Sultry with a Twist

by Macy Beckett

  Whatever. June didn’t care if he was Dr. Pepper, as long as he gave her a drink. “Thirsty,” she whispered.

  He nodded emphatically, so his limp, blond hair flapped against his forehead. “We just removed your breathing tube. Turns out you really didn’t need it, but better to be safe than sorry, right?”

  “Water,” she pressed.

  “You can have some ice chips in just a few minutes.”

  She must have given him a look that expressed exactly what he could do with his ice chips, because he straightened and took a defensive tone. “It’s procedure. We can’t have you throwing up if we need to intubate you again. If you can hold down the ice chips for an hour, then you can have some juice. How does that sound?”

  Pulling her eyebrows low, June groaned and held out her hand. Ice chips were better than nothing, and she wanted them now, not in a few minutes. “Please,” was all she could manage. Each breath stung her lungs and throat like she was inhaling glass shards. She glanced over the doctor’s shoulder and locked eyes with an elderly nurse to silently plead for help. Giving a sympathetic grin, the nurse nodded and left the room.

  “The coral that got you must’ve chewed awhile before he let go.” It wasn’t a question, but Dr. Benton paused, as if waiting for an answer. June nodded. “Symptoms don’t usually present for an hour after contact. You had a lot of venom coursing through those veins. If this ever happens again, try to stay calm and keep your heart rate low, so it doesn’t spread so quickly.” He gave her thigh a condescending pat through the blanket. “Lucky for you, we still had some antivenin left. Not easy to find anymore. There’re so few coral bites that it’s not profitable for the drug companies to keep making it.” With a casual shrug, he lifted her chart and then scribbled some notes inside. “I think we’ll keep you a few days to make sure you don’t have a reaction to the antivenin. How does that sound?”

  June wondered how Dr. Benton would respond if she said that sounded like a horrible idea, and recommended he produce a tall glass of iced tea and release her immediately. But then she reminded herself this young man had probably saved her life, so she nodded and forced a weak smile.

  “Okay, then. If you’re up to it, I’ll let your family come in. How does that sound?”

  If she wasn’t in so much pain, June would have laughed. It sounded great. She lifted one hand, shook her IV tube to the side, and gave a thumbs up.

  “Okay.” Just before reaching the door, the doctor turned and added, “Your husband’s been driving everyone crazy. I know he’ll be glad to see you’re awake.”

  Her husband. Hearing it felt surprisingly good—like a hot fudge sundae for her ears, with extra nuts and whipped cream. She remembered Luke telling the emergency dispatch “June Gallagher” was coming. He must not have revealed the true nature of their relationship, probably so the hospital staff would keep him informed. June would have corrected Dr. Benton, would have admitted the truth, but her throat was too dry for words. Or at least that’s what she told herself.

  When her nurse returned with a Styrofoam cup of ice chips, June forgot all about Luke’s marital ruse. She tossed back the cup and began working the ice across her parched tongue, then wrapped her hands around the foam to melt the rest as quickly as possible. The cold wetness in her mouth felt so good she groaned aloud. It trickled down the back of her throat and cooled the flames, healed her tender flesh one frigid drop at a time. Who knew a little shaved ice could bring so much relief?

  A knock sounded at the door, and then Grammy rushed inside, followed closely by Judge Bea and Pastor McMahon.

  “Thank the Lord,” Gram said, holding one trembling, oversized hand above her breast. Then her expression hardened, and she shook her head, probably gearing up for a good, old-fashioned scolding. “Girl, you really are snakebit.”

  “Literally,” said the judge with a smile. He set a small, plastic vase filled with daisies on her bedside table. “Y’always were a mishap-magnet.”

  “Probably weren’t paying attention,” Gram continued without missing a beat. “Your hands in the soil and your head in the clouds. I taught you better than that. What if Lucas hadn’t been there? Then what?”

  “Now, Sister Pru,”—the pastor wrapped one arm around Gram’s shoulders—“our prayers have been answered. Let’s not browbeat the poor girl.”

  “That’s right,” the judge said. “I reckon she’s been fairly punished already. How’d you feel?”

