buckley - Страница 7
ОглавлениеChapter 3
Her heart drummed. “What are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too, love.” Mitch approached the bed, his thick chocolate hair and rich dark eyes a jolting carbon copy of Milo. “I couldn’t get a hold of you. Finally called local hospitals and sure enough. Do you know how worried I’ve been?” He wore the denim jacket Zoey had bought him two years ago. The Coolest Dad patch Milo ironed on the shoulder cut through her sternum like the teeth of a bread knife.
“Sorry to scare you, snookums. For your sake, let’s hope lightning doesn’t strike twice.”
“Okay. How’re you feeling?”
“Like shit. I’m sore and my shoulder’s on fire, but I think I’ll live.” She caught herself staring at Mitch. His tall, square frame hooked her every time. In the sixteen years she’d known him, his steady voice and arresting presence hadn’t waned. “Dr. Selden, this is my ex-husband, Mitch Hawthorne.”
Mitch and Dr. Selden clasped palms and shook.
“How is she?” Mitch asked.
Dr. Selden eyed Zoey in a silent request for authorization to share data.
“You can tell Mitch anything. We’re divorced, but he’s still my anchor.”
Mitch placed his hand on her forehead. “She’s logical. This must be serious.”
“Get away from me.” She distanced her head from his touch. “What if I were dying? I could have, you know, I came close. And not two seconds ago, I told you my shoulder burns. How about some sympathy or a foot massage?”
“You want me to crack your toes, I will.” He took a step back. “But your eyes are translucent green. Not a hint of brown. You’re fine.”
Unless someone had a mirror handy, the fact that her eyes darkened when she experienced severe pain never mattered. Her dad had noticed when she broke her foot as a girl. Mitch had noticed too when she went into labor. Her mood eyes were useless trivia no one else in the world cared about.
Mitch addressed Dr. Selden. “Sorry, doctor. Her condition?”
Dr. Selden glanced at Zoey and returned his attention to Mitch. “We have several tests before I can make an accurate diagnosis, but based on my observations, she’s doing rather well.”
“And volatility?”
“Common with lightning strike victims. Second-degree burn on her right shoulder and a bit hotheaded, not bad considering the numerous problems often associated with lightning victims. This includes death. I must admit, she has us all baffled.”
Mitch gazed into Zoey’s pupils. “It’s the pills. You’re like a wino falling down a flight of stairs and walking away without a scratch.”
“Fuck you, Mitch. They help me and you know it. This has nothing to do with pills.”
Mitch faced Dr. Selden. “She’s had a difficult time dealing with our son’s death. Five physicians later, she has more drugs than a pharmacy. I’ve been trying to convince her to cut back. As you can see, it’s her Achilles’ heel.”
Zoey’s cheeks heated. “No, you are. My supposed bad habits, my injuries, my eye color—not your business.”
“It’s my business when you’ve had a nightmare or too much liquor. It’s my business when you take off and leave me to watch a house, a shrine like, what, it’s gonna get ransacked? No one, not even a looter, can stomach the place. It’s twisted and I don’t agree with your methods of mourning and still, here I am, making sure you’re okay.”
“Go home, Mitch.”
“Not until—”
“What? You suck the last bit of energy from me? You’re a heartless vampire.”
“You call me every night, sappy as a soap opera, and I’m the vampire? And don’t get me started on whose chest is hollow.”
“You’re a jerk.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Mr. Hawthorne.” Dr. Selden raised his voice. “I’ll have to ask you to leave. My patient needs to remain calm.”
As much as she hissed and spit and snapped, she had no bite. The sudden shift in routine made her shaky and insecure. Tangled emotions made them childlike. But Mitch had tremendous strength, enough for both of them.
“It’s okay,” she said. “We can be puerile, since, well, it doesn’t matter. I’d like him to stay. You said you don’t know what to expect. I’m here in town by myself. I might need help.”
“You need help all right,” Mitch mumbled.
Dr. Selden shook his head. “Very well. However, I’m your physician, and I recommend rest. It’s crucial. Stress harms healthy individuals, and you, Ms. Hawthorne, are in Monroe Memorial attached to an IV. You can put on the gloves when you’re discharged and not before. If you’re dissatisfied with my bedside manner or my advice, feel free to request another doctor. I warn you. If you choose to remain under my care you must be compliant. Is that clear?”
