The Superstitious Romance

by Anastasia Alexander

  Someone opened the car door. “Are you—?” The lady cursed. “We have to get him out of here fast. He’s lost a lot of blood. Call for a helicopter.”

  “But where can it land?” A male voice.

  “There’s a clearing not far from here. We’ll load him there.”

  Jackson groaned, feeling like an interloper listening to a faraway conversation.

  “You’re going to be okay,” the lady said, patting his arm. “We’ll get you to the hospital in no time.”

  “W—what happened?” he stammered.

  “Are you allergic to anything?”

  “No.”

  “Get authorization for Demerol,” the lady yelled.

  “Got it,” someone called, farther away. Seconds later a needle poked in his hip, burning.

  “Am I . . . okay?” He swallowed, forcing the rush of dizziness away as the sting in his hip faded.

  “You’ll be fine,” the paramedic answered. “Now we have to get you out. You broke your femur, so it’ll hurt.”

  He nodded, forcing himself to sit. He peered at his leg and glimpsed a jagged bone sticking through his jeans. His eyes closed and a cloud of blackness fell over him. Later he awoke to the feeling of a cold, slimy texture spreading around his knee.

  “Welcome back. You’re out of the truck, so the hardest part’s over.”

  He nodded in a blurry haze. His responses seemed to have shifted to slow gear. He tried to wipe his face. His hand wandered around, not making a connection. The drugs must be taking effect, though the throbbing ache persisted. Voices talked above him in a dazed, erratic way.

  “Ace bandage.”

  “Traction.”

  He was bound on a backboard with Velcro squeezing his sides. The EMTs grunted as they lifted him.

  “Sorry,” someone said.

  He blinked in response. They lifted him onto the gurney and wheeled him inside the ambulance. The silver interior closed in on him. The paramedics talked on the phone as another wave of nausea overcame him.

  * * *

  Austin and Maggie stopped by the Britain’s cabin early in the evening. Camille had to admit that Maggie, her hand twisting erratically, looked worried. The stress seemed to sink into her eyes, creating saggy bags underneath. “I can’t believe he’s not back. This is so unlike him.” She slumped onto the couch. “He’s been acting strange lately.”

  “Not quite so predictable anymore?” Camille said. The instant the words fled from her mouth she wished she’d thought first.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  Maggie raised her eyebrows, her skin color deepening. “He’s been talking to you, has he?”

  “We’re friends,” Camille returned.

  “I see. Well, Austin, we’ve done all we can for one day. Let’s wait for your father at the cabin.”

  Austin shrugged and reached for the coat he’d tossed behind the cushion. Darlene touched his arm. “Your father’s got to be okay. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  “Oh, how sweet,” Maggie said, twirling her keys around her finger as she whisked out of the room.

  “Sorry,” Austin whispered before he darted away. The door slammed after them.

  “She didn’t have to be so rude,” Darlene choked out.

  “I’m sorry, dear. I upset her . . .” The ringing phone interrupted her. Camille answered. “Hello?”

  “Yes, this is the Quick Response Service, and we have a note here to call you if a white male approximately two hundred and fifteen pounds and about six-three was found.”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ve located a person who fits that description. We haven’t been able to I.D. him. There was no identification in his truck, and he’s not answering our questions.”

  “So he’s alive?” Camille rested her hand on the rough countertop.

  “Yes, ma’am, but as I was saying, we aren’t positive it’s the man you reported missing.”

  “What color was his truck?”

  “Let’s see . . . the report says blue, a jacked-up Ford.”

  “That fits. What happened to him? Will he be all right?”

  “He collided with a tree and fractured his femur. Right now they’re Life Flighting him to the Idaho Falls hospital. He’ll undergo surgery on his leg but should be fine.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “About two hours. Any more questions?”

  “No. Thanks for calling. You don’t know how relieved we are.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Camille hung up, aware of Darlene watching her. “What are we going to do?” her daughter asked.

