by Emery Cross
"Ms. McCray, I don't know if you remember, but I was here before. You were pretty out of it," he said with a light laugh. "I wanted to ask if you recalled anything more about the incident."
I told him what I remembered, which was very little. "The headlights were kind of blinding. I have no idea what the driver looked like."
"You say the headlights were blinding. Was the motorcycle heading directly at you?"
I thought about that for a second. Jumbled memories were starting to shift and connect. "Not at first. I heard the engine behind me and glanced over my shoulder. That was the first time I saw it."
"What do you mean the first time?"
"It u-turned in front of me and passed me again with the lights on." There was an echo of panic, as though the experience had happened to me years ago. "Then it came up behind me again with the lights off."
"Make of the motorcycle? Any part of the license plate number?"
"It didn’t occur to me to check the license plate. And I'm no expert on motorcycles," I said. "I thought there was a witness."
"All they could offer was that it was the person riding pillion who snatched your bag. Because the helmet was pink they assumed it was a woman."
He stood up and glanced around the room. A detective had to have superior observational skills, right? He was probably noticing that there were no flowers or get well cards.
A nurse wheeled a cart into the room. The detective gave her a nod.
"Well, Ms. McCray, I hope you'll be feeling better soon." He removed a business card from a battered wallet and placed it on the stand next to the bed. "Call me if anything occurs to you."
As soon as the detective left the room, the nurse wheeled the cart over. She pulled on gloves and brushed my hair to the side with her fingers.
"This might sting a little," she said as she applied a strong smelling antiseptic to my wound.
She picked up a tool that looked like a cross between scissors and tweezers. "You'll just feel a slight tug."
She was right. It didn’t hurt.
“It’s healing nicely,” she said as she gathered her tools. I wanted to ask her what day of the year it was, but I was afraid it would prolong my stay. I thanked her as she wheeled the cart out.
Had five days passed since the first nurse had mentioned the staple removal timeline? Five days plus the two in a coma. I'd been here for seven days. I congratulated myself on being able to do simple math again.
It really felt more like weeks. Hours dragged by at a rate so slow I felt like screaming. I turned on the TV. Big mistake. The sound nauseated me and my eyes could hardly track the movement on the screen. I switched off the TV.
A nurse delivered another flavorless meal, which I consumed without thinking. After she collected the tray, I turned my face again to the window and stared out at the stucco wall.
The sun was lowering in the sky by the time I had another visitor. It was an attendant with a wheelchair.
"I'm here to take you for your scan," he said.
He wheeled me into a big elevator and pressed the button. I could feel the color leave my face as the elevator dropped.
I gripped the wheelchair armrests hard.
I breathed a sigh of relief as we exited, and shut my eyes against the sensory overload of the brightly lit hallway.
The attendant parked me in a small waiting room and then left.
The technician, a lanky man in a lab coat with narrow black-rimmed glasses, asked me to remove my jewelry. I only had the engagement ring. Obviously, somebody, I hoped a female nurse or doctor, had already taken the trouble to remove my clit ring for previous scans or other medical reasons. I blushed thinking about it. I would only have it re-inserted if Rowley wanted me to. I certainly didn't need any extra stimulation with him around. I pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead. Where were these delusions coming from? Had the accident triggered something that made me even more obsessed with him?
I pulled off the mysterious diamond ring and set in the plastic box the technician had provided, and a sadness fell over me. I wanted my husband. But it wasn't Finn's image that appeared to me. It was Rowley Ford again, gorgeous in a firefighter's uniform. Were these false memories? Leftovers from my comatose dreams? I imagined giving my head a good shake, and clearing out the false images.
The technician stepped back in the waiting room, shaking me from my confused thoughts. He offered me the choice of earplugs or headphones to help cancel out the noise of the machine. I opted for the earplugs. Listening to music while inside the tube would be too much stimulation for me to handle.
He advised me to shut my eyes if I experienced any distress during the scan.
I decided to close them the moment the scanning bed started moving into the tunnel.
But even without seeing, I could sense the smallness of the space. My hands instantly turned clammy, my pulse rate increased.
Behind my eyelids, scenes were coming fast and furious. Rowley angrily snapping shut the jewelry box with the engagement ring. The relief I felt seeing him at the concert and running at him and hurling myself into his arms.
"You'll need to stop moving." The technician's voice was loud enough over the intercom to be heard through the earplugs.
In the past week, my gaps in memory had been filling in slowly, in drips and drops, like water from a leaky water tap, but these memories were coming in a torrent.
A life insurance policy. Playing slots in a casino. Rowley so tired he could barely stand, but repeating the marriage vows with such conviction that my heart ached. Tears started leaking from my shut eyes.
What I'd promised him appeared before me like a formal document. Phrases repeated on the page. Home in seven days. Learn to trust me. My claustrophobic panic was suddenly overtaken by the panic of getting home to him.
"Hang on for just another minute," the technician said.
On my way back to the room, I made plans. It seemed vital to walk through the door under my own steam. I'd promised I'd make it home, that I'd come back to him. He had been convinced that the whole tour was just an excuse to get away. The dynamics would be completely different if he had to come fetch me. He would never know if I'd really intended to come home or whether my injury had prevented me from running away.
