“Don’t play games. Give me the money,” the man repeated. When she cut her eyes over the aisles of the supermarket, they were empty. Shari wasn’t at her register and she didn’t see a single customer. Tamara lifted the bank bag up in slow motion and hoped she wouldn’t spook the robber. He reached out for it but before she put it in his hand, someone else took it.
“Get the hell out of here,” Wulfric said from behind Tamara. He held the bag in his hand and stepped behind the register. As he did, he pushed her behind him and stood, facing the would-be thief alone. “Tamara, get down.”
“Wulfric…” she said. She’d never been so glad to see anyone but now his presence scared her. “I don’t want you hurt.”
As if to mock her, the man with the gun said, “I’m going to blow your fuckin’ head off unless you give me the money now, asshole.”
Wulfric’s powerful hand shoved Tamara to the floor just as the gun fired but she pulled herself to her knees. She saw the orange flash blast from the barrel seconds before her ears rang with the sound of the pistol. Wulfric reached out and struck the man square in the face with one fist. The gunman flew backward against the racks of candy and gum, scattering them in all directions. He collapsed onto the floor. Tamara stood up and faced Wulfric, who offered her a lop-sided, sickly grin. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she told him. “You could’ve been hurt. What were you thinking?”
His face, drained of color, went stark white as he said, “I was thinking about you, Tamara.”
He dropped to his knees and she noticed the crimson spot on the right side of his chest, blooming larger like a rose. Tamara touched it and blood smeared over her hand, the flow heavy. “You’re shot,” she said in a voice harsh with fear. “You’re hurt, Wulfric. Oh, God, oh, God.”
“Call 911,” he whispered and then he collapsed, face down on the floor.
Everything happened in a wild blur. The night manager called for help, law enforcement arrived and at some point Shari brought Tamara’s purse and red hoodie. Tamara pillowed Wulfric’s head against her knees and his blood stained her jeans. She talked to him although he remained unconscious and told him everything she’d held back for too long.
When the ambulance came, she rode with him, his hand clutched in hers. Through her worried fear, she heard the EMTs talking. “He’s got a fair chance.”
Fair wasn’t good enough.
“You’ve gotta make it,” she whispered in his ear. “I know how much I love you – now.”
Chapter Three
Red dominated the night. The bright red of Tamara’s hood, the faded cherry of her work smock, and the crimson of Wulfric’s blood mingled in her mind with the ruby-hued emergency vehicle lights casting a scarlet shadow over everything. Her favorite color became the hue of fear, of injury, danger and possibly death. Red represented anger, and behind her other emotions, rage stirred. If she could’ve, Tamara might have strangled the man who tried to rob the store and shot Wulfric. But beyond the negative, past the anxiety, and more powerful than fear––red still meant love, somewhere down deep inside.
Red became not just the blood Wulfric shed to protect Tamara, but the vivid scarlet of heart’s blood, of Valentines and beautiful roses. And so she clung to the red of hope.
At the medical center the staff banished her from the trauma center to a waiting room, a sterile place with beige walls and a tan floor. Rows of chairs held people who clutched their stomachs or held their heads or linked hands. Most of them had someone but Tamara, a loner too long, sat solitary. Somewhere she’d shed the store smock and wore her own red hood, familiar and still scented with the laundry soap fragrance. She’d washed Wulfric’s blood from her hands but her jeans remained stained. No one offered her fresh garments and she couldn’t think of anyone to call. By now, her parents would be drunk or stoned, out of it and unable to function. Her grandmother, bless her heart, no longer drove and Tamara’d run off any friends she once claimed. No one but Wulfric risked her wrath or believed in her despite her actions.
Alone, Tamara kept vigil, her heart aching for Wulfric and filled with fear. Never much of a church goer, not a spiritual person, something within yearned toward a higher power. She didn’t feel any kinship with God or the unknown Jesus so Tamara sought intercession with someone closer, her brother Anthony. If he could, the big brother she once worshipped and adored would help. He always had in life, so maybe he would from the other side, in death.
An hour passed, then another before it occurred to Tamara she should let Wulfric’s mother know he got hurt. Unlike her, he had family: a mother, two sisters who cared about him. His dad, now deceased, had too. A phone hung on the wall of the waiting room but although she eyed it, she couldn’t summon up enough courage to use it. Wulfric’s Mutti might be mad, blame Tamara for what happened and besides, unless some doctor or nurse told her something, she didn’t have anything to say except, “Hey, your son got shot, bled a whole bunch and now he’s at the hospital.” Wulfric’s mother used to like her just fine, but she hadn’t seen the woman since she tried to break everything off with him. Maybe Mutti hated her now. She didn’t know, and right now she lacked the emotional fortitude to find out. Besides, for all Tamara knew someone in authority might’ve contacted her anyway, so she’d just wait.
