Kylie's Kiss

by Delia Latham

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Connery.” She forced herself to lift her gaze to his.

  After a moment, his taut posture relaxed and that crooked smile softened his craggy face. “Oh, a little excitement does us good now and then. Keeps us on our toes around here.” He patted Kylie’s shoulder, then picked up her hand and put it on the call button, built into the drop-down panel on one side of her bed. “Next time you want to see Sean Connery, all you have to do is push the button and tell a nurse. Someone will give me a call.” He grinned. “You really don’t have to be so loud about it.”

  “OK.” Kylie managed a tiny smile. “And doctor, none of this was Destiny’s fault.”

  “You think not, huh?” He sent an appraising glance toward the other woman. “Well, I think I’ll reserve judgment on—Destiny? Destiny Gallagher? Don’t you own a matchmaking service? Some gate, or something like that?”

  “Solomon’s Gate.” Destiny nodded. “A Christian dating agency.”

  “Well, well. How odd to meet you like this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “Someone just gave me one of your brochures. I’ve been thinking about coming to see you.” A slight frown marred his pleasant expression. “You don’t make a habit of upsetting people in hospitals, do you?”

  Kylie jumped into the conversation. “I told you, none of this is her fault.”

  “Well, then I guess I owe you an apology, Destiny. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions, and for being so hard on you.” Another charming grin crinkled his gray eyes. “I hope my behavior doesn’t automatically bar access to the agency.”

  Destiny shook her head. “Not at all. I would have expected nothing less from a doctor who cares about his patient. I’ll look forward to talking to you again.”

  The doctor waved and left the room, leaving the two women alone once again. Destiny caught her bottom lip between perfect white teeth and shot Kylie a questioning glance. “So…about that mirror. You still want it? There’s no hurry, you know. You can do this later, after the bruising goes away.”

  “No.” Kylie swallowed hard. “Bring it to me now.”

  With the cart rolled close to the bed and the table across Kylie’s lap, Destiny raised the storage compartment an inch or so, then paused. “Now, sweetie, remember what I told you. You won’t like what you see, but remember that most of it is temporary. Are you sure you don’t want me to get Noni here first?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Destiny—do it, already!”

  “OK, but if you get hysterical again, Dr. Oh-So-Nice will make me leave, and you’ll be here alone.” She picked up Kylie’s trembling hand. “If you think you’re going to go trippin’ out again, just squeeze my hand.”

  Kylie pulled in air, blew it back out, then met her friend’s eyes and nodded.

  Destiny winked, gave her a thumbs-up, and raised the lid.

  Kylie's Kiss

  19

  Rick parked Old Betsy in the parking lot and hurried to the huge revolving doors at Castle Creek General. This place never failed to impress him. Anyone driving by on the freeway would assume some eccentric millionaire had built himself a castle in the mountains of California. Not unless they drove up the hill and into the surrounding parking area would they see the signs identifying the structure as a hospital.

  Up until a decade or so ago, the abandoned castle hunkered on its hill overlooking Castle Creek—dark, brooding, and awe-inspiring. No one seemed to know to whom it belonged. Rumor had it that the original owner built the impressive structure as a gift to his wife—a duplicate of her Romanian home. As young boys, he and Clay used to ride their bikes up the hill and explore the grounds. They tried to find ways inside, but the place was always locked up tight.

  Once, after a strong windstorm, the boys found a broken cellar door and inched their way into the darkness below the massive palace. Afterward, neither of them admitted any fear to the other, but Rick remembered the furious pounding of his heart as he lowered himself, step by slow, hesitant step into the underbelly of what local children called “the haunted mansion.”

  Cobwebs brushed his face, and he swatted at crawling things—real and imagined. Every tale of horror he’d ever seen on television raced through his brain. Vampires and werewolves, insanity and the walking dead. Terrifying images he laughed at on the screen didn’t seem so impossible in the pitch dark of that unknown cellar.

