Authors: Adriana Law
He
didn’t answer. Dear Lord…she’d pushed him into doing something rash, something
unexpected, something she wasn’t sure she’d fight if he tried. Letting go of
her wrist Drew coerced her into the bedroom blocking any attempts she made to
dart by him with his body.
Her
cheeks blazed, just like the rest of her. “Think about what you’re doing…”
spilled out, only to be cut off by…
“Jesus,
I’m not going to rape you!” He cocked his head, frowning. “Is that really what you
think of me?”
When
she didn’t answer, he cursed and shook his head. “I’m sorry you have such a low
opinion of me.” He slipped by her, opened the top drawer on the dresser and tossed
a folder on the bed spilling out its contents: bank statements, legal
documents… and a bank preapproval?
“What’s
this?” She asked lowering her eyes to the piece of paper she’d sifted out of
the chaos. Her forehead creased, her green eyes rising to meet his dead on. “You
applied for a loan?”
“Yes,
for the ranch.” He spread his arms wide, “You have your buyer. You’ve got what
you’ve wanted, ” he dropped his arms back to his sides leaning in next to her
ear as he stalked by her, “You can go home now, Filly, you’re services are no
longer needed!” ♠
Twenty
Drew
slumped against the porch post gazing out through the sheets of rain. He took a
long pull off the cigarette, and then gave it a flick out into the soggy yard.
Burying his hands in the pockets of the baggy black hoodie he’d thrown on to go
out to have a smoke. He replayed the accounts of the last few days in his mind.
He hadn’t come here to fight, that’s exactly what he was trying to avoid. He
could do plenty of that staying right where he was with his father, a miserable
existence, beating his head against a brick wall, nothing ever changing. It
seemed like that was all him and Filly ever did, was fight. He was sick of
fighting, especially with her.
Maybe
some things aren’t meant to be fixed once they’re broken. Maybe they were
beyond fixable.
He
dragged the pack of Marlboros out of his pocket and tapped out another one.
Quitting no longer seemed like an option. Instead he was chain smoking. He was
regressing instead of moving forward. He had the damn cigarette wedged between
his lips, a thumb prepared to strike the lighter when a scream erupted from
inside the house causing his stomach to bottom out and an uneasy feeling to consume
him. Panic. Dread.
Megan!
The
pack of cigarettes and lighter clattered to the porch, dropped instantly as he
swung open the front door plowing through the den, going in the direction of
her continued cries for help. Not knowing what to expect, he busted through the
door to Birdies room to find Birdie laid out on the floor with Megan kneeling
over her. His mouth fell open and he dropped to his knees, fear in his tone. “What
happened?”
“I
don’t know? I came in here and she was like this!” Megan forced out past the
sobs. Her trembling hands hovered over Birdie’s still body. “Is she breathing,
Drew? Oh God, please tell me she’s still breathing!”
His
gaze swept over Birdie lying limp and pale on her stomach, her mouth slack, her
body lifeless. Her gray hair had sprung loose, long tresses of gray in
disarray. A large hand slid underneath a shoulder and he carefully rolled her to
her back. He swept the hair off her face, his expression softening.
“Wait!
Are you supposed to move her, Drew? What if you’re not supposed to move her?”
“Fuck!
Do I look like I know what I’m doing?” he snapped breathless. “Call 911!”
Megan
did as he instructed and stood to go grab her phone. She was back in a few
seconds, pacing, crying. Her fingers fumbled with the numbers on her cell.
“What
is the nature of your emergency?”
“It’s
a medical emergency! We found her…
sob
… lying on the floor…
gasp
…face
down!” came out in a rush only to be cut short.
“Please
hold,” a woman voice commanded.
Seriously?
They’d put her on hold?
Drew
pressed an ear to Birdie’s parted lips as his fingertips pressed into her
throat. He sighed, the sound pitiful, full of hurt. “She’s still breathing and
has a heartbeat. What did they say?”
“They
put me on hold!” Her voice trembled. They were both muddling through this
blindly, unprepared for something like this. Is anyone ever prepared?
“Please,
give me the number you are calling from in case we get disconnected?” A man said
as the call clicked over. His voice was cold, emotionless.
She
rattled off her cell number.
“What
is the location of the emergency?”
She
rattled off the address too.
“Tell
me exactly what happened?”
“We
don’t know! I walked into the bedroom and she was already passed out on the
floor!”
“Is
the patient breathing?”
“Yes.”
“Does
she have a heart beat?”
“Yes!”
She practically yelled. This was taking up too much valuable time. “Please…”
“Her
heartbeat’s faint!” Drew muttered.
“He
said she has a heartbeat but it’s faint! How long is this going to take?”
“I
need you to calm down, Ma’am, we’ve already dispatched an ambulance. It’s
important for you to remain on the line and answer as many questions as
possible until they get there, now, how old is the patient?”
“How
old is she?” Megan repeated for Drew.
“What
the hell? Does it really make a difference?” He covered Birdie’s lower body
with a blanket. You were supposed to do that right? Because of shock? He shoved
a hand into his hair and shuddered as he exhaled a breath, feeling more
helpless than he’d ever felt in his entire life, and that said a lot.
