He dodged gracefully between the trees, which made him a hard target. Suddenly, splat! I was hit. A blue balloon smacked me in the arm and spurted open, water splashing up into my face. I don’t know what I expected to happen in a water fight, but I certainly hadn’t considered I would get wet. Very wet. I worried about my makeup and the effects the water would have on it, but before I could worry too much, splat! Another balloon hit me in the thigh. I fumbled with the balloons I was holding and barely kept them all from tumbling to the ground.
Any thoughts about my appearance vanished as I became more and more competitive with John. I threw a balloon at his back, and it successfully popped open, splashing water all over. He stopped, stunned, and I laughed when I saw his face. Mine must have had a similar expression when I’d been hit. I had the advantage then since he was standing still and facing me, so I hit him again. This time the balloon slammed into his chest. I used his momentary shock to run from him back toward the balloons. He threw one at my back and missed.
“You’ll never win,” I cackled as I hurried toward the buckets. He chased me, throwing more balloons as we ran—some hitting, some missing.
We continued this way through the balloon challenge. It was a sort of cat and mouse game of equal parts chasing and evading. Occasionally we would cheat and grab the other person’s balloon to toss. It didn’t matter much; we were having too much fun. I had never laughed this much or this hard. Sometimes I was full-on snorting. Then I would laugh because I was snorting, which would make me snort more. This made John laugh even harder. It was contagious.
When we realized we were out of balloons, John began running to the next station. I had no choice but to run after him. This was the garden area, and our weapons of choice were hoses. I wasn’t sure how he’d managed it, but he actually had two hoses just sitting there waiting. And, of course, he’d dug another shovel into the ground to signify the course station.
He started, “Okay, now, don’t forget to aim for the—”
I blasted the hose at him before he could finish. I wasn’t about to let him have the upper hand this time. John yelped and scrambled to pick up his hose. He ran toward the bushes as he sprayed me. I wasn’t sure how this round was going to end because I assumed the hoses had an endless supply of water. After I pointed this out and called a truce, John cocked his head to the side and said, “Huh. I hadn’t considered that...”
I sprayed my hose at him again while he was still speaking.
“Hey, now!” He looked amused in an exasperated sort of way. “I was only—”
I sprayed him again.
John shook his head, laughing, then quickly threw his hose down and yelled, “Next!”
Finally, we ran back to the truck for the ultimate round: water guns. I noticed then that he’d tied a white handkerchief to his truck’s antenna as the signifier. His dedication to this was adorable. I didn’t have time to ponder that, though. We grabbed our guns, his and hers labeled in red and blue. John ran toward the side yard near the trees, and I gave chase. We sprayed as we ran, and it was then that I saw just how soaked he was. His white T-shirt was completely see-through now. I stopped in my tracks. John was hot. Through that shirt, I could see every line of muscle and the shape of his torso. He was like some statuesque work of art.
“What’s wrong?” he called, noticing my pause.
I quickly ran toward him, shaking off thoughts of what he’d look like without his shirt. He doubled back, and we were in full battle mode now. That is, until I slipped in the mud we’d created with our water fight. At this point, we were only a few feet away from one another, and I managed to fall toward him, grabbing hold of him as I dropped in what felt like slow motion. We both landed in a loud thud on the ground. There was a moment of silence; then, we started laughing hysterically. I knew the fall hurt, but I couldn’t feel it yet through the endorphins.
When the laughter had slowed but not yet subsided, John looked at me, concerned. “Are you all right?
“Yes,” I tittered. “Are you?”
He nodded and propped himself on his elbow so he could look at me, assessing the damage. “I’m fine.”
“I don’t think I’ve fallen nearly as much as when I’m around you.” I stopped chuckling at the word fallen.
Things suddenly became very serious. We gazed at one another, and John brushed a few tendrils of hair from my face. He was only a breath away, and I hoped this would be the moment he decided to kiss me.
He leaned in. It was finally going to happen! But we were interrupted just as a piercing scream came from inside the house.
