Facts about Drowning
…Thirty to sixty seconds.
…Wet drowning.
…Dry drowning.
…Oxygen deprivation.
…Emergency care.
…Secondary drowning.
…Saltwater.
…Freshwater.
My eyes swam over the sloppy handwriting in minuscule font.
Why did Miles carry around a piece of paper with notes about drowning? I pulled the battered K-7 napkin from my tote bag and compared the letters in “SORRY” to any corresponding ones on his note. Each one matched his penmanship. I turned his paper over; the back was blank. Was it tied to the aquatics center? Was he a murderer? Was he suicidal? Once again, more information left me with more questions.
I’d reached the back of his wallet, identifying the envelope and check I’d handed to him earlier. The envelope was sealed, and that’s where I drew the line. Looking inside would be impossible without tearing into it.
Someone tapped my shoulder. “Mrs. McCullough?”
I jumped. “Huh?”
“Catalina said you might be down here. Your husband’s out of radiology, and you can see him now,” another front desk employee said. “He’s in ER room 1B.”
I quickly reassembled Miles’s wallet and gathered my belongings, following the receptionist down the hall and past the bank of elevators. Before continuing, I shoved the clipboard in her direction and turned away, as if she’d see my lie.
* * *
From the nurse’s station, I saw the door to 1B— partially open. Silently, I walked through the doorway and saw Miles lying on a hospital bed with his clothes folded on a nearby chair. His eyes were closed.
A woman in a white doctor’s coat entered the room. Her nametag read, “Dr. Little.” “Mrs. McCullough?”
I didn’t respond.
She cleared her throat and spoke a little louder, “Mrs. McCullough?”
Oh, snap! That’s still me! “Yes?”
“Good news. Your husband’s radiology results came back. We did a CT scan and some plain film x-rays. One of the nurses gave him triazolam to calm him down. He’s a little banged up but should be fine.”
“And his chest pain?” I thought back to what Miles said outside the bar, recalling the warmth through his shirt and his heartbeat against my fingertips.
“ECG was normal, too,” the doctor reassured me.
Miles’s eyes fluttered open. “Are you talking about me again?” his voice was gravelly.
Dr. Little turned toward him. “I was just going over the test results with your wife. Due to your scalp laceration, we had to use some staples to—”
“Who?” Miles asked.
“The… NP treating you,” Dr. Little said slowly, “he did the staples.”
“No. You said wife.”
I let out a nervous laugh. “Shhh.” I walked over and squeezed Miles’s hand. “Don’t overexert yourself, cupcake.”
“Cupcake? Last I heard, I was an asshole,” he murmured. “Why are you here?”
I used one of Annelies’s phony smiles. “Don’t be silly. I’m your wife.”
“My what?” he punctuated the end of his question with a forced ‘t.’
“Don’t mind us. This is a game we play,” I explained to the doctor, feeling my face redden. “He pretends he doesn’t know me, and I get annoyed. It’s super fun.”
Dr. Little’s pager interrupted us with a series of beeps. She groaned. “That means I’m needed in the OR. You and Miles really lucked out tonight.”
Lucked out?
Miles let out a long sigh of dissatisfaction.
Dr. Little continued, “I’ll have the discharge summary printed up so you can take him home.”
“Home?” I blurted.
“Yes?” Dr. Little raised an eyebrow. “A lot of physicians don’t use it as common practice anymore, but I’m not a lot of physicians. I’d like you to wake him up every two hours to ensure he doesn’t have a concussion. Everything will be listed on the paperwork.”
Crap. That really meant I had to take him home. With me. To my house. Where I lived.
When I saw the newfound aggression in his eyes after he pieced together what I’d done, I knew he was moments from filing for divorce.
Fortunately for me, the doctors decided to assess Miles’s vitals one last time while the paperwork printed, which gave me a chance to excuse myself to the restroom. The delay would extend the longevity of my life for another five minutes from Miles’s wrath.
In the deserted hallway, I pulled out my cell phone and checked the screen. One text message from my dad, one from Annelies, one from Barry, and six from Bo were listed in bold. I put Sperm Donor, BUTT, and Anal Eyes on the back burner, leaving the texts unopened as a reminder to deal with them later.
The Mam“Bo” Rodriguez
Tell me where you are.
Jade. Answer me. We NEED to talk.
Please?
I have to know you’re all right.
I’m losing my shit here. The hospital won’t tell me jack, and my cell reception sucks.
If you get any of these, I’m down at the hospital in 4C.
I locked the screen on my phone and leaned against the wall to sort through my feelings. Everything veered toward anger, but what I experienced burned rubber, zoomed past, and broke that barrier. “Angry” didn’t capture the sentiment. The term “livid” barely scraped the surface; my stomach churned thinking about what Bo did. The three of us could’ve died. Anyone else walking through the parking lot could’ve died! As much as I hated to admit it, something did die that night— the remaining respect I had for my best friend. That slammed the brakes on my heart.
