Everything had been shaken apart.
I carefully approached him.
Hesitating, I finally reached out and lightly touched my father.
Oh God, is he dead?
His eyes were fixed. They stared straight ahead.
"Dad?" I was fearful if I spoke too loud, I'd disturb some delicate balance of life and death.
Tapped his arm.
I was confused and unsure of what to do.
Pacing back and forth, I tried to find a clear answer.
Thousands of impulses fired in my head. I struggled to remember where my mom said she'd be. Ran upstairs and called the local supermarket. Called the dry cleaner. Called the bank. Ran outside to our neighbors' houses.
No one home.
Back in the house.
Down the basement stairs.
Shouted at my father.
Leaned over his body and looked at . . . an empty shell. Was that really my father lying there, or had his soul flown away? Physically, I was at his side, but my mind was separating from my ten-year-old self.
I detached.
The smallest of details filled my mind.
There was an old picture of a desert scene hanging on one of the 2 x 4 studs above the cement wall. A smattering of red seemed fresh on the gray concrete.
My father's blood?
Sheetrock had caved to the left of where the picture hung; the cobwebs around it were broken and drooped lifelessly from the force of the crash.
I looked out to the backyard and saw that the roses were in bloom.
Our long-forgotten Ping-Pong table had sat on the patio for who knows how long. Puddles of water soaked the top of it. The middle sagged. A tattered net stretched across the chipped and peeled green paint.
Suddenly, Princess, our collie dog, cowered at my side and nuzzled my hand to pet her.
The horror of the situation finally engulfed me.
"Are you okay?" I screamed. "Dad!"
No response.
* * * * *
"Ms. Young?" Manny moved my arm gently. "Stay awake."
"I'm okay," I mumbled.
* * * * *
"An ambulance." Only in my head, but as if she were at my side, Mabel whispered, "Call 9-1-1. They'll send an ambulance to take him away for you."
I moved through trauma one-step, one tear, and one breath at a time. The little girl was scared to death, but even at ten, my inner adult handled it.
The way my father's head was against the cement—I couldn't tell if it was his head or the wall that was damaged. His eyes—open, staring, showed no emotion.
He wouldn't answer me.
His breathing was rapid and shallow.
I was afraid to touch him. In my family, we were all afraid to touch. Touch was too intimate, too personal. Touching meant love, opening up, being vulnerable—the possibility of being hurt, falling, and being bruised. Touch meant taking a risk.
We couldn't dare open our hearts that way.
The slightest caress or touch of a hand, carried risk.
That's why we took care of our own needs. It was better not to depend on anyone for happiness, or dare to hope for love. We knew if we hoped for too much, the inevitable next bad thing would smash us all down again.
I broke protocol.
Contrary to the way my family handled things, I called the ambulance and they drove him away to the hospital.
When mom came home, I told her what happened.
She went there while Jenise and I stayed home, each of us separating mentally and physically as we went to our rooms. Everything would be okay. Nothing could really faze us.
We were used to it.
We walked in numbness.
We took care of ourselves.
Mom and Dad came home that night with his head bandaged. They never told us anything about his condition.
We never talked about any of it.
He was lucky that day and a hundred days like it. He always seemed to live on an edge of life and death, sober and drunk, addicted and free.
Was I on that same edge in these moments of hurt?
Chapter 22
Harem of Sighs
"Yes, Mr. Tilton, I've got her," Manny responded into his phone. "She's sitting next to me." Pause. "I won't let her sleep."
Minutes later, the car stopped. My door opened.
"Ms. Young? Can you make it? Are you all right?"
"Give me a minute." I wasn't ready to get up. I sat as still as I could be. The pillow felt good surrounding my head and neck. "Can I take this with me?"
"Sure you can. Just take your time." He stood at the curb holding the car door open. "When you're ready, I'll get it for you."
After a few minutes, I slowly stepped out of the car.
"I've been here before, Manny. You don't need to follow me. I'm . . ." I stretched as deeply as I could. " . . . tired. I just want to lie down."
