by Lee Taylor
I turn toward the beeping monitors in front of her daughter's incubator. The baby, Emma, was born fifteen weeks premature. Now, at the equivalent of thirty-five weeks gestation, she weighs about five and a half pounds.
"She's come a long way, hasn't she?" I admire the little girl. Her skin is transparent and pink, but she's alert.
Maryanne gazes at her daughter who turns her way. "She's a miracle. If I hadn't been so stupid and gone to the marina . . ."
That was how Zach lost his leg. Last fall, Maryanne was taken hostage on a motorboat by a rapist. Zach jumped on a jet ski and led the chase. But when he cut off the boat, he crashed and mangled his leg. Maryanne almost drowned and went into preterm labor, but she was rescued by her boyfriend, Lucas, and airlifted to the hospital. Zach almost bled to death before a guy on a Waverider brought him to shore.
I draw close to my dear friend and squeeze her shoulder. "None of us meant for these things to happen. If Zach hadn't been there, you and Emma could have died."
"I know, but out of everyone involved, he's lost the most. Emma pulled through, and the doctors are optimistic she won't have long-term disabilities."
I concentrate on the monitors. Heartbeat, breathing, everything steady and as it should be. Emma, Maryanne and Lucas have a future together, a chance for happiness.
While Maryanne changes her diaper, Emma stretches her spindly little legs and opens her eyes tracking Maryanne, like she knows who her mother is. I break out in a lullaby, the same one I sing every time I visit, hoping she'll know me, but she doesn't turn toward me.
"She loves your singing," Maryanne says. "See how she pinked up?"
I finish the song and hug Maryanne, tears prickling my eyes. "I love both of you, so much. If anything happens to me, remember how we were."
Maryanne presses the sticky tabs on the diaper and looks up, alert. "Why are you saying this? Are you all right?"
I lower my face, unable to admit my jealousy. All my friends are having babies, getting settled, growing families. Mine is small and dying off. My mother refuses to talk about my father and brothers, retreating in a parade of Filipino soap operas, sometimes watching two at a time. And then there's my uncle Louie, my father's elder brother, who has lung cancer and six months to live.
I raise my chin and force a smile. "Everything's great. I'm taking a leave of absence from the hospital."
"Oh? That's a big change. What are you going to do?"
"I've applied to an agency that places special-care nurses with rich patients, ones who can still travel, but need help with injections, shunts, colostomy bags, oxygen, and other medical necessities." I neglect to mention the only box I checked on the application was Australia, specifically Melbourne, where Zach's family is from.
"Sounds adventurous. How long will you be gone?" Maryanne caresses Emma's downy head and stretches a knit cap over it.
A nurse steps into the ward with a bag of breast milk. She greets Maryanne and smiles at me. "It's time for Emma's feeding."
Maryanne sits in a nursing chair while the nurse arranges Emma, tubes and all, on her lap. I pull a chair next to her and the nurse hands me the syringe with the milk after connecting it to the nasogastric feeding tube. She slips a pacifier in Emma's mouth to stimulate her sucking reflex.
Maryanne cuddles her daughter in a blanket and palms her head to calm her. Emma's gaze remains stuck on her mother, much like how Emily used to look at me so intently when I tended to her.
"Zach came by to visit yesterday," Maryanne says, her voice low and eyes rolling my direction while stroking her baby's cheek.
I squirm and avoid her gaze. "I already told him I'm leaving. What did he say?"
"Nothing. He struggles so hard to remain upbeat and cheerful. I can see his pain in the lines around his eyes. He's leaving also, says he has no reason to stick around."
My stomach gets squirrelly. Heat rushes to my cheeks and my heartbeat speeds. "Is he going home? To Australia?"
"I assume so. He seemed very sad." She rubs in the guilt. "Said he didn't have any real friends except me and Lucas. When Emma gets strong enough, he wants us to visit."
"I don't know what he wants from me." A suffocating feeling squeezes my chest. "What happened to all the other women he was seeing?"