CHAPTER TWELVE
John and I instinctively jumped to our feet the instant we heard the commotion. For a second, I wondered if the scream was Aunt Martha’s response to seeing us on the ground. Judging from the way they had tried to get us together in the past, that was unlikely. Also, it would have been a tad melodramatic.
We reached the house and tried to tear through the front door at the same time, colliding as we pushed through the narrow space. It would have been comical at any other time. The horrific scene before us was anything but funny, though. Aunt Martha was on her knees, hovering over Uncle Kenny, who was covered in blood. I froze at the sight. Images of my own hands covered in blood flashed in my mind.
While I was a statue, John was quick to act. He ran over to Kenny and Martha and assessed the situation. He moved swiftly but with shocking presence of mind.
“What happened?” I heard John ask.
Martha’s words were soft and shaky. I could hardly make out what she was saying. John’s response sounded muffled and oddly echoey. I couldn’t grasp the meaning of their words. The room began to spin around me, and I couldn’t catch my breath. I tried frantically to regulate the shallow intake of air. Their voices were further away now, as if in a distant tunnel. My vision dotted with black spots. The world swayed, and soon darkness overtook me.
***
I awoke in a hospital room for the second time in recent months. The experience was like déjà vu. My bed was hard, and my body was sore. Blearily, I looked myself over, evaluating any injury. I was in a hospital gown, although I had no memory of getting into it. An IV was in my hand, and a monitor was clipped onto my finger. I didn’t feel too bad, other than a pounding headache and an even more prominent exhaustion. To my left was the door to the room, to my right, another hospital bed. Blinking into focus, I saw that Uncle Kenny was lying in the bed beside me. Aunt Martha sat next to him, holding his hand. She almost jumped out of her seat when she realized I was awake.
“Oh, Kenneth, she’s awake!” Aunt Martha rushed to my side. “We were so worried, dear. How are you feeling?”
I didn’t exactly know how I was feeling. “I... What happened?”
“You passed out, Sissy,” Uncle Kenny croaked from the bed beside me.
“Uncle Kenny, you’re alive!”
His chuckle sounded more like a cough. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
For a moment, I wondered if I’d somehow imagined the whole thing. Like, maybe I’d had an episode spurred on by the memory of my own emergency. Surely that couldn’t be the case. Kenny was lying in a hospital bed, too, and I definitely recalled Aunt Martha’s earsplitting scream as John and I tussled on the ground.
“Where’s John?” I asked, heat filling me at the thought of our last encounter.
Martha took my hand and patted it. “He’s in the waiting room. They said family only for the time being, and he thought you could use the rest. Both of you.” She looked meaningfully at Uncle Kenny.
“So, what happened then?”
“Kenneth had a heart attack,” Aunt Martha began. “We were in the kitchen preparing lunch, and it happened as he was cutting up some vegetables.”
“I guess a heart attack makes you clumsy because I ended up slicing my hand pretty good,” Uncle Kenny added.
Aunt Martha tsked and swatted at him playfully, and I was surprised either of them could be in such a ligh
t mood. “He sliced it pretty good, all right. Had to have nine stitches.”
“A heart attack?” It was all I could muster as I processed.
Just then, there were three knocks on the door. A doctor entered wearing a lab coat and holding a clipboard. “How are the patients doing?” he asked as he surveyed Uncle Kenny and me.
“Oh, fine, Doc. Good as new. I’d rather be home in my own bed, of course,” Uncle Kenny hinted.
The doctor, a man a little older than my uncle with salt and pepper hair and thick horn-rimmed glasses, shook his head good-naturedly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to sleep in this bed for at least a night or two, my friend.”
“Ah, Gerry, I feel fine. I don’t think that’s necessary.”
Gerry gave my uncle a pointed look, and I realized they must have known each other for a long time. Maybe this guy was already his doctor, or maybe they were drinking buddies. Hell, maybe they’d been in high school together. They seemed to have a previous relationship of some sort. “You’ve just had a heart attack, Ken, and you’ve lost a lot of blood from that gash.”