  Not wanting Clay to guess at the violent pounding of his heart, and determined not to squeal like a girl if a mouse scuttled across his foot, Rick bit down hard on his bottom lip and ignored the scratchy dryness in his throat. The coppery taste of blood flooded his mouth, and a warm, liquid trail tickled his chin. He swiped at it with his sleeve, eyes fixed on the weak circle of illumination from the mini flashlight Clay always kept hooked to his belt loop for just such a time as this.

  At last, they reached the bottom step, and found themselves in a huge, dank room with cement floors and walls. Nothing there but dust, insects, and a sickly sweet mustiness that hung almost tangibly in the air. No coffins with who-knew-what beneath their closed lids. No trunks packed with pirates’ treasures. No dusty old diaries holding secrets belonging to the dead who once walked the halls above their heads.

  Of course, when Rick and Clay later related the adventure to their friends, the basement became a torture chamber with chains dangling from the ceiling, shackles bolted to the walls, and eerie, wailing cries floating down from the castle itself. Their foray into the dark dungeon grew richer with each telling. The wide-eyed, admiring gazes of their peers were almost worth the harrowing trip down those damp, cobwebby stairs.

  He grinned as the revolving door ushered him into a bright lobby. Those adventure-seeking lads of the past certainly never dreamed their favorite haunt would someday be a modern medical facility, housing the latest in technology and equipment. Although the exterior of the building had been preserved as close to the original as possible, nothing about the interior of the hospital bespoke its origins.

  Rick rode the elevator up and exited down the hall from Kylie’s room. He hurried toward the open door, eager to see her, but halted abruptly when he recognized her voice. “I’m a freak! Look at my face.” A harsh sob ripped through Rick’s heart like a lance. “Don’t stand there and try to tell me there won’t be scars.”

  “Kylie, honey, you’re overreacting.” That was Destiny Gallagher’s voice. Rick realized he was eavesdropping, but his feet had frozen to the floor, and a horrid feeling of loss held him in a paralyzing grip.

  “Overreacting?” The shrill voice held no hint of twinkles or bells. “I’m hideous, Destiny. Hideous! I don’t even look human. No one wants to see a face that looks like this one.”

  An invisible fist slammed Rick in the stomach. A giant hand gripped his heart and squeezed, while vicious creatures with razor sharp teeth feasted on his insides. He sucked in air, then swung on his heels and forced one foot in front of the other until he reached the elevator.

  ****

  Kylie lay with her back to the door. She stared at a tiny spot on the wall next to the room’s single window. No sound escaped her lips, but tears poured from eyes still burning from what the hateful mirror had revealed.

  She’d smiled a little at Destiny’s silly thumbs-up gesture before she lifted the storage compartment lid with a dramatic flourish. Then she swung her gaze to the mirror her friend had unveiled, and any hint of a smile disappeared.

  Forever.

  The left side of her face bulged, as if she held a large plum in her cheek. She must have taken what her dad would call a real humdinger of a blow. Both eyes sported purple shiners, and a literal explosion of tiny cuts and scratches peppered both cheeks…her forehead…her lips…her chin. They sliced in different directions through bruises of every imaginable color and size. Glowering black vied with deep plum. Putrid yellow snuggled with angry red, welt-like discolorations.

  Count to ten. Breathe. Breathe again. And again.

  “Kylie? Hone
y, are you OK?”

  Someone kept repeating that question. It buzzed around her head like a pesky mosquito. She couldn’t focus enough to answer, or to comprehend any real meaning to the words.

  Rick saw me like this.

  She gagged. A pink plastic container appeared under her chin, and she heaved a stream of yellow bile. Someone gingerly patted her face with a cool cloth, and the stinging pain from all those nasty little cuts felt good. It cleared the fog in her brain.

  One hand moved of its own volition up to her forehead. One finger picked at the tape holding her bandage in place. Another hand appeared out of nowhere, pulling at hers, trying to stop the picking. She slapped at it, and it disappeared.

  “Kylie, please don’t do this!” The voice grated on her raw nerves. Would it never be silent?

  Finally the tape lifted and the gauze fell away.