  “I don’t know if we should go. We aren’t really . . . what we should do is call Maggie and Austin. They need to know immediately. He will want his family there when he wakes.” If it had been just Maggie, she wouldn’t call, but Austin needed to know that his father was all right. She dialed their number and let the phone ring and ring. “No one is there,” she said, hanging up. “We should leave a note at their place. I wonder where they are?”

  “Maggie probably decided to get a manicure,” Darlene retorted.

  After they both laughed, her daughter looked at her seriously. “Mom, if we don’t find them, Jackson will be alone in all that pain. That’s not good.”

  “I’m sure we’ll find them. We’ll leave them a note.”

  “But what if they don’t get it?” Darlene asked.

  Camille’s own worry made her unable to think clearly. She shoved her research books in her suitcase and said, “If we can’t find Maggie and Austin in the next fifteen minutes, we’ll go ourselves.” That satisfied Darlene.

  Camille had been sure that she would find Jackson’s family, but her hunch was wrong and before she knew it, they had posted a note on Jackson’s cabin door and were on the road.

  An hour later, Camille and Darlene walked down a white hall, searching for the waiting room. A snowstorm had crept behind their car the entire way to Idaho Falls, and now, under the protective structure of the hospital, it had caught up with them. A tired nurse, sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup, informed them Jackson was still in surgery.

  “The orthopedic surgeon met the helicopter and they rushed him in immediately,” she said. “But there’s no need to worry. He’s in very good hands. Dr. Roberts is one of the best. I’ll have him come out and talk to you when he’s finished. It’ll be a while, though.”

  Camille and Darlene settled in the waiting room. Camille’s attention wandered from the noisy television set, to the clerk’s desk, to others that waited, and finally to the outside window where snow danced in the wind. Why had she been so unkind to Jackson? She leaned forward and rested an elbow on her leg. Warmth pressed on her shoulder as Darlene laid her hand there. Camille nodded to her daughter, giving her a weak smile.

  When Dr. Roberts entered the room, he cleared his throat before asking, “Are you Mr. Armstrong’s family?” He shoved his hands partially into the pockets of his blue scrubs.

  Worried the doctor wouldn’t let her visit Jackson, she said, “Yes . . . no, but I’ve been helping out with his son, and he’ll want to see me.” Her neck muscles tightened.

  The doctor nodded, his gray hair slightly moving. “Where’s the boy?”

  “He’ll probably be here tomorrow with his mother. They were gone when we received the news.” The doctor appeared confused but didn’t ask any more questions. “Is Jackson all right?” Camille searched the emotionless canvas of the doctor’s face. His skin held a weathered texture with the flare of an experienced and knowledgeable professional.

  “The surgery went well. He fractured his femur, so we inserted a metal rod into his right leg.”

  “A rod?” Camille asked.

  “It’s about as thick as your thumb. It goes from his hip to his knee.”

  “This rod is on the outside of his bone?” Camille questioned.

  “No, through the marrow.”

  “Ouch,” Darlene said. “He’ll hav
e problems getting through the metal detectors at the airports.”

  The doctor considered her daughter’s comment with a furrowed brow. “That’s true. That’s really all I can tell you without his permission.”

  “May we visit him?” Camille asked.

  “He’ll be awake in an hour. Then it should be fine.”

  The doctor stepped backwards. “If that’s all, I have other patients to attend to.”

  “Of course, thank you,” she said. The doctor hurried away. Turning toward Darlene, Camille said, “Since we have an hour to wait, let’s get Jackson a few magazines and food for when he’s feeling better.”

  An hour later the women stood in the back of a long line. “Who’d have thought the grocery store would be packed?” Camille asked, tapping her hand on the handrail of the cart.

  Darlene agreed, scanning the lines. “Probably a snow day at school or something.”

  “I hope he doesn’t wake up before we get there.”

  “You can call and see if he’s awake if you want,” Darlene suggested.