"I know, Ms. Young." He closed the car door and then held open the one to the lobby. I walked in ahead of him, shuffling to the elevator with my hand on my forehead. Manny was alongside me before I knew it. I was too exhausted to protest and walked with him. We rode steadily to the top floor where the king's harem came and went. As the elevator passed each floor, I could almost hear the sighs and whispers. "He'll use you and leave you like he did to us." Now, I was among the same voices fading away.
My heart pounded, a whooshing sound filled my ears, and a buzzing inside my head throbbed. Dizziness hit immediately upon reaching the top floor.
"Manny, I need to sit down."
He held onto me until the doors opened. We walked to a bench in the hallway. I sat there while he unlocked the apartment door.
"I feel like crap." I massaged my shoulders. The vertigo had dissipated.
"Take your time," his voice was low and comforting.
"You must think the world of Ryan, right, Manny?"
"I do admire him," he answered. "He's a fair man."
"Why didn't your wonderful Mr. Tilton make sure I went to see a doctor?" Once again, I thought back to the day my father fell. "Guess it's the usual. It's no different in my family. I'm used to it." We're all used to it. "I'll be in the guest bedroom," I moaned and walked through Ryan's apartment doors.
"Ms. Young, I'm trained in CPR and I'm a licensed EMT. I won't bother you. But I can't let you wait in the bedroom where you might—"
"I'm going to lie down in his guest bedroom. Do you understand, Manny? I don't care. I appreciate you're doing your job, but I'm tired and I don't care."
"Yes, Ms. Young."
"If I don't answer when you knock just break it down. Mr. Tilton can afford a new lock. I need to close my eyes. It's too bright out here."
"Yes, okay, Ms. Young." I knew he agreed to keep the peace so I'd stay calm. "I'd rather you rested on the sofa. I should keep an eye on you."
"Yeah. We just talked about this." I walked into Ryan's guest bedroom, locked the door and lay down in darkness.
My brain felt like it was banging against my skull. My eyes were sensitive to the light, so I left it off and tried to relax. I didn't mean to fall asleep. A knock on the door pulled me out of a misty dream. Suddenly, I was awake.
"Okay, okay." I was still groggy. Muffled voices and footsteps were outside the door. Oh, no . . . now what? "I'm awake," I said as loud as I could, not certain if anyone heard.
A woman said bathwater, robe, and soup. A man's voice I didn't recognize said something, and then Manny and Ryan exchanged words. A few minutes later, Manny and the woman said goodnight. Ryan and the stranger remained.
A teakettle whistled and then subsided.
Silence.
Footsteps.
Louder.
More pronounced.
Stopping at the bedroom door.
Oh, damn, here we go. I know that's you, Ryan. Go away.
The doorknob turned back and forth.
"Nicky." Ryan knocked on the door. "Let me in."
"I'm not coming out," I said stub
bornly. "I'll stay in here all night until you go to bed and then I'll leave. Say whatever you need to say, so I can go to sleep."
"Shit. She's not coming out." Ryan's response seemed panicked. I heard him take a deep breath before he turned and walked away.
Good, I've finally said enough to make him understand.
The sound of a key slipped into the lock, letting me know that my time alone had ended. The door clicked open.
"Please come out with me." Wearing a timid smile, Ryan stood in the doorway. He tossed a key in the air and caught it.
"I'm sick," I said faintly.
"I know." Ryan snapped on the lamp and light flooded the room.
"Ooh . . . can you leave that light off?"
He sat down next to me and put his hand on my shoulder.
"Do you have some aspirin?" I groaned. "I didn't feel this bad until I got in the car with Manny. God, my head hurts. Can I just lie down for a little while longer?"
"No. I brought—"
"You can talk about whatever you want after I get a little more rest, okay?" I turned to my side and closed my eyes. "Just let me sleep a little bit."
What are you going to do now? Drag me out?
"No!" He raised his voice. "There's someone—"
I jumped at the way he spoke, but sat up. I used all the strength I had to cross my arms in defiance.