I typed a response to Bo three times and deleted it. Part of me wanted to be petty and not reply at all. For all I cared, he could wonder if he’d hurt me. And he did… just not in the way he thought.
After contemplation, I walked down the hall and took the elevator up to the fourth floor. It didn’t come easily. I turned around to leave twice before forcing my feet to 4C. There, I hesitated, unsure whether I could confront him or if I’d break down into a mess. Deep down, I knew what I needed to do, and I couldn’t turn to swimming in the cove. Not that time. Facing Bo’s hospital room would take more courage than I’d ever summoned. No one should have to see a loved one in that situation, and I’d met more than my fair share.
I peeked into the room and past the half-drawn curtain. Bo appeared too peaceful, and I shivered. The simple décor made my hands damp with its sterility. The monitors. Antiseptic smell. A bedside table. The phone. An uncomfortable chair. Brown blankets. White sheets. Wooden blinds. I touched every item without laying a finger on them, and my shallow breaths hitched. Even the water pitcher with its condensation ring, depressing shade of blue, and textured pattern— tangible from fifteen feet away. The TV had been muted— an old football game on the screen. Demons wrestled for my attention, ripping into my soul, but I stayed strong and refused to let them rule me.
The surroundings were silent. Bo had no visitors, which didn’t surprise me. After his accident, he commented on his standoffish parents and how they only came around if they needed something. Maxen stayed away most of the time, too. Bo and I had been each other’s rocks for so long, but even our relationship followed suit and had started to erode with a valley separating us.
I cleared my throat to announce my presence, leaning against the doorway with my arms crossed.
Bo startled. “Jade!” A gash spanned his right cheek and his left eye was shut, the area swollen to twice its usual size. “Are you okay?”
I didn’t move, but I couldn’t help but pity him and not because of his injuries. Bo and I were the same. Maybe that’s why we’d clung to one another. We both had monster
s to slay. We both had vices— the difference was mine didn’t risk anyone else’s life. My tone frosted over with ice. “Okay is a matter of opinion.”
“I am so…” he said. “Saying sorry a hundred times isn’t gonna cut it. I could’ve killed you.”
I nodded once. “While that’s true, you didn’t.”
“Are you really okay?” he asked. “Like okay okay? You look banged up.”
“I’ll be fine,” I didn’t warm my words with a smile; he hadn’t earned any relief. “You?”
“Outside of my BAC being twice over the legal limit, I’ll pull through. They admitted me overnight to monitor my condition because…” He glanced at his legs. “What about…”
“Miles?” I firmly finished the question he couldn’t.
Bo nodded, and I knew the name stung.
“He’s on concussion watch,” I said, not bothering to mention the head injury afterparty would go down at my place.
Bo sank back another inch into the pillow as if the wind had been knocked out of him. His words took considerable time to say, but they sounded resolute, “I’m done.”
“Done what?” I asked.
He gestured with his pinky and thumb extended as far away from each other as possible and raised it to his lips to resemble taking a drink. “I’m putting down the bottle. For good.”
I added with a straight face, “Your usual joke is you quit drinking for good, and now you drink for evil.”
His mouth didn’t move.
I cocked my head to the side, letting my exhaustion shine through. “Bo…” We’d ventured down that worn path more than a few times. While I’d cheered him on, I also watched him crash and burn with each attempt.
“I’m serious. If something happened to you… I couldn’t live with myself.”
My stomach sank to new depths as I got lost in what happened all over again.
“I’ll do whatever it takes. Cold turkey. Counseling. Rehab. Doesn’t matter,” he continued.
I remained still.
“You don’t believe me.”
I spoke carefully, “It’s not that I don’t believe you want to quit the drinking. I don’t believe the drinking wants… to quit you.”
“I can’t stand McCullough, but if he wouldn’t have been there tonight…” He swallowed hard and let out a shaky breath through his mouth.
What? You wouldn’t have treated him like roadkill and possibly made him eligible to become part of Mama Nash’s exclusive stuffed collection? Instead of speaking my snark, I gave him a questioning stare.
Bo studied my face. “You don’t know, do you?” He fought to assemble what he wanted to say. “Seth pushed you.”
“Pushed me?”
“Yeah,” Bo replied. “I dropped my flask between the seat and the console. Like a dumbass, I reached for it. When I looked up and turned on the headlights? He’d shoved you out of the way. The corner of my SUV clipped him, and he rolled up and over the hood. It’s the last thing I remember before landing in the ER.”
I thought back to what’d happened in the parking lot.
If the car struck me head-on, how did the impact hit from my left? Why didn’t the two thudding sounds coincide with my body hitting the cement? They happened afterward. Didn’t they? My mind tried to rewind and replay the event, but my thoughts were wavy and my head heavy.
Everything clicked into place. The SUV didn’t collide with me; Miles did. The sound I heard was his body hitting both the Honda and the ground, not mine.
Nausea. More spinning nausea. I’d expected the visit to Bo’s room to be difficult but for different reasons. “Um.” I pulled the tote bag higher on my shoulder. “I should go, and you should rest.”
