Chapter 11
I used to be like you, all smiley and shit.
-Cobie’s secret thoughts
Cobie
My eyes opened, and the first thing I saw was the white ceiling. The next thing I saw was the bright white IV pole at my bedside.
The next thing I became aware of was when I let my eyes trail down the length of the IV pole, hesitating slightly at the monitor that was there before they continued on down until something else caught my eye.
My mouth fell open.
Then the pain made itself known, and I moaned.
Dante, who was at my bedside sitting straight up in his chair but asleep, shot up like I’d stabbed him in the thigh.
“Cobie?”
The concern in his voice had my eyes filling with tears—though that might’ve been due to the pain as well. I wasn’t really sure at that point.
“What are you doing here?” I croaked.
And what the hell? My chest felt like it was on fire.
“I….” He looked at me in concern. “Are you okay?”
I tried to nod my head yes but it came out as a moan. “It hurts.”
He curled my hand around something, and then said, “This is the pain pump. They explained it to you when they brought you in from recovery, do you remember?”
No, no, I didn’t remember a damn thing. The last thing I remembered was having my breasts drawn on with a magic marker.
I couldn’t function for a few minutes as the pain started to consume me. What felt like an hour later, awareness slowly started to seep back into my brain, and I opened my eyes that I was unaware I’d closed.
“Better?”
I swallowed, then croaked, “Yeah.”
He looked like he was about to pull his hair out.
“Good.”
I must’ve looked confused, because he gave me a half-assed smile as he said, “I’m here because they called me to let me know how you were doing about halfway through your surgery.”
My brows lifted. “Ummm,” I hesitated. “They weren’t supposed to call you at all.”
He nodded. “I had a feeling that was what happened. But I’m here now. For another hour or so, anyway. Mary goes to bed around seven, and I left her with my brother.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
So, I said nothing.
“I’m glad you decided to fight.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but decided nothing I could say was going to matter at this point.
I was fighting…but maybe not as hard as I could’ve been.
***
Eight days later
“All right,” the nurse who’d just redressed my chest said. “If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call. The next doctor visit has already been scheduled, right?”
I nodded.
“Okay, good. Do you know what you need to do from here?”
I nodded again.
“Great.”
I looked at all the flowers from my co-workers that dotted the ledges of my hospital room.
The only bouquet of flowers that was delivered personally was the small wildflower mix that was in a hastily-grabbed Texaco cup—and those were from Dante.
The rest were from my co-workers, and for the most part, I was happy that they hadn’t totally forgotten about me. But neither did they take the time over the last few days to come and see how I was doing. That kind of hurt, especially since I was only one floor below them. It wouldn’t have taken them much time at all to come to my room for a quick visit, but none of them had done so.
Which was for the best, I guess.
If they’d have come, then I would’ve had to talk to them.
Talking to them at work was hard enough. Talking to them after I’d had surgery? Yeah, that would’ve been torture.
“The only ones I want are in that Texaco cup.” I indicated to the wildflowers, and the nurse went and got them, handing them to me.
I carefully reached forward, realizing rather quickly after my surgery that sudden movements weren’t my friends, and settled the cup on my lap.
They weren’t much. In fact, they looked like they were picked off the side of the road, but they meant the most to me.
I’d never gotten flowers before. Not like this, where they actually meant something to me.
Using the pillow that the hospital gave me to clutch to my no-longer-existing breasts, I gripped the cup and looked at my lap as the nurse pushed me down to the lower level.
“I never thought to ask,” the nurse hesitated. “But you do have a ride, correct?”
I winced. The reason they’d kept me in the hospital as long as they had was because I didn’t have anyone to help me at home. And, since they had the open room, the doctor had ordered me to stay.
However, today they’d deemed me well enough to navigate the world on my own. Lucky me.
I nodded at the nurse but didn’t make eye contact. “I do.”
The taxi was bright yellow and front and center as we passed through the double doors.
“The taxi.” I indicated where I wanted to go.
The nurse frowned. “Do you have help?”
I wanted to laugh at that.
I hadn’t had help in so long that I probably wouldn’t know what to do with it if I did have it.
“Yep,” I lied. “They’re stuck at the airport, though. They’ll be meeting me at home.”
The lie felt bitter on my tongue, and I wanted to growl in annoyance at myself.
I hated lying. It never solved anything.
Except for this one time, anyway.
“Okay,” the nurse replied skeptically. “Let me know if you need help. I’m sure we can find you someone.”
Yeah, right.
I ignored her offer of help, even though I probably shouldn’t have, but I was determined to do it all myself.
I was ready to freakin’ cry after just getting myself settled in the cab.
By the time I got home and through my front door, the pain was washing over me in waves and I could feel the tears pooling in my eyes.
I spent the next hour in the foyer, sitting on the bench, as I tried to gather the strength I’d need to move to the kitchen so I could take a pain pill.