  A strange calm gripped her as she stared at the livid gash above her left eyebrow. Black thread wove in and out of her skin in a neat little row. Would her mind fall out if the stitches were removed? They puckered her skin, raising it into an angry welt. An inch, someone told her? No inch on any ruler she knew of ever stretched that far. Endless. It swallowed her face, leaving only the upside down smile of the monster slash that hugged her eyebrow like some ghastly lover.

  ”I’m a freak. Look at my face!” A sob tore past her throat. “Don’t stand there and try to tell me there won’t be scars.”

  Destiny smoothed damp hair off her face. “Kylie, honey, you’re overreacting.”

  “Over-reacting?” She heard the shrillness of hysteria in her voice, but she didn’t care. She forced her eyes to focus on the beautiful face at her bedside. “I’m hideous, Destiny. Hideous.” From somewhere in her past, horrible words came back to haunt her, and she repeated them. “I don’t even look human. No one wants to see a face that looks like this.”

  She choked back the sobs that threatened to suffocate her and cast a weary glance at her visitor. “Just go away.”

  “No, Kylie, I’m not leaving you.” Tears muffled Destiny’s voice and grated at Kylie’s raw nerves.

  “Get. Out.”

  “They’re just bruises. They’ll go away, sweetie. You know they will!”

  She lifted heavy, uncooperative eyelids to see who kept talking. Destiny. Of course. The matchmaker, with her gorgeous, perfect face and auburn eyebrows unmarred by hideous wounds.

  “Destiny?”

  “Right here.”

  “I don’t want you here.” She lifted a hand that weighed two tons and pointed at the door. “Go. Please.”

  The other woman gathered her purse and keys. “I’ll give you some time to yourself, but I’m sending Noni.”

  She shook her head. “No visitors. No one.”

  Destiny shook her head and clamped teeth around her bottom lip while tears raced each other down peachy pink cheeks that had surely never known a scratch or a bruise, and certainly not a gaping, all-consuming mutilation.

  “I’m so sorry, Kylie. I’ll pray for you.” She turned away.

  “Please close the door on your way out. Thank you.” A polite request and the expected follow-up words of appreciation. They came from somewhere deep inside her, a place of habit and learned response.

  Sobbing quietly, her friend disappeared and the door swung shut behind her.

  Kylie turned her back to the room, pulled the sheet up to her chin, and stared at the blank wall. Not a mark or a scar or a blemish of any kind marred its antiseptic green surface.

  Kylie's Kiss

  20

  “Daddy? What’s wrong?”

  Lea’s voice sliced through Rick’s bitter reverie. He sat up straighter and flipped on the lamp beside his chair. He’d been hunkered down in the dusky dark of his study, kicking himself for failing to see through Kylie’s sweet exterior. How could he not have put two and two together? She had all but thrown up on his daughter’s photograph.

  No need for Lea to know about his lack of insight—or about Kylie’s reaction to her picture—and apparently to anyone with the same type of problem. He forced a smile and patted his knee. “Come on over here. I could use a hug.”

  She stood on the other side of the rug that delineated his sitting area from the business side of the room. How long had she been there, watching him stew? Long enough, judging from the crinkle on her little brow, and the tiny teeth pinching her bottom lip.

  At his words, Lea raced across the five-foot expanse and threw herself into his arms. He held her tight against his chest and closed his eyes. She’s all that matters. We don’t need Kylie. We don’t need anybody else, as long as we have each other.

  Lea pounded his back, giggling. “Daddy! I can’t even wiggle.”

  Rick released his stranglehold on her and smiled. “Sorry about that. You know I love you, Sweetie Bird?”

  “Yep. You know I love you, Daddy Bird?”

  He laughed, surprised to find he could. Life suddenly seemed a whole lot better than it had a few minutes before. “Sure do. And it’s a good thing, because you know what would happen if you stopped loving me.”

  She giggled, knowing what was coming. “The grass would stop growing?”

  “That’s right, it would.” He shook his head and met her starry gaze. “And the sun would stop shining.”

