Читать книгу Stir Me Up - Sabrina Elkins - Страница 7

Chapter Three

The minute the album is out of sight, Estella’s stress level multiplies by a factor of about a hundred, particularly when Julian’s arrival date is moved up a day, and Estella’s non-changeable flight is therefore set for the morning after Julian will be there. Ultimately, we’re able to convince her that Julian will probably not be conscious or aware when he first arrives anyway—and no, she shouldn’t just pay for new flights or take the car and drive all the way down to Maryland to be there for him when he first arrives. The morning we have to leave, she’s still a mess about the delay, and about the trip in general. She can’t remember if she packed her socks or travel alarm. She can’t find her keys.

“Have a safe trip,” Dad says to her. “Call me when you get there.” He gives her an embarrassingly long hug and kiss goodbye and then turns to me and tells me—in French—to be as helpful as possible. Like this message is so important it requires his native language for added emphasis.

“I will.”

We finally make it into the shuttle van and to the airport and then there’s the stress over the tickets and whether to check or carry on the bags. This, of course, is really all about Julian and how worried she is for him, and nothing I do or say makes her feel any better. I only hope when she sees him, she’ll feel slightly more reassured.

Estella’s going to have a nervous breakdown before we even reach the hospital, I text Luke. But I have to power down my phone for takeoff before he can text me back.

Estella spends the whole flight memorizing maps of the area surrounding the hospital and then shredding her cocktail napkin into tiny little pieces and floating them in her ice water.

“We’ll be landing soon,” I say encouragingly to her. She blinks and nods but doesn’t really answer.

We carried on the bags, so without delay Estella hits the cab line and gets us from the airport to our hotel. There are a lot of hotels within a few miles of the hospital. Estella’s picked out one of the ones within walking distance.

“Let’s just check in, drop off the bags and head right over,” she says. She seems definitely on edge now, almost cranky.

The hospital is just under a mile away, so still a fair distance. The bags hit the room and I just have time to use the bathroom before she’s hurrying me back out again. When she wants to, Estella can really move. I’ve never been left in the dust so quickly outside of a running track before in my life. I have to pretty much jog to keep up with her, and the fact that I’m slowing her down seems to make her bad mood even worse.

“I wish you’d hurry!” she snaps.

Good grief. “Did you hear some news about Julian that has you more worried?” I ask.

Estella glares at me in response. All I meant was did a call come in I don’t know about that has her particularly in a rush. But I don’t bother to explain and she doesn’t care to stop to listen. Then all at once she turns to me when we reach an intersection and are forced to wait for the light.

“Look, Cami. I appreciate your father’s concern for me,” she says. “But this really isn’t the kind of thing you need to be exposed to.”

Oh, so that’s it. She’s still upset I’ve been sent on the trip with her, whereas I’ve pretty much made my peace with it. “I’m just here to help,” I tell her. “What if Julian could use a fresh blanket or a hot meal? I can run out and fetch those things for you. I can go back to the hotel and get something for you, whatever you might need. I can call people like my father or Brandon to let them know what’s going on, so you can focus all your attention on Julian.”

This seems reasonable enough to me and must to her as well, because she considers me before we head into the crosswalk. “I hadn’t thought of it like that,” she admits.

“Yeah, well.”

“That’s not how your father put it.”

“Dad’s a man. He’s not good with the whole communication thing sometimes.”

“I just hope Julian’s condition has stabilized,” she says.

No idea what this means, but it sounds really scary. “Me too. I’ll do whatever you need to help either one of you, okay?”

She gives me a faint smile and touches my arm. “Thanks.”

From the moment we walk in the front doors, I kind of have to force myself not to freak out—hospitals just aren’t my favorite places. I go out of my way not to look at anything too carefully, but of course it’s all still there in plain sight—the wheelchairs, the gurneys, the nurse’s stations, the doctors with stethoscopes draped around their necks, the curtained-off beds and blue IV machines. And then there’s the smell, that awful unmistakable antiseptic hospital smell. Estella’s shaking so hard, I want to squeeze her hand or something but even though she’d typically like it if I did, now I’m not sure. I think I’ll somehow be interrupting or bothering her.

Julian’s not in the critical care unit anymore, which is good. We find his room, and once we reach the door, I tell Estella I’ll wait outside. She doesn’t even register that I’ve spoken. She’s too locked on what’s inside that room. She’s so drawn to it, to her surrogate son, that I can’t stop watching her. Like a peeping Tom, I linger by the open doorway as she approaches Julian’s bed. There’s another patient in the room with him, but he’s the one who’s closest. “Hey handsome,” I hear her say, very softly. “How do you feel?” All I can see is her back. I don’t even know him and my heart is thundering away.

I can’t hear his response.

She leans over his face, probably to kiss him.

Then she turns away from him, obviously hiding the fact that she’s crying. I feel so bad for her, I go in and hand her the crumpled tissue in my pocket. She takes it and holds my arm. She holds it like she needs it to stay upright. I don’t even notice the patient in the bed, I’m so focused on Estella, and she’s blocking my view anyway. “I’ll get you a chair,” I say. She’s nodding. Trying to keep it together.

“No, don’t sit down,” a garbled voice from behind her says. “Just leave.”

“But Julian,” Estella begins, turning to face him.

“LEAVE!” he cries.

Some nerve. “You know, Estella has been worried half out of her mind,” I say. “She flew down here with her heart in her...”