At least I’d thought ahead and had the hospital fill it for me.
Thank God.
The thought of doing anything other than lying there on the foyer bench was a foreign phenomenon to me. I decided that I’d just lay there for a little bit until the pain eased enough for me to make my way to the kitchen.
Once it kicked it, well, then I’d attempt to make it up the stairs.
I slowly laid myself down, one millimeter at a time until I was fully on my back, closed my eyes, and prayed for the pain to calm.
Chapter 12
Live slow, die whenever.
-Tattoo
Dante
Later that afternoon
“What do you mean she’s gone?”
“She was released earlier this afternoon, about an hour ago, actually,” the nurse who’d taken my call replied. “Did she not tell you?”
No, she didn’t tell me. Otherwise, I likely would’ve been there to pick her up, you dumbass!
Instead of saying what I was thinking aloud, I thanked her and hung up.
Then I looked over at Mary. “You want to go for a ride?”
Mary was always up for a ride.
Her smile told me so.
Forty-five minutes later I arrived in front of her house to find her car in her driveway, Drake’s car behind it and him waiting at the front door.
I drove on past her house and circled around the back side of the neighborhood, coming up the back alleyway like I had the last time Drake had been in her driveway.
Mary was sound asleep as I pulled her out of her seat, and she didn’t wake but for a moment as I readjusted her onto my shoulder.
I looked at the old house that belonged to Cobie and studied the rocks outside.
Kicking over the closest ones with my foot, I was disappointed to find there wasn’t a key like there’d been the last time.
I smiled. Good girl.
The next place I checked was under the mat, then the eave above the door.
No key.
I tried the door handle.
Locked.
Shit.
My eyes trailed over to the window directly next to the door, and on a whim, I tried it.
Stuck.
The window opened a millimeter and screeched to a halt. Shit.
Doing this one handed also wasn’t helping. But, with a little determination and strength, I was able to shimmy the window open far enough to reach my hand around for the doorknob.
I’d have to rectify that problem once I got inside. I was sure since the thing was barely moving that she thought it was safe to leave it alone, but it wasn’t.
After popping the lock on the door from the inside, I opened it from the outside and walked in.
The kitchen I walked into was stifling.
It felt hotter inside than it was outside.
I frowned and closed the door behind me, locking it moments after that.
Drake was still knocking on the front door, but I ignored it as I made my way through the kitchen.
That’d been as far as I’d gotten the last time I was here, so I was a little surprised when it spat me out into a formal dining room, followed next by what I assumed was the living room.
The wood on the floor creaked underneath my feet, groaning every now and then when I stepped on a particularly weak piece.
Passing by a couch that looked to be one of the most comfortable I’d ever seen, I kicked the footrest up and laid the chair back, depositing Mary. Once she was safely on the couch, I snatched the old quilt off the back of the couch and covered her up with it. But only partially. With it being as hot in here as it was, she’d kick it off if it was covering her too much.
She was like me in that way. I always hated to be hot when I was sleeping. It was the best way to ensure that the sleep would be the worst I’d ever had.
Then again, I’d found something that caused me to sleep even less than being hot did…but I couldn’t find a way to fix a broken heart.
I hadn’t slept much since the accident. Maybe, if I was lucky, a couple hours a night here and there.
Now I lived off of maybe two or three hours, and I was lucky if I got that.
The knock at the front door started up again, and I wanted nothing more than to yank the door open and tell the stupid man to fuck off.
If she hadn’t answered it by now, she wasn’t going to.
The knocking had me walking toward the front door instead of upstairs as I’d intended, and I froze when the door came into touching distance.
Why, you ask?
Because Cobie was on her back on the most uncomfortable looking bench I’d ever seen in my life, crying silent tears.
“Cobie.” I dropped down to my knee beside her. “Fuck, are you okay?”
She managed a pitiful moan that would’ve brought me to my knees if I hadn’t already been there.
“It hurts so bad,” she whispered. “I hate the pain. It sucks.”
Her ragged breathing had me feeling like the most unfeeling person in the world.
“Did they give you some pain meds?”
She licked her lips. “They’re in my pocket.”
Her pocket?
I reached forward, patting her pockets.
She was wearing scrubs, likely ones she’d received from the hospital, and the pill bottle was tucked into the first pocket I came to.
I took the bottle in hand, walked away from her even though it was hard as hell to do, and to the kitchen where I got her a glass of water.
Once I had that, I shook out one pill, put the rest on the counter for later, and went back to her.
She was still there, silently crying.
“Can you sit up?”
She shook her head, and the movement shook the ponytail loose of the half-assed up-do that she had it in. It fell down around her face, making my stomach clench.
I ignored the urge to touch it, to wind it up in my fist, and worked my arm underneath her.