  Minutes later, Camille decided to leave Darlene in line to pay for the groceries. Dialing the hospital, she shivered in the Idaho wind outside of Albertsons. The receptionist said he was awake and asked if she’d like to talk to him. She swallowed the lump in her throat and said yes.

  A strained voice answered.

  “Hey trouper,” she said. “You almost got yourself killed.” She forced herself to be chipper.

  “Who is this?”

  She swallowed. “Camille. Are you okay?”

  There was a slight hesitation before he answered. “I hurt, but I’ll be fine.” His voice sounded slow, drugged. And sleepy.

  “How did it happen?”

  “What?”

  “The accident.”

  “Would you believe another moose jumped in front of me?”

  She was glad to hear a bit of amusement in the words, even though his voice was still slow. “You’re a moose magnet.”

  “Guess I am.”

  “You know what they say: the third time’s a charm,” Camille added.

  “Great. I can’t wait to get behind the wheel again. You’re going to have me freaked out with that superstition stuff. Wait a second,” he said. Camille heard him ask for a nurse. “How’s Austin doing anyway?” he said, coming back to the conversation. “Do you know?”

  “Yes. He was a tired mess when I last saw him. He’s with his mother, searching for you. We were all pretty scared.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Your ex-wife broke into tears.”

  “She did?” He paused as though absorbing the information. “My ex-wife cried and you didn’t?”

  Camille swallowed hard. What was he asking? “Jackson, I’m sorry about yesterday.”

  “About what?”

  “I wasn’t being completely honest with you . . .”

  “I’m listening.”

  Her heart pounded and the echoing pulse vibrated in her ears. She had promised herself she’d make it up to Jackson, and the spotlight was on. “I’ve felt more for you . . . than friendship . . . I’m lousy at expressing my feelings.”

  “You’re risking them now.”

  “I know. But keeping my mouth shut causes everyone pain, including myself.”

  “That’s quite . . . a conclusion there.”

  “It is. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since yesterday. I was wrong.” She wanted to add that no matter the pain, she wanted to take that risk with him, but she couldn’t.

  “I’m glad. I’d hate being the only one having feelings for a person.”

  Camille knew exactly what he meant. “Hey, Darlene and I got you some wildlife magazines, Cracker Jacks, a Slurpee, and stuff. Would you mind if we came by and dropped it off?”

  He readily agreed, and Camille hung up to face her daughter’s sour expression. What is up with her? Camille wondered.

  They didn’t speak until they were on the road, and the first thing out of Darlene’s mouth was a complaint. “Ah, Mom, I overheard part of your conversation. Don’t you think you’re getting a little too cozy with Jackson? And for a person who thinks Grandma drives too fast, you’re going warp,” Darlene added.

  Camille glanced at the speedometer. Her daughter was right. She was driving awfully fast, especially in the snow, but even still it was strange for Darlene to whine about it. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to come here to make sure he was okay.”

  Darlene pursed her lips and flipped on the radio.

  “Is there something bothering you?” Camille asked. She could almost taste the thickness in the car.

  Her daughter went silent for a long time before hesitantly saying, “I only wanted to come here because of Austin and because Jackson seems like a nice guy. But you need to know that he doesn’t want to be divorced. He’s trying to get back with that witch. He’s been leading you on.”

  * * *

  Everything seemed to blur together, and actual events composed an only distant reality for Jackson. Muffled chatter of doctors and nurses and visitors echoed from the halls. Smells of sweat, blood, and antiseptic mixed with the throbbing pain from his leg. Finally a heavy blanket of sleep wrapped around him, taking him away from all those senses to thoughts and images of Camille, which were abruptly transposed with thoughts and pictures of Maggie.

  Later, much later, the sensation of the automatic blood pressure machine squeezing his arm woke him. The IV in his arm pinched, and he resisted the urge to yank the needle out. He sipped water, listening, hearing, smelling. Then the blanket of sleep wrapped back around him.