Zoey nodded.
A skeletal nurse breezed in the room with a nametag reading Leinfelder. She had a helmet of tight auburn curls and transparent skin. Blue veins bulged, and her uniform released a pungent mix of antiseptic and ashtray. Zoey breathed through her mouth.
Nurse Leinfelder handed two cups to Zoey. “Bet you could use these.”
Zoey smiled, grateful for the pain pill and large swallow of water. She crinkled the cups. Testing her aim, she raised her healthy arm to throw one at a picture of a barn on the wall.
Nurse Leinfelder wiggled her fingers. “Give ’em here. I shouldn’t have to tell you this is a hospital, not a Dumpster.”
“What’s with you people?” Zoey set the garbage in Nurse Leinfelder’s hungry palm. “I’m not spitting or punching or dirtying bedpans. I’m bored. What am I supposed to do?”
“This is our lightning patient,” Dr. Selden said, as if pardoning Zoey.
“I can appreciate the discomfort of being cooped up,” Nurse Leinfelder reasoned, “and I’ve researched the hostile nature of lightning strike victims, but there’s never a good excuse to be a litterbug. Remember that, dear.” She tossed the cups in the corner garbage can. “Watch game shows or read a book like everybody else.” The nurse rushed out in the same breezy way she’d entered.
Dr. Selden released a soft chuckle. “She’s trying to quit smoking.”
“Give me a break,” Zoey said. “She’s a nurse. She’s supposed to be pleasant.”
Dr. Selden walked toward the door. “And we make the mistake of thinking patients are supposed to be grateful.”
She scratched the bridge of her nose with her middle finger. “Kind of difficult when we’re overcharged and undertreated.”
“You’re scheduled for an MRI first thing in the morning,” Dr. Selden said. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Hawthorne. I’m sure we’ll speak again. Meanwhile, I have other patients I must undertreat. Get some sleep.” He left.
Mitch sat on the edge of the bed next to her thighs. “You feel like crap, and your shoulder hurts. What else? What’s going on inside?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay, the night you were struck, what happened?”
“You pissed me off.”
“What’s new? You hung up on me. Normally you answer when I call back.”
“I went outside.”
“At three in the morning?”
She hesitated, but the meds simplified honesty. Gradually she recalled the events. “I saw a red lightning bolt. It was blood red like a gaping wound in the sky. I wanted to take pictures.”
“Really?” he asked. “So you cleaned your camera and took some photos?”
“No,” she whispered. “Get ready to celebrate.”
Mitch furrowed his brows.
“I had a drug-induced hallucination. I saw a little boy in the woods and ran out to save him.”
“Why do you think that makes me happy?”
“You’re always on me about quitting my meds. Now you have a concrete case.”
He squeezed her IV-free hand. “I don’t want to prove you have a drug problem, Zoey. I want you to get healthy.”
Woman in the water.
“Shit.” She flinched.
“What’s wrong?”
“I keep hearing something about water.” She clutched the fading words. “Woman, yeah, woman in the water.”
“Side effect?”
“I don’t know.” Her eyelids were heavy. “Dr. Selden said while I slept I’d overheard a conversation he had with another MD about a kid who died while whitewater rafting behind my house. Supposedly I’m remembering bits and pieces. A dream echo.”
Mitch slouched. He stared at her, not with the anger of an inconvenienced ex, but as a brokenhearted man hammered by circumstances beyond his control.
Her body weakened by the minute. She wanted to break the wall between them before she fell asleep. “There’s been one major change.”
“What’s that?”
“I nodded out for fifteen hours and didn’t have a nightmare.”
Mitch straightened. “That’s great, Zoey.”
“Is it?”
“I don’t understand,” he said. “I thought the nightmares were the root of your troubles.”
“No matter how toxic they were, I could count on them. They filled space. The nightmares have stopped, sure, but they’ve left a void. Something has to replace the dreams. I’m scared of what it will be.”
Mitch smiled and released her hand. He stood and inhaled deeply and then let the air go. “I’ll tell you what it’ll be. No more nightmares plus sound sleep equals clear thoughts. You’ll get on with your life, maybe open another studio, maybe do some traveling and freelance. We’ll sort through the house, and put it on the market when you’re ready. You have a chance to move forward. We’ll take it one day at a time.”