"This should be good. I can't wait." I cut him off, thinking that he was only trying to unburden his conscience. It never occurred to me he was attempting to help. "Aren't you going to bat your blue eyes and try to excuse yourself from what happened? If only it weren't for the friend who joined you I could have come. Oh, I mean someone you had your mouth on. Oh, God what a friend. Don't worry about anything, Ryan. I told you from our start I wouldn't get in your way and . . ." I massaged my head. "Please let me rest. I feel terrible."
"I know." Ryan's voice was hushed. "I brought the team doctor with me to make sure you're all right. Once he's done, if he gives the okay, you can sleep."
Sliding off the bed from the other side, away from Ryan, I gradually stood up. I wanted to keep my distance physically and mentally but he moved to the door. I couldn't get by him.
"I'll go out there by myself," I put my hands up. "It's too bright, though. Can't you please turn the lights down?"
"Dr. Welluck needs the lights to examine you." Ryan put his arm around me for support. "He's a good doctor; one of the best in the city. Will you let him take a look at you?"
I knew seeing a doctor was important. I hated to admit it, but he was right. I gave in and walked into the kitchen where the doctor waited.
"Ms. Young, I'm Dr. Welluck." He extended his hand. "Ryan said you fell?"
"Yes." I returned the handshake. "I'm okay now."
"You're squinting." He was a gray-haired man somewhere in his mid-fifties. His rounded and bald head matched his portly body. "Do your eyes hurt from the lights?"
"Yes. I've been lying in a dark room. Can't you turn down—"
"I need to check your vitals," he demanded.
"They already did that at the ballpark," I said obstinately. "My blood pressure was high, but everything else was okay."
"I heard," Dr. Welluck replied. "I'd like to see for myself, if you don't mind and also look at your head, neck, spine, and take some blood. Those medical stations at the stadium are designed to attend to your essential needs and get you stable so you can move on. Do you understand what I've just explained?"
I nodded.
"Do you agree to let me examine you?" With my affirmation, he pushed several papers in front of me. "Please sign here." His voice and mannerisms were comforting.
"What are you looking for?" I signed and handed him back the papers.
"You're inquisitive," he observed, tucking the forms into a file and taking out several checklists. "That's good, Ms. Young. We need to be advocates for our health. I have a series of markers I'll go through with you. First, I'm going to check for signs of internal injuries or head trauma. Let's begin with a basic eye exam to see how your pupils respond. I know your eyes are sensitive." Dr. Welluck turned on his light. "I won't leave on longer than necessary. What do you remember about collapsing tonight?"
"I lifted my teammate and my legs got weak . . . I had random thoughts along with serious ones. The last thing that went through my head was I hoped no one would get hurt." I put my head down; embarrassed I'd brought this trauma to my teammates, family, and me. "I've been so upset, Doctor. I found out my boyfriend cheated on me." I glared at Ryan. "He's the whole reason I got sick."
"Oh?" Dr. Welluck asked suspiciously. "Did he have something contagious?"
"Well, no." Crap. Why did I tell him that? "I'm sure it was the warm night. I haven't eaten or hydrated properly, just . . . some crackers. You know, I couldn't even eat at my favorite place, The Cliff House. My sister took me there but I couldn't enjoy it. Have you been?"
"Yes, it's delicious." He turned off his small flashlight.
"I know, but my boyfriend ruined it. He wrecked the whole week."
"How so?" He wrote down some notes.
"I don't know," I suddenly reversed my conversation.
"Should I have a talk with your boyfriend?" He put down his pen and looked at me.
Did he just chuckle under his breath?
"He won't listen. No one listens to me."
"Seems like he did. I'm here, after all."
"Yeah, well . . . I didn't ask for a doctor."
"But here I am," he quipped. "How are you feeling right now?"
"My head's pounding."
"That's a concern," he observed. "Can you tell me—"
"You know what, Dr. Welluck?" I interrupted. "I would've gone to my doctor if I hadn't come here." I shot a hard look at Ryan.
"Let me make a note of your doctor's name. What is it?"