  Chapter Ten

  Neither Camille nor Darlene spoke during the rest of the trip to the hospital. There, they found Jackson in a hospital bed, his head resting against a pillow, his injured leg propped on top of the sheets and blankets. Ace bandages covered the injury, along with a plastic gadget that hooked to his leg, collecting blood. IV cords flopped over the metal slats of the bed.

  “Hello,” Camille said, noticing he was pressing the button to squirt more medicine into his veins. The pain he was suffering must be horrible. Before Jackson could speak, a nurse came in and asked if everything was all right. She checked the IV and wrote on her clipboard.

  “When’s lunch?” Jackson asked the nurse.

  “We’ll check with the doctor and see if we can put more sugar in the IV. You’re on a liquid diet today.”

  “Does that mean he can have this strawberry Slurpee?” Camille asked.

  “If he feels up to it, but don’t tell the doctor.” The nurse winked.

  Camille held up the Styrofoam cup and asked, “Would you even want it?”

  “Are you kidding? I’d love it.”

  “That proves my hypothesis,” Darlene said, grinning. “No matter what, men will never give up an offer of food.”

  “She’s got that right,” Jackson said, taking the cup Camille handed him.

  Camille pointed to the flesh-toned bandage covering the IV needle in his arm. “What happened?” She’d never seen nurses use anything but the see-through tape.

  Jackson flushed. “I can’t stand seeing needles poking into me.” He sipped the Slurpee.

  “Are you all right? What’s the pain like?” Camille asked.

  “Deep,” he whispered. “Real deep.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “You know good luck is bound to come sometime,” Camille said.

  “Just like I was bound to come,” said a voice from the door.

  Camille turned to see Maggie and Austin. Maggie wore clingy fabric that accentuated her curves. In contrast, Austin seemed to be wearing the same shirt and jeans that he’d been wearing the last time she’d seen him. His face was haggard with lack of sleep.

  “Dad, are you all right?” Austin hurried to his father’s bedside.

  “Yeah.”

  “You had me going for a while.”

  “Sorry. I’m also sorry about your . .
.” Jackson’s voice trailed off.

  Color rapidly drained from Austin’s face. “My truck?”

  “Just a couple of scratches. I’ll fix it better than new. Promise.”

  Austin didn’t respond.

  Camille moved out of Austin’s way. She didn’t notice that Maggie had come closer to Jackson until she bumped into her. A heavy scented perfume filled the air. “Oh,” Camille said, excusing herself to the small couch.

  Maggie cleared her throat and brushed at her outfit before saying, “Jackson, your son isn’t the only one who’s glad you’re all right. I’ve worried myself sick.”

  Camille was feeling pretty sick herself.

  Maggie brushed past Austin and threw herself across Jackson’s chest. “My dear, I’m so happy you’re all right,” she muttered between the kisses she plastered on his cheek, leaving red lip prints.

  Camille leaned over in an effort to catch Jackson’s expression, but Maggie’s blonde hair had tumbled to the side, blocking her view. Jackson did place his hand on Maggie’s shoulder. Camille’s back straightened. After clearing her throat, she said, “I must get going.”

  Maggie continued passionately kissing Jackson, slowly edging her way toward his lips.

  “Darlene, shall we allow this family some privacy?” Camille struggled to say.

  Her daughter nodded, and they both slid out of the room.

  “Mom?” Darlene asked as they started down the hall.

  Camille kept walking. She needed to be under the snowy afternoon sky.

  “Mom?”

  She increased her pace, and Darlene had to jog to keep up. “Mom, slow down.”

  “We need to hurry,” she said, a bit breathless. If Darlene was right, and Jackson wanted his ex-wife back, it looked like he might have his wish. Maybe she’d imagined everything between them. Or maybe he had been leading her on.

  She couldn’t quite believe that. Jackson wasn’t a man for that kind of behavior.

  “Hey guys, wait up. Do you mind if I come with you?” Austin called from behind them.

  “Sure,” Darlene said.