  June touched her throat. “Just a little sore,” she whispered. “Got any water?”

  “I do.” Gram reached into her handbag and pulled out a bottle. She held it just out of June’s reach and gave it a little shake. “But I won’t give y’any. Doc Benton said you might ask, even though he told you no.”

  Son of a biscuit-eater. If the breathing tube wasn’t necessary to begin with, then the odds of needing to shove it down her throat again were slim to none. What was the big deal? She took another mouthful of ice and glowered at her cup.

  “Now, Mae-June,” the pastor began in a slow drawl. Pausing, he cleared his throat and stared past his round belly to his loafers. “I don’t know your, uh, financial situation, but if you need any help with the hospital bill…” He trailed off and cleared his throat again.

  “Oh, Pastor Mac.” June lifted her hand, and all its tubes, to her swollen heart. The church didn’t have that kind of money to spare; she knew from balancing the ledgers. “Thank you, but I’m fine.” Luckily, she’d had the forethought to purchase insurance before she tied all her money up in Luquos.

  “Well, we can take up a special collection. Just let me know if you need anything.”

  No one had ever offered to help June financially before, not that she would’ve accepted, but the gesture brought tears to her eyes. “I will. Thanks.”

  “We’d best be goin’,” the judge said. He leaned over and kissed the top of June’s head. “Luke’s chompin’ at the bit to come in.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Grammy added. “Never seen him like this—poor boy’s tore up.” Was that a hint of a smile on Gram’s lips? “Besides, you need rest.”

  When they left, June couldn’t see beyond the curtain shielding the door, but she heard Gram order, “Don’t give her any-a-that,” and then Luke stepped into view holding a jumbo Slurpee. Cherry, her favorite. But unlike the cool drink in his hands, Luke looked like hell.

  His typically sturdy shoulders bowed under some invisible weight, stooping him over like Atlas, as he shuffled forward in his heavy work boots. Someone had given him a shirt—New York Yankees and a size too small—something he never would’ve worn in any other circumstance because he hated the Yankees with the fire of a thousand atom bombs. Faded green peeked from beneath his heavy eyelids with only a hint of the spark that usually flickered there. June wondered how long she’d been asleep. It looked like Luke had gone twelve rounds with the sandman, and the sandman had won by total knockout.

  “You nauseous?” he asked. “Doctor Adolescent said you might be.”

  June shook her head.

  “Headache?” Stepping closer, he tilted his head and appraised her face, quirking one brow in suspicion, as if she might be lying. “Stomach hurt?”

  “Just a sore throat.” June reached for his free hand and then linked their fingers and tugged him closer. Though his warm, rough skin sent a series of tingles up her arm, it was the Slurpee she glanced at with unguarded lust.

  “I saw when they”—Luke tugged his hand free and held two fingers to his lips, like he might gag himself—“shoved that tube down there.” He sat beside her on the edge of the bed and held the straw to her mouth. “Thought this might feel good.”

  “Oh God, thank you.” Curling her lips around the straw, June took a deep pull and let the frosty slush slide slowly down her throat, savoring the tangy-sweet flavor of cherries and high fructose corn syrup. What a glorious invention. After a few sips, Luke took the cup away.

  “Slow down, Junebug.” He skimmed his thumb across her palm a
nd flashed a weak smile. “If you puke, we’re both busted.”

  After setting the Slurpee on the table beside Judge Bea’s daisies, Luke scooted against June’s thigh and began to study her, scanning her body for damage. His fingers brushed lightly over her forehead, then traveled down the side of one cheek, across her jaw, and ever-so-gently down the length of her neck to her collarbone. June’s tummy did a double flip, but not from nausea. A series of quickening beep-beep-beeps sounded from her heart monitor, and she tried to steady her breathing, so the elderly nurse wouldn’t come running.

  Grasping Luke’s fingers before they could explore any lower, she whispered, “Thank you. And not just for the drink.”

  He turned her hand over and trailed his index finger along the bandage that covered her bite wound. “We were lucky.”