“Gung ho, clean the house and pick up my camera, wonderful. That hasn’t been me since I lost my son.”
“I lost my son too, and right after my son died, my wife vanished. The person I depended on. I’ve fought hard and steadfast for some sense of normalcy. You know how I finally found it?”
“Do tell.”
“I remembered our son’s personality, his common sense sharper than yours and mine combined. He wouldn’t want us to be miserable. The pain never goes away, Zoey, but out of respect for Milo and his premature death, I look to the future. I make an effort to acknowledge the life I’m fortunate enough to live.”
Tears brimmed Zoey’s eyes. She blinked and wetness streamed down her neck.
“It’s time. Trust me.”
“I know you mean well, but don’t push too hard, okay? I’m not you. I’m not ready.”
“When you are, I’ll be here.”
“I know.” It occurred to her how quickly Mitch had shown up. “Out of curiosity, what made you call hospitals?”
“Sterling had a hunch. She does that sometimes. She’s usually right on.”
“Sterling, of course. She’s good to you, isn’t she?”
“She is. Speaking of Sterling, I’m going to grab a cup of coffee and give her a call.”
“Tell her I’m sorry to put her through this. I wasn’t going to contact you.”
“Eventually you would’ve, and that’s fine. You didn’t get injured on purpose. Besides, she’s coming here. We’re going to hang out for a week and take in the sights. This way we can watch you.”
“What?”
“Calm down, just until you’re fully recovered. No one seems to know what to anticipate with lightning. Better safe, don’t you think?”
“Whatever. I really don’t care where the two of you vacation. But please understand I’m not a child. I don’t need you to babysit me. Go make your call. I’m tired.” She shut her eyes and listened for the room to empty.
Irritation festered, but why? Mitch should be with someone willing to replenish his heart. She wasn’t capable. She could barely look at him without missing Milo immeasurably. However strong their bond, they couldn’t reunite without their son. The third Stooge. Why then, she wondered, even beneath a tarp of pain pills, did the name Sterling Fisk rub like steel wool? It shouldn’t. Sterling was silly, calling her cat Silver and posting her flawless face on billboards.
Vain.
Bold.
Brave marketing strategy initiated by a pretty realtor. Sterling had a phony streak, but she also had spunk. She had helped Mitch sell a brownstone he’d renovated near the Steppenwolf Theatre for a staggering amount of money.
Too sluggish to go on, Zoey reconciled. Mitch the rehab genius and Sterling the trendy realtor, what a team—had to be fate, or that fucking karma.
* * * *
An entire week without a single nightmare proved a greater burden than daily blood tests, both MRIs and the unattractive electrodes squirming from her scalp like oozing brain tissue. They’d found nothing—no abnormalities or damage. The annoying dream echo finally stopped too. She should’ve been thrilled but instead battled a new monster, a dishonest peace. Under the calm lay a starving black hole. She felt it. An indefinable magnetic void.
She also gained a nickname: The Bride, as in Bride of Frankenstein.
She stood in the bathroom and angled the cabinet mirror toward the room to view Mitch. He packed a duffle bag with the clothes he’d brought her five days earlier.
“You’re a true survivor,” he said. “And I want you to take however long you need to recover. Your new house is damn impressive. Mountains and forest, and I took a stroll down the hill by the water. It’s beautiful, Zoey. Rejuvenating. Maybe I’m wrong about Chicago. This might be the best place for you.”
“I need a Q-tip,” she yelled from the bathroom.
“What, why?”
“I thought I heard you say you were wrong.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he muttered.
Half-dressed, Zoey rubbed salve on her tender shoulder. Mitch and Dr. Selden agreed the wound looked like a star. She saw a butchered flower. She grabbed the gauze, and Mitch walked up behind her. He draped her long hair over her healthy side, his body heat persuasive and his breath loose feathers cascading along her collarbone.
She gave him the rolled bandaging. He gently wrapped gauze around her scar. His dark, depthless eyes studied her reflection. His masculine fingers tickled her skin, and because her hair only covered one breast, he’d see her nipple hardening on the other.
Affected by his intensity, she broke from his stare only to freeze on a patch of hair peeking out of his shirt. She remembered its softness. She hadn’t made love since Milo passed, and susceptible body parts stirred. Unprepared for the influx of sensations and rebelling against an emotional tie, she said, “I have a riddle for you.”