Once she was sitting up, fresh tears streaming down her face, I placed the pill against her mouth.
She opened it, tried to swallow it dry, and then moaned when it got stuck at the back of her throat.
I placed the cup to her mouth and tilted it for her to drink, and she drank it greedily.
She was about halfway done when she lifted her chin, pushing the cup away without words.
“Do you want to sit here for a little bit? Want me to carry you to the couch? I’ll do whatever you want.”
She inhaled deeply.
“I think if you move me, it’ll hurt too much.”
She panted some more, and I felt so fuckin’ helpless. I wanted to punch the damn wall behind her head.
I hated seeing people in pain.
I hated feeling helpless like this, like I was an inadequate loser who could do nothing right.
“I think that you’re already in pain,” I said softly. “Let me move you to the couch. This has to be uncomfortable.”
She looked at me, tears still leaking out of her eyes, and then nodded once.
I didn’t hesitate.
I picked her up, gently, and moved her to the couch.
A woman hadn’t been in my arms like this since my wife died, and I had to say that the feeling wasn’t altogether unwelcome.
Sure, I’d slept with one other woman—Marianne. But that had been nothing but me being drunk, and touching her as minimally as possible to get the job—a release—done. I knew before it was even over that it was a mistake, yet I’d continued with what I’d started because Marianne seemed to be enjoying it. She had no way of knowing that it hadn’t been the same for me.
That I’d been blaming and berating myself nearly the entire time.
Even in my drunken state, I’d worn a condom, and that had been something I hadn’t had to do for a very long, long time. Lily had been my college sweetheart, and I’d had one other person in my life before her. That had been the one and only time I’d used a condom in as long as I could remember. I was surprised I even remembered how to put one on seeing as it’d been so long and how incredibly drunk I was.
A squeak came from Cobie, and I froze in my attempt to put her down.
“Can you just… wait.”
She was suspended in the air, half down, half up—her breathing ragged as she pinched her eyes closed. The tears still leaked out, though. Each one breaking my heart more and more.
I picked her back up, and she dropped her head to my chest.
“Can you do this for just another minute?”
Hold her in my arms?
I could probably do it all day long if she asked me to.
“What about if I sit?” I asked.
Then I’d be able to hold her a lot longer.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Try it, and I’ll let you know.”
I slowly sat down on the couch, holding her in my arms, cradled like a small child to my chest.
My eyes went over to where Mary was still sleeping, having kicked the blanket off even more, and something in my heart settled.
There, on the couch, with Mary sleeping next to my thigh, her tiny feet touching my hip and Cobie in my arms, her tears slowing… I found peace for the first time in years.
***
Cobie
Awareness of something other than pain came to me in slow, aching increments.
The first thing I saw was Dante’s throat, which was dripping sweat.
I pulled my head away from said throat, and looked at his face, only to see his eyes closed.
His breathing was even and deep, letting me k
now that he was asleep.
I smiled, turned my head, and gasped.
His little girl was sitting up on the couch, her eyes on me.
I smiled, and she smiled back instantly.
It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“Hi,” I croaked.
She leaned forward and started to crawl toward me, but stopped when she reached her father’s side—my side.
Her hand went to my foot, and she touched my French manicured toes.
I’d gotten a pedicure before I’d gone in for surgery, and it was apparent that Dante’s girl approved.
“Pretty?” I asked her.
I tried to move, but the pain made itself known again as a sudden stab of pain flashed through my chest.
Okay. No movements whatsoever. Got it.
“Her name is Mary.”
I looked slowly back over to Dante and smiled when I saw his eyes on me.
“She’s gorgeous,” I whispered.
But I could tell with just one look that this little girl wouldn’t be like all the other girls.
Mary had Down Syndrome.
Her eyes were canted up and slightly close together.
Dante seemed to know what I was thinking and opened his mouth.
“I didn’t know she had Down Syndrome until I took her to the pediatrician for a well-check a few days after Marianne brought her to me,” Dante said, holding out his hand for his daughter.
She took his hand, wrapping both fists around one finger, and brought it up to her mouth.
She pressed a slobbery kiss on it, and my heart melted right then and there.
“Does she have heart problems?”
Normally one of the downsides of having Down Syndrome was heart problems—CHD. Congenital heart disease, to be specific. I’d spent quite a bit of time during nursing school working on a floor where one of the patients seemed to have rented a room there. He was always there, and over time, I got to learn a lot about him and the problems he faced.
Over the six months of that particular semester, Dobbie (his real name was Corrone, but the kid loved him some Harry Potter) had been one of my patients. Each time I’d have a clinical, that little boy would be there. I watched him struggle. I watched him succeed. I watched him get released. Then I watched him come back and go through it all over again. Finally, after about four months of being in and out of the hospital, he got to go home for good.
Hail Mary Page 7