  Luke’s choice of words didn’t go unnoticed. Not you were lucky, but we. Hope began to swell inside June’s body. Had she gotten through to him after all? She’d been ready to accept defeat, but maybe…

  “I can’t stay.” Luke took her face between his palms and kissed her cheeks. “The rental company’s delivering that furniture you insisted on. For staging, or whatever.” When he pulled back, he dipped his head and gave a pointed look. “The doctor said he’s keeping you a few more days. There’s too much stuff to finish at the house, so I can’t come back and visit, but I’ll pick you up when they release you. Then we’re gonna talk.”

  There it was—the talk, the one he’d wanted to have before he’d rushed her to the hospital. Nothing had changed. All that cruel hope rose into June’s throat and threatened to choke her. She grabbed the Slurpee and sucked down three greedy gulps, but all the sweetness in the world couldn’t cover the bitter taste in her mouth. If she’d only learn to rein in her excitement, maybe the crashes wouldn’t hurt so much. Or maybe, they still would.

  “You don’t have to,” she said in a voice that betrayed every ounce of her disappointment. “Gram can take me home.”

  “I’ll be here.” Then he took the cup and left her with one last, soft kiss on the cheek. “Get some sleep.”

  Luke pulled the curtain shut behind him, and June curled onto her side and stared blankly out the window, until the nurse arrived with a glass of apple juice. She drank without tasting a thing. A flavorless lunch of Jell-O and lumpy cottage cheese followed.

  It didn’t take long to understand how Grammy and Trey had felt, trapped alone in this sterile shoe box of a hospital room. With no visitors and no work to occupy her mind, time seemed to go backward. If each minute felt like a month, how had Trey survived two weeks here and still maintained his sanity?

  And then, speak of the devil—or think of him—the phone rang from her bedside table.

  “Hey, Jooonbug.” Trey’s smiling voice brought a small grin to her lips. She could almost see the dimples dancing in his cheeks. “I heard you were awake,” he continued. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Fine. Just a sore throat. Well, that, and I’m already going crazy.”

  He laughed, no doubt remembering his own stay at the Sultry Memorial Inn of Misfortune. “That’s a good sign. Listen, I can’t get a ride today, but I’ll come see you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks. I’d like that.”

  “If you need a sponge bath, ask for Stephan.” Trey snorted a laugh. “He’ll hook you up.”

  “Uh…okay.” She decided not to ask for the details behind that joke.

  “And just a little tip,” he added. “If you’re hurting, ask for one of those big, white pills. I dunno what they’re called, but they’ll make you sleep like a corpse. The days go by a lot faster when you’re knocked out.”

  She said good-bye, deciding the torture of remaining awake was preferable to forcing a “big, white pill” down her lacerated throat. With a lonely sigh, she clicked on the television.

  ***

  Sleep didn’t come easily that night. Finally, at two in the morning with her legs tangled in the starched white sheets, June drifted under. She dreamt again of Luke at his family’s pond. Great waves swelled and crashed against the grass, and he stood on Gram’s patchwork quilt, trying to catch whitecaps in a paint bucket. But the bottom dropped out before his bucket was ever full, and he finally sank to his knees, cupping his hands in a futile attempt to collect the water. It slipped through his fingers, and then he slumped over, as if resigned to failure, letting the waves carry him away. June ran to him and grabbed his wrist, but he shook her off and disappeared beneath the surface. He didn’t want her help anymore.

  Chapter 19

  “Wakey-wakey,” said a low masculine voice. “I need your temperature.”

  June groaned and opened one eye. The room was still dark, but a sliver of light from the hall sliced through the open door and illuminated the old analog clock on the wall. Four in the morning. She squinted at the nurse’s bulky silhouette. “Didn’t you just get it five minutes ago?”

  “Nope. That was your blood pressure at three-fifteen. I forgot your temp, so I had to come back.” He pressed a plastic-covered thermometer to her lips, and June obediently opened her mouth and held it beneath her tongue. Wasn’t she supposed to be resting? Who wakes a patient out of a dead sleep for this? She was beginning to understand why people hated hospitals. To heck with lollipops and Care Bear stickers. She wanted a few consecutive hours of slumber.