"What other women?" Maryanne pierces me with a direct stare. "Lucas roomed with him. He flirts a lot, talks big and acts like the life of the party. But since he met you, he hasn't dated anyone else."
"I find that very hard to believe." I finish delivering the milk to Emma's NG tube and clip it to her blanket. "He says we should have an open relationship. Fun only. No commitments."
"Because that's the only way you'd take him." She wipes Emma's face and kisses her knit hat. "Vera, I've known you forever. You don't get close to anyone. Not even me."
I catch my indignant breath. Why is everyone psychoanalyzing me? Getting close to people means needing them. I push the chair back and stand. "I love you, but I have to go."
"See what I mean?" She tucks Emma close to her heart and rocks her. The baby's eyes close and the pacifier droops, barely in her mouth. "You care more than you think, but you don't let others care about you."
Her words suck the oxygen from my lungs. I don't need anyone picking at my feelings. Don't they realize there's nothing there? I kiss her on both cheeks, going through the motions of best friend. "Say hi to Lucas."
***
I escape the neonatal ward, my heels tapping like a strident woodpecker. If Zach's feelings are hurt I should pay him a visit and set everything straight.
It's nearing rush hour. I hurry to my car and drive the seven miles to Zach's apartment near Alameda Creek. It's in one of those upscale, boldly colored complexes painted in tawny gold, olive drab, and russet brown earth tones.
He doesn't answer the door, so I call him on my cell. "Hey, it's me. I'm standing outside your place. I came to talk to you."
"I'm walking on the creek trail, a few minutes away. Will you wait for me?"
"You doing okay?"
"Of course." He laughs, overly bright. "How about you?"
"I'll meet you. Which direction should I go? Right or left?"
"Right."
"Okay, I'll look for you." I hang up and walk toward the trail before I lose my nerve and get back into my car.
I'm old enough to not confuse lust with love. Before the accident, Zach was the consummate player. His smile dropped panties; his eyes promised paradise. I'm not sure how I feel about him now, limping and grimacing with pain but trying so hard to appear normal. I blink back tears and stiffen my shoulders. Pity is not an emotion he'll appreciate.
Zach appears around the bend in the path. When he sees me, he quickens his pace and swings his arms, power walking. He still has the temporary training prosthesis because his stump will shrink as the muscles and swelling decrease. I chop my hands downward for him to slow down, but he puffs out his chest and starts loping into a run.
He stumbles several feet from me and falls onto his hands and knees.
"Zach!" I run toward him, but he's up on one leg before I get there. His palms and exposed knee are scraped and bleeding, and he winces when he applies weight to his prosthetic leg.
"I'm okay." He grits his teeth and grins. "Just excited to see you."
I wrap his arm around my shoulder, but he pulls away and limps toward his apartment.
"Zach, let me help you."
He continues without looking back, increasing his speed.
"You're going to fall again. You might have injured your--" I stop, not wanting to state the obvious.
By the time he opens the door, sweat drips down his face and he's blowing hard through his teeth.
His place is messier than usual. Unopened newspapers and junk mail litter the entry way, and takeout boxes and tins are piled on the kitchen table.
"Sorry." He hobbles to the kitchen and grabs a trash container. "I've been busy fitting this leg."
"It's okay." I flip through the pap
ers on his counter and find the card for his doctor. "You're hurt. I'm driving you to the clinic."
"No, I'm fine. The socket is loose. I should have padded it more before putting it on this morning." He snatches the card from me and flings it across the room. "You want to talk to me, start talking."
My jaw drops. Zach had never been huffy with me before, always patient and charming. The pain must be bad, but I let him run the show. He's a man, after all.
"Okay, sure, let's sit down." I move to the sofa and pat it.
He flops down next to me, then pulls at the elastic liner that slides over his leg.
"We should check and see if you reinjured it," I suggest, but his stern glare keeps me from elaborating. My stomach sinks and I wonder why I'm here, explaining myself, making him feel worse. "I-I just came to check on you, er . . . I mean . . . I forgot what I wanted to say."
He stares at the ceiling and massages his temple. "Look, you've already made it clear you don't want to go out with me anymore."
