Everybody at the table froze.
“Something wrong with the bacon?” Desi asked worriedly, looking at the bacon now with apprehension.
I shook my head, then pressed my hand down on my cheek, right where my tooth was now aching.
“No,” I answered. “Nothing. I just have a toothache.”
Banks’ hand went to my neck and squeezed lightly.
“Did you take anything for it?” he asked.
I shrugged.
I’d actually been doing that for the last couple of days.
I’d get it to go away easily by popping four ibuprofen. The thing was, I hadn’t had a chance to take any today, and with that one bite of bacon it reminded me.
“Not yet,” I admitted. “I didn’t have time.”
My face must’ve shown my embarrassment, and exactly why I hadn’t had time, because everyone, including Banks, started to laugh.
Banks got up and came back with a bottle of ibuprofen.
I shook out four.
“You take four of those?” Darby asked, sounding incredulous.
I nodded. “Yep. Why?”
“I thought girls were supposed to take like two or something,” he muttered, taking a bite of his bacon. “Nope, bacon is amazing, like always.”
I looked at my bacon mournfully.
Sadly, I didn’t think my toothache was up to handling anything hard.
Meaning the bacon and crispy sausage weren’t going to be eaten.
That left me with scrambled eggs and possibly toast.
After taking the meds, I chewed carefully, worried I was about to have another shot of pain go straight to my brain, but other than a few instances of slight pain, I was able to chew mainly on my left side and avoid it.
What I didn’t avoid was when I was drinking my orange juice moments later and made the mistake of thinking OJ would be fine.
Let me tell you something.
It wasn’t.
The moment that the cool liquid hit my tooth, I about died.
Bile rose in my throat, and I nearly came out of my seat as I slammed the glass down.
“Yeah,” Callum said, studying my reaction. “You definitely need to go see the dentist.”
That was what I’d been trying to avoid.
“Yeah,” I sighed. “I know.”
And to get everyone’s focus off of me, I gestured to the house.
“Are there any concerns on the building process y’all would like to address?”
Chapter 18
Question- is it for ‘fuck’s sake’ or ‘for fuck sake?’ I want it to sound professional.
-Candy to her father
Candy
“Dad,” I said. “You have to cook that other chicken first. It was out of date two days ago. If we don’t cook it today, it’s going to go bad.”
My father grumbled under his breath as he moved to the chicken in question.
“It was out four days ago,” he said.
I looked at the ceiling.
“Open it up and smell it,” I urged. “If it smells bad, throw it away. If it doesn’t, then cook it.”
“I don’t want to die of food poisoning,” he said. “I’m cooking the new stuff.”
I stood up with annoyance.
“Dad,” I said. “I’m just going to cook that chicken tomorrow for lunch if you don’t cook it tonight. Then it’ll be five days out.”
My dad grumbled even more under his breath, then went to get the other package of chicken.
I rolled my eyes and went back to payroll.
“Smell this,” he said, holding a piece of raw chicken only a few inches away from my face.
I winced, my aching tooth protesting the movement, and jerked my head back, surprised to find it so close to me.
Then leaned forward and inhaled deeply. “Smells fine.”
He sighed. “It smells funky.”
I nearly growled in exasperation.
“It does not,” I countered, pain starting to throb in my jaw now. “It smells just fine.”
“If I die because you made me cook this chicken…” he started.
I interrupted him.
“Dad, payroll needs to go out tomorrow, and I’m only a quarter of the way through,” I snapped. “All you have to do is dump those two pieces of chicken into the pot, add the soup, then turn it on low. Can you do that, or do you need me to?”
My dad had arrived for dinner, and instead of it being cooked for him, he was having to do it because I hadn’t realized payroll was so far behind.
And I was now swamped with his business stuff because apparently, he’d been a little further behind than I’d originally thought he was—i.e., meaning he hadn’t done shit while I was gone.
Meaning I was now trying to catch up three months’ worth of paperwork and bids, as well as collecting money from clients who were late paying, but my father wasn’t late doing their work.
“Jesus Christ,” I heard him mutter. “For real. Get up here and smell it.”
Gritting my teeth to hold in the angry words that were threatening to spill out, I did as he asked, getting up to smell the chicken a third time.
“It smells fine,” I promised.
“I need you to be sure,” he said. “If I get sick because of this…”
I picked up all of the chicken and dumped it into the trash. I followed that up by washing the knife, cutting board, and then my hands before placing them all back in front of him. This time with a brand-new package of chicken.
“Okay,” I said. “Now, this is brand new. I just bought it today. It should be fine.”
Five minutes later I had another piece of chicken dangling in front of my face.
This time, it really did smell bad.
I dropped my head to rest on the kitchen table and said, “That one smells bad.”
“Now that I know the difference between good and bad,” he said. “I should’ve fuckin’ used the old chicken.”
I picked my head up about an inch and dropped it back onto the table.
My jaw nearly exploded with pain.