“Shoot.”
“What does a single woman in Big Cat Canyon do for fun?”
“I give. What?”
“Whatever she wants.”
Mitch finished and stepped backward. “Am I missing something?”
“Just remember I’m single now. I may have an itch I need to scratch.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’m not talking in code. I’ve said what I wanted to say.”
He left the bathroom and reentered with her bra.
“I can’t wear that.” She cocked her head toward her gauzed shoulder.
He walked out and returned with a blue cotton T-shirt. She faced him and held her arms forward. He stretched the sleeve holes and slid the shirt up her limbs, conscientious of her impaired mobility.
“Why do you hate me?” he asked while pulling the neckline over her head.
“You’re the only person I don’t hate. I’m in pain and cranky. I could use—”
Mitch handed her an ibuprofen and a Valium. “A nurse stopped by while you were in the shower.”
“Withholding?” She swiped the pills and swallowed. “It’s you who hates me.”
“That’s a crock.” He combed and ponytailed her hair. “What do you say, Goldilocks, can we go now?”
“Yes.”
In the hall halfway down the corridor, Dr. Selden stood next to the discharge desk, appearing less overpaid and more overtired. He sifted papers and chatted with a receptionist who’d spotted Zoey and mouthed, “The Bride.”
Dr. Selden turned and smiled.
Zoey blurted, “A week in purgatory. At last, I’m out of here.”
Dr. Selden’s teal eyes gleamed. “You’ve restored my faith in homeostasis. The body is certainly a wondrous machine.” He inspected her briefly from toes to crown. “You look radiant, ready to conquer.”
Zoey wasn’t interested in Dr. Selden’s warmth. Memories of her son superseded the pain meds melting in her bloodstream. She’d bury herself alive to see Milo standing in the hall next to Mitch.
“Was it something I said?” Dr. Selden’s squint tightened.
Mitch rubbed her back.
“No,” she said. “I have flashes of my kid, and it screws with my head. A glass of wine usually helps.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Dr. Selden said, “but alcohol will negate the antibiotics. Your shoulder is still healing. And I’m sure you’re aware pain pills and drinking aren’t a safe combination. Please don’t attempt to drive. Last year in April…” He droned on about a collision involving a discharged patient and an eighteen-wheeler.
Her gaze floated beyond Dr. Selden and landed on the bed of a vacant room.
Woman in the water.
The voice came from inside the room. Zoey stepped around Dr. Selden and Mitch and walked to the doorway.
Woman in the water.
Similar to the night in the woods, she noticed a change in the air’s texture. Not everywhere, just a spot on the bed. A zillion tiny sheer circles meshed together and formed a lozenge shape the size of a carry-on suitcase.
Do you hear me?
“Yes,” she said.
Woman in the water.
“What woman?”
Woman in the water.
“Please, explain yourself. Who are you?”
The cluster disappeared.
She blinked several times, trying to recapture the anomaly. “What woman?”
“Zoey?” Mitch said. “I could have sworn I heard you talking to yourself.”
“Yeah, that was me.” She laughed through her nose, making light of her mutterings. “I’ve got a lot on my mind. I’m trying to get it all straight.”
She wondered if her hallucinations were a budding sensitivity to the drugs she counted on. Zoey turned quickly toward the hall and bumped into Dr. Selden. “Why do I feel ambushed?”
Dr. Selden offered two business cards. “I want you to have these. They’re reputable therapists.”
Zoey took the cards and observed each. “Shrinks? Are you kidding? I don’t need these.” She pushed them back at Dr. Selden. “I’m not crazy.”
“Dr. Jillian Esposito has a PhD in psychology, and Dr. Douglas Doyle is a respected psychiatrist,” he said, impervious to her rejection. “They’re located right outside of Big Cat.”
“Why are you so insistent? I’m not a nutjob.”
“No,” Dr. Selden said. “You’re mourning. And when and if you’re ready to restore your spirit, these people can help.”
Mitch swiped the cards from Zoey. “I’ll take them.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Might be worth looking into.”
She silently reassured herself no one could force her to do anything. Her life, her disorder, her decision on how to cope.