"I know, but I worry about you." What I really want to say is that it's not his leg, but if I say it, that's all he'll focus on.
He reaches for my hand and presses it. "No strings, right?"
My face gets hot, and it's too bad I'm light-skinned enough to blush. He has a way of making me jittery, unsure of myself. His touch feels good, and knowing how he can work magic on more sensitive parts of my body makes me quiver inside. My tongue is tied, because all I can think of is kissing him. He has that effect on me. I know, crazy.
Zach waves a hand in front of my face. "Earth to Vera. You okay?"
"I . . . uh . . . What were you saying?"
"Nothing. I think we're cool." He shifts his weight, his discomfort etched on his face.
"You're in pain. Be honest."
"Yes, I am. And there's not much I can do about it except take pain killers, remove this damn leg and put on a compression sock to reduce the swelling."
I move to help him, but he shrugs me off. "I'm not good company right now."
"It's okay. Let me get you the pills and help you to bed."
"You're not my nurse." A vein bulges on his forehead.
I'm making things worse, but I can't bear to think this will be his last impression of me, that I'll never see him again. "You want me to leave?"
I'm praying he won't throw me out, so I rub his shoulders. They're tight, and I can tell he wants to say yes. Well, his pride wants me to leave, but he's too much of a gentleman, so he shakes his head and sighs.
I can feel his corded muscles relaxing and the heat rising between us. I stroke the base of his neck, and it's all I can do to restrain myself from wrapping my arms around him and getting horizontal.
"Think I'll get your pain pills. Are they in the kitchen?"
"On top of the refrigerator." His voice is raspy as his eyes track me. "Thanks."
I walk to the kitchen and pour him a glass of water, then stand on tippy toes to reach the jar. "Advil? Didn't they give you something stronger?"
"I didn't fill the prescription because I don't want to get addicted."
"Pain management is part of healing." I shake out two tablets and return to his side. "You don't have to bear more than you should. I can run to the pharmacy for you."
"No need." He takes the medicine. "Thanks."
Since he's not going to throw me out, I gather hydrogen peroxide, cotton balls, antiseptic cream and bandages from the bathroom.
Zach props his elbows over his knees. "Please, Vera. I can take care of myself."
"I know you can." I kneel in front of him.
Gently, I swab his scrapes and bandage them. He's silent, but his breathing grows deeper. When I look up, he's staring at me with those luminous blue eyes. He places a hand on my shoulder, and says, "What are you doing?"
"Fixing your owies." I trace circles on his thigh over the liner that fits into the prosthetic socket. "May I remove it?"
He swipes the back of his forearm over his brow. "Do you feel sorry for me? Is that why you're here? Because you're the last woman I dated before the accident?"
He sounds resigned, and I do feel sorry for him but I can't admit it. It's not that simple. The Zach I knew before the accident was arrogant, confident, at the top of his game. This Zach is honest, sweet, a man who could get hurt.
"Am I really the last? I thought you had a lot of them. One or more in every town." I study the blond hairs on his leg peeking from the liner.
"You're the only one who mattered." He gently lifts my chin, his expression sad. "I'm not exactly a prize catch anymore."
"Oh, Zach." An ache blooms in my chest and travels to my fingertips. "I like you better than before, and I'm sure other women do, too."
He tips his forehead toward mine, his eyes delving into my soul. "Don't lie to me, Vera. Your name means truth. If you like me better, why are you backing away?"
A suffocating feeling presses my chest and I avoid his gaze. "It's not you. I'm not comfortable being in anything other than a superficial relationship."
It's my fault his mother's dead. If I hadn't brought those orchids home, my parents wouldn't have fought and my father wouldn't have snapped.
Zach takes a deep breath and unpins his artificial leg. "I've had too much time with nothing to do but think. No training, no job, no dreams. Superficial sucks. It's a waste of a life to skim the surface, act like you've got it made when inside you're empty. I can either give up and die, or live life to the fullest."
Tears seep under my eyelids. "You're braver than I am."
"It's not a matter of bravery," he says. "What are you afraid of?"