I couldn't talk the nurse into bringing me my small suitcase. I would just have to return in the clothes I was wearing when I fell.
There was no shower stall in the room they'd placed me in and walking to the shower facilities had been about the only exercise I'd gotten in the last few days. My balance had improved a lot. I no longer had to trail the tips of my fingers along the wall as I made my way down the short hallway.
At the entrance to the stalls, I collected the usual; a folded white towel, a small bar of soap, and a plastic tube of shampoo. Once inside the stall, I let myself cry. I'd royally screwed myself by insisting my timely return would prove my devotion to him.
Back in my room, I sat on my bed and dried my hair with the extra towel I'd grabbed. It was possible that I'd get an all clear and they'd release me today. Wishful thinking! Somehow I didn't think they would discharge me this late in the day.
I'd heard visitors chatting in the hallway as late as eight at night. I'd just stroll out like I was a visitor.
I opened the nightstand drawer where I'd seen the nurse deposit the plastic bag with my clothes.
There was a rip in my jeans and my t-shirt was streaked with asphalt and so were my white sneakers.
I found my unused bus ticket in my pocket. I stuck it back into the pocket. I was going to hold onto it for proof.
Now, I just needed to arrange for a ride home.
Finn? No, that would be beyond stupid. Lili? I'd helped her out of tricky situations before. Also, hers was one of the few phone numbers I had memorized.
The phone on the nightstand had a sticker on it with directions for long distance calls. You could choose to apply the charges to your bill, which was the only option that worked for
me, considering I had no credit card. I got her voice mail and left a message. I hoped I didn't sound too frantic.
When the phone rang, I grabbed it on the first ring.
"Hey, babe," she said. "Sorry, I didn't recognize the number. Are you okay? Your husband has been looking everywhere for you."
Relief surged through me. He hadn't given up on me. "I need a huge favor." I told her my predicament.
"Oh my God. Do you want me to call Rowley and tell him?"
"No," I nearly shouted. "I want to surprise him," I said, trying for a calmer tone. Surprise him? How insane that must sound.
"Relax, Harp. What's the name of the hospital?"
I read the name off the logo on the plastic clothing bag. "You'll have to look up the address. But don't pick me up here. I haven’t been officially released."
"Seriously? You're making a break for it?" Lili had impulsive tendencies, too. If anyone would understand, it would be her.
"There's a Starbucks right by the hospital. I'll be waiting inside."
"Okay, calling in sick as soon as I hang up. I should be out of here in less than twenty."
"You're a lifesaver. I'll reimburse you for the gas once we get home. Also, those pink lace-up boots of mine you covet. They're yours."
"Ah, you don't have to do that.” There was barely a pause before she said, “What am I saying? Hell, yes, I'll take those boots."
CHAPTER 23
HARPER
LILI NUDGED ME AWAKE. I'd been lousy company. The last thing I remembered was applying some of Lili's cosmetics to make myself more presentable, which meant we'd barely gotten onto the freeway before I'd fallen asleep.
We were parked outside the house. The porch lights weren't on, but lights were blazing in the front rooms. I climbed out of the car and smoothed my hair as I headed toward the front door.
I felt like I'd been away forever. Everything had a weird unfamiliar feel to it. My heart pounding, I tried the front doorknob. To my shock, it turned. I jolted seeing a man jump up from the couch. It took me a second to recognize my brother. His strawberry blond hair had been shaved and he was sporting a long, unruly beard. I couldn't believe he'd taken a plane from halfway across the world.
"Jesus, where have you been? Do you have any idea what you put him through? He's been making himself crazy looking for you. And here you waltz in looking like a million bucks."
That's what being well rested does for you, I thought sarcastically
"Nice to see you too, Matt. Is he here?"
"Hell no, he's out looking for you."
I walked to the bedroom and slid open the door on my side of the closet. I grabbed up my pink boots. I waited for the wave of dizziness to pass before heading back to the front room.
I stopped in front of Matt and stuck my hand out. "I need to borrow some money."
He frowned at me, but pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. "I have a hundred and twenty."
"I'll take it all." I waited impatiently for him to empty his wallet. As soon as he did, I plucked the cash from his hand and walked out to the curb where Lili's car was still idling.
When I returned to the house, I noticed for the first time the state of the living room. Fast food wrappers and beer bottles, mostly beer bottles seemed to clutter every surface. The dining table looked to be the central station for tracking my whereabouts. There were two laptops and the small desktop printer and maps with red ink.
I picked up a photocopy of a map of Los Angeles.
Matt had moved to stand behind me.
"The tour guide said you'd decided to go home early. Then a P.I. confirmed you'd bought a bus ticket. Rowley and the investigator have been scouring L.A. looking for a blonde. Couldn't you at least have put him out of his misery and let him know you were safe?"
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and I was expecting him to call Rowley, instead he started typing.
"I just ordered you an Uber," he said, when he finished typing. He aimed his phone at me. "Let me take a shot of you here at the house, for proof that you're okay. I'll tell him you've hooked up with someone else and you'd stopped by to say goodbye."