“A scratch,” Uncle Kenny protested.
“We need to continue to monitor you through the night,” Gerry the Doctor continued, ignoring my uncle.
“A heart attack,” I repeated stupidly. Those seemed to be the only words I’d been able to grasp since I woke up. I blinked and tried to clear my head. “But, he’s not even that old.”
“Yeah, doc, I’m not even that old.” Uncle Kenny managed a raspy version of his signature laugh.
Turning several shades of red, I tried to back-peddle, “I mean, aren’t heart attacks for older people or... less physically fit?” Kenny was in his mid-forties, roughly, and appeared remarkably healthy considering his eating habits.
Doctor Gerry laughed as well, “Not necessarily. Of course, age and diet can be a factor in these things, but genetics often play a larger role.”
I nodded and fidgeted with my hospital gown, too self-conscious to make eye contact after my faux pas.
“You, on the other hand, do not have to stay for overnight observation, Chastity. That was quite a fall you had. You’ll have a pretty large bump on your head for a few days, but it’s nothing an over-the-counter anti-inflammatory can’t fix. We filled you up with fluids, and you’re free to go whenever you’re up to it.”
Aunt Martha squeezed my hand. “You don’t mind staying in here for a little while longer, do you? I need to talk to John.”
I smiled at her and nodded, not quite ready to attempt conversation. I’d already made myself look like a complete idiot in front of this doctor. Even worse, he called me by my actual name, which meant he knew who I was. Had I blown my cover by passing out today? No, I’d blown my cover by having a public meltdown at the grocery store the other day. At this rate, my sanctuary here was going to be short-lived. I started wondering where I’d have to run off to next when Uncle Kenny asked, “Seriously, though, how are you feeling, Sis?”
As I looked at him lying in that hospital bed with even more tubes prodded into him than I had and with a bandage covering his entire left hand, I couldn’t help but smile. He was worried about me. He should have been worried about himself, but he was worried about me. Typical. “I’m fine,” I answered. “Just a little embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. You’ve been through a lot. I’m sorry to put you through even more.”
“You’re apologizing to me for having a heart attack?” The very idea was preposterous.
“Well, I’m sorry you had to go through all that.” He reached his bandaged hand out toward me as if he wanted to grab hold of mine, then he winced and reconsidered. “You’ve had a rough time of it.”
It was another comment that took me by complete surprise. How could he be worried about me? Especially when I’d been the one to bring on most of my own misery lately. It was laughable, and so I did just that. I laughed. It didn’t sound quite right—like I was on the verge of hysterics. “Oh, Uncle Kenny, I’m just so happy that you’re all right. You just worry about taking care of yourself.” I looked around the room to see how Aunt Martha or the good doctor might be reacting to my fit of laughter. They weren’t in the room. “Hey,” I frowned, “where’d they go?”
“Who? Martha and Gerry? You didn’t see them leave?”
I shook my head. They must have gone when I had been lost in thought. I chided myself for being so unaware.
As if on cue, Aunt Martha entered the room. “I’ve spoken with John. He’s going to take you home, Sissy, and I am going to stay here with your uncle tonight. John has agreed to stay at the house with you so you’re not alone.” My aunt looked nervous when she told me this, as though I would explode into a tirade about how that was the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.
I nodded calmly in response. John babysitting me wasn’t a welcome concept, but I knew this must have been hard enough on everyone without me arguing. I wondered what John thought of the plan. He must have thought I was ridiculous for needing someone to stay with me.
I was anxious. This meant that John and I were going to be together at Kenny and Martha’s house alone all night. After what had transpired between us right before this fiasco, I wasn’t sure how to act around him. He had almost kissed me, and I had wanted him too. What if he wanted to talk about it? What if he said it was a mistake and he regretted it? What if we just ended up making out all night... or more? Was I ready for that?
Uncle Kenny and Aunt Martha stared at me, expecting more of an answer than a simple head nod. “Oh. That’s fine. I mean, as long as John is fine with it.”
