by Emilia Finn
So I’m going to meet the woman Riley swears undying love for, to give her a piece of my mind and a little friendly advice about being a better human being.
It takes only minutes to cross this tiny town – something I can’t seem to get used to no matter how many times I make the trip – and pull into the Lakeview Retirement Village parking lot. Stepping out of the car and glancing around, I take in the brick exterior and white columns holding the triple-story roof up. I note the rose garden lining the main driveway, and the little water fountain over by a street-library setup. Park benches are scattered on the lush green lawn, most of which are facing the lake. Gleaming picture windows sparkle in the daylight and reflect off the very lake Riley and I played in not so long ago.
I taunted him, forced his hand, seduced him in the cold – basically right outside his mother’s door.
Oops.
I feel naked without my pig satchel, but putting on my brave face and squaring my shoulders, I slam the car door and head toward the front entrance.
I’ve spent a little time in homes like this for my clients over the years, so I know what the staff can and cannot allow. A random woman off the street visiting another random woman; probably won’t get past reception.
But, “Hello.” I stop at the front desk and play up my most charming smile. “My name’s Andi Conner. I’m here to see Mrs. Cruz.”
“Of course.” The receptionist looks down at her computer and taps away at the keys. After a moment, her smile dims. “I’m sorry, Miss Conner. You’re not listed as an approved visitor.”
“Oh, I know. I’m Riley’s fiancé, but he’s not feeling so well right now, so I’ve come to give her an update on his wellbeing.”
“You’re Officer Cruz’s fiancé?” Standing, she leans over her desk and casts a suspicious eye over my hands. Lucky for me, I was having a bubble bath last week with the soap bombs that come with a fake ring inside. Ten dollar fake diamond, slid onto my left hand while driving over here; voila, fake fiancé. “I didn’t know he was seeing anyone.”
I lift a brow and grin. Little Miss Fifty-and-Married is feeling somewhat possessive of our baby-faced cop. “Yes, ma’am. We’ve been together for almost a whole year now, but I live in the city for work.” I’ll let her assume I mean the city an hour away, and not another city a couple day’s drive from here. “What with his rotating shift schedule at the station, and my living away, all the time we do get to spend together, well…” I allow a false blush to cover my cheeks. “We prefer to spend that time at home to catch up. Alone. In private.”
I’ve made her uncomfortable – and if I’m not mistaken, a little jealous – but I still end up gaining entrance and a set of handwritten directions that lead me to where I’ve got to go. I walk away from the front desk with a flip of my hair and a smile as I rotate the ring on my left hand, but my confidence wavers as I pass through hall after hall, then door after door. The further I move away from the front desk, the quieter the world becomes. I stop at a set of heavy electric doors and frown. Looking to my left, I find a green button with a handwritten ‘press here for admittance’, so I press my thumb down and step back when the automatic doors unlock and open inwards.
“Hi, Miss Conner.” An older man with a kind smile and white uniform steps to the door and gestures me through. “Delores called from the front, so I was expecting you.” I follow him, but watch over my shoulder when the doors close at our back. “Raya will be so pleased you’re visiting today. She’s been lonely the past couple weeks.”
“Yeah, umm, Riley’s been unwell.” I study the walls as we move along the hall. “Sorry I didn’t get up here sooner. Ah… why are there electric doors here when they’re not like that back there?” I gesture over my shoulder, but he understands ‘back there’ actually means near the front of the complex.
Stopping at a tall desk, he picks up a clipboard and writes a couple notes, then passes it to me, along with a pen. “Visitors check in, please.” When I sign it and pass it back, he grins and gestures me forward. “The residents in East Wing need a little more security, for their own safety. Their condition makes them more susceptible to wander, and we have a lake right outside. It’s just a safety thing.”
“Condition?”
“Mrs. Cruz’s dementia is deteriorating, so it’s for her own safety.” He stops at a door and grins. “Today hasn’t been great, but I think it’s because she’s missing her boy, so a visit from you is the next best thing. Enjoy your visit, Miss Conner, and if you’re still here in half an hour or so, I’ll bring tea and a snack.”