  “Would the wind stop blowing?” Lea’s eyes sparkled like perfect aquamarine gemstones, and her wide smile nearly stopped his heart. He had started this little game soon after she first began to talk, borrowing its concept from the lyrics of an old country song. He dreaded the time when she’d be too grown up to enjoy it.

  “That’s right, princess, the wind would stop blowing. So if you want to keep this old world going…”

  “I better start loving you again.” She bellowed the words in perfect tune.

  “You got it.” Rick kissed the tip of her nose and sang back to her. “You better start loving me again.”

  She snuggled up close to his chest and sat quietly for a moment. Then she twisted around and looked up at him. “So what’s wrong?”

  He should have known his sensitive little girl wouldn’t be deterred by a silly game. She’d caught her daddy wearing a troubled face, and she wouldn’t be happy until he gave her a reason.

  “I’m fine, Lea. Just a little disappointed in a friend, that’s all.”

  “What friend? Was he mean to you?” She scowled, not happy with that idea in the least.

  Rick chuckled. “This friend is a woman, and no, she wasn’t mean to me. I just discovered some things about her that I didn’t like.”

  “Oh.” She went quiet again, but he could almost see the wheels turning behind her eyes. “Is she bad?”

  Bad? Something in Rick rebelled against the idea. Even in his disillusionment, he couldn’t deny Kylie’s innate goodness.

  “No, Sweetie Bird. Not even a little bit. That’s why this bothers me so much. It doesn’t fit.”

  Lea ran a tiny finger down his cheek, traced his lips, ran it over his nose. He sat still, allowing the exploration. Sometimes his precocious child behaved like a blind person, seeming almost to read his thoughts by touching his face.

  “Does she know you’re mad at her?”

  “I’m not mad at her.”

  “Well, does she know you’re a little bit grumpy with her right now?”

  He said nothing, and Lea nodded, then pointed a little finger at him. “She doesn’t, does she?” She tilted her head to observe him better and narrowed those beautiful blue peepers. “How can she tell you why she did it—whatever it is—if you don’t talk to her, Daddy? That’s what you told me to do when my friends hurt my feelings.”

  What friends? Rick clenched his teeth at the reminder of his daughter’s lonely life. He and Trina made up her entire contact circle. Parents tended to herd their children away whenever Lea approached. He knew. They’d tried the park thing a few times, and Lea always wound up playing alone or with him, in a playground gone suddenly empty.

 
He’d attempted daycare once. Lea had watched a movie centered on such a facility, and wouldn’t give up until he found one for her. The sheer number of little ones all playing together captured her imagination, which made sense. She’d so rarely had the opportunity to interact with other children.

  At the end of the first week, the director called Rick in and told him it wasn’t working. His daughter’s face disturbed the other kids, and they were cruel to her because of their discomfort. He hadn’t known, because Lea hadn’t said a word. She cried for days when he told her she couldn’t go back, convinced that, given time, the other children would get used to her scars, and learn to like the person behind them.

  Even now, when she should be off to school every day, making friends, being a kid—she wasn’t. Rick taught her at home. Once a month, a teacher from the public school in Castle Creek came in and went over all of Lea’s work with them.

  “Daddy?” His little princess had asked a question, and she expected an answer.

  Rick managed a smile. He tugged on her silky pony tail and shook his head. “How did you get so smart in just five years?”

  “Six!”

  “Oh, that’s right! I beg your pardon.”

  “It’s OK.” She patted his cheek. “So are you going to talk to—what’s her name, anyway?”

  “Kylie. And yes, I will talk to her. Just not today.”

  Her gaze met his and seemed to weigh him in the balance. Rick squirmed. He found himself wanting, whether his little girl did or not.

  “I like her name. You’ll do it tomorrow then. Right?”

  He lifted her off his lap, set her firmly on the floor and stood. “I’ll think about it, Sweetie Bird. Now come on. Let’s go find something to eat.”

  “Ice cream!” She bounced ahead of him into the hall. “Trina? I’m hungry. Can I have ice cream?”

  Rick trudged behind her. Tomorrow? He wasn’t at all sure he’d be ready to talk to Kylie that soon.