Four hours after arriving at the medical center someone called her name and Tamara glanced up to find a doctor in scrubs standing at the entrance door. “I’m Tamara,” she said, standing up. Her heart crawled up her throat and lodged in her mouth. At the same time her stomach dropped down to somewhere around her knees. “How’s Wulfric?”
“He’s stable,” the unknown doctor said. “He’s out of surgery, the bullet’s been removed and there’s no major damage. He suffered a major blood loss and he’s very weak but we’ve listed him in fair condition. In about fifteen minutes, he’ll be moved to a standard room and you can see him there.”
“Thank you,” Tamara gasped. Although she hadn’t allowed anyone to see her cry in years, and kept her tears and emotions hidden, she broke down and wept. Her sobs tore out of her throat and she cried so hard she couldn’t see for the tears streaming down her face.
After washing her face and drinking a cold soft drink to calm her nerves, Tamara found her way to the room number the doctor provided. Wulfric wasn’t there yet, but she sat down in the room’s sole chair and waited. When the staff delivered Wulfric, she waited as they hooked him up to all the monitors, checked the IV in his right arm, and settled him. She waited until everyone departed and approached the bed. He wasn’t awake, but she took his hand and held it anyway.
Wulfric’s pale face scared her, so white and still in repose. All the emotions normally visible on his face were absent. He didn’t look asleep the way people liked to say unconscious patients seemed. To her, he appeared almost dead, but Tamara checked the monitors. Each of the different colored lines demonstrated he lived. She wasn’t any expert but as far as she could determine, his breathing, his pulse, his heart rate and blood pressure all maintained. When she took a closer look, she saw the slight rise and fall of his chest. On impulse, she leaned way over to put her ear to his chest and when she heard the steady thump of his heartbeat, some of her fears eased.
The next time a nurse showed up, Tamara asked her, “When will Wulfric wake up?”
A smile played across the woman’s lips. “It may be a few hours yet, but don’t worry, he will. So his name’s Wulfric? He’s charted as Ric Hopkins.”
Tamara nodded. “Yeah, he’s Wulfric. His mom’s German.”
“Now I understand why she’s got an accent,” the nurse commented. “She called earlier to check on him and said she’d be here soon.”
So, somebody did call her, then. Good, it’s something I don’t have to do. Tamara glanced down at her blood-spattered pants where the crimson stains dried more brown than red. Yesterday she would’ve turned tail and run, if someone told her she’d have to face Wulfric’s mother or anyone else. Today, her desire to remain
with him outweighed any nervous tension within.
“Did she mention if she blames me for this?” Tamara asked her, the question out before she considered it.
The nurse turned to her with surprise. “No, she didn’t. Why on earth would she?”
With some pride, a lot of love, and worry Tamara replied, “He took the bullet for me. Some stoned guy tried to rob me at the supermarket where I work and Wulfric got me out of the way.”
“So that’s why someone said he’s a hero,” the nurse commented. “Sounds to me like he’s your guardian angel too.”
He was, and so much more, but Tamara lacked the words to explain so she nodded. She raised Wulfric’s hand to her mouth and kissed it. After the nurse left, Tamara dragged the chair up beside the bed to wait. She wanted him to see her first thing when he opened his eyes.
Somewhere toward morning, Tamara drifted toward sleep, dozing but not quite out of it. Noise in the hallway and an unexpected babble of voices roused her. As she blinked, the door to the hospital room opened and Helga Hopkins approached, flanked by her two daughters, Mina and Trudi, also known as Wilhelmina and Gertrude. With the relentless progress of a battleship on high alert, Helga approached the bed where her son remained prone.
“Ach, lieber Gott,” she said. “He looks terrible, my Wulfric does. Has he woken up?”
Tamara shook her head. “No, Mrs. Hopkins, he hasn’t.”
Then she braced herself for a scolding––one she probably deserved. Wulfric’s three closest relatives stared at her and Tamara waited for the attack, but Mrs. Hopkins shook her head. “He’ll be happy you’re here when he does, I know, so I’m glad you’re with him, Tamara.”
Startled by the kind words when she’d expected a tongue lashing, Tamara glanced up, perplexed. “Did they tell you how he got shot, what happened?”
If no one had, she would, hard as it would be to do. Once she did, then his family would probably rip her to shreds with harsh words.
“Ja, Ja, the police did,” Helga said and bobbed her head in a nod. “It doesn’t surprise me he would take a bullet to save you. I didn’t know you were still being with him, but I’m glad.”
Mina’s gaze dropped to the blood stains on Tamara’s jeans and she gasped. “There’s blood on your clothes!”
“It’s Wulfric’s,” Tamara said. “I came straight here with him, with no time to change.”
“Your mom or somebody should’ve brought you clean clothes,” Trudi said.