  A soft beep sounded from the nurse’s pocket. “Ninety-seven point nine. Okay, go back to sleep.”

  Sure, until the next time. Over the last three days, a steady rotation of nurses had awakened her for vitals every few hours. By the time she got back to sleep, someone was strapping a Velcro cuff around her arm again. With a sigh, June gathered the blanket beneath her chin and closed her eyes. She focused on the scent of pine disinfectant and the gentle, wet slosh from the hallway as someone mopped the floors. Within minutes, she was out cold.

  “Mae-June?” a softer male voice asked. A hand shook her ankle.

  “Just June,” she said in a cracked voice. Maybe this was all an elaborate prank—Candid Camera, Hospital Edition—to see how patients reacted under extreme sleep deprivation. But to June’s surprise, she blinked open her eyes and found the room flooded with daylight. It was eight o’clock, and she’d slept for four straight hours. Hallelujah! Doctor Benton stood at the foot of her bed in a clean, pressed, white lab coat with his name tag clipped to the lapel.

  “How’re we feeling?” He grinned and turned his attention to her chart.

  “Fine. My throat’s still a little sore, but not as bad.”

  “Any paralysis or trouble moving around? Psychosis? Hearing voices, anything like that?”

  “Nope. Everything’s normal.” She pushed the button on the bed’s control panel and rose into a sitting position. “I’ve felt fine for a couple days now.”

  “Great.” He sat beside her on the mattress and peeled back the bandage on her arm. “Looks excellent. Still some swelling, but that’s normal. Make sure you finish all your antibiotics, and don’t miss any doses. Call if you notice any redness or swelling at the site, or if you start running a temperature above one hundred.”

  “Okay. So I can go home?” Please say yes. Please! June was prepared to take a flying leap out the window if the doctor proposed keeping her there for one more day.

  “Yep. Let’s get some breakfast in you, and then the nurse will be around to take out your IV and go over the discharge paperwork. Any questions?”

  “Nope.” Breakfast sounded pretty good, even if it wasn’t Grammy’s famous egg and ham biscuits. June had been drinking her meals and choking down mushy yogurt and cottage cheese the past two days, so the thought of eating real, solid food again made her mouth water. “Oh, and thanks. For saving my life and everything.”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “It was my pleasure.” Then he backed toward the door and held up her chart in a good-bye gesture. “Take care, and watch out for those snakes.”

  Over the next hour, June inhaled her bagel and orange juice,
then showered and brushed her teeth with toiletries provided by the hospital. She changed into the clean sundress Gram had brought her the day before and then went over a checklist of warning signs with the nurse. Each tick of the clock brought her closer to the dreaded talk with Luke, and she struggled to focus on something positive. Something to look forward to. Aside from a good night’s rest, she was coming up empty.

  At precisely nine o’clock, Luke knocked on her door and let himself in. Clean-shaven and freshly showered, he seemed refreshed compared to the last time she’d seen him, but his reddened eyes told her he hadn’t slept well either. Even in weathered jeans and an old T-shirt, even running on fumes from no sleep, he still took her breath away. It simply wasn’t fair.

  “Hey,” he said, grabbing her plastic bag of personal items in one hand and offering the other to help her out of bed. “Ready?”

  Even though she didn’t need to, she curled her hand around his firm bicep and leaned against his shoulder while he walked her to his truck. If she only had minutes to cling to him before he gave her the brush-off, she intended to use that time well. She inhaled his aftershave and savored the closeness and warmth, despite the heavy, humid morning air that brought beads of sweat to the surface of her skin.

  Once they settled in, Luke reached across her chest and fastened her seat belt. “I can’t put this off anymore.” June’s heart sank like a lead weight, but she nodded for him to continue. “I’m done with your help, Junebug.”

  “But—” she started to object, and he held a finger to her lips.

  “You have two choices: either I drive you to Pru’s, or I take you back to my house. But I have to make something clear before you decide. If you come home with me, you won’t lift a single paint roller or scrub brush or garden spade. There’re three proper beds upstairs now, and if you come home with me,” he paused and moved his hand to cup her cheek, “I’m gonna lay you down in one of them.”

  “I don’t need any more rest.”