“Don’t hate me. I can’t lose…” Bo’s eyes pleaded with mine. “If you press charges, I won’t blame you.”
“I can’t speak for anyone else, but I don’t hate you, and I’m not filing a lawsuit. I do want you to really follow through with getting help this time, though.”
“I know, Baby Girl,” he said quietly. “Talk tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” My chest felt oddly empty. “G’nite, Mambo.”
That evening, our goodbye felt like our breakup.
* * *
I left and went back down to the ER, my body on auto-pilot. When I got off the elevator, yelling from the hallway forced me to focus. I turned the corner in time to see Miles arguing with a nurse I didn’t recognize.
“Sir, it’s standard protocol. I need to list an emergency contact, preferably two.”
His eyes flicked in my direction. “Just my wife.”
“Yes, sir. But she left the phone number field blank. Is there any other family we can—”
“I already told you three times, there’s no other family,” Miles snapped.
Well, he must be feeling better.
I walked over to where they stood. “What’s going on?”
“Your number, cupcake.” His jaw set. “I can’t remember it.”
I rattled off the ten digits, kicked myself for missing the question on the form, and lied yet again. “Sorry about that. New number.”
Another doctor approached the first and glanced at Miles. “Have we met?”
“No.” Miles grabbed my arm. “Let’s go.”
After being discharged, I called for an Uber to take us back to my Jeep, and the wait was painfully long. “Do you want to call Sienna?” I asked.
He exhaled a short laugh. “Hardly. She’ll start an argument over all of this. Besides, we’re on the outs right now.”
After the Uber arrived, we sat in complete silence outside of the driver singing along to Madonna’s Rain, using a hairbrush as a microphone. The high notes were beyond off-key.
Miles’s spoke sternly when we got in my Jeep, “We need to have a discussion.”
“I agree.”
He stared straight forward and scowled. “Tomorrow. I don’t have the energy to argue right now.”
Oh, boy. He’d already planned for the next day’s hostility festivity. Can’t wait.
* * *
When we arrived at my house, it was almost two o’clock in the morning. Miles’s movements had slowed, and he groaned when exiting the Jeep. I walked alongside him and tried to steady his frame from tumbling back down the steep steps of my back porch.
Miles pulled his arm away with a rash movement and stood outside on the welcome mat. “This… is your place?” He stared up at the ceiling when I opened the door.
“They gave me a set of keys when I signed the mortgage papers.” Like usual, I started to empty my tote bag on the table near the entryway. Miles’s keys. His wallet and pain prescription. The napkin. My hairbrush, rubber band, and lip balm. Halfway through, I got distracted and stopped. “And this appears to be my furniture inside. So, I’m going with ‘yes.’”
Miles’s face blanched, his feet still firmly planted on the bristly doormat.
I tried to lighten the mood. “Are you a vampire and need to be invited inside?”
He looked around the living room but lingered near the doorway.
It didn’t take much to send my defenses up. With a few sideways glances, Miles had me walking on eggshells in my own home. Yes, it was my fault I pretended to be his wife, but make-believe time had ended. Roles changed. My new title became babysitter, which meant karma found a new fleshy area to bite me.
I felt myself snap. “What? Do you have something to say about my house? Is it not adventurous enough for you? I can go install a zip line or a bungee jump off the second-floor balcony.”
“No.” He sounded abnormally subdued. “It’s not that.”
Too much quiet.
I gave up and resigned to our discussion happening in the morning. “So, this is the couch, and the
re’s a blanket if you need it.” I gestured toward the sofa that gave a snapshot view of the ocean.
Miles sat down and leaned against the cushion. He rubbed his face before tipping his head a few inches toward the ceiling. “Why are you being nice? We don’t get along. Just hate me and kick me out.”
I opened my mouth and almost gave him what he wanted— shunning. But my stubborn streak won. Besides, how could I politely say I didn’t need a coma on my conscience. “Get some sleep.”
“I need to use the bathroom first.” He stood and started toward the hallway.
I reached to finish emptying my bag and stopped again. “But I didn’t tell you where it was.”
“Like most houses, I assume it’s down the hall? You already said there wasn’t a zip line. So, no trap doors either, right?” he asked.
“Don’t be a flight risk.” I dragged my feet up the stairs.
“I won’t.”
I glared at him from the top step.
He held up his hand. “What? Scout’s honor.”
By the time my head hit the pillow, I was already being lulled into a dream where—
My body jolted when the alarm went off.
It took a few seconds to orient myself and remember why I needed to wake up. With my eyes half-open, I slogged downstairs, my bathrobe wound tightly around my waist. I watched Miles sleep peacefully, wondering what could make someone resent the world so much. The sun peeked up over the horizon. Rays of buttery yellows and soft pinks highlighted his rugged face, accentuating his eyelashes. For once, he didn’t seem so hostile.
I jostled his shoulder with a yawn. “Miles?”
Jade Page 26