Dementia.
He opens the door and practically shoves me through, so my eyes stop on a woman lying in a large bed with a frilly-necked nightie and floral print blankets pulled right up to her chin. Dementia. She has dementia! I take a step closer and reconsider my life choices. I shouldn’t be here. This was a shitty gung-ho decision that I didn’t think through, because I’d come to tell a sprightly woman off for being a dick and not visiting her son and his cat, but instead, this woman turns away from her TV, meets my eyes, and slays me.
Riley’s eyes.
Riley’s nose.
Riley’s jaw.
She even has the baby-faced thing going for her, but emotion clogs in my throat when I realize it’s not because of her youth, but the way she watches me the way a child might watch. She has no fucking clue who I am – obviously – and she’s not at all alarmed at the stranger in her room.
“Umm, hello.” I trip over nothing and stumble my way toward the wing-backed chair by the TV. I don’t sit yet, instead, I spin the fake ring around my finger and swallow when her curious eyes stray down to my hand. “Ah, Mrs. Cruz. Hello, my name is Andi.” I clear my throat. “Andrea Conner. It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”
Smiling, she sits up in bed so her back rests against the headboard and blankets come down to her hips. She clasps her hands in her lap and spins her ring the way I spin mine. “Are you here to see Riley?” She looks around the room. Searching for him? “He’s at work, I think. He should be off by six.”
She doesn’t know. She has no fucking clue. “No, ma’am. I came to say hello to you. Ah… hello.” Exhausted, I flop down into the chair, then drag it across the room when the five feet separating us feels horrible. I noisily bring the chair close enough that my knees touch the side of her bed. I was coming to tell her off about the cat, but instead, when she reaches out for my hand, I clasp hers between mine and hold my breath so I don’t cry. “How are you today?” I look toward the TV. “Anything good on?”
“I was watching those handsome doctors.” She grins – just like Riley – and pats her blanket with her spare hand. “Did you hear Riley passed the academy, Miss…” She frowns. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t get your name.”
“Andi.” It’s like trying to speak over shards of glass. “My name is Andi.”
“Andi.” She smiles and lays her head back as though to daydream. “Such a pretty name. Did you hear Riley passed the academy? He’s so smart.”
“The academy? Police?” When she nods, I squeeze her hand. “Yes ma’am, I heard. He’s so smart. I heard he passed with honors.” I actually have no clue if that’s true, or if the police give those kinds of grades, as opposed to a pass or fail, but my words make her happy, so I don’t take them back. “He looks so handsome in his uniform, doesn’t he?”
“Oh, yes, he does. So handsome. He’s coming to visit me tonight. You should wait here, then you can eat with us.”
“Visit?” I hurriedly wipe my cheek on my shoulder before she sees the tears. “Riley’s coming to visit you tonight?”
“Of course! My mijo visits every single day, and brings me soup when I’m not feeling so well.”
“Are you feeling unwell today?”
She gives a sad shrug. “I’m feeling okay. I miss him when he works.”
This woman was so close to losing her son and never seeing his face again, but she has no clue. She doesn’t know he was fighting fo
r his life, shot, operated on, and now sits in a hospital room with a heart filled with bitterness and a missing leg. She knows only the young cadet that graduated with good grades. She knows of the man that brings her soup, and wears a uniform handsomely, and probably has no clue it’s been more than three weeks since she saw him last.
He visits every single day.
Clearing my throat, I squeeze her hand and make plans to stay a couple hours. “It’s been a long shift, Mrs. Cruz, but he’s almost done. He’ll be here soon, I promise.”
7
Riley
Homecoming
“Good morning, Mr. Cruz.” The young nurse from yesterday precedes a team of doctors and lets herself into my room. She snaps the curtains open, blinding me with the morning sun, then goes about her routine of cleaning up – but when she gets to the pee bottle, pauses and turns to me with a lifted brow. “You didn’t need to go?”