Their ignorance of her horrible home life shocked Tamara. Wulfric must not have ever shared her situation. “I didn’t call my parents,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “There’s not much of anyone who could help me.”
Helga scrutinized Tamara and after several moments said, “You are about the size of Mina. She can go home and get something of hers to borrow. I don’t want Wulfric to see you all bloody. It might upset him.”
If it did, it couldn’t be much worse than his blood pouring out all over the supermarket floor, but she conceded the point. “Sure, and thanks.”
So when Wulfric opened his eyes a long time later as sunshine streamed through the open curtains, Tamara wore a bright blue blouse trimmed in lace and clean jeans. His dark eyes searched her face and she bent down to kiss him, her lips soft across his mouth. “Hi,” she said, bashful now.
“Hey,” he breathed. “Where are we?”
“You’re in the hospital, Wulfric.”
His brow wrinkled with confusion. “Why?”
“You were shot and lost a lot of blood. You scared me, really scared me.”
Wulfric’s expression changed and she thought he must remember everything. “Yeah? Well, seeing the guy holding a gun on you didn’t do a lot for me.”
“You saved me.” She didn’t know what else to say. All the pretty words she’d put together while waiting vanished now.
“’Cause I love you,” Wulfric told her. Maybe he shouldn’t be talking so much, maybe she shouldn’t say what she was about to in front of his mother and his sisters, but Tamara did.
“I know, and I love you, too, Wulfric,” she whispered. Tamara’s fingers stroked his cheek. “I always did, even when I tried to make you go away.”
His lips opened into a grin and he nodded. “I knew it.”
Any shyness evaporated as her natural sass returned. “You hoped so.”
“I never doubted it.”
And she believed him. Tamara opened her mouth to say more but his mother spoke first and Wulfric’s gaze turned toward her voice. She backed away from the bed as Helga nattered to her son in a mixture of German and English, as his sisters cooed and fussed over Wulfric. Tamara stared out the window into the sunlight of a fresh day, a new beginning and realized she’d never take anything for granted ever again.
By evening Wulfric sat propped up in bed, pillows behind his back, still pale but he radiated happiness. Tamara held his hand and his fingers wound tight around hers. She had him all to herself after his family headed home and she suspected they realized how much she needed to be alone with Wulfric. “How do you feel?” Tamara asked him for the fiftieth time.
“I’m fine, just kind of weak,” he replied, same answer he’d given each time. “But I’m happier than I’ve ever been, honey.”
“I love you,” she told him. Once she admitted it, she couldn’t stop saying it, but he hadn’t complained about it yet. “I always did but when I thought you might die, I realized how wrong I was not to say it––not to tell you.”
“Forget it,” Wulfric told her. “I always thought you did, Tamara, and I love you. Our night together, it gave me the will to live. I don’t know what happens when I walk out of here but you’ll be with me so it doesn’t matter. Nothing does but being together.”
He nailed it, she realized, the truth she’d missed for two long years. When his blood poured out of his chest, Tamara understood where he worked wasn’t important at all. Neither was what town they called home. In the long hours since with time heavy and slow, she’d also decided her parents weren’t her responsibility. She could love them without remaining caught in the hell they’d created together and if they wanted help, she’d offer a hand. Anthony’s death would always be tragic, but it wasn’t her fault. She’d made the choice – she would live, too, on her own terms with Wulfric.
“Remember when I said I’d stay the night?” she asked him now.
“Yeah, I do.”
“And you said ‘forever’?”
“I did.”
“I’d like to give it a shot,” Tamara told him. “So when you get out of here, I’d like to go home with you to stay.”
His face flushed red with pleasure. “That’s what I’m counting on, Tamara. There’s just one catch, though.”
“What is it?”
“You can’t change your mind.”
“I won’t.” And she knew she wouldn’t.
The door opened from the hallway and a nursing assistant carried in a huge bouquet of crimson roses. “Oh, how pretty,” Tamara cried. “I wonder who sent them to you, Wulfric.”
“They’re not mine,” he told her. “They’re for you, from me.”
Tamara cradled the flowers in her arms and inhaled the sweet fragrance of the red roses.
Red no longer stood for anger or fear but it would be her favorite color forever: the brilliant scarlet, the bright-cherry hue of love.
“Thank you,” she told him. “Wulfric, I love you.”
And she did, for keeps. He didn’t even have to say it because her heart knew the truth of it. He loved her too.
The End
www.leeannsontheimermurphywriterauthor.blogspot.com
Other Books by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy:
Wolfe’s Lady
Love Tattoo
Love Scars
Love Knots
Love Shadows
Midnight Seduction
Stockings and Suspenders
Virgins Behaving Badly
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Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy, Red in the Hood
Red in the Hood Page 3