"Well, I . . . I haven't been in a long time and I'm too exhausted to think about it. You know what else?" I felt like spilling everything to his sympathetic ear.
"Yes, Ms. Young, what else?"
"I've had it with boys. They're why I'm in this mess," I ranted. "And I knew better. Can you give me something to make them go away? What's the deal with you guys?"
"The deal?" his smile was endearing.
"Why can't you guys be friends with a woman without wanting more?"
"We can be a handful when someone takes our heart." He glanced at Ryan.
"You're all so pesky," I scowled. "I get rid of one, here comes another. It's like all or nothing with guys. You know what I mean, Doctor? I don't wear shorts or low cut tops or tight clothes, but they keep coming. They're like magnets."
Both Ryan and the doctor smiled as if trying not to laugh. Within the fogginess of my mind, I was completely serious and made perfect sense.
"Ryan, she needs a mug of Jeanne's delicious soup." He turned back to me. "I don't want you escalating. Let's try and get your system to calm down."
"I'll get it." Ryan then whispered softly in my ear, "I need you to let go of my waist. You okay to stand on your own?"
"I'm fine." I was startled when I'd realized I was still holding on to him. Reluctantly, I let go and steadied myself on the kitchen island while he walked to the stove.
"Ms. Young, can you sit over here please?" Dr. Welluck pointed to one of the dining table chairs. "Take my arm," he offered.
"I can do it." I sat down.
Ryan brought me the soup and set it on the table.
"Thank you." I glanced at Ryan and quickly looked away before he could see my nervous smile. A little light glowed faintly, deep inside of me . . . so faintly . . . just a little light.
I quickly drank the soup.
It tasted delicious and I wanted more . . . more of everything.
Chapter 23
Disarmed
"Mmm, Jeanne's a good cook," I took several long sips and finished the entire serving. "Can I have another?"
"Let's make sure that stays down first," Dr. Welluck cautioned. "In
the meantime, we'll continue the examination, all right?"
"No more lights in my eyes, please." I closed them just in case.
"We're all done with that." His hand rested softly on my shoulder. "I'm going to check your heart and quickly examine your neck." He went through a series of brief tests, measuring my responses and listening to my heart and lungs. "All good," he informed while he wrote a few more notes.
"What are you writing?" I leaned over to peek at what he wrote.
"Your lungs sound clear, your heart rhythm and pupils are normal, you follow my finger appropriately and your reflexes respond the way they should," he grinned.
"Why are you smiling?"
"You're a bright woman."
"How do you know?"
"I've examined enough people over the years. You'll see what I mean when you're my age. Now, your ears, please."
"You mean I'm not brain dead?" I turned left and right so he could look in them. "Maybe that would keep all these damn boys away from me." I laughed sarcastically. "On second thought, they'd probably like me better because then I couldn't respond to all their stupid statements. No one really cares what I have to say."
"Your sense of humor hasn't been affected," he laughed softly. "Did you know sarcasm is a sign of high intelligence?" He put the blood pressure cuff around my arm.
"In that case, my entire family are geniuses," I replied sarcastically.
"Hmm . . . this reading is high—230 over 120," he frowned. After taking it again, I knew by his expression he'd gotten the same reading. "You're not going anywhere tonight."
"Oh, but—"
"Do you have a history of hypertension?"
"No. No one in my family does. But after the last few weeks . . . trust me, I know why it's so high. You're very gentle, Doctor. I like you." I witnessed Ryan's smile and I turned my attention to him. "This doesn't change my feelings for you." I shot an imaginary arrow his way. "I can't stay here," I almost pleaded to Dr. Welluck. "My blood pressure won't go down."
"I'll give you some medicine that will lower it immediately. I also have some extra-strength pain reliever for your headache," he added. "You're in good hands."
"Yeah, hands, mm-hmm," I muttered.
"Here's our last step," he swabbed a vein in my right arm. "I'm going to get five vials." He prepared the area and set the vials on the table. "This won't take long."
AMAZING HEART (Broken Bottles Series Book 4) Page 16