“I went in the toilet.” I lift my chin in the direction of the crutches and try to tone down my angry scowl. It’s time to go home, and I can’t afford to give them reason to doubt me. I want to leave, and I want to be left the fuck alone without having assholes up in my space every three seconds. “I used the crutches and went myself.”
She watches me through narrowed eyes. Does she think I’m lying, or am I in trouble for getting up without supervision?
“You said I have to be up and moving to prove I can do it.” I turn to the fleet of doctors. “I’ll show you; I can get up and down, I can use the bathroom. I’m ready to leave.”
“Mr. Cruz.” A sixty-something year old doctor approaches my bed with a frown. “I highly suggest you reconsider your plans. Most amputees go to the clinic for thirty days after discharge from the hospital. They’ll teach you how to live with your new abilities.”
“I already said, I can show you how I move to the bathroom. I already know how to live with my new–” disability, “–abilities. I’m fit and young, so this is easier on me than it is on a seventy-year-old diabetic. I choose to go home.”
“Mr. Cruz–”
“I already made my decision,” I seethe. “I expect you to respect that.”
He stares into my eyes in challenge, as though I might back down if he promises not to blink. Fuck him; I’ve already stared into the only pair of eyes that hold power in my world. When I don’t beg for the stupid fucking clinic, he shakes his head on a sigh and looks down at the file in his hands. “Get ready, Mr. Cruz. It’s test time. I’d like to see your staples first, then you’ll show us how you transfer safely from bed to the chair, and from the chair to the toilet.”
“I won’t be using a chair.”
Arrogantly, he lifts a brow. “Yes, you will. You will not be discharged without proof you own, have hired, or have access to one. Whether you use it at home or not is none of my business. But I will not sign your discharge papers until I know you can.” Setting the file on my bed – where my fucking leg should be – he turns on his heels and passes three other pretentious pricks on his way to the sink. Washing his hands, drying them, then snapping on a pair of gloves, he comes back to me and starts unwrapping my bandages. “How do you feel, Mr. Cruz?”
“Fine.”
“Fever?”
My nostrils flare the further he unwraps the material that hides my shame. “Does my chart indicate a fever?”
His lips twitch. “No.”
“Guess your medicine worked then, huh?”
“Dizziness?”
If I did, I wouldn’t tell you. “Nope.”
“Constipation?”
“Took a shit already. Showed it to some big nosed nurse that gets off on that sort of thing.”
Dark brown eyes come back to mine and warn he’s losing his patience. “Feeling in the residual limb? Tingling, pain, anything?”
“No. It’s numb.”
Nodding, he unravels the last of the bandage and makes no comment when I look to the ceiling. “Your pain medication will soon taper off. It won’t be numb forever, so you’ll have to speak with your general doctor and make sure he’s aware of what you feel. Don’t be a hero and let the pain get ahead of you. Maintaining with low dosage pain relief is much easier than trying to bring it back from excruciating to tolerable. Communicate with your healthcare team.”
“Okay.” I feel my leg move because of his hands, but I don’t feel his fingers touching the incision. I don’t feel him squat to get a closer look, or the three other sets of eyes that come closer. “This looks good, Riley. No sign of infection, no sign of tears. Keep an eye on the leg hairs, and definitely don’t shave them off. An ingrown hair could become disastrous if it becomes infected, so if you want to remove the hair to be more comfortable, try some of the foams women use. No shaving, no waxing. Otherwise, if you leave it, it’ll likely wear away when you’ve been using your prosthetic for a while.”
A prosthetic. “Do I…” My heart hammers in my chest. “Do I have to use one of those?”
His eyes come up. “You don’t have to do anything, but I don’t see why you wouldn’t.” Because I don’t want to look like a fucking freak! That’s why. “You’re young, you’re healthy and fit, you could potentially be casted up for a new leg two months from now. It won’t take you long to get used to it, then it’ll almost be like nothing changed.”