“Jesus Christ, you’re being dramatic,” he grumbled as he walked away. He came back moments later with the other package of chicken. “This one is bad, too. Who the hell taught you how to buy chicken?”
I felt my eye twitch. “I did the grocery pick-up,” I explained. “They picked out my chicken.” I paused. “But, even if I had gone in and bought it myself, I would’ve still gotten the chicken. You can’t tell the shit is bad without actually opening up the package.”
“Well, you should take it back. Right now,” he said. “We can’t cook with no chicken.”
I growled under my breath, stood up, and went for a trash bag. After the chicken was loaded, I snatched my car keys and left without another word.
I was in line at the grocery store return center when I saw Banks in line with his own cart full of groceries.
I didn’t have time to look and study him, seeing as I had so much freakin’ shit to do that it wasn’t even funny.
I had no idea what I was signing myself up for when I agreed to help my father. I hadn’t realized that by me leaving to pursue my business it would leave him in a bind. A bind he was clearly not willing to admit that he couldn’t handle on his own.
I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t realize I had someone standing at my side until the lady behind the customer service counter said next.
I looked up only to find her staring at someone at my side.
I frowned and looked up. Then up some more until I was staring into Banks’ amused eyes.
“You’re lost in your own head today,” he said. “Something wrong?”
I rubbed my eyes with my one free hand, then walked up to the counter and placed the chicken on it before handing her my phone. “I just bought this today through grocery pickup.”
“My tooth hurts,” I admitted. “Since I left, i
t’s done nothing but bother me.”
His mouth tightened. “I’ll follow you home.”
And he did, starting in the moment we walked in the door.
“Did you make it to the dentist today?” he asked curiously.
I nodded.
“Yes, but they didn’t find anything wrong. Everything looks great.” I sighed. “They prescribed me some toothpaste that’s supposed to help with sensitivity. Told me to come back if it started hurting again, and he’d take another look at it.”
He curled his hands around my back and dropped his forehead to rest on top of my hair.
“Seeing you in pain sucks,” he admitted.
I smiled, even though I wanted nothing more than to cry.
Yes, my tooth hurt that bad.
“Being in pain sucks,” I muttered darkly.
He grinned, then withdrew a pill bottle from his pocket. “I know that this is illegal as hell, but I have some Vicodin from when I was skewered by a bull two years ago. Do you want to take it?”
I snatched the bottle from him, then popped one dry.
“I guess that means yes.” He laughed. “Let me finish dinner.”
I didn’t argue with him.
Instead, I allowed him to do what he would in the kitchen—I was fairly sure my father had fished out the not-ever-bad-in-the-first-place chicken from the trash—thank God we’d just put a new trashcan liner in.
It was as I was finishing up the last of the billing and bids that my eyes started to droop. And for the first time in eight hours, my tooth finally didn’t hurt.
Then Banks put a plate of macaroni down in front of me, and I started to cry.
“Baby,” he said, tilting my head up. “Why are you crying?”
I only cried all the harder. “You made me macaroni!”
“Don’t worry about her,” Dad said. “She has some really terrible reactions to pain meds and anesthesia.”
I frowned. “I do not. I’m a perfect creature.”
Dad ignored me, so I started to eat my macaroni.
Only, Banks had forgotten to give me a fork, so I picked up each individual noodle with my fingers and started placing it carefully into my mouth.
Banks chuckled and brought me back a spoon as Dad started to explain some random story about my wisdom teeth.
“I had to go back there with her during the surgery,” he said. “Before it even started, they began giving her an IV. It had some Ativan, or calming medication, or something in it. She didn’t calm. Not in any way at all.” Dad started to chuckle. “She freaked the fuck out. Had the idea put in her head that I died, and I had to go into the room to assure her that I wasn’t dead. Her mother tried to calm her, but that didn’t work. She called me. I waited until she was out before leaving and coming back again.” He started to laugh. “It was a good thing I came back, too, because when she came out of the anesthesia, she came out swinging. It was the funniest thing in the world.”
Banks grinned, then pushed the spoon at me again.
“It’ll go a lot faster if you use the spoon, baby,” Banks suggested.
I licked my fingers free of cheese.
I’d managed to eat nine noodles.
The bastards were really slippery and hard to pick up.
I switched over to the spoon after that, and eventually Banks took pity on me and started to feed me my bites.
I still managed to miss the spoon half the time, even with him holding it steady—at least he said he wasn’t moving it.
I wasn’t quite so sure.
“He’s not moving it,” Dad said. “Eat your food.”
“I’m trying,” I grumbled, managing to take another bite.
My eyes started to get heavy, though, and halfway between one bite and the next, I started to nod off.
“She does this, too,” I heard my father say. “She’s truly awful with drugs. I’m not kidding.” He sighed. “I’ll stay here with her tonight.”
I wanted to say that I didn’t want him to stay with me tonight, that I wanted Banks to stay with me tonight, but before I could voice that concern, I was dead to the world.