Holy Mother of God. Estella moves away and I’m looking at her nephew. And I’m praying. Holy Mother of God, I pray. Well, a sort-of prayer. His eyes are so blackened and swollen he must hardly be able to see. His nose is broken and bandaged. His bottom lip is a busted mess. He’s wearing a neck brace. His right leg, covered by a hand-knitted quilt, is cut off just below the knee. His left leg is bare and outfitted with an extremely scary-looking apparatus made of metal rods and pins. The pins have been surgically inserted into his skin, presumably to hold the bones in place. I close my eyes. Holy Mother, ease his pain, I think to myself. Heal him.

“Julian, this is your new step-cousin, Camille,” Estella says.

“GET OUT!” Something is knocked across the room—a book I think.

Estella hesitates, still not wanting to go, but Julian’s so upset he’s throwing things, so I just kind of drag her from the room. Estella’s eyes are brimming with tears. A nurse comes over to us and Estella ushers her away from me. All I get from the conversation is that the nurse will find Julian’s main doctor. Meanwhile, I go about the business of fetching Estella some water. My hands are shaking so hard the paper cup is folding and the water is sloshing around, wetting my fingers. My cell rings. I know it’s Dad calling to see how things are going, but I can’t talk to him now. I can’t talk to anyone. I give the water to Estella, trying to calm myself down by remembering this guy is a complete stranger to me. That he’s probably on all kinds of drugs. This idea gives me some hope. I turn to Estella, who’s staring helplessly at the nurse’s station.

“Estella?” I say to her. “You know Julian must be in a lot of pain. He’s probably stoned out of his mind and has no idea what he’s saying.”

She takes a small sip of water and looks at me. “That’s true.”

Heh. She almost smiles.

“I’m going back in,” she says.

Yikes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. You shouldn’t, though. Just wait out here for me. Do you mind?”

“No, not at all,” I tell her, glad to be able to sit this one out. “I’ll either be here or in the waiting area.”

“I’m just going to go in and sit in a chair.”

“Good idea.”

“He can’t mind that.” She hands me her water cup and goes in.

I don’t hear any yelling, but five minutes later Estella is back out in the hall. “We’ll come back tomorrow.” She’s on the verge of crying again. Just holding it in. Barely. Poor woman. This guy is a major jerk, I don’t care how hurt he is. I take her hand and lead her outside for the walk back. The minute she leaves the hospital the waterworks fully unleash.

“Hey,” I say. “At least you know he’s strong enough to speak.”

She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“I mean, think about it. He was hollering pretty good in there. Can’t be too close to death or anything.”

She smiles. Hiccups. I’m scrambling for a fresh tissue for her.

“He’s the sweetest boy. That’s what I don’t get. He’s never yelled at me once in his whole life.”

All the tissues in the world aren’t enough. As soon as we’re in the room she tells me she’s exhausted and taking a sleeping pill for the night. I don’t know how much those pills typically knock you out, but in about half an hour she crawls onto the bed and falls into what I seriously fear is a coma.

I’m not kidding. I fret over her and call Dad, who can’t speak to me because of the dinner rush, and I’m shaking her and I can’t call Luke because he’s working too and she stirs a little and I try to convince myself she’s fine. I call and order a pizza from room service. I realize she’ll sleep through it and it’ll be cold and I cancel the order. Then I realize I haven’t eaten all day and I call back and reorder, adding mushrooms and olives. The room service guy is nice about it.

I flip on the television, turn the volume down low and watch the news and some stupid reality show about a man living off of a pocketknife and pipe cleaner out in the jungle. I read a little of Jacques Pepin’s autobiography—he’s a famous French chef who used to be a hot guy—and the pizza arrives. I sign for it, eat two slices and worry over Estella’s possible coma some more. My phone battery is dead but I already left Dad a message. She did too, I think. I plug the cell phone in to charge it, brush my teeth and wash my face and get into bed.

As I switch off the light, I think of Julian and wonder why he’d tell Estella to leave like that. What could he be thinking? I try to imagine what happened to him—and I have literally no idea. What must it be like to change from a gorgeous, considerate athlete to that mess in the bed?

Poor Estella. I feel rotten for her. She dreamed of life in Vermont, in the country, with a handsome chef husband. I’m not stupid; I know my father’s attractive for an older guy. His brown hair is a little gray, he has a bump in his nose from where it was broken once and a heavy growth of beard he’s always having to shave, but underneath all this, Dad also has the same fine French features as his mother, who was a very beautiful lady. He claims I look just like her, but I’m not sure this is true. I’m five inches taller than she was, for one thing—five foot five, and not as delicate. She was so fragile, she looked like anything would break her.

Dad dated a lot of women after Mom left. Before Estella came into the picture, I’d suspected he’d been intimate with a good number of his mostly-female wait staff as well. It still seems to me like they’re always flirting with him, but then who knows, I could be imagining it.

What would he tell me to do now? He’d tell me to take care of Estella. I think it through. Hope she hasn’t poisoned herself. I switch the light back on, find a blanket and lay it over her. I take off her shoes and she whimpers in her sleep. Thank God, since it means she’s all right.

I climb into my own bed and try to think only of Luke caressing me, his mouth against mine. But images of Julian’s beaten face and those metal rods and bars on his leg keep intruding. Eventually, I fall into a troubled sleep.