“It was his idea,” Aunt Martha responded.
That gave my heart a little flutter. John wanted to stay with me. Or at least he didn’t despise the notion. No, he wanted to; he suggested it. Did he think something was going to happen between us? Was that his intention? There were just too many possibilities and outcomes, and I wasn’t quite prepared to deal with all of them. I wished Kenny and Martha weren’t in the room only for a minute so I could scream into my pillow.
Soon after, a nurse came into the room and checked all of my vitals. She said I was “good as new” and removed my tubes and equipment. I had to laugh at the comment. When had that description ever fit me?
“Am I allowed to change back into my clothes?” I asked after the official all-clear.
Aunt Martha hopped up from her chair and handed me a tote bag. “Here. Your outfit was a bit messy,” she pursed her lips as if trying not to grin, “so, John went back to the house and got you a change of clothes.”
I presumed that was John’s idea, too.
“That was his idea, too,” Aunt Martha said as if reading my thoughts.
I thanked her and took the tote into the bathroom. That was when I looked in the mirror. Woof. I was a mess. It seemed they had cleaned me up, perhaps to make sure I had no wounds from passing out, but my hair was in shambles. I tried my best to smooth it down, which was difficult without a comb or a brush. Eventually, I gave up and tucked it behind my ears. I splashed some water on my face, hoping I’d somehow look a little more alive after. Nope. My mascara had smudged around my eyes, and I resembled a raccoon. I appeared as if I’d just woken up after a late night of partying. Since looking presentable was a lost cause, I dug into the tote bag and pulled out the clothes John had picked out for me: a pair of jeans and a T-shirt featuring a cat dressed like Audrey Hepburn. It wasn’t the worst outfit, but I had a feeling he just pulled out the first two articles of clothing he could find. There was also a bra and a pair of underwear in the bag. I flushed, knowing that John had been rummaging around in my intimates. What had he seen? Did he like it?
I dressed quickly and tried to dispel such thoughts. When I walked back into the hospital room, I asked, “I don’t suppose he thought to get me some shoes...?”
Of course he had. Aunt Martha retrieved the pair from beside her chair and smiled. “Now, if there is anything you need, just ask John. As you can see, he is very helpf
ul. And you can always call us here at the hospital if you have any questions.”
I bobbed my head, half-listening as I tied up the shoelaces of the canvas sneakers John had picked out. “You’re sure you don’t need me here?” I asked. It felt wrong that I got to go back to a comfy (well, comfier) bed while they had to stay here overnight.
“We’ll be fine,” Uncle Kenny answered. “Just you wait, that nurse’ll be saying I’m ‘good as new’ tomorrow, and we’ll be home. You take care of yourself.”
I didn’t know what I’d done in my life to have two people as caring and selfless to watch over me. My eyes began to cloud, and I blinked back threatening tears. “You’ll take care of each other?” I asked.
Martha came to my side and gave me a long hug. “We always do.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
John looked relieved to see me when I entered the hospital’s waiting room, and I felt oddly warm inside, knowing he’d been concerned about me.
Leaping out of his chair looking like he might run over and hug me, he stopped short. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Tired,” I responded.
He nodded in agreement. He looked worn out, too. “Well, then, let’s get you home.” Placing a hand on my upper back, he led me toward the exit. “I can pull the car up if you want to wait here.”
I shook my head. “I’m okay.”
John didn’t seem to believe that, but he didn’t argue with me. He kept his hand on my back for support, as if that was the only thing keeping me upright.
We began the trek home in wearied silence. The day had taken such a dramatic turn from the rollicking good time we’d had during our water battle. I hadn’t had that much fun ever, and I hadn’t moved so much since I’d come here. When I was in L.A., I was on a strict diet and workout regime. Since moving here, I hadn’t worked out once, and I was definitely feeling it. That, coupled with the emotional exhaustion of the day, was enough to knock me out for the rest of the drive home.
Be It Ever So Humble Page 11