I finally bring my eyes back to his as fury rages through my blood. Leaning a little to my left and glancing down at his leg – intact – I come back to his eyes and make him back up from the anger in mine. “Don’t speak like you know. It’ll always be gone, Doc, so it’ll never be like nothing changed. Don’t speak about something you have no fucking clue about. Hurry up and wrap it again; I want to go home.”
Alex and Oz show up around nine with fake smiles and forced encouragement when they walk in to find me on crutches in the hall. It’s like a fucking miracle! Look at you, Rook! Back to new again.
Lindsi came with her husband, but like she can sense I don’t want to see a Conner, she plants her ass on a plastic chair and keeps her eyes down. I want her to tell me where Andi is. I want her to tell me this is all a bad dream, and I’m going to wake soon with my face on Andi’s chest, her heartbeat in my ear, and her fingers in my hair. But the ache in my armpits from hours of using crutches says otherwise.
I want Andi to come back, to not look at my leg, to not judge it, then to allow me to apologize for hurting her.
I’ve never in my life touched a woman in any way but to help, to soothe, to comfort, but the one woman I care about, the one that makes my heart beat faster, comes in to see me and I hurt her so much, the fear in her eyes makes me want to claw mine out.
I hurt her. I choked her. I shoved her.
I deserve a fucking bullet between the eyes, and Andi deserves to be back home, living her life without a cripple in her space dragging her down.
Telling her to leave was the right thing to do, even if it means the rest of my life will be lived without my heart in my chest. She’s not yet thirty years old, beautiful, enigmatic, and full of life. Not so long ago, if she so much as hinted at moving to town, I might have thrown myself at her feet and suggested she test out my house for something new and exciting. But now, I don’t want her here. My heart wants her back, but my brain knows that being thousands of miles away is best for her, and this one time, for the first time in her life, she listened.
I’ve received no texts since I threw her out, no calls, no more visits. She saw what she saw, she took her leave, and she bolted.
Good for her.
Alex and Oz hang around for half the day while the doctors force me to practice on my crutches in the halls. They cheer me on, then shut their fucking traps when I glare. I walk around until I form blisters on my armpits, then I transfer from my bed, to the wheelchair, to crutches, back to the chair, to the bed again.
Repeat.
A hundred times.
I don’t fuck it up once, despite the pain that throbs in my body. My stomach screams for a rest, and my numb leg b
egins to feel less and less numb as the blood pumps and pushes against my incision. Pain or not, broken heart or not, I don’t slip once, because I’m too stubborn to let clumsiness keep me from going home.
I need to be alone with my demons while I come to terms with my new reality.
I won’t leave my mom. There’s nothing on this planet bad enough to tempt me to take the easy way out and use my department issued guns. I can’t end this and leave her all alone, so I’ll sit in the dark at home and figure out what I’m going to tell her, then I’ll present her with the best bullshit story I ever made up, a bowl of soup, a small batch of brownies, and I’ll let her think her world is back on kilter.
Nothing changes for her as long as I continue to visit. My leg doesn’t change that, so that’s what I’ll do, and when I’m not visiting with her, I’ll be at home ignoring the calls from the people who are so curious, they put their manners aside and ask anyway.
“Alright, Mr. Cruz.” The doctor stands over me with smug satisfaction as I slump in my wheelchair. He knew I’d end up in the chair, he knew I’d be exhausted after hours of walking. It’s almost like he hoped for it, just to prove his superiority. “You’re cleared to leave. I have your discharge papers, your follow up appointments scheduled, and prescriptions for enough pain relief to get you through until your follow up appointment. I’ll see you again a week from today to remove your staples, and I’ll be receiving reports daily from the home nurse when she drops by to check your dressing. If anything bothers me, I’ll have you brought back before you can blink.” He taps my shoulder like we’re pals. “Take care of yourself. Don’t give me reason to drag you back in here.” He looks around the room. “Who will stay with you?”