“DREW!
He needs her age?”
“I
don’t know… sixty three, maybe. Are they fucking sending someone or what?”
She
nodded.
“Is
the patient conscious?”
“No.”
“Does
there appear to be a head injury?”
A
sob tore from Megan’s throat.
“Take
a deep breath, Ma’am. I need you to hold it together for me a little longer. Head
injury?” he snapped as if he was annoyed. Annoyed with her? She was the one who
had cause to be annoyed. He wasn’t a caring person.
“Does
it look like she hit her head, Drew?”
An
ambulance siren’s blared off in the distance, growing louder as they came closer
until they were turning into the drive leading up to the house.
Drew
and Megan were pushed aside as the paramedics rushed in taking over. Megan
nearly collapsed where she stood, and would have if Drew hadn’t been there to
hold her up. She finally allowed herself to break down burying her face in his
shoulder. ♠
Drew
and Megan arrived at the hospital before any of the others. They filled all the
necessary paper work. And one by one the others started arriving, anxious and
worried.
No
one said a word as they all waited for the doctor to come out with news. First:
there was the not knowing. Second: there was the mounting tension between
everyone. Hurt feelings. Stubborn pride. Words still needing to be spoken.
Secrets. Lies. Desire. Fear. Worry.
Griffin
leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he hung his head and sighed. He twisted
the silver band on his thumb, something he did whenever he was nervous. “How
much longer do you think they’re going to make was wait?”
Just
then Birdies doctor stepped through one of the double doors, flipping through
the stacks of papers on his clipboard. He glanced out into the waiting area, “Drew?
Megan? You can come on back.”
The
doctor led them through two halls that smelled like disinfectant and death to
Birdie’s room, stopping as he reached the closed door. “Ms. File is suffering
from severe depression and stress. She’s lost a considerable amount of weight
from not eating properly and…” he flipped a couple of papers, studied her lads,
“her hemoglobin is low, which explains the passing out spell. We’ve given her
something to help her relax. We’re going to keep her overnight just to be
safe…run a few more tests and keep a close eye on her.” He lifted his eyes
then, yellowish-brown behind a pair of rimmed glasses. “I’ve started her on an
anti-depressant, but we won’t know if it’s helping for a couple of weeks. I
suggest keeping things as ‘stress free’ as you can for her. I’d like for her to
come into the office sometime next week.” He tucked his clip board under an arm
and extended a hand.
Were
they finished? Was that it? Birdie was depressed? Megan found it hard to
believe what the doctor was saying. Yes, Birdie had lost weight, but
depression?
“Can
we see her?” Drew blurted out. Megan had never seen so much concern visible on
Drew’s face.
“Yes,
but keep it short…then no more visitors tonight.”
“Okay.
Thank you!” Drew exhaled.
Megan
followed him in through the narrow, dim entryway. He pulled aside the curtain
blocking the view of the hospital bed. Her stomach clenched at the sight of
Birdie lying under a mound of blankets in the hospital bed. The last time Megan
had been in a hospital room to visit someone was the night her father had drawn
his last breath. Since then, she’d spent way too much time in a room much like
this one, but she had been the patient. Life was delicate, able to be broken at
any moment. No one was safe from death. She’d been taught that.
Birdie’s
long gray hair cascaded down over her shoulders, free from its usual bun. Under
the florescent lights her skin appeared paper-thin and her eyes more gray than
blue as her head turned in their direction. She gave them a weak smile.
Oh
Lord. Megan leaned in, arms tight around frail shoulders, breathing in the
smell of sterile hospital coming from the crisp linens “I’m glad you’re okay.
You gave us a scare…”
Hands
lightly patted her back. “I know, I’m sorry.” Birdie’s gaze slid to Drew’s. “What’s
with that look?”
He
dropped his head, shoved his hands in his pockets. “I thought I’d lost you
too.”
“You’re
not getting rid of me that easily. Someone needs to hang around to make sure
you behave.”
He
laughed. Sniffed.
Megan’s
legs wobbled under her. The adrenaline that had kept her going earlier had
diminished leaving her exhausted and her head foggy.
Drew
slipped his fingers in Birdies hand lying along the side of the stiff mattress.
“The others are outside, but the doctor said you can’t have any more visitors
tonight.”
“Let
them know I’m okay?”
He
nodded. Megan could tell he wanted to drill Birdie to find out exactly what was
wrong, but the doctor had said no stress. Birdie studied his worried expression.
The woman had always showed a great fondness for Drew. He had that way with
women. He somehow got wedged under your skin and stayed there, permanently.
Women seemed to gravitate to him, either they wanted to fix him or protect him:
her mother, Emma, Birdie…her. She couldn’t image how his mother could not feel
the same way.
“I
have three tattoos,” Birdie blurted out.
Drew
raised a brow, a corner of his mouth twitching. “O-kay.”
Birdie
touched her right shoulder blade, “one right here, one on my ankle, and…” she
blushed, “one not many people get the pleasure of ever seeing…my point is…you
think you know me, but you really don’t,” her words broke with emotion.