I wipe my eyes and puff my breath trying to dispel the tight sadness in my chest. He strokes the back of my neck, comforting, and I feel safer--at least safe enough to risk telling him. "Do you know who my father was?"
He presses his lips to the top of my head and holds them there. "You must have loved him a lot. I can't even imagine how hard it was for you to lose him like that."
My fingers clench and I swallow a lump, wishing with all my heart I could have stopped him from jumping. Zach's waiting for an answer, but there's nothing to say. It's harder than hard. It's impossible to accept.
I do the only thing I can think of. I turn it around. "Do you miss your mother?"
"I don't remember her much. She died when I was five."
Something about the way he says it makes me wonder if he knows how she passed. "Is there anything you remember?"
"Her soft, sweet voice, almost breathless. She sang to me all the time, lullabies, silly songs, happy songs and sad songs. I hear her when I'm falling asleep."
His voice breaks and he pinches the bridge of his nose. "But I can't picture her other than from photos. She was a blonde, very delicate looking, pale blue eyes. She had a heart condition and died young."
So, Zach's father had lied to him. No wonder he had no idea who I was. But his father had known. He was barely civil to me when I introduced myself in front of Zach's hospital bed.
My fingers find his hand and I pull him closer. "I'm so sorry. It must have been hard."
He attempts a smile. "My aunt raised me. If you ever meet her, you'll love her. She's a real firebrand."
He's not letting me feel bad for bringing up his mother. It's another thing I like about him. Focusing on the positive.
I pat his thigh. "Let's check your leg and put on that compression sock."
He slides his stump onto the sofa and rolls back the liner. "I should have padded it more. It might have cushioned the fall."
I help him roll off the liner sleeve, careful not to flinch at the sight of the ugly scar, the pain and suffering etched on each ridge. The end is red and chafed, but not bruised. Because I helped the nurse in the hospital tend to Zach, he's not embarrassed about me seeing it. I fetch the moisturizing cream from his bathroom and smooth it over his skin.
"Ah, Vera, that feels so good." His muscles soften under my touch, and he exhales peacefully, his eyes half closed.
"You said you're leaving, do you mind telling me where?"
"I'm going to be a traveling nurse. My first assignment will be overseas."
He's trembling, or at least his leg is, as I lighten my touch and tickle his inner thigh. I shouldn't tease him, but a part of me needs to know he's still attracted to me. His breathing is heavier, and the outline of his cock strains against his shorts.
I kiss his knee, a little longer than a simple peck, and pull myself onto the sofa next to him. "It's something I've been wanting to do."
"I'm going to miss you." His voice deepens, and he slides his palm across my cheek. "I know I don't have the right to ask you to stay."
Would I stay if he asked? His touch is driving me crazy, filling me with inappropriate visions of wedding cakes and growing old together.
He presses his nose behind my ear, his lips gently kissing the lobe. My insides are melting like warm honey, and my emotions rumble like a subterranean explosion. I shudder, every cell wanting, demanding more, but fear zaps through my arteries, radiating from my chest to my limbs.
I need to say what I came to say, so I twist around and take a deep breath, fixing my gaze on his clear blue eyes. "It's not you, or your leg. I can't get close to anyone."
He mouths the 'it's not you' line and whispers, "I know it's not my leg. You didn't want to get close before my accident."
"Neither did you. You were too busy." Between his triathlon training, traveling and active social life, he wasn't exactly a guy who spent much time with me.
He tangles his fingers in my hair and brings it away from my face. "I'm no longer the same man you had an agreement with. I don't want the same things. It's been like a born-again experience."
"What are you saying?"
"I don't blame you for being confused." His forehead creases. "When I lost my leg, all I thought about was what I did wrong. Whether I was being punished for all the hearts I've broken--the partying and messing around."
"No, Zach. You didn't deserve it. I don't know why it happened, but it wasn't because of something you did." Strange how I had wondered the same thing about my family earlier.
"How can you be sure?" He leans away from me, his shoulders stooped. "There has to be a reason for everything that happens. I've lost everything--my hopes, my dreams, my future."