“This room,” she addressed Dr. Selden. “Who occupied it?”
“How strange,” he said. “Remember the teen I spoke of who died rafting?”
Zoey nodded.
“He was here.” Selden paused. “For a few hours.”
“Did a female bring him in?”
“Yes, his mother. Why?”
“That damn dream echo again. You and Dr. Hicks must have discussed a woman because that’s what I heard.”
“Yes,” he said. “She oared about ten feet away and saw his raft capsize. She tried to save him, but the undercurrent was too powerful.”
Zoey couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen and sidestepped farther into the hall. “We need to hit the road, Mitch. The Valium has me loopy. I have to lie down.”
“Yep, let’s go,” Mitch said and shook Dr. Selden’s hand. “Thank you for everything.”
Dr. Selden smiled with special interest in Zoey. “I’ll see you in a month at the clinic for your follow-up. It’s all there in the bag with your prescriptions.”
“Oh, goody.” Zoey elbowed Mitch. “More needles and egotistical staff.”
Mitch shook his head.
“Stay as long as you like,” Zoey said to her courteous ex, “but I’m getting the hell out of here.” She began walking backward to watch and further annoy Mitch. “See the cloud around my feet? That’s smoke.”
Mitch shrugged apologetically at Dr. Selden and headed with Zoey to the elevator. “Rude, that’s what you are, plain and simple. You need to take a refresher course in etiquette.”
“Lighten up, Mitch. You think I’m the first bitchy patient he’s dealt with?”
Mitch shook his head. “You’re out of control.”
The door dinged open. She and Mitch stepped into the cubicle.
Two women descended with them to the lobby, a twentysomething picture-perfect black woman whose divine proportions could have earned her time in Zoey’s studio and a sickly elderly woman with hopeless eyes and wispy spiderweb hair. They gabbed as if they were alone.
“She saw my turn signal and darted in front of me,” the flawless woman said. “She stole my parking spot and, let me tell you, if I didn’t have my nephew in the car, I would have got in her face. I would have demanded she find some other place to park her clunker.”
The elderly lady snickered, showing a tiny devil’s streak. “You should have. Everyone does whatever it is they want to do with no regard for their fellow man or nature or anything. People are impolite and narcissistic.”
Mitch eyed Zoey as if labeling her with that description.
Zoey scratched her earlobe with her middle finger.
The old woman continued, “Last time I saw someone parked in the handicapped zone without a handicap sticker, I dumped my apple juice on their windshield.”
“You did not.”
“I sure did, and I’d do it again. My ankles hurt so bad that day I could have cried, and because of an illegally parked Volvo, I had to walk a quarter of a mile. Almost didn’t make it.”
“I don’t blame you.”
Zoey’s pill helped her escape pointless chatter and relax somewhere semioblivious.
And then the one voice she couldn’t tune out said, “I had the landline at the house connected.”
“Why?”
“You never charge your cellphone. Now you don’t have to worry about it.”
“No, now you don’t have to worry.”
“And I stocked the house with groceries and some cough syrup in case your throat hurts. Dr. Selden said he wasn’t sure if the scratchiness healed or went into remission.”
“Thanks,” she said.
“Picked up a box of cereal too. Corn flakes, right?”
Zoey nodded. The last breakfast she and Milo had together. Mitch was clueless.
Her and Milo’s last morning together. Milo told jokes. Something about a frayed knot made him laugh so heartily, milk dribbled from his nose. Zoey reached for her camera. Milo grasped the state of his vulnerability and laughed harder, an infectious giggle she couldn’t deflect.
No pill, no liquor, no environment stopped the wrenching pain in her chest. Her stomach gurgled, and her mind chanted one of many self-loathing beliefs: wasting space, nothing more to offer. Why bother?
The elevator doors opened, and she rushed into a corridor made sullen by dark wooden panels and portraits of scouring old men. Buttery sunlight splashed through giant windows and spotlighted the exit. She walked next to Mitch, who most likely wanted to get her home and tuck her in—keep her safe. His concern upset her because he was destined to be disappointed. She erased his expectations from her psyche. She had a plan. Maybe not tonight, or tomorrow night, but some night soon she’d sit naked in the wild, count stars and get drunk enough to eat a bottle of sedatives. She didn’t belong in Colorado. She belonged with her son.