“Don’t you dare." My hand flew up to hide my face. “You take the Uber. I’m not going anywhere.” My voice was shaking with fury.
"Listen, Harp. We're not made for normal relationships. We're too messed up."
"He's my husband."
He pulled a keychain out of his pocket and worked a key free from it. "Here, take it. Stay at my place until you figure something else out."
I pushed his hand away.
"This is the first time I've felt like I have a true home. Something solid and real. Rowley is home to me."
"Seriously, he’s home to you? You disappeared for a fucking week.”
“He’s risking his career,” he continued. “He's risking his sanity. When he’d called to tell me he wanted to marry you, I warned him he'd be making a huge mistake. And now you've gone and proven it."
"Wow, thanks for having my back." I certainly wasn’t going to waste my breath telling him what had happened to me.
He had his phone in his hand again.
"Now what? Are you going to have me forcibly removed?"
"Just letting him know to come home; that there's news. I won't tell him you're here. I'm hoping you'll change your mind and do the right thing."
His phone rang immediately after the text, clearly Rowley looking for more information, but Matt didn't answer it. It rang again and he pressed something on the screen and the ringing stopped.
After putting on fresh clothes, I transferred the unused ticket with the destination and date stamped on it, to the pocket of my jeans. The hospital wristband that I still wore would help back me up.
Would there ever come a time when my word would be enough? Impulsive, flighty, and incautious did not inspire confidence in people.
Matt, who was still taking up space on the couch, watched me with a disapproving expression as I walked past him and into the laundry room.
I opened the cupboard above the washer and took down the box of garbage bags.
I started in the kitchen, tossing the wrappers and soda cups. I ignored his glowering attitude as I moved into the living room. The room was spinning, but I was determined.
Once I'd filled the bag, I took it outside and dropped it into a trash can. I found the plastic crate we used for recyclables and brought it into the house. I'd hoped that doing these ordinary chores would help me feel like I was back on familiar ground, but everything still felt out of whack.
I cleared the rooms of beer bottles and carried the crate toward the back door. I was doing too much, too fast. I tried to catch my breath.
"Here, let me do that," Matt said. The bottles rattled as I fought his gesture. I finally released the crate to him. "You're certainly domestic all of a sudden."
"Shut up," I said.
"I love you, Harp, but you and I know this will never work. You change husbands faster than you change hair color." He pushed out the screen door.
"How do you know about Finn?" I called after him.
He turned around and spoke to me through the screen door. "All the shit comes out when someone disappears like that. Your ex's house was the first place Rowley tried. He's had the investigator keeping tabs on him, in case you showed up there."
I started at the sound of an engine. I thought for the briefest moment that Matt hadn’t canceled the Uber, but I recognized that engine sound.
I glanced out the kitchen window and my heart lurched at the sight of Rowley’s big black truck. Matt said something to him as he climbed out.
I heard Rowley cursing as he came up the porch steps.
The screen door flew open and he stood there looking at me, his chest heaving. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and his skin was pale under the tan. But it was the pain I glimpsed in his hazel eyes that made my chest constrict.
"You don't look well," I said.
He rubbed what was already the st
art of a beard. "Chasing down a runaway wife will do that."
I'd done this to him. Matt was right.
"So are you going to explain where the fuck you were?"
I gave him a sheepish shrug. If I told him the truth I knew he would take me back. But wasn't self-sacrifice one of the tenets of love? His future would be so much smoother if I were out of his life.
"You don't have any excuse for yourself?"
"We McCrays never do," I said flippantly and pulled two trash bags from the box I'd left on the counter. "I'll just grab my stuff."
I could feel the heat of his anger as he followed me. Concentrate, keep your gait steady, I told myself.
"Babygirl, don’t make the mistake of confusing me with your ex. You cannot come and go as you please with me. That’s not how this marriage works. It’s not an open fucking door."
“I’m not planning on coming back.” My throat was tightening up. This was too much of a sacrifice.
“Do not say shit like that to me. You are my wife.”
He was making me so nervous that I yanked too hard on the narrow top drawer of the dresser, pulling it off the tracks. His hand shot out, catching the back end before it crashed to the floor.
I released the handle and he fitted the drawer back on its tracks then slammed it shut. “There’s no damn way I’m letting you pack that lingerie. Or anything else.”
I leaned over to pull out the bottom drawer and he shifted so that his body blocked me from opening it more than a couple of inches. “I guess I won’t be taking my clothes.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Dizziness overwhelmed me and I braced my hand on his jean-clad leg to stop from falling face first. He was as solid as a rock, moving him out of the way would be impossible.
"Are you drunk?" he asked.
I pushed off his leg and straightened up.
"What's going on here?" His hand brushed aside my hair and my whole body was set on fire. "Shit, are you shaving the sides of your head? Going punk again?"
"Yup." I tried to bat his hand away.
He persisted, his hand continuing to explore. "What's this?"
I winced as his fingers grazed the still tender spot where my head had met the curb. "Nothing."