It was lights out, Candy.
Chapter 19
Me meeting the devil: I love your eggs.
-Text from Candy to Banks
Banks
“I have to get to a job site,” Mr. Sunshine said over the phone. “Candy’s asleep. She’ll probably be that way for a couple of hours.”
“I thought that you weren’t supposed to be going to job sites,” I said, sounding amused.
“I’m not,” he admitted. “But with Candy out, I had to go. One of our guys fell off some scaffolding and might’ve broken his back.”
I winced.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll go over there once I’m done mucking out stalls.”
I shouldn’t have waited, though.
Because by the time breakfast rolled around, I’d grabbed my food and left, wanting to see Candy.
When I arrived, the entire house was still locked up tight.
Using the key that had been left under the welcome mat for me, I entered into the house and waited.
“Candy?” I called out, voice apprehensive.
There was no reply to my call, despite the fact that I knew she was there.
“Candy?” I called out again.
This time, there was a response.
A moan.
“Hey,” I said as I walked deeper into the house, coming to a stop when I reached her door.
I found her on her side, curled into a fetal position, moaning and crying.
“Candy,” I said, rushing to the bed. “Baby, what is it?”
She sniffled. “My tooth. It hurts so bad.”
I looked at the clock on the wall to see it was a little past eight in the morning.
“Who is your dentist?” I asked.
When she told me, I spent the next twenty minutes on the phone.
When I explained what was going on, the dentist gave me the number of an oral surgeon and told me to take her there.
So that was where we ended up thirty minutes later.
Candy hadn’t even managed to put on shoes.
Luckily, I’d had her flip-flops in my back seat from the other night, meaning she didn’t have to walk into the surgeon’s office barefoot.
Because I didn’t care what had to be done or if there was a dress code. Candy was getting herself fixed.
I despised seeing her in pain.
I helped her walk inside, and each step caused a moan to fall free of her lips.
“Almost there,” I assured her.
She made a pitiful sound that was somewhere between a cry and a laugh.
The next ten minutes were spent talking to the lady up front, then the surgeon, who still had his car keys and suit jacket in his hands from where he’d walked in the door.
Lucky for me and for Candy, Dr. Sheffield was a huge fan, meaning that not only did Candy get right in, but she was seen before another patient that had a procedure set for nine that morning.
Also, I didn’t feel too bad. Dr. Sheffield explained that the other patient wasn’t an emergency patient, and they liked to always put a little leeway in their schedules from day to day to atone for those kinds of emergencies.
“I can get her started by giving her a shot,” the doc said, then looked at Candy. “This will be in the gum. That okay?”
She nodded her head. “Anything to make this pain go away.”
He patted her on the cheek. “Oh, it’ll make it go away. I promise.”
With that he disappeared. When he came back, the nurse had the pain meds drawn up, and he administered them.
When he looked at me, he said, “Those’ll take about ten minutes to start working. In the meantime, how about you get started on her patient history.”
I took it. Got started on it.
And realized that I knew absolutely nothing
.
Not her birthday.
Not her address.
Not her last period.
Hell, I didn’t even know her mother’s name.
That really made me a big shit of a boyfriend.
“Baby,” I said after filling in all the information that I could do on my own. “What’s your address?”
She told me, though she sounded sick to her stomach, as if she was about to hurl any second.
“What’s your mother’s name?”
“Sarah,” she whispered.
“Last menstrual period?” I continued.
“Started end of last month,” she mumbled.
I looked at my watch and noted the date before writing it down.
“Who’s your primary care physician?” I continued.
“Hoff.”
“Address of primary care physician?” I continued.
“How the hell would I know that?” she asked, blinking open one eye. “I don’t live there.”
My lips twitched up in amusement.
“I’ll Google it in a second,” I said. “Pregnancies?”
“Yes, please,” she mumbled, sounding amused.
My eyes flicked up to meet hers. “Was that a yes, I’ve had them? Or a yes, I want them?”
“I want fifteen kids,” she said. “All of them boys except one. The last one has to be a girl, or all my hopes and dreams will be crushed.”
I snorted. “Candy, darlin’,” I said. “I’m not having fifteen kids. Five, maybe yes. Fifteen? Hell no.”
She opened both eyes this time and said, “That’s just selfish.”
I grinned. “I don’t think it’s selfish not to want fifteen kids.”
“How about we average out the two numbers?” she offered. “Ten?”
I was already shaking my head.
“Have you taken anything oral…”
“I did oral with you two days ago, yes,” she confirmed.
“I see that the drugs are kicking in,” the doctor said, sounding amused.
I winced, then looked up as color flooded my cheeks.
“Her father told me last night that she didn’t react well to pain meds and anesthesia,” I said. “Which, I witnessed firsthand. This is pretty mild compared to last night.”
“I’m a wild thing,” Candy burst out.
Then she started dancing in the seat, her eyes closing, and her body shaking to the music that she was singing. Horribly.
Chute Yeah